The Intruders

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “I would have lost that arm if it were not for you,” Hagen continued, “and I’d like to pay you back for your efforts by making it official. I want you to be able to practice medicine officially anywhere in the country, or to continue to do so right here in Blackstone should you choose. With all of the new people my mill will bring to town, I expect we’ll need more than one doctor pretty soon. I’d love it if you and Dr. Moore could even go into practice together one day.”

  Trammel leaned on a filing cabinet. “Why the sudden generosity?”

  “Gratitude,” Hagen said, “and these marches Albertson has held have had something of an effect on me. The suffragettes most of all. I believe women should be encouraged to enter the medical field, and not just as nurses. You deserve that chance and I would be honored if you would allow me to pay your way through medical school. I’ve already made arrangements with the Clearview Medical College in Colorado. They’re willing to take your experience into account and allow you to take a four-month course. Assuming you pass their exams, which I believe you will, you’ll be awarded a formal medical degree that will allow you to practice medicine anywhere you wish. You won’t only be called doctor by default, but by fact.” He finished the offer with his best smile. “So, what do you say?”

  Trammel had a lot to say but knew it was not his place to say it. This was a decision for Emily to make, not him.

  “This is all highly irregular, Adam,” she said. “One minute I’m examining Fred and the next you’re talking about medical school. Your timing is suspect at best.”

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Trammel added.

  Hagen’s smile did not fade as he looked at both of them. “I brought it up only because the matter of determining cause of death came up. It need not take effect immediately. You still retain the right to issue a determination in Montague’s case, and in Bookman’s case, too. But afterward, Jacob Moore will be assuming those duties. Any certificate you issue will ultimately be signed by him. The territory officials have already signed off on the matter.”

  Trammel could tell Emily was slightly overwhelmed by all that had just happened, which was probably his game. He was not one to allow a good crisis to go to waste. “Emily’s got a lot of work to do. Let her do her job and she can talk to you about it later.”

  “Of course,” Hagen said, and he joined Trammel as they walked toward the back door of Montague’s office. “But if you think of it, say a prayer for poor Charles. He’s lost two lapdogs in less than a day. It’s a great loss, even for a king.”

  Trammel traded looks with Emily as he followed Hagen out into the alley. He was usually able to read her emotions pretty well, but just then, he was not able to do so. Leaving her alone to do her job was the best thing under the circumstances.

  Trammel shut the door behind him and found Hagen was already a good distance away from him.

  “Remember what I said about the laying on of hands,” Hagen reminded him.

  Trammel was glad the threat of violence still held power over him. “Now you’re the one who’s suspicious.”

  “Careful, is all,” Hagen said. “I know how you get when you’re angry, particularly where your women are involved.”

  “Emily’s not mine,” Trammel said as he led them onto Main Street. They turned right and avoided the crowd that had gathered outside the bank. “She’s made that perfectly clear.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Hagen said. “It’s not your fault, you know. Or Emily’s. People can’t change who they are, Buck. Not really.”

  But Trammel did not want to talk about Emily. Not with Hagen or anyone else. He had more important things on his mind. “I’m going to ask this once. Not as a lawman. Not as a sheriff. Not even as your former friend, but as someone who might wind up in the middle of something if you and Charles go at it. I want the truth, and you have my word I won’t arrest you no matter what you say. Do you believe me?”

  Hagen let out a heavy sigh. “Your word means more to me than any man’s I’ve ever known. I hope you believe that. So yes, I believe you, and I’ll tell you the truth.”

  “Did you kill Montague and make it look like a suicide? Did you have someone do it for you?”

  “No,” Hagen said immediately. “I’m not sorry he’s dead, but I didn’t kill him or have him killed.” He seemed to struggle with this next bit. “But I can’t say in all good conscience that I might not have contributed to the reason he did it.”

  Trammel wanted to ask more but doubted Hagen would tell him that. He was already pushing the bounds of the man’s honesty. “What about Albertson? Did you bring him here?”

