Dark Territory

by Terrence McCauley

  It was a thought that had been gnawing at Mackey since Rice contacted him about the train robberies, but had not fully formed in his mind until Billy said it. Tent City and Grant and the shootings had crowded thoughts of the train robberies from his mind, but now that he was in the train car, it made sense.

  Mackey spoke his mind. “How could the robbers have been lucky enough to only hit trains that were not carrying troops? They would have needed help to be sure.”

  And he was fairly certain that help was in the bags of telegrams. “Pull out all of the telegrams that were sent on the days a train was robbed. I think we might find something there.”

  While Billy sorted through the telegrams, Mackey ran his finger under the flap of the sealed envelope and read Mr. Rice’s typewritten note.

  I am glad to be finally be able to communicate with you directly without fear of compromise via the telegraph operators. Thank you for agreeing to help me stop or at least deter the people who have been attacking my trains. So far, all I have are the dead bodies of three good men and no idea of whoever is behind it. I have asked the Pinkerton Detective Agency to send a man with you. As of the writing of this note, I do not know the man’s identity, but it is my experience that Pinkerton men are most capable. If you find him useful, use him. If he proves to be a hindrance to your efforts, feel free to ignore him.

  I have let it be known that your train is carrying a considerable amount of money in the safe in the mail car. This is purely fiction, but I hope it will somehow lure the bandits out of hiding and into attacking the train. It is my hope that finding and stopping these murderers will go a long way toward securing the customers of the Great Northwestern Railway, but may also help Dover Station continue to experience the rapid growth it currently enjoys.

  To that end, I have various concerns about how matters are being handled in town, particularly my partner’s decision to hand over many of the managing responsibilities to James Grant. I imagine you share many of these same concerns as well and hope to discuss them with you personally in Butte in a few days.

  Until then, I wish you good fortune and safety in your quest to bring these bandits to justice.

  It was signed with Mr. Rice’s rough, deliberate signature.

  Mackey put the note back in the envelope and slipped it into his pocket.

  Billy was already sorting out the telegrams. “What did Mr. Rice have to say?”

  “Want to read it? It’s typewritten.”

  “I’m busy,” Billy said. “If I’d wanted to read it for myself, I would’ve asked. All I asked was what it said.”

  “Said we can ignore the Pinkerton if we want. Also said he wants to meet me in Butte when this is all over. I think he wants to talk about what’s going on back home.”

  “I’d imagine he trusts Grant just as much as you do,” Billy observed as he continued to organize the telegrams. “Like I said, got a good feeling from the man.”

  Mackey heard Kennard’s voice boom, “All aboard!” as the train’s brakes released and it began rolling south toward its fate, taking Sheriff Aaron Mackey and Deputy Billy Sunday along with it.

  Chapter 13

  Mackey did not like Robert Lagrange from the moment he stepped into the rail car.

  His gray suit and shined shoes were city attire, and his matching bowler hat had never seen a prairie wind. His moustaches and chin whiskers were perfectly groomed and waxed. He bore the confident air of a man better suited for a boardroom than horseback.

  Mackey did not resent this man because of these things. He had seen enough of the world to know that not everyone was meant to live in Montana. Some men were meant for city living and city jobs. He saw nothing wrong with that.

  But Mackey saw a city man like Robert Lagrange as a liability in a situation in the wilderness and did not share Mr. Rice’s faith in the abilities of the famed Pinkerton Detective Agency.

  Lagrange looked out the window as the sun rose higher in the gray Montana sky. “It’s a lovely part of the world you have here, Sheriff Mackey. Just lovely. Nothing like this back home, I’m afraid.”

  Mackey glanced out the window, too. “That’s God’s doing, not mine. Where’s home?”

  “New York City,” Lagrange said. “Manhattan, to be precise.”

  “And before then?”

  Lagrange looked at Mackey. “You interviewing me for a job, sheriff? I’m already gainfully employed by the Pinkerton Detective Agency, as I’m sure Mr. Rice has already explained in his note to you.”

  “How’d you know about that?”

