“But there is now,” Underhill said. “On account of me working for Mr. Grant.”
“I never tell a man how he can make a living as long as it’s legal.”
Underhill set his coffee down on Mackey’s desk. “Why do you have to make everything so damned hard, Aaron? Jim’s not the best, but he’s not the worst, either. He’s got vision for this town and he’s put a lot of people to work. Sure, he’s a little too slick for my taste, and maybe I don’t trust him as much as I should, but none of that makes him a bad man. Why can’t you just let him be?”
“Meaning why can’t I just let him push me and Billy out of a job?”
“A job you didn’t want when you brought them ladies back, as I recall.”
Underhill stopped talking when Billy led Trammel out from the cells at the end of his Sharps.
Trammel smiled. “Mr. Underhill. I—”
“One word out of you, and I’ll beat you to death right here. Understand?”
Trammel looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. He kept his mouth shut but pointed down at Mackey’s desk.
The sheriff knew what he was pointing at. He opened up the bottom drawer and pulled out the three gun belts he had taken from Trammel, Harrah, and Clarke on the porch of the hotel.
He slid the pile of leather and steel across the desk to Underhill. “Don’t give them to him until you’ve got him bedded down wherever he lives.”
Underhill grabbed the three gun belts. “Those three will have to earn these back.” To Trammel, he said, “Get outside. Lippy has your horse. We’ll talk later.”
Billy unlocked the door to let Trammel out. He left the door open, but stood back, his rifle trained on the doorway.
When Trammel was out of earshot, Mackey said, “Best tell your boss to quit letting his men walk around armed while I’m still sheriff. He can change that next week when he gets elected mayor, but for now, it’s the law.”
Underhill pulled his hat onto his head. “You never know when to quit pushing, do you, Aaron? You’ve always got to give a man that extra shove to remind them you’re in charge when no one really doubted it in the first place.”
“Never been a fan of ambiguity, Walter.” He could see Underhill had no idea what he meant, so he quickly added, “People act better when they know where they stand. And I’d appreciate it if you made a point of letting your boss know Trammel’s fine was fifty dollars.”
“Why?”
“Just humor me. If I’m wrong, then no harm done. But if I’m right, well, who knows?”
Underhill turned to leave, but stopped before he went outside. “Hope the next time we see each other, it’s under better circumstances, Aaron.”
“Keep Trammel and his friends in line and there’s no reason why that can’t be the case.”
Underhill shut the door behind him and led his twenty men out of town in the direction of the old JT Ranch.
With the prisoner gone, Billy opened the door to let in some of the brisk Montana air. Mackey was glad he did. The jailhouse got awfully musty whenever they had a prisoner. It was twice as bad when that prisoner hadn’t bathed in weeks before his arrest. Trammel had smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a year, so the jail was in more dire need of an airing out than usual.
He watched Billy doff his hat and wave the Boudreauxs down from the scaffolding of the Municipal Building across the street. “Where do you want me to send them next?”
“Send them home,” Mackey said as he went to the stove. “If we need them again, we’ll send for them. No sense in having them sitting around here doing nothing. They’re just as likely to get into a dustup with Trammel and his friends. We’ve already got enough to worry about without that.”
Billy put his hat back on and leaned against the doorway, watching the last of the riders disappear out of view. “You see the way they were mounted? The way they rode?”
“Former cavalrymen most likely,” Mackey said as he refilled his mug. “Just like us.”
“Men like that don’t come cheap,” Billy continued. “They didn’t look like rank and file, either. Every one of them looked like an officer, maybe sergeant at the lowest.”
Mackey put the coffeepot back on the stove. “That was my impression, too.”
“They’re not stragglers or hotheads like Trammel and his friends. They’re like us.”
“No, they’re not,” Mackey said as he sat behind his desk. “They’re not the law. We are.”
Chapter 28
Although a good portion of the Great Northern Hotel was still under construction, at least the office had been finished. It was here where James Grant liked to hold meetings that were not entirely suitable to be held in the gloomy, rarified confines of Van Dorn House. He used the Great Northern as the place where he met with tradesmen and businessmen looking to buy property or rent space in one of the Dover Station Company’s many buildings, both existing and planned.
It was also where he met with the men he thought of as his Roughnecks. He never publicly referred to them as that, of course, not even in his private papers. For Grant believed that to name a thing was to own it, and he had no desire to assert any ownership of such men. They were unlike the former cavalry officers he had hired to work under Walter Underhill’s police force. Those men were professionals and came at a heavy price.
On the contrary, his Roughnecks were disposable. He used them to run minor errands for him, along with the occasional intimidation tactics on various people who needed a good scare put into them. Men like Trammel, Harrah, and Clarke served this purpose nicely.
He had sent them to collect Aaron Mackey in the hopes one of them would provoke the sheriff to shoot one of them, perhaps killing all three. The higher the body count, the better it would have been for him. He could claim the sheriff had overreacted and the time had come for him to resign from office immediately.
Heads I win. Tails, you lose.
If they had succeeded in bringing him to Van Dorn House, then Grant would have known Mackey was a defeated man who was willing to be bought out. He did not think this would be the case, and he had been proven to be correct.