  “I most certainly did not,” Hagen declared. “I always thought Father—I mean, my uncle—had something to do with that. I never met a freighter who didn’t like women and whiskey or money. That crooked-backed snake can’t be bought with any currency at hand. That tells me he’s not what he appears to be. I’ve even asked Lucien to look into the matter for me, but I haven’t had much luck on that score.”

  In the midst of all this chaos, he had forgotten all about Lucien Clay. “Any word from him on how he’s doing?”

  “After the beating you gave him?” Hagen laughed. “I doubt I’ll hear from him for a while, if at all. No matter. I control our partnership, so he’ll do as I say. Assuming he’s still alive of course.”

  “And what about Ben?” Trammel pushed. “He been working for you this entire time he was with Lilly?”

  “Everything I said about that last night was true,” Hagen said. “He’s been loyal to her all this time and played no part in her decision to come to Blackstone. Now, did I bring her here knowing he’d come with her? Yes, but my interests never conflicted with her own. Now that he’s here, he’s keeping an eye on things for me, too. So you could say he worked as my agent when Bookman tried to burn down the den last night.”

  “And killed three men from the Blackstone Ranch,” Trammel reminded him.

  “In matters of violence, he’s equal only to you,” Hagen said. “I hope I never have to find out which one of you is better, for I fear neither of you will walk away unscathed.”

  Trammel stopped walking and allowed a couple of townspeople to pass by before he told Hagen, “I know there’s trouble coming, Hagen. I can smell it on the wind. I know you’re going to have a hand in it, and this big march on Saturday doesn’t help matters much. I don’t know how you’re planning to go after Charles, and I don’t want to know. I don’t care which one of you wins either. But whatever you do, keep it off Main Street. If there’s killing to be done, do it up there. However it turns out, you’ve got my word that I’ll follow the law and go wherever the facts take me. Understand?”

  “Only a fool would expect anything less, Sheriff Trammel. And you may rest assured I am not a fool.”

  Trammel looked around when he heard his name called out and saw Mayor Welch and Rick Rhoades from the Bugle crossing the thoroughfare toward him.

  The sheriff closed his eyes. “Just what I need.”

  Hagen tipped his hat. “I’ll leave you to tend to the affairs of state. And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For giving me your word,” Hagen said. “I know it’s not given lightly, and I appreciate the effort.”

  He went on his way as the mayor and the reporter closed in on Trammel, firing questions as they drew closer.

  Damn Hagen, Trammel thought. He always had a way of turning the tables on him.

  CHAPTER 22

  Albert Micklewhite flinched when Lucien Clay threw his glass against the wall. Even the slightest movement caused a searing pain to course through Clay’s head and jaw before cutting through the rest of him.

  He had not remembered much about the ride back from Blackstone. He had come to in the carriage, only to pass out immediately from the pain. He woke up in his own bed with one of the town doctors attending to him.

  “Lie still,” Dr. Cullen had told him when he woke up. “I’m wrapping you in bandages
to prevent you from moving your jaw too much. You’ll need to use it sparingly for the next month or so until it heals. You can only eat soft foods and broths that won’t require chewing. You can drink liquids through the side of your mouth, but do so sparingly. I’m going to administer morphine to help with the pain, which will leave you out of sorts for the foreseeable future.”

  Clay knew he looked ridiculous sitting in bed like this, his head wrapped in bandages like a kid with a toothache. The damned doctor had even tied the bandages in a bow atop his head, making him look even more foolish than he already did. The right side of his face was swollen to the point of straining the bandages and had turned black.

  He was constantly hungry, and the broth his whores served to him gave him no nourishment. He had tried to get out of bed, but the concussion and the morphine made him sick to his stomach. He did not sleep or wake, but rather drifted into and out of consciousness. His whores injected him with the morphine as per Dr. Cullen’s orders, but always saved enough for themselves. God only knew what diseases they had passed on to him.

