Trammel had seen Emily treat all sorts of wounds and injuries since he had come to Blackstone, but he had never seen her care for someone in this condition.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she said as she stroked Bookman’s forehead. “Why did he just lie here like this? Why didn’t he get up and try to put himself out? Even if he got thrown from his horse, he should’ve been able to flip over. Or cry out. Something.”
But Trammel had a good idea why and surprised himself by saying it. “That’s because his neck was already broken when he caught fire. He probably couldn’t feel it.”
“Bad bit of business,” Springfield said as he gagged on the stench. “Never figured Bookman would ever get bucked off a horse. I always thought he’d been born on a saddle.”
“He didn’t get bucked off,” Trammel said. “Just like he didn’t get burned by accident either. Big Ben did this. And he’d better have a damned good reason why.”
Trammel turned when he heard several horses riding his way and saw King Charles Hagen leading Hawkeye and five other men from the Blackstone Ranch.
Hagen absentmindedly handed the reins of his horse to Hawkeye as he slowly climbed down from the saddle. The proud man took timid steps toward the burned thing on the ground that was all that remained of his right-hand man.
He took off his hat and whispered, “John. Is that you? Good God.”
Trammel knew there was no time to waste. “He’s fading fast, Hagen. You’d better get over here and speak to him now while you’ve got the chance.”
Hagen quickened his pace and reluctantly knelt beside Bookman, wanting to touch him but unsure of where he could place his hand without hurting him.
Emily moved away as she said, “He’s been asking for you, but his voice is weak. You’ll have to get in close to hear him.”
Hagen surprised Trammel by lying flat on the ground next to the dying man and putting his ear close to him. “I’m here, John. Tell me who did this to you.”
Trammel was too far away to hear what Bookman whispered, but he saw his eyes flutter open and shut from the effort. When he was done, he did his best to turn his face away from his boss and cough a deep, rasping cough before continuing.
Trammel watched King Charles Hagen’s eyes dim as Bookman finished rasping to him. The cattleman got to his feet and wiped the tears from his eyes before drawing his pistol.
“He wants me to end it for him,” Charles told the crowd. “Please stand back and allow me to grant him his wish.”
Springfield was only too glad to move away and take his torch with him.
Emily moved behind Trammel, who remained where he was, providing enough light for Hagen to do what everyone knew needed to be done.
The cattle baron’s hand shook as he aimed the pistol down at Bookman. His voice cracked as he said, “God bless you, John. You were the finest friend I ever had.”
Hagen’s hand stopped trembling just before he fired and put John Bookman out of his misery.
The solemn moment was shattered by the sound of clapping.
Trammel looked up to see Adam Hagen standing at the back door of the Pot of Gold.
“How touching,” Adam mocked. “Fitting, though. A loyal dog should be put down by his master.”
King Charles did not react, still too taken by the smoldering sight of his best man.
Trammel quickly moved between the two men. “Get inside, Adam. Right now.”
“And miss such a touching moment?” He dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief before loudly blowing his nose into it. “After all, it’s not every day a man gets to see a king laid so low.”
Trammel noticed Hagen’s left hand was already resting on his belt, close to his pistol. “I told you to get back inside. Don’t make me tell you again.”
Charles Hagen was still looking at Bookman’s body when he said, “You.” His voice was low, like the sound of distant thunder rolling across the plains. “You did this to him. You’re responsible.”
“Me?” Adam said, feigning shock. “I did no such thing. I didn’t even know he was back here until Springfield told us about it. Ask Trammel and the good doctor over there if you don’t believe me. He was already crispy by the time I got here.”
Charles began to turn, raising his pistol as Trammel grabbed him and forced his hand down. The older man was much stronger than Trammel had expected him to be. “No, sir. Not now. Not this way.”
“Step aside, Trammel,” Charles growled. “This is none of your concern.”
“Yes, Buck,” Adam encouraged. “Step aside. Let’s end this now while the moment’s fresh.”
Trammel struggled to keep hold of Charles while he told Adam, “Will you shut that damned mouth of yours for once?”
Trammel tightened his grip on Charles’s gunhand and kept it pointed away. “Let me handle this my way. The legal way.”
“How dare you talk to me about laws when a good man has been burned to death like a pig?” The rancher’s voice trembled with rage. “I don’t give a damn about you or your laws. I care about Bookman. Now he’s dead and that rat is to blame. Get out of my way and let me do what needs doing.” His eyes dimmed as a new thought came to him. “Or should I have my men do it instead?”
Trammel heard the sound of guns clearing leather and hammers being cocked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawkeye had turned to face them and already had them covered.
“Let’s not do anything hasty, boys,” his deputy warned.
Charles Hagen told Trammel, “You’d best get that idiot out of the way if you don’t want him killed.”
Emily surprised Trammel by walking past them both, into the middle of the fray and stepping onto the porch in front of Adam Hagen.
“Come, Adam,” she said. “It’s time to go inside. You’re being cruel.”
Trammel held King Charles’s glare, willing Adam to do what Emily had said and go inside. He almost allowed himself to breathe again when he heard their footfalls on the boardwalk as she eased him back into the saloon.
