He wondered if that was because she had an extra mouth to feed.
Trammel and Hawkeye tied their horses to a nearby tree and approached her house on foot.
He was glad Hawkeye was wise enough to remain quiet while Trammel figured out what to do. “I want you to head around to the back of the house, but stay low while you do it. Crawl if you have to. I don’t want them seeing you out a window if they’re in there. When you get to the back of the house, stay on the side. Don’t stand in front of the back door. If they come running out, I don’t want them running into you.”
Hawkeye looked like he understood. “Anything else?”
“Shoot anyone who isn’t me.” He gave the deputy a good push and sent him on his way while Trammel drew his Colt from under his arm and headed for the front door. He crouched up the steps as gingerly as a man his size could manage, but a few creaks of the dry wood were unavoidable. He only hoped they had gone unheard by anyone who might be inside the house.
He was about to put his hand on the doorknob when the top part of the door exploded outward. He dove to the side. Another blast took out a good chunk of the wall to the right of the doorway.
Trammel rolled and got to his feet just as a third blast obliterated the window above him, showering him with shards of glass.
In his mind, he judged the time it would take for the shooter to lever in a new round, popped up, and fired blindly through the shattered window. He heard a man cry out and the sound of something heavy hit the floor, like a shotgun.
Trammel stole another glance through the window and looked inside the house. His height allowed him to see a man getting to his feet as he tried to get away down the hallway.
Trammel got to the hole in the door and aimed his Peacemaker through it. The fleeing man was too broad and moving too fast to be Albertson, so he knew this must be Pete Stride.
Trammel took careful aim and fired, catching the man high in the back.
The impact did not bring him down but sent him stumbling forward toward the kitchen, where he crashed through the back door and into the yard.
Trammel pulled open the ruined front door and ran down the hall to catch up with Stride as he shouted, “Hawkeye! Stay away! He’s got a knife!”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the sound of a rifle firing came from outside.
Trammel rushed through the broken back door and found Stride lying facedown in the dirt about thirty yards away.
Hawkeye was approaching him quickly, aiming his rifle down at Stride as he moved.
“I got him, boss!” Hawkeye called out as he closed in. “That last one brought him down.”
Trammel jumped down the back stairs as he yelled, “Stay away from him!”
But Hawkeye closed in like a man anxious to claim his first kill.
Stride sprang like a viper, snatching the rifle barrel and pulling it toward him and Hawkeye with it.
Down toward his knife.
The young man let go of the rifle and fell awkwardly across the outlaw’s middle.
Trammel stopped and tried to get a clear shot at Stride, but his deputy was still in the way, all arms and legs.
The outlaw pushed Hawkeye off him and threw the knife at Trammel.
Trammel easily dodged the spinning blade, but the distraction was just long enough for Stride to barrel into Trammel. The impact was hard enough to send his Colt tumbling from his grip.
Trammel landed hard on his back but tried to grab hold of Stride as they fell. The outlaw was too quick for him and rolled away to retrieve his knife. By the time Trammel got back to his feet, Stride had hold of the knife.
“Big man,” Stride said as blood ran down the right side of his shirt. “Big talk, if you ask me.”
Trammel had always hated knives. It was almost impossible to avoid being cut by one, and even the slightest nick in the wrong place could be deadly. He knew he would have to time his next strike perfectly if he had any hope of avoiding a blade to the belly.
Stride bluffed a charge, which made Trammel jump back. The outlaw smiled. “That’s it, Trammel. Keep on dancing for me. Go ahead.”
Another bluff made Trammel jump the other way. He kept his arms up in the classic boxing stance.
Stride made a third bluff as his blade sliced through the air, only this time, Trammel didn’t move back. He moved forward as he threw a right cross that connected squarely with Stride’s chin.
The heavy blow snapped his head back and sent him reeling. The outlaw landed on the ground, splayed out like a star. The knife was still in his hand.