  But he would worry about that later. Other thoughts occupied his mind now.

  Thoughts of revenge. Against Trammel for doing this to him. And against Hagen and his damnable machinations against his father for making everything more complicated than it needed to be.

  The morphine had made it difficult for him to remember all the details of Hagen’s plan. That was enough to change his thinking about their partnership entirely. Yes, he stood to make a fortune if all his plans fell into place, and Hagen was a man who enjoyed making plans.

  But just like the game of chess that Micklewhite had tried to teach him, sometimes it was easier to just swipe all the pieces off the board and play a different game.

  “I’m sorry you’re feeling unwell,” Micklewhite said while seated at his bedside. “And I know you miss your whiskey. Perhaps I could find a funnel so you could enjoy your whiskey that way?”

  “No,” he said through his tied jaw. At least he could still speak, and moving his lips did not cause him too much pain. “Go get Pete. Bring him here.”

  Micklewhite left the hotel room they had moved him into to fetch his chief bouncer. Pete Stride had proven himself to be a most indispensable man in the year since he had come to work for him. The big man had started out as one of the men who collected payment from the numerous people who owed Clay debts throughout the town. He managed to be more effective and less violent than anyone else on Clay’s payroll. His dark features and cruel eyes made people less likely to hold out on him or lie to him about the reasons why they might not be able to pay. The result had been fewer complaints to Sheriff Rob Moran, which had made life easier for Clay. Unlike Hagen, he preferred to operate in the shadows whenever possible.

  And on those rare occasions when force was required, Stride had proven himself equally skillful. He never went too far unless ordered to do so, and when he did, always knew how to handle the result so as few questions as possible were asked.

  Clay had rewarded him by putting him in charge of his newest saloon, the Rose of Tralee. The place had bloomed under his guidance, and Stride had proven himself capable of more than just the rough stuff Clay required to maintain his interests.

  He had often thought about promoting him to serve as his right-hand man as Hagen’s schemes came to pass. But life had not always worked out the way Clay intended, and his current circumstances had forced him to move up his plans by quite a bit.

  When Micklewhite returned, he had the good sense to allow Stride to enter the room first. The big man with the heavy dark beard and deep-set, black eyes was not known to show much emotion, but he winced at the sight of Lucien Clay’s current state.

  “Jesus, boss,” Stride said from the doorway, as if hesitant to go any farther. “I’d heard you had a bad fall, but I didn’t expect anything like this.”

  Clay had thought Micklewhite’s story about him being injured in a coach accident was ridiculous, but at the time he had been in no position to prevent him from spreading it. The story had served to keep his competitors at bay, at least for now. He knew it would only be a matter of time before the other saloon owners, pimps, and dope peddlers started testing his resolve to see if his weakness might prove to be their benefit.

  He would worry about that later. Through his clenched jaw, he said, “Pull up a chair. You, too, Albert.”

  The two men did as they were told, with Micklewhite adding, “You’ll find Mr. Clay has difficulty talking due to the damage to his jaw during the fall.”

  “Shut up.” Clay looked at Pete. “This wasn’t an accident.”

  Pete looked him over with black eyes. He was not as big as Trammel or the Negro who worked for the Gilded Lily. In fact, he was only an inch or two taller than Clay. But he was a stocky, powerfully built man, with a thick neck and a glare strong enough to put a man in his grave. “No need to tell me that, boss. Just tell me who did it and I’ll make sure they get worse.”

  “Forget that.” A sharp pain spread through Clay’s face and he thought he might pass out. He willed himself to stay awake long enough to say what he needed to say. “Your name isn’t Pete Stride. It’s Pedro Escola, and you had your own gang in the badlands.”

  Pete looked away from him. “Should’ve figured on you finding out eventually. I guess you’re mad I didn’t tell you on my own. I left that all behind when I came north. I hope you don’t hold that against me, but a man has a right to a new life, don’t he?”