Again, heads and tails.
But it was in forcing the three men to disarm without killing them that Aaron Mackey had made his first great tactical error as sheriff, at least since James Grant had come to town. For the way he saw it, men like Trammel and the others could only be pushed so far before their pride complicated matters. A slight of pride could only be reckoned by the spillage of blood.
Forcing Trammel, Harrah, and Clarke to disarm in public had deeply scarred the pride of the three Roughnecks sitting before him now.
Grant sat back in his chair and looked at each of the men in turn. Trammel still had not taken a bath, despite his specific orders for the man to do so. But, Grant knew some time with hot water and soap would make the smallish man look less grimy and, therefore, less dangerous. His eyes held the sunken, defeated look of a man who had spent too many nights drowning too many disappointments in a bottle of whiskey. But drink had not yet diminished his skill with a gun or his capacity to terrify people, which was why Grant had hired him in the first place.
Harrah was the middle of the trio in every way. He was taller than Trammel, but shorter and not as broad as Clarke. He was a saddle tramp who had grown tired of life on the trail and was looking for a place to settle permanently, or at least until he got the urge to move on again. Grant knew the type. They dreamed of a home and family, but bristled when the prospects of such grew too real. He was good with a gun and a horse and would serve Grant’s purposes well.
Clarke was the giant of the group. Larger than his two companions in every way, Clarke was also the quietest member of the group. Some could be forgiven for thinking the big man was stupid, but James Grant was not some people. He knew Clarke may not say much, but when he did, his words deserved attention. He was as quiet as Trammel was mouthy. He was also a much more dangerous man than Trammel could ever hope to be. H
e preferred a clean-shaven look and took a bath twice a week. He was far from a dandy, but he appeared more professional than the other two.
How the three of them had come to ride together was beyond Grant’s comprehension or interest. He knew they were loyal to each other and decided to use that loyalty to his own advantage now that Aaron Mackey had become a dire threat to his plans.
Grant looked at Trammel as he spoke. “I hear you had a run-in with the sheriff and his father. In fact, three separate incidents in one day. I think that’s some kind of record.”
Trammel launched into an impassioned defense. “I understand you might be cross with me about that, Mr. Grant, but there weren’t no drinking involved in any of them cases. You can ask the boys here. Nary a drop was present at either time. I promised you I wouldn’t drink while working for you, and I haven’t touched a drop in three weeks.”
Grant suspected that was true. He’d hung around the various saloons with Harrah and Clarke, but none of the barkeeps or ladies could remember seeing him drink. “I’m more concerned about the run-ins than your sobriety, Trammel. The sheriff seems to get the best of you every time you see him. Even his father, for God’s sake. An old man.”
It was Harrah’s turn to speak up. “He might have gray hair, Mr. Grant, but Pappy ain’t no old man. That bastard hits harder than some bulls I’ve come across. And after the way his son shamed us in public, Trammel here had a right to mouth off at the father like he did. Charging the old boy might’ve been wrong, but Trammel paid the price for it, so the scales are balanced on that score.”
Grant raised an eyebrow. “But you still think Mackey is in your debt?”
“Don’t know about no debt,” Trammel said, “but he’s got an ass-whooping coming. You don’t take a man’s firearms from him out here and you sure as hell don’t do it in public without expecting some kind of reaction. And I tend to give it to him. The three of us together.”
Grant looked at Clarke, who up until this point had remained silent. “He speak for you, too?”
“I don’t like going against any sheriff, especially Mackey. But there’s a way of disarming a man that doesn’t show him up in front of the town. If we let him get away with that, then we’re no good to you. We like working for you, Mr. Grant, but we’ve got names of our own to protect. They might not be much, but they’re ours and they’re the only names we’ve got. So, yeah, Trammel speaks for all of us, but we don’t want to cause any trouble for you and your election.”
Trammel spat a long stream of tobacco juice into the cuspidor beside Grant’s desk. “Can’t imagine you want the sheriff to be showing you up like that, neither. Especially since you’ve got Mr. Underhill lined up to be top law dog in this here kennel.”
Had this expression of loyalty come from other men, Grant might have been touched by the sentiment. But given the source, he knew their desire for vengeance was born more from their pride than out of any allegiance to him.
It was just as well. He doubted any of the three would still be alive by this time tomorrow anyway.
He removed a small sack from the top drawer of his desk. It hit with the muted rattle that could only be one thing. Gold. One thousand dollars in gold coins.
All three of the men looked at the bag as if it was the angel of the Lord.
Grant smiled. Gold had that effect on people. People like these men he was about to hire to kill Sheriff Aaron Mackey and Deputy Billy Sunday.
“Now that I’ve got your attention,” Grant said, “here’s what I want you to do. But you’re going to have to do it quickly before we lose the element of surprise.”
* * *
Katherine was already dressed by the time Mackey woke up the following morning. He watched her as she sat in front of the mirror, pinning her hair into a high bun, the way she always wore it when she worked downstairs.
He loved watching her at moments like this and appreciated how she could make even the most normal tasks like fixing one’s hair look graceful.