He was relieved to hear the cacophony of hammers being lowered as the men from the Blackstone Ranch put away their guns.
But none of the anger had left Charles Hagen yet.
Trammel was not accustomed to pleading, but given the circumstances, he decided to give it a try. “Let the law handle this, Mr. Hagen. Let me handle this.”
“You?” Charles sneered. “You’re his friend. You’re in this with him.”
“No, I’m not,” Trammel told him. “You know that.”
The elder Hagen searched the sheriff’s eyes and, finally, some slack came to his gunhand. “I know.”
Trammel slowly released his grip on the man and put his pistol back in its holster.
“Now, I’ve got a good idea of what happened here tonight,” the sheriff told him, “but I need you to let me find out for certain. Give me a day—two at most—and you’ll know everything I do.”
“The truth,” Charles said, as if it was a threat.
“And nothing but the truth,” Trammel confirmed. “You’ll get it all. If Adam or any of his people are guilty, he’ll stand trial for it. I can promise you that.” He looked at him closer so he could see his sincerity. “You’ve got my solemn oath on that. And my personal promise. If Adam’s guilty, he’ll hang.”
Charles Hagen glared past Trammel at the back door, where Adam had been standing. “You know this isn’t over. You know I won’t let this stand.”
Trammel moved to block his view. “And neither will I.”
Charles Hagen looked back down at Bookman’s smoldering corpse. “He deserved better than to die like this.”
Trammel did not think so. The man had threatened to kill him on more than one occasion, but now was not the time to open old wounds. There were more than enough fresh wounds to tend to. “There are three more dead men to see to at the mouth of the alley. I’d wager they were your men, too. Hawkeye, here, will escort you around to take a look at them and collect them if you want. You ca
n leave a man here with Bookman until you’re ready to take him away. I’m asking you not to bury John until Emily has had a chance to look him over in the morning. She’ll be there first thing and I’ll be with her.”
“Come whenever you want,” Charles Hagen said as he walked back toward his horse. “I won’t sleep tonight anyway.”
Trammel caught Hawkeye’s eye and gave him a nod of approval. The young man nodded back. He had shown more grit than Trammel thought he had.
Hagen ordered one of his men to stay with Bookman while the rest of them rounded the corner to head back toward Main Street to collect the others.
The young man looked at Trammel and swallowed hard. “You won’t have any trouble from me, Sheriff. I promise.”
“Good,” Trammel said as he headed into the Pot of Gold. “There’s been enough trouble tonight already.”
CHAPTER 17
Trammel checked Hagen’s office at the back of the saloon, but there was no sign of him or Emily. He shoved his way through the crowd around the bar and got Springfield’s attention. He was already telling his customers what he had done and looked unhappy about the interruption.
“Whiskey,” he told him. “And not that panther piss you serve these idiots. Something good from Hagen’s stock.”
Springfield looked at him. “Never took you for a drinking man, Sheriff. You sure?”
Trammel glared at him until the bartender realized the sheriff was most definitely sure.
Springfield took a decanter from the top shelf and the sipping glass that was next to it and set both of them in front of him. Trammel took the glass top from the decanter and sniffed it before pouring it almost up to the rim. He put the container back on the bar and sipped his drink.
It was indeed the good stuff, and he felt the smokey burn hit the back of his throat before the warmth reached all the way down to his gut. The taste should have turned his stomach, especially after the grisly scene he had just witnessed with Bookman, but it did not. It had been a long time since he had needed a drink, truly needed it, but that night had called for it.
Trammel could feel events getting ahead of him, and the liquor was the only thing he knew that could slow it down. Tempers were running high all over town and he could not afford to let his own get in the way of doing his job. An element of fear and danger rippled through the Pot of Gold that night. By tomorrow it would be a tangible thing felt throughout the entire town. Everyone would be on edge, waiting to see what King Charles did next. Adam Hagen’s saloons would be waiting for something to happen and one cross word could kick the whole thing off.
It galled Trammel because this was exactly what Adam had been working for since the day they had come to Blackstone. He had done everything he could to poke and prod Charles Hagen every chance he got. And what chances did not present themselves, he had created. He had been prodding the old man long enough and now it had come to a head. Mike Albertson’s marches. The hopheads wandering the street. The corruption of the men from the Blackstone Ranch. The buying up of available mines. Bringing Lucien Clay and his Laramie bunch into the thick of it.
Trammel knew this was what Adam Hagen wanted and it was up to him to stop it from happening. Him and a single, rawboned deputy.
He felt his mind beginning to race again, so he took another sip of booze to slow it down.
One of the men Trammel had pushed out of the way to get to the bar cleared his throat and said loudly, “Hey, boys. Is it me, or do you all smell something burning?”
Some of the drunks suppressed laughter, which only encouraged the idiot to keep talking. “It’s a familiar smell that I can’t quite figure. Can you, boys?”
More boozy snickers.
The man snapped his fingers. “I know what it is. Smells like a pig roast. Yes, sir. Barbecued Bookman is what it smells like.”
