As he walked down the stairs to the saloon, Trammel wondered if he was becoming the same way. Had his focus narrowed so much that all he cared about was Lilly? Did he care too much for her to do his job properly?
He rounded the last flight of stairs and heard the unmistakable cackle that could only belong to Adam Hagen. He continued down the remaining steps, fully expecting to be noticed by Hagen and whoever he was drinking with.
He was not disappointed.
“Now would you just look at that,” Hagen boomed to the empty saloon. “Our fearless champion rising at the crack of noon to tend to his duties. After an evening of many splendors with the proprietress of this establishment, no doubt.”
He had no choice but to go see what Hagen was up to. He walked through the saloon and saw that it was not completely empty. Big Ben was helping the new bartender set up the place for the evening. Fred Montague, the bank president, was there, too. He was drinking alone at a table by the bar. That was all wrong to Trammel. Montague liked his whiskey as much as the next man in town, but he never came in before noon. Seeing him drinking alone so early in the day seemed strange. But maybe not so strange, because Adam Hagen was there.
He walked to the table where the fair-haired Hagen was sharing a bottle of whiskey with the darker and dour Lucien Clay. At least now he knew where the fancy coach had come from. Clay had always been about as subtle as a dead dog in the middle of Main Street. As unavoidable as it was unpleasant.
“What are you doing here, Hagen?” Trammel asked. “It was a lot quieter around here when you were sick in bed.”
“Perhaps, but it was a lot duller without me out and about.” He gestured toward the dour man sitting across from him. “I’m sure you remember my guest and business partner, Mr. Lucien Clay of Laramie.”
Trammel did not like the way the dark-eyed man looked up at him. He had never liked Lucien Clay to begin with. “Same question I asked Hagen goes for you, too, Clay. What are you doing here?”
“Your mind must be elsewhere, Sheriff.” Clay flicked the bottle of whiskey. “What does it look like we’re doing?”
“I mean what are you doing in Blackstone. I take it that fancy coach outside belongs to you.”
“It certainly does,” Clay sneered. “Partnering with your friend Hagen, here, has made me a very rich man. I’d tell you to smarten up and get in while the getting is good, but you’re not smart enough to listen, so I won’t bother.”
The sass from Clay was beginning to annoy him. Trammel knew he was baiting him but did not care. “He’s not my friend and neither of you have answered my question. I won’t ask it again.”
Hagen said, “We’re discussing business, Buck. The kind of business I’ve already discussed with you. You’re more than welcome to pull up a chair and join us. Just ask Ben for another glass and a bottle and we’ll be more than happy to tell you all about it.”
Trammel did not entertain the idea for a second. “No thanks, Hagen. I’m much better at fixing messes than causing them.”
“Yes.” Hagen looked genuinely disappointed. “I was afraid you might still think that way.”
“Who needs him?” Clay said. “Besides, I got a good look at the girl who runs this place when she got off the train in Laramie. And if I had a chance with a gal like that, I wouldn’t care about much either.” He looked up at Trammel. “How much is she anyway? Or does she give you a discount on account of you being the sheriff?”
Hagen slammed his fist on the table just as Trammel’s temper began to rise. He was admonishing Clay for his crassness and for talking about Miss Lilly in such a deplorable manner.
But Trammel only heard bits and pieces of it over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.
He felt Fred Montague and Ben looking at him, which broke the spell of rage that had fallen over him.
Hagen was spilling over with apologies for Clay’s behavior when Trammel’s left hand shot out and snatched Clay by the throat. Trammel’s hands were big enough to get a good hold of his neck on the first try.
Clay gurgled as the sheriff pulled him out of the chair, toppling it over. He tried to get his feet under him while Trammel dragged him across the saloon toward the front door. Clay held on to Trammel’s arm as his heels scraped across the floor, trying in vain to wriggle free from his grip. But neither Trammel’s grip nor step faltered.
Once out on the boardwalk, Trammel pointed to the coach driver down Main Street in front of the jail.