  “The letter to you?” Lagrange asked. “I imagine Mr. Rice mentioned it to my supervisor, who told me about it. You’re the suspicious type, aren’t you, sheriff?”

  From behind his stack of telegrams on the desk, Billy said, “Haven’t lived this long by being trusting of strangers.”

  “Or gullible,” Mackey added. “We’re on this train to stop the people who have been attacking this railroad for the past couple of months. It takes a certain kind of man to do that kind of job. The kind that aren’t often found in cities, not even in New York.”

  “You asked me where I lived,” Lagrange said. “Never said I was from Manhattan. Come to think of it, I don’t think I told you where I’m from or what I’ve done before becoming a Pinkerton. I don’t think I will, either, because it’s none of your damned business.”

  Billy looked up from his telegrams.

  Mackey kept his eyes on Lagrange, who did not break the sheriff’s glare. “I’ve got a letter in my pocket giving me full authority over everyone and everything on the railroad between Dover Station and Butte. You’ve got exactly one minute to convince me how you can help me to that end before I lock you in the boxcar with the horses for the rest of this trip.”

  “Well then, I suppose I should get cracking, shouldn’t I?” Lagrange surprised him by standing up and heading to the humidor at the bar. “I always find that fine tobacco helps me think, don’t you? Would you like a cigar, sheriff? Or perhaps Deputy Sunday would like one?” He looked at Billy. “May I call you Billy? I know you’re used to cigarettes, but a good cigar can be even more enjoyable, I assure you.”

  Billy sat back in his chair, forgetting for a moment about the telegrams. “How the hell did you know that I smoke?”

  “The tips of your fingers are stained from the tobacco,” Lagrange observed. “Same for your teeth. I’d say you’re a coffee drinker, too, given the tan hue of the staining.” He threw up both hands in mock surrender. “I hope you don’t take my observations as criticisms, sir. I enjoy my cigars and coffee as much as the next man.”

  “Nice trick,” Mackey said. “Now you’ve got forty seconds.”

  Lagrange smiled. “Serves me right for trying to be hospitable when business is at hand.” He looked over at the deputy. “You never answered my question, sir. May I call you Billy?”

  “Don’t see why not.”

  “Good.” He pointed at the telegrams. “Was going through those your idea or Sheriff Mackey’s?”

  Mackey answered for him. “We usually arrive at the same conclusions, so it was both of us.”

  “Impressive, because it’s exactly the same conclusion my office came up with when we were handed this case a month ago. The two of you came to the same conclusion far quicker than we did, and we had a dozen men working on this.” He selected a cigar from the humidor and saluted both of them. “My compliments, gentlemen.”

  Billy couldn’t hold back his excitement. “What did your men find?”

  “I take it you’re going through all of the telegrams sent on the railroad during the days of the robberies. That’s good, now let me save you some trouble. Look at the telegrams from Chidester Station on those same days. Tell me what you find.”

  Mackey got up and looked over Billy’s shoulder as Lagrange cut and lit his cigar.

  Lagrange slowly let the smoke escape from his nose. “God, Mr. Rice has excellent taste in tobacco. Has his own finca in Cuba, you know. I think
that’s what they call it, anyway.”

  But Mackey did not care about fincas or cigars. “Tell me what we’re looking for.”

  “It took a while for us to figure it out,” Lagrange admitted, “but once we did, we were ashamed at how long it took us. Take a look at the telegrams from the Chidester stationmaster to Olivette Station. Every train that was robbed had a certain pattern of misspellings. Not just regular misspellings, mind you, but obvious misspellings. Two ‘g’s at the end of a word like ‘departing’ or two ‘a’s in ‘late.’ Things like that. If it happened once or twice, it could be written off as mere coincidence or a mistake. But the fact that they happen several times only in telegrams involving trains carrying valuable payloads?” Lagrange shook his head. “That’s no coincidence, gentlemen.”

  Billy pulled out some of the telegrams he mentioned. “He’s right, Aaron. By God, I hadn’t thought of it.”

  “Sure, you did,” Lagrange said. “And you would’ve found it, too, probably before dinner tonight. You were already on the right path. I just shortened your trek a little. So, sheriff, is that enough to keep me out of the boxcar?”

