He ignored Micklewhite’s offer to help him get out of bed and did so on his own. The pain in his head was still there, but the dizziness had subsided, and he walked around his room several times a day on his own. Yes, he was defying the orders of his doctor, but Lucien Clay had never been one to follow the rules.
He gestured toward the lamp by the window and told Micklewhite, “Move that.”
He did not want his new employees to see him bandaged up.
Micklewhite did as he was told as Pete parted the drapes for him and pointed down at the street below.
Clay saw the streetlamps had already been lit and realized it was much later than he had thought. Spending most of his day in bed had robbed him of all sense of time.
Pete had arranged for the ten men he had hired to attack Blackstone to stand across the street so Clay could get a decent look at them.
He steadied himself against the window and saw several familiar faces among the men Pete had hired. Most were local toughs who rolled drunks with the aid of a knife or a gun. A few were strangers to him but bore the grizzled look a man tends to acquire from years spent sleeping out of doors.
All of them had the same look about them that Lucien saw himself whenever he shaved each morning.
“Some of them are pond scum,” Clay said as he sat in a chair by the window.
“They’ll serve a purpose when the time comes,” Pete said as he let the drapes fall closed. “They’ll stop bullets meant for me and the others. Maybe even do some damage before someone kills them. The roughest of the bunch will be with me when we go after Hagen.”
Clay pointed at Micklewhite. “Go down and scatter them. Moran will get suspicious.”
He paused for a moment before he realized Clay wanted to talk to Pete in private. He went off to carry out his task.
Once Micklewhite was gone, Clay asked, “When will you leave?”
“Figured Saturday morning would be time enough,” Pete said. “Get up there before the crowds and blend in with them once they get there. Pick out a couple of choice spots to hit and wait for the fun to begin.”
Clay had assumed as much, which was why he had wanted to talk to him alone. “You go with Albert. Tonight. The others can go up on Saturday morning early.”
“Consider it done,” Pete said without hesitation. “I’m not questioning you, Mr. Clay, but can I ask why?”
Normally Clay would not have minded. Questions like that proved a man had common sense. But with it being hard for him to talk through a broken jaw, he had to be economical with his words. “Trammel is busy tomorrow. Hagen may be exposed. Kill both if you can. Hagen first.”
“Smart, sir. Real smart.” He got up to leave. “I’ll put Andy in charge of the others while I’m gone. He’ll make sure they get up there in time.”
Clay was glad Pete Stride was not a complicated man like Micklewhite. Albert’s role in plunging Blackstone into chaos was almost over. After hell broke loose in Blackstone this weekend, Micklewhite would be more of a hindrance than a help. He expected to have 20 percent of the town once Clay was in charge. Clay intended for him to get 100 percent of the blame. The county would be looking for someone to swing for the death and destruction caused by the march, and Clay would see to it that man would be Micklewhite. A known rabble-rouser and charlatan from back East with designs of his own to take over the town. Once Hagen was dead, all his holdings would fall to Clay, both legally and illegally. Blackstone and the ranch would be his for the taking. The rest of Hagen’s plan would fall into place and he would expand from the Wyoming Territory into other parts of the country. The Celestials would help secure his holdings wherever they went, for a healthy sum of course.
It would be a reasonable price to pay, for the Chinese only cared about money. Clay wanted power and knew how to keep it.
But he needed to get it first. And by this time Saturday night, he would be holding the entire territory in the palm of his hand.
He glanced over at the Laramie Daily and reread the headline announcing Charles Hagen’s death. The old world had died away. A new world was just being born. “The king is dead,” he said to the empty room. “Long live King Clay.”
* * *
Lonnie got the five ranch hands who were getting ready to ride back up to the Blackstone that night to gather around. These men were different from the new hires who would be filtering into town to watch Hagen’s body. They had all been with the ranch for several years. Lonnie knew he could trust these men because he had trusted them with his life several times over.
“None of us will be here tomorrow afternoon,” Lonnie told them. “The others will have to split their time to cover us while we do a favor for the sheriff.”