The snickers broke out into full-blown laughter all around Trammel.
The sheriff ignored it and sipped his whiskey.
He heard the loudmouth sniff loudly. “I couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but I think I’ve got it figured out now. It’s coming from our big, old sheriff over here.”
Encouraged by the laughter of his friends, the man leaned on the bar next to Trammel. Judging by the coal dust on his face and beard, the sheriff figured him for a miner. He only came up to about Trammel’s shoulder, but he had the thick, powerful build of a miner. “What about it, Sheriff? That Bookman dust you washing down with that fine whiskey?”
From his spot behind the bar, Springfield looked nervous. “Mister, if you want to kill yourself, do it somewhere else. I’d leave this man alone if I were you.”
But Trammel put Springfield at ease. “Why would I be mad? He’s not wrong. He knows what happened out back.” He turned his head and looked down at the man. “Why don’t you go out and take a look at him for yourself. That’ll cure your hunger pretty quick.”
“Didn’t come here to eat, Sheriff,” the miner persisted. “I came here to drink, and that’s a mighty hard thing for me to do with you reeking of dead man like you do.”
Trammel looked him up and down before turning back to his whiskey. “Then drink. No one’s stopping you.”
“Now, see,” the miner continued. “That’s where you and me have what you might call a disagreement on account that I was doing that very thing when you pushed me out of the way without even a word of apology. I don’t think that’s polite, and this here is a polite place, ain’t it, boys?”
His friends agreed with him, though judging by the sound, Trammel heard fewer of them do so this time.
“So, Mr. Lawman, I’d like for you to apologize to me and my friends for disturbing our evening.”
Trammel sipped his whiskey and filled the glass again. “No, you don’t.”
“What was that?” The miner cocked an ear in his direction. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch that. Guess working for a living in the mines has dulled my hearing some.”
Trammel put the top back in the decanter and motioned for Springfield to take it away, which he quickly did.
“You don’t want an apology,” Trammel said as he looked at his glass. “You want a fight. You and your friends have a bellyful of whiskey and not an ounce of common sense between you. You figure you can ride me until I set to swinging, so all of you can join in. Maybe you’ll win.” Trammel shrugged. “Maybe I’ll win. But either way, you’ll lose.”
Trammel heard the men behind him back away even farther, but the loudmouth remained next to him.
“Well, now, Sheriff. I know you might not think much of us working men, but even I’m not dumb enough to pick a fight with a man with a star on his chest and a gun on his hip.”
Trammel sipped his whiskey and set the glass back on the bar. “The star comes off easy enough. The gunbelt, too. So, if that’s what you want, just say the word. I’ll be more than happy to put them both on the bar and your friends can enjoy their drinks while they watch me beat you to death.”
The miner clearly had not expected that.
Trammel enjoyed his confusion and remained focused on his whiskey. “You think you’re the first little man I’ve come up against in a saloon? Some gasbag who was just drunk enough to think he could get over on me. Well, I’ve got news for you, friend. You’re not. And no amount of goading or prodding from you is going to make me lose my temper and start swinging. So, if it’s a fight you want, I’m in the mood to give you one, but be a man about it.”
Trammel looked at the man for the second time. “But you’d best make sure your affairs are in order, because when I start in on you, I won’t stop until you’re dead.”
He went back to his drink. “So, either call it or go away.”
Trammel did not give the miner another thought. And by the time he had finished with his second glass of whiskey, the miner and his friends were gone.
Trammel pushed the empty glass toward Springfield. “Where’s Hagen?”
But the bartender was still taken by his run-in with the
miner. “Sheriff, I thought that was going to go another way.”
“I didn’t,” Trammel said. “Hagen. Where is he?”
Springfield swallowed hard. “He and Doc Emily went to Doc Moore’s place to check on Big Ben. It’s the new storefront between the Vic and the Brand.”
Trammel pushed himself away from the bar and walked out of the saloon. And this time, no one got in his way.
* * *
Trammel found Hagen and Emily at Doc Moore’s office. Lilly was there, too, clutching a shawl around her bare shoulders.
“Steve!” she exclaimed and threw her arms around him. “Thank God you’re all right. I was worried.”
Trammel could not swear to it, but he thought he saw Emily roll her eyes.
“I’m fine.” Trammel nodded toward Ben. “He going to live?”
He had seen the place being built, but had not known what it was for. Hagen was always cagey about it when asked and now he knew why. Dr. Jacob Moore had not just stumbled upon Blackstone. He had been sent for by Adam Hagen, which meant he was there for a reason. One of Hagen’s reasons.
Hagen and Emily were in the back, watching Moore sewing up the hole Trammel had put in Ben’s shoulder. The silent man glared at him through the pain.
“You’ve missed the show, I’m afraid,” Hagen greeted him. “As you can see, the good doctor here is almost done cleaning up after you. The wound was a bit more serious than we first believed. A few hairs to the right and you may have nicked an artery.”
“Like I said,” Trammel reminded him, “I was aiming for his head.”
“Buck!” Emily and Lilly chided him in unison.
The Intruders Page 13