  Mackey found a telegram with the exact kinds of misspellings Lagrange had mentioned. “Who sent these?”

  “The stationmaster for Chidester is one Thomas Agee,” Lagrange said. “He’s been with the railroad since it opened the Dover Station branch about ten years ago. Never had a problem with him. None of the crews have ever complained about him, either. He’s never even called in sick in all that time.”

  “Could someone else have sent the telegrams?” Billy asked.

  “Certainly,” Lagrange admitted, “except Chidester Station doesn’t have an assistant stationmaster. It would have to either be him or someone else who knows how to work a telegraph machine. And, as I’m sure you gentlemen know, Chidester isn’t exactly a cosmopolitan town. We only keep the station open because the pork farmers in the area would raise hell if we made it more difficult for them to bring their product to market.”

  “Nice quiet little town,” Billy said. “Makes a hell of an easy place to tip off robbers about which trains to hit.”

  “That was our thinking, too, Billy. The times all match. Funny, though. Not all of the misspelled telegrams resulted in a robbery.”

  Mackey finished the thought for him. “But every robbery had a misspelled telegram, didn’t it?”

  “You’d make a pretty good Pinkerton yourself, Sheriff Mackey.” He gestured at the humidor. “Sure you don’t want that cigar?”

  “Are you sure it’s just Agee who’s involved? Why not the station manager from Olivette?”

  “We considered it, but no misspellings or irregularities of any kind out of Olivette, only from Chidester. That’s why we’re going to focus our efforts on Agee when we get to Chidester. We think someone’s listening in on the telegraph lines, but we don’t know where. We’ve asked our crews to be on the lookout for a listening post, but it could be anywhere on any pole. In the past three months Agee has sent out fifteen misspelled telegrams. Only ten have resulted in robberies. Whoever is listening in isn’t listening in all the time, but when they are, they always strike thanks to Agee’s tipoff.”

  Mackey had no problem admitting he was impressed by Lagrange’s tactics. He had not been impressed by the city man at first, but he had no choice but to admire his sense of deduction. “Does Agee know you’re coming?”

  “No. My name appears on the passenger list, but as I’ve never worked in this region before, there’s no reason to suspect that Agee or his associates know I’m a detective. Your presence on the train is unavoidable, of course, given that Mr. Rice sent you telegrams. However, we believe your presence will only serve to draw out the robbers. After all, who could pass up the chance to be the man who killed the Hero of Adobe Flats or the Savior of Dover Station?” Lagrange puffed on his cigar. “They’ve sung campfire songs about men who have accomplished less than that.”

  But Mackey did not care about legends. His own or anyone else’s. “What about Agee’s accomplices? Any idea who they are?”

  “Other than the accounts you’ve read in the papers, none. I don’t know who they are or where they live. They always hit the train at different parts of the line. Sometimes it’s between Chidester and Olivette. Most of the time, it’s areas south of Olivette, somewhere before they get near Butte. I had hoped the locations would be regular, but alas, they’re random. No pattern at all.”

  Billy set aside the telegrams and seemed happy to be able to do so. “Looks like we’ll have to get this Agee fellow to tell us who he’s working with.”

  “Yet another reason why I’m on this trip,” Lagrange said. “I’m not a bad investigator, but I’m an even better interrogator.”

  “No thanks,” Mackey said. “Billy and I have experience in this kind of thing ourselves. Besides, one look at you and Agee’s going to know something’s off the second you start asking him questions. Billy and I don’t know him, but he knows us. He probably figures it was only a matter of time before the railroad sent someone digging around about the robberies, but he won’t figure a couple of locals like us could figure it out.”

  “But you would have,” Lagrange said, “by dinner. I’m quite sure of that.”

  “I don’t need your goddamned compliments, Lagrange. I know I’m not stupid and neither is Billy here. But Agee might not think that way. We’re known more for our guns than our brains. Might be able to use that to our advantage, especially before he sends out that next telegram before we leave Chidester Station.”