“What kind of favor?” Will asked. He had been with the outfit almost as long as Lonnie. “What’s he ever done for us anyway, except keep us from killing Adam?”
Lonnie could not argue with him on that score. “Look at it as a favor for the sheriff that benefits us more. Tomorrow afternoon we’re going to cut some trees and brush and use them to block the road for the marchers on Saturday. Send most of them back to Laramie, where they belong.”
“How’s that help us?” Josiah asked. “I thought we wanted the marchers here to keep Trammel busy while we took care of Adam.”
Lonnie did not need Josiah to tell him about the plan. He had been the one who had come up with it in the first place.
“This is what you might call a change of plans,” Lonnie explained. “But we plan to use it to our advantage. We’re going to cut down five big trees tomorrow and stack them up good, where the road cuts through the marsh. I heard most of the people are coming up on wagons, so that’ll be enough to turn most of them back.”
Will did not look happy. Neither did the others. “I still don’t see how that helps our plan any.”
Lonnie was all too happy to tell him. “Because it’ll not only keep people out, it’ll also keep people in.”
The men seemed close to understanding what he was saying, but they were not there yet. He had to remind himself that these men were not thinkers. They were used to being told what to do. Thinking, like any skill, got rusty if you did not use it enough, so he spelled it out for them.
“Caleb’s telegram said that he wanted everything cleaned up before he or the rest of his family got here next week. Now it takes a little time to read between the lines, but all of us know there’s no love lost between Bartholomew, Caleb, and Adam. He couldn’t say it outright in the message, but I understand it loud and clear. He wants Adam cleaned up and cleared out of here by Monday. The best shot we’re going to have at him is Saturday. Some of those marchers are bound to get through, especially those on horseback. But even if they don’t, we’ve got enough well meaning fatheads in town to create enough of a distraction for us. We’ll find out where Hagen’s holed up, we’ll hit it hard, and bring him out alive.”
Will tilted his head toward the Clifford Hotel and the balcony that was now empty. “Hagen’s got the Celestials guarding him. They won’t give up easy.”
“It won’t make much of a difference,” Lonnie told him. “Wherever he is, there’ll be more of us. We grab him, alive if possible, and drag his miserable carcass all the way up to the ranch. If he’s still alive by then, which I doubt, we’ll do our best to keep him alive until Caleb gets here, so he can have the honor of finishing him off. If not, he and Bart will just have to be satisfied with desecrating his remains. Sound good?”
All of the men voiced their agreement except for Josiah. Lonnie knew Josiah had always been the most thoughtful of the group, not that anyone would ever confuse him for a philosopher.
“We were counting on that march keeping Trammel so distracted that he wouldn’t know what we were doing,” Josiah reminded them. “Fewer marchers will put us up against Trammel, won’t it?”
“Maybe,” Lonnie allowed. “But Caleb’s orders were plain enough. Trammel and Hawkeye aren’t our concern.”
“He’s a pretty big c
oncern of mine,” Oleg said. He was the biggest of the old group and did not often express concern or fear. “We’ve all seen what Trammel can do to people. He’s even managed to make something out of Hawkeye. We were hoping we’d have a hundred or so marchers between us and Trammel when we took Hagen, but these odds—”
“Don’t change a thing,” Lonnie finished the sentence for him, “just like Hagen’s Celestials don’t change anything. We’ll hit this town with twenty-five men. Not even Trammel can beat those odds.”
He was troubled when the men did not look so sure.
Lonnie decided to try another tactic. “Look, you boys know how I feel about Trammel. He’s a good man, and I’m not itching to fight him. We won’t if we don’t have to. And we won’t have to if we play it smart and stick together. You five are going to be the cornerstones of all this. For it to work, I need you boys to be steady so the new boys are steady, too. Once we have Hagen up at the ranch, dead or alive, we can fend off any attack Trammel and Hawkeye try. We can keep them at bay and reason with them. Or hold them off until Caleb gets here and let him handle it.”