Clay’s struggles began to grow weaker as Trammel pointed at the driver and yelled, “You!” He pointed at a spot in front of him on Main Street. “Here! Now!”
The coachman released the brake and snapped his four-horse team to life. They sped along Main Street until the driver brought them up short on the spot Trammel had indicated.
The coachman was as wide-eyed as the team he drove, but when he began to climb down to help his employer, the sheriff said, “Don’t!”
Trammel jerked Clay to his feet as if he were a rag doll before hurling him against the coach door. The impact was hard enough to send him bounding off the door and straight into a punch Trammel threw that connected squarely with his jaw. Clay landed flat on the boardwalk, out cold.
Trammel flung open the coach’s door, grabbed Clay by the back of the pants and collar, and tossed him into the coach like he was a sack of barley. Trammel shut the door and went around to the front to confront the driver. “You as stupid as you look?”
“I—I don’t think so.”
“Good, because when your boss wakes up, you be sure to give him a message from me. Tell him if he mentions Lilly again, I’ll kill him. If he comes back to Blackstone, I’ll kill him. If I see him in Laramie, he’d better get inside or I’ll kill him. You be sure to remind him of that if his pride sets to eating at him in the next day or so. You get all that?”
“Y-y-yes, sir,” the coachman stammered. “I’ll remember it. All of it.”
“Good. And if I see this coach in town again, I burn it, and you along with it. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
The last word had no sooner left Trammel’s mouth when the coachman cracked the reins and got the team moving again.
Trammel flexed his left hand as he watched the wagon speed away on the road back down to Laramie. He was pretty sure he had not crushed Clay’s windpipe but did not especially care if he had. Sheriff Moran down in Laramie would be glad to be rid of him, and he doubted the territorial marshal would raise much of a fuss over the death of a cancer like Lucien Clay.
But Clay was only partly to blame for what had just happened. Hagen was the one who had brought the man to Blackstone in the first place. He needed to learn his lesson, too. Maybe not as harshly as he had taught Clay, but hard enough for it to stick.
Trammel turned to go back into the saloon but found Big Ben London standing in his way. He almost filled the doorway.
“It’s all over now,” Trammel told Ben. “I’m going in to see Hagen.”
But Ben did not move.
Trammel caught the hint of a challenge in his eyes. “I’m the sheriff of this town and I’m telling you to get out of my way.”
Still, Ben did not move.
Trammel slowly closed the distance between them until they were less than a foot from each other. He imagined the day when they had to face off would come, but he had not expected today to be that day. “We going to do this already?”
Ben balled his fists at his sides until they cracked.
Trammel figured now was as good a time as any until he heard Lilly scream from inside, “Stop it, both of you.” She was small enough to squeeze past Ben and the doorway he blocked. She was clutching her nightgown closed as she got in between them and pushed both men farther away from each other. “Stop this nonsense right now. What the hell has gotten into you two? You’re friends, remember?”
Trammel and Ben kept glaring at each other. “Ask him. All I was trying to do was get back inside to talk to Hagen.”
> Ben did not look away as he made some motions with his hands that Lilly seemed to understand. “He said you started trouble in the bar, so you don’t get to come back in.”
“Remind him I’m sheriff of this town and I go where I please.”
Lilly translated another series of motions from the bouncer. “He said this place is different. No one starts trouble in here. Not even you.”
Trammel was more than willing to keep up the staring contest. “Tell him to move or he’s going to jail. And I’m going to take him there. One way or another.”
She placed both hands on Ben’s face and pulled his head down to look at her. “Let him by, Ben. Everything is fine. No more trouble. Please.”
Ben gave Trammel a final look before he went back inside. The sheriff could have sworn the big man was grinning.
Lilly pushed Trammel. “What’s wrong with you? Acting like that?”
From inside the saloon, Hagen said, “It’s not entirely his fault, Lilly. Lucien goaded him into it by saying something ugly about you. Buck might’ve been a bit harsh, but I don’t blame him one bit. Buck, I hope you’ll accept my apology on his behalf.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” Lilly said. “First I get woken up by hearing Buck yelling in the street, then I come down to find this mess. How did it all start?”