  If Mackey was expecting a fight from the Pinkerton man, he was bitterly disappointed. “Feel free to proceed as you wish, gentlemen. You’ll have no difficulty from me. Though, if I might make a suggestion, I would bring the incriminating telegrams with you. It might come in handy in persuading Agee that you’re on to him. Evidence tends to make a man more compliant than merely the threat of violence.”

  Mackey stood taller again and, as Billy said earlier, lit the West Point candle again. “You mocking us, boy?”

  “Merely sharing my experience, gentlemen. No offense meant, I assure you.” Lagrange poured himself a brandy and, this time, did not offer any of it to the sheriff or his deputy. He sat down in the sofa and flicked his cigar in the crystal ashtray at his elbow. “Now, tell me of how I can be of service.”

  Chapter 14

  In the cluttered stationmaster’s office at Chidester Station, Mackey sipped coffee while Tom Agee sang Mackey’s praises. Billy kept watch outside.

  “It sure is an honor to have a man of your reputation paying me a visit,” the telegrapher said. “I’ve read all about those things you done up there at Dover Station. How you saved the town, then hunted down the men what attacked your town? Saved them womenfolk and brought them back safe?” He sat a little straighter in his wooden swivel chair. “Yes, sir, I am humbled to have a man of your caliber, your courage, in my office, especially at a time like this.”

  Mackey decided it was time to interrupt his tribute. “At a time like what?”

  “Why, at time when our fine railroad is being attacked damned near once a week. My missus and the boys down at Hurley’s think I’m a fool for keeping this job, what with all the danger on the railroad these days. It’s just a job, they tell me. It’s not worth risking losing your life to a bunch of bandits who steal from innocent people who’ve done nothing wrong except buy a train ticket.”

  Agee paused to flatten his shirt. “But I don’t pay them no never mind, sheriff. No sir, I tell them I’ve got a duty to fulfill. And the customers of the Greater Northwestern Pacific Railroad deserve nothing less.”

  Mackey stifled a yawn.

  Outside, Billy Sunday smiled.

  The sheriff looked around the office for a place to set down his mug. Every drawer and surface in the tiny office was crammed with papers and ticket receipts and ledgers of various sizes. The place smelled of wet paper and stale coffee. It looked more like a bird’s nest than any railroa
d office he had ever seen. He could practically eat off the floor of Joe Murphy’s office back in Dover Station. Maybe that was thanks to the head of the railroad living in town. Maybe it was just Joe Murphy’s nature.

  If the condition of an office said something about the man occupying it, then Mackey knew quite a bit about Agee already.

  Mackey pushed aside a ledger on the desk at his hip and set down his mug. “While I appreciate the compliments, don’t let me keep you from your duties. This train’s carrying important cargo. We don’t want the railroad to lose track of it, now do we? Send out your telegram, and we’ll talk after.”

  “Yes, sir. Getting right on it.” Agee spun himself back to the telegraph and began tapping out one electronic signal after another. It was a flat, rhythmic sound that Mackey had forgotten about since his days in the cavalry. In moments like these, he regretted never taking the time to learn how to use Morse code.

  But in the past day or so, Robert Lagrange of the Pinkerton Detective Agency had spent a considerable amount of time teaching Mackey and Billy about how the system worked and how messages were sent.

  He had learned enough to have an idea of the kind of message Agee was sending now. And the intentional mistakes he was making, which weren’t mistakes at all. They were coded messages to the robbers who may or may not be listening.

  When Agee finished his telegram, he turned his chair away from the machine, flexing his hand. “All done, sheriff. I know that might look easy, but it takes a hell of a lot more concentration than you might think.”

  “I don’t think it looks easy at all,” Mackey said. “If anything, it looks like it would be easy to make a mistake. Like in spelling and such.”

  Agee laughed too easily. “Yes, sir. Well, we telegraphers have been known to misspell a word from time to time. It’s the nature of the business, I suppose.”

  “But you’re a good speller based on what I can see.” The telegraph man’s smile faded as Mackey pulled several yellow slips of paper from the inside of his coat. “Been looking at your work, at Mr. Rice’s request, of course.” He held up several sheets. “Your spelling seems to be mighty consistent, except when it’s not, of course.”