“Good morning,” she said without stopping. “You’re awake.”
Mackey smiled. “Guess you saw me looking at you in the mirror.”
“No. Just knew you were awake.” She looked back at him as she continued to pin her hair. “You slept very peacefully last night. I can’t remember the last time that happened. What changed?”
Mackey had no reason for it, except pure exhaustion. He had the benefit of an empty jailhouse and confirmation of Grant’s intentions against him. All of the same troubles that faced him yesterday had only compounded in the hours since, yet he felt relieved. Maybe he was finally beginning to lose his mind after all. “Must be the company I keep. Speaking of which, I need Sandborne to stay close for the time being. At least until after Grant is elected.”
She finished with her hair and turned to face him completely. “Why?”
“Things between me and Grant have gotten even worse.” He decided to leave it at that. The more he told her, the more it would upset her, and he didn’t want that to happen. “I’d just feel better if Sandborne was around. I’ll have a talk to him before I leave if you have no objections.”
“Do you really think things are that bad?”
“I think they could get that way,” Mackey said. “Grant knows I’m on to him, and he’s not happy about it. I’ve only got one weakness, and I’m looking at her. I wouldn’t put it past him to use you against me.”
“Between Sandborne and Mr. Lagrange, I’d say I’m in the best of care.” She smiled. “Bet you didn’t think I knew about Mr. Robert Lagrange of New York, but I did. He took me into his confidence after he saw I had given Jessica that note to deliver to you. He’s a brave man. Capable, too.”
“Expensive,” Mackey said. “I’m glad Mr. Rice is footing the bill, otherwise we couldn’t afford him.”
She came to him, sitting on the edge of the bed as she embraced him.
The warmth of her spread throughout his body. He heard himself say, “I saw what you did yesterday. Stepping off the porch like that. Can’t tell you how much that meant to me, especially before meeting Grant like that.”
“That’s why I did it,” she said, holding him tighter. “I thought if you saw I was strong enough to face my fears, you’d be strong enough to hold onto your temper.”
He closed his eyes as he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of her being so close. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he’d been driven to punching the son of a bitch in the face. “I just need you to be careful. And I need you to be on the lookout for something that could be delivered to me here on the post.”
She gently pulled away from him. “What kind of something? A package?”
“A box, as I understand it.” He ran his hand across her cheek. God, how she glowed in the morning light. “If it comes, I need you to send someone for me right away. If I’m not there, then get Billy and give it to him.”
“Is it something important?” she asked. “Something that will make the difference in this fight between you and Grant?”
He did not want to lie to her. He could not lie to her, even if he wanted to. “I hope so. I really do.”
She surprised him by kissing him long and tenderly, driving all thoughts of Grant and deliveries from his mind.
* * *
Joshua Sandborne told him Lagrange was having breakfast alone in the hotel dining room. He found the Pinkerton reading the morning edition of The Dover Station Record with a pot of coffee at his elbow.
Mackey groaned when he saw the headline.
HOW MUCH LAW DOES
DOVER STATION NEED?
Lagrange looked up from the paper. “Makes for some pretty interesting reading, sheriff.” He closed the paper and offered it to him. “Want to read it for yourself?”
By then, Jessica had placed an extra mug of coffee on Lagrange’s table and brought out a fresh pot.
Mackey took a seat. “How about you save me some time by giving me the short version?”
“You already k
new Underhill was running for police chief,” Lagrange said, “which, in my experience, is usually an appointed position, but what do I know? The article talks about how Grant is strongly considering getting rid of your office immediately after his election as mayor. Said it would be fiscally irresponsible for the town to have two law enforcement entities when one would do.”
Mackey drank his coffee. “Article mention anyone else supporting the idea?”
“Former mayor Brian Mason thinks it’s an idea whose time has come. Mr. Van Dorn is also quoted as saying the idea of a sheriff is a quaint notion the town has outgrown thanks to his company’s investment.”
Neither of those were surprises. Mason had always hated him, and Van Dorn’s quote had probably come straight from Grant. “Anyone oppose it?”
“Mayor Ridley thinks the idea of a municipal building and a police department are gross wastes of money that could be spent better elsewhere and sees no reason for a change at this time. Looks like you’ve got at least one friend in town, Aaron.”
Mackey had grown tired of thinking about his future, much less discussing it. “What about you, Robert? You still my friend?”
“Until I get a telegram from New York telling me to board the next train home, I am.” He set his mug down. “You got my message about the riders last night?”
“The same ones who paid me a visit yesterday. They came to collect that loudmouth Trammel.”
“From what I heard by nosing around yesterday,” Lagrange said, “that boy is a handful. He’s a big talker and can mostly back it up. The other two who ride with him are called Harrah and Clarke. They’re even more capable than Trammel, but not by much.”
“You look worried,” Mackey said. “Don’t think I can handle them?”
“I’m not worried,” Lagrange said. “I get paid whether you live or die, though I’ve grown fond enough of you to hope you live.”
Mackey held up a hand. “Don’t start getting all weepy on me. I left my handkerchief in my other coat.”
Dark Territory Page 24