“Doesn’t matter how it started,” Trammel said. “It’s how it ends, and it ends right now.” He pointed at Hagen, who was standing alone in the middle of the saloon. Fred Montague was nowhere in sight. “You and me are going to have a talk. Right now.”
“No, we’re not,” Hagen said. “Not until you’ve calmed down some.”
The anger that had begun to ebb in him started to flow again. “I’m in no mood for your games or your mouth, Hagen. Get out here. Now.”
But Hagen remained still. “Not until I know you won’t hit me. I warned you about what would happen the next time you laid a hand on me, Buck, and that still goes.” He placed his left hand on the pistol holstered at his side.
Lilly screamed as Trammel pulled her behind him as he yanked the Colt Peacemaker from under his left arm. He aimed it at Hagen, whose gun was already out and aimed at Trammel.
“I’m just a little bit slower with my left hand than my right,” Hagen said, “but I’m still faster than you. You’re entitled to answers and I’ll be more than happy to give them to you, but not when you’re like this. You name the time and I’ll meet you at the jailhouse. But now is not the time.”
Trammel knew Hagen was every bit as deadly as he thought he was. He would shoot if it came down to it, and he would shoot to kill. Trammel doubted the first bullet would kill him before he got a shot off, but he was not eager to test that theory.
Lilly placed her hand gently on Trammel’s arm. “Please, Steve. He’s right. You’re too angry right now to have a sensible conversation. Let everything calm down for a while before you talk to Adam.” She pressed herself closer to him and laid her head on his back. Her hand remained on his arm but did not move. “Please. If not for you or for Hagen, do it for me.”
As if on cue, both men lowered their pistols at exactly the same time. Hagen slid his Colt in its holster and Trammel tucked his away in the holster under his arm.
Lilly wrapped her arms around Trammel’s waist as tight as she could, but Trammel was still too focused on Hagen to notice. “I’ll be down at the jail for the rest of the day, Hagen. I’ll expect you before nightfall. If you don’t come to me, I’ll come looking for you.”
“I’ll be there well before dusk,” Hagen said. “You have my word.”
“Your word,” Trammel repeated. “That just makes everything better, doesn’t it?”
He kissed Lilly on the top of the head and walked toward the jail. He had work to do.
CHAPTER 10
John Bookman could not remember the last time he had seen Charles Hagen laugh so hard or be so happy. He had asked Bookman to repeat the events that had happened at the Gilded Lily three times. Each time he seemed to find something new to laugh about. This was especially rare because Bookman knew he was not a particularly good storyteller. He was just repeating the gossip he had heard from the ranch cook, who had been in town at the time, buying supplies.
King Charles wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “The only way that could’ve been better is if the two of them wound up killing each other at the end. And you’re absolutely certain you don’t know if Clay is dead or alive?”
“Cookie said he had a good angle on the whole thing from Robertson’s store,” Bookman told him for the third time. “He said he’d never seen a man get hit so hard by another human being, which is saying something, because Cookie’s seen his fair share of the world.”
Mr. Hagen puffed on his cigar as he sat back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. The picture of a happy man. “Remind me to send word to Fred Montague tomorrow. I want him to head down to Laramie to find out Clay’s condition. I’m sorry my nephew and the sheriff didn’t kill each other, but I’d settle for knowing that whoremonger was dead.” A new thought came to him. “No, not dead. Incapacitated. Crippled would suffice. Actually, crippled would be preferable.” He smiled at Bookman. “Can you imagine their partnership then? A one-armed dope peddler and a mute whoremonger.”
He slapped the arm of his chair and howled at his own joke. Bookman figured if the wind was right, they could probably hear him all the way down in town.
After this round of laughter was over, Mr. Hagen composed himself. “Sorry about all this hilarity, Bookman, but there’s been damned little enjoyment around here of late. Let’s get back to the business at hand. How are the new men working out?”