  For once, Clay was glad Micklewhite decided to speak for him. “I don’t think Mr. Clay asked me to bring you up here to fire you, Pete. I think he has bigger plans for you than that.” The hunchback looked to Clay for encouragement as he kept speaking. “I think he’s counting on your past to help him with the problems he’s facing in the present. Particularly up in Blackstone. Am I correct, Mr. Clay?”

  It hurt for him to nod, so Clay said, “Keep talking.”

  Micklewhite seemed glad for the confidence. “I think he’d like to know about your old gang and if you know where they are.”

  Pete shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Not much to tell, come to think of it. We were about thirty when we broke up. Had more than that at one point, but men in that kind of work ain’t always dependable. Some left. Some got killed. Some are locked up.”

  “Why’d you leave?” Clay struggled to ask.

  “Army put a lot of pressure on us,” Pete said. “They were stepping up patrols and came close to nabbing us a couple of times. I figured it was best to cut our losses and go our separate ways. I had enough to get me this far and a little left over when I came to work for you. And I’ve been real happy here, Mr. Clay. You know that.”

  “He knows that,” Micklewhite said. “Now tell us about your gang. Could you get in touch with them? Maybe bring them here?”

  Pete hesitated. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, Mr. Clay, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. Even if I could track them all, they’d be more trouble than they’re worth. These boys aren’t exactly used to town life and would probably raise more hell than you’d like. But if it’s hard cases you’re after, there’s no shortage of men to choose from right here in Laramie.”

  Clay knew just about every crook and tough within town limits. He knew that the kind of men he needed for his plan would have to be better than most of them. Trouble was, he did not have a long time to plan it out the way he wanted. He had thought he would have more time, but there was nothing he could do to change that now.

  He said, “Not any men. Your kind of men. Killers.”

  Pete sat back in his chair. “We’ve got a few of those about, Mr. Clay. Some nearby, too. I can send some telegrams to see where they might be. When do you want them here by?”

  “Saturday.” Micklewhite spoke for him. “Saturday would be the ideal day, don’t you think, Mr. Clay?”

  Clay blinked in agreement. To do anything more would have been too painful.

  “Sounds like I’ve got so
me work ahead of me,” Pete said as he got up from his chair. “I’ll pull together what I can and let you know who I find. They’ll be killers, Mr. Clay. Every one of them. Can’t say how many I’ll get, but I’ll get the best available under the circumstances.”

  “Not me.” Clay pointed at Micklewhite. “Tell him.”

  Micklewhite added, “Mr. Clay isn’t always up to talking, so everything can go through me. All decisions on what to do will continue to be made by Mr. Clay of course. If you doubt that, you can always wait and ask him personally. I don’t want anyone knowing how bad he’s hurt, and no one should question that he is still in charge, not me. Is that clear?”

  Clay watched Pete regard the hunchback anew. “Glad to hear that, Albert. Some men in your position might look to take advantage of the situation.”

  Micklewhite shunned the praise and showed Pete to the door, then came back to Clay’s bedside.

  Clay withdrew the pistol he kept beside him from under the covers and aimed it at Micklewhite. “You lie, I’ll kill you.”

  The hunchback was unfazed. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Lucien. After all, my investment is at stake here, too. Now, let me get you a pencil and some paper so that you can begin to write down what you want done.”

  Clay slipped the pistol back under the blankets. Micklewhite just might prove useful after all.

  CHAPTER 23

  “Sorry for bringing my problems to your doorstep,” Trammel told Moran, “but I just didn’t have enough room in my jail to hold those hopheads anymore. Thanks for letting me use your prison wagon to haul them down here.”

  “No trouble at all,” the sheriff of the City of Laramie told him. “My boys have already loaded them onto the train. A cattle car isn’t exactly first-class accommodations, but they’re too dope sick to notice. The railroad wasn’t happy about it, but they don’t have to be. They’ll be someone else’s problem now.”