Lonnie looked each man in the eye and liked what he saw. Their concerns had faded. They would do their duty. They would represent the Blackstone brand.
“Get a good night’s sleep, because we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us tomorrow.”
“And a lot of good work on Saturday,” Will said.
The other men grumbled their agreement.
It was music to Lonnie’s ears. “Amen.”
CHAPTER 28
“Well?” Emily said as she removed the sheet to reveal her handiwork. “What do you think?”
As Trammel looked at Charles Hagen’s corpse in the casket she had ordered to be built, he decided it would be best for him to say nothing at all.
Dr. Moore spoke for him. “Remarkable, Emily. Simply remarkable. He looks like he’s lying down for a nap. His color is perfect. Not waxen at all. How did you do it?”
Trammel thought of other things while she went through the specifics. He thought the whole idea of dressing the dead was a ridiculous waste of money. The dead were dead, and no amount of powder or fancy chemicals could change that. But more and more folks wanted to look at their departed loved ones for a while before planting them in the ground.
But there was no arguing Emily’s skill. Charles Hagen certainly looked lifelike enough. He looked like he might open his eyes and pop out of the coffin at any moment, something Trammel sincerely hoped would not happen.
“Buck?” she said, breaking his train of thought. “What do you think?”
He played it safe. “Doc Moore said it all. He looks fine, Emily. You’d never know the birds had been at him. How long do you plan on keeping him here?”
She seemed disappointed. “What difference does that make?”
“Because the sooner he’s out of town, the fewer ranch hands Hawkeye and I have to worry about hanging around here.”
Doc Moore’s hand went to the Colt he had taken to wearing on his hip since their last conversation. “Have they made any threats or stepped out of line?”
“No,” Trammel admitted. “And that’s what worries me.” He shrugged it off. “Maybe I’ve just got the jitters after everything that’s happened.”
But Moore did not seem so eager to write it off as a case of nerves. “A man in your line of work must listen to his instincts, Sheriff. If you feel something is happening here, you might be right.”
Trammel grinned. “Is that your professional medical opinion, Doc?”
“Hardly. Just the observation of a man who has spent more than his fair share of time in troubled towns like Blackstone.”
Trammel had tried hard not to like Jacob Moore. He was Adam Hagen’s man, and Emily’s competition. But the more he spoke to him, the more he realized that the good doctor was a tough man to dislike.
Knowing Emily would not be happy until he said something original, he said, “The only thing that bothers me is the smell.”
“That’s the diluted formaldehyde I used,” she said. “I dilute it with wine and salt and spices. Once we load him on the wagon and bring him up to the ranch, it should dissipate quickly. It’s poisonous in its raw state.”
“And given the state of unfortunates in town,” Moore said, “I’d keep it under lock and key. Men have been known to use it as a drug.”
Trammel looked at him. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was,” Moore said. “Its effect is said to be even greater than laudanum, and it kills the user after only a few doses. The mind is a mysterious thing, Sheriff. Its cravings often destroy the body that gives it life.”
Trammel was in no mood for a philosophical discussion. It was already past dark, and he wanted to get in one last patrol with Hawkeye before he let the young man get some sleep.
“You two have a good night,” he said as he picked up the Henry that was leaning against the wall. “If you need me, I’ll be on patrol for a while, then at the jail for the rest of the night.”
“I trust it’ll be a quiet night, Sheriff,” Moore said. “I understand you have fewer guests these days. At least those suffering from the effects of laudanum.”
Trammel had to give him credit there. “I don’t know what you’re giving them, but it’s working. I haven’t picked up a doper from the alleys in days. Thank you for that.”
But Moore rejected the praise. “No need to thank me, Sheriff. I’m just doing what I was brought here to do.”
Once again, Trammel kept his opinion to himself. He imagined Adam Hagen had not brought Moore to Blackstone just to treat laudanum addicts. But he figured he would find out the real reason soon enough. There was no need to start a debate now.