Bookman hesitated to tell him because he knew this part would kill his good mood. But Bookman was a worse liar than he was a storyteller, so he told him the truth. “I hate to have to tell you this, Mr. Hagen, but they’re not much for saddle work. The ten original hands we’ve got left have been working extra to bring the twenty new men in line. I don’t know what they were up to back on that ranch they worked in Kansas, but it’s a miracle that patch made as much as a cent.”
“What exactly is the problem? Are they surly? Shiftless?”
“Can’t say that about them, sir,” Bookman reported. “They’re as polite as you could expect and get to whatever I ask them to do as soon as I ask it. They do their best, but wrangling livestock isn’t their strength. They’re comfortable in the saddle, but it’s the little things that show they don’t know what they’re doing. And not one of them can handle a cutting horse. The poor horse does all the work and that’s just out of pure habit. It’ll only be a matter of time before they get lazy and forget what we taught them. Then we’ll be stuck with worthless workhorses, and worthless horsemen, too.”
Bookman had expected Mr. Hagen to lose his temper. Instead, he just kept puffing on the cigar, as content as a calf pulling from its mama’s teat. Bookman was beginning to wonder if his employer was starting to go a little funny in the head.
Mr. Hagen cut loose with a snootful of smoke and watched it trail up toward the ceiling. He flicked his ash in the ashtray on his desk before looking at Bookman. “Well, I suppose the time has come to tell you everything, John. You’re a hard, loyal worker for me and you deserve the truth. You see, those boys we hired from Kansas weren’t brought all this way for their roping skills. True, I was led to believe they were better ranch hands than they’ve turned out to be, but I’m not surprised by their performance.”
Bookman had never thought of himself as a particularly clever man, but he knew he was not stupid either. He understood what Mr. Hagen was telling him. It was just that what he was saying did not make any sense. “If you didn’t hire them to tend the livestock, what did you hire them for?”
“They’re here because we’ll be needing them,” Mr. Hagen said. “Especially after tonight. Because tonight is the night when my nephew learns what happens when you prod a bear once too often.”
Now Bookman und
erstood him fully. “Just tell me what you need done and it’s done, sir.”
“Good man. I need you to take three of the new boys with you. I’m told every single one of the new bunch has killed more than his share of men in his time. I want three of them to ride the fastest horses we have into town. I want them at the mouth of the alley where the laudanum den is located. I want you around back of the den, setting fire to the canvas. And I want the three in the alley to shoot every single one of them that comes running out. Heathen and white man alike, I don’t care. When they’ve emptied their rifles, they’re to hop on their horses and ride back here. You too. I want you out of there as soon as the flames take to the canvas. When Trammel comes around asking questions, which he undoubtedly will, I’ll tell him all of my men were present and accounted for right here on the ranch that night. He probably won’t believe me, but that’ll be just too bad for him. He won’t have any proof that it was us and besides, he’ll have enough trouble dealing with the dead and dying as it is, not to mention the damned fools who’ll be roaming the town begging for whiskey once their laudanum burns up.”
Bookman knew he had to choose his next words most carefully or risk Mr. Hagen losing patience with him. “You can consider that place burned, sir, but even that won’t be enough to make Adam go away. He still owns all the saloons in town, and those new houses on Buffalo Street. He’ll miss what he makes off the smoke, sure, but the rest will be enough to keep him afloat for a while.”
Bookman saw a flash of annoyance in his boss’s eyes and feared he had pushed him too far. But his annoyance was quickly replaced by patience. “You’re absolutely right, John. He has many interests in town, but none as lucrative as his laudanum trade. And the heathens he employs will be angry that my nephew failed to protect them, as promised. They will likely turn on him and may take his life. One can only hope. If they don’t, Lucien Clay will, as he and my nephew are partners. Perhaps it will only be a minor inconvenience for Adam. If so, your efforts will still be worth it. Any way it goes, it will remind my nephew who really runs Blackstone.”
The Intruders Page 8