He bid them a good evening and was almost out of the barn when Emily said, “You’ll be in the jail tonight, Buck?”
He turned when he reached the door. “Yep. Seeing as how I’m the sheriff, that’s usually where you’ll find me. Why?”
“No reason,” she said as she fiddled with the sheet that had covered Charles Hagen’s corpse. “I just thought you worked days now, and Hawkeye worked nights.”
Trammel grinned. She had figured out there was trouble between him and Lilly. “Things change, Dr. Downs.” He touched the brim of his hat. “See you around.”
He walked out into the cool night air that had settled over Blackstone. He acknowledged Lonnie and the other men, who were eating supper around the campfire they had going near the barn.
He knew some of the people in town thought it strange that he preferred to walk everywhere instead of ride. But he had grown up in Manhattan and worked a significant time in Chicago, so walking was his preferred way of getting around. He found that he saw more from a slower pace, which was an asset in his line of work. It might take him longer to get from place to place, but speed was not everything. Taking his time had served him well up until now and he had no intention of changing any time soon.
He looked up at the balcony of the Clifford Hotel and was glad to see it was empty. The lights inside the room were on, but at least Adam had the good sense to make himself less conspicuous. He only hoped he did the same on Saturday. Because despite what he had told the townspeople earlier that day, Trammel knew there was absolutely nothing he could do to save him if the marchers stormed the hotel and went after him. Hagen and his Celestials would kill a lot of them, but probably not all. Having two dead Hagens on his hands would be a nightmare.
He found Hawkeye standing outside the jail, his rifle at his side as he leaned against the porch post. He was surprised when he saw the young man’s breath, because although it was a chilly night, it was not cold enough to turn a man’s breath into vapor. When he got closer, he saw that Hawkeye had a cigarette tucked between his lips.
“Evening,” Trammel said as he stood next to his deputy.
Hawkeye looked down at him, squinting. “Evening, boss.”
“Mind telling me what you’re doing?”
“Smoking,” H
awkeye said as a thin cloud of smoke escaped his mouth. “It relaxes me.”
Trammel was sorry the boy was in such a hurry to grow up. “I can see that. You mind telling me why? I’ve never seen you smoke before.”
“Mr. Hagen gave one to me.” Hawkeye was clearly trying not to cough. “Said it came from a package of cigarettes. Makes me feel fancy.”
Trammel thought otherwise. “You look like you’re going to be sick. Take that damned thing out of your mouth and let’s go.”
Hawkeye barely managed to toss the cigarette into the thoroughfare without burning himself. He coughed heavily as they began their patrol. “Sorry, boss. I didn’t really like it anyway.”
“Keep it that way,” Trammel told him. “Nobody likes it at first, but like everything else in life, you get used to it after a while. Besides, you don’t get paid enough to afford cigarettes.”
“I know. It’s just that Mr. Hagen told me it was time for me to grow up a little.”
“I wish he’d take his own advice,” Trammel said. “When did he give it to you?”
Hawkeye coughed again. “As he passed by on his way to the Gilded Lily. I thought he was just being nice.”
“That’s the trouble with him. He seems to be doing one thing while he’s really doing something else.”
Hawkeye looked confused. “I don’t understand that one, boss.”
“Neither do I.” Trammel noticed there were more people on the street than usual for a Thursday night. A lot of new faces and more horses along Main Street. “When did all of these people show up?”
“Just after sunset,” Hawkeye told him. “A wagon came through Main Street and dropped them off at the Clifford. I counted about thirty or so, but none of them looked dangerous. Older women, mostly, with men I took for their husbands.”
Trammel judged Hawkeye to be correct. All of them were out taking a stroll either before or after supper. They were taking in Blackstone at its bleakest, when the lights came on and the rodents came out. The sound of several tinny pianos and bawdy singing echoed throughout the thoroughfare like a fever dream. If these pious folks came to town early for wholesome entertainment, they were in for a bitter disappointment.
The Intruders Page 22