Having no desire to go up against Stride again, he looked for his Colt and found it only a few yards away. As he went to retrieve it, he saw Hawkeye was still on his knees.
He wanted to tend to the boy but didn’t dare turn his back on Stride.
“You hurt?” he called out to his deputy.
He could hear him gasping for breath and knew he was fine. “Wind knocked out,” was all the boy could manage to say.
“You’ll be fine,” Trammel told him as he reached to pick up his Peacemaker. “Just give it time.”
He had just grabbed hold of the pistol when he heard the unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked. “Leave it.”
Trammel looked over in the direction of the sound and saw Mike Albertson at the back door, aiming a rifle at him. “You touch that pistol, you die. And don’t let my handicap fool you, Sheriff. I’m a hell of a shot with a rifle.”
Trammel thought about testing that theory, but looking down the barrel of a rifle had a habit of changing his mind. The cripple might be bluffing, but Trammel did not know enough about him to call it.
He slowly stood up, leaving his pistol in the grass. He only hoped that all the noise had caused someone to go get help.
“A smart man.” Albertson grinned as he slowly drew closer, keeping the rifle trained on him. “Big men like you are rarely smart, too.”
Trammel would not give him the satisfaction of raising his hands. If he got close enough, he could make a play for that rifle. He wanted to be ready to move fast if he got the chance.
“Who are you?” Trammel said. “You’re not like any old freighter I’ve ever come across.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Albertson sneered. “Wouldn’t you just like to have that one last bit of information before you die? Well, Sheriff Trammel, you’re just going to have to go to hell without that knowledge.”
“I’ll save you a spot on the rock next to me.” Every muscle in his body tensed as he knew he was about to take a bullet. He watched Albertson’s eyes for any hint that he was about to squeeze the trigger. The slightest hint and he would charge him. Even if he got hit, he hoped momentum would carry him toward the hunchback before he got off a second shot. If he could only get his hands on him, Trammel might have a chance.
“I must admit I’m enjoying this,” Albertson acknowledged as he stopped between him and the fallen Stride. “It’s not every day that a man like me gets to see a man like you grovel.”
Trammel felt his temper beginning to build. He hoped it would be enough to carry him through the impact of the bullet. “You going to talk all day, or are you going to get to work?”
There it was. The look of resolve to finally shoot.
Trammel had begun to lower himself into a crouch to spring at him when a neat hole appeared in Albertson’s forehead. Man and rifle fell backward.
Trammel turned and found Hawkeye on the ground in the firing position, a thin trail of gunsmoke rising from the barrel of his rifle.
The young deputy smiled as he got to his feet. “Sorry, boss. I thought you were talking to me.”
CHAPTER 32
Hagen leaned against the door to the cells as he looked at the unconscious prisoner on the cot. “What did you say his name was again?”
“Stride,” Trammel told him for the third time. “Pete Stride. Or at least that’s what Rob Moran called him down in Laramie. Said he worked for your friend Clay.”
Trammel continued working on his report. “I take it you know him because he worked for Clay?”
“You take it right,” Hagen said, sitting down next to the reporter Rhoades. “Him and Albertson working together. That fits. It fits too neatly for comfort. I should have known something was amiss. I should’ve known.”
Rhoades was frantically writing down all this in a notebook on his lap. “So, it looks like Albertson and Stride were working for Lucien Clay against you.”
“Looks that way,” Trammel said as he tried to concentrate on his report. Rhoades’s presence in the jail was trouble he did not need at the moment. He wanted to get all the details down on paper while it was fresh in his head. The reporter’s questions only distracted him.
Hagen was no better as he asked Trammel, “How much did you say you took off Albertson last night?”
“A hundred in gold coins,” the sheriff told him again.
“A tidy sum,” Hagen observed. “It was probably to pay off whoever they plan to send to infiltrate the march. Probably some rough types who would cause trouble.” He tapped the arm of his chair as he thought it over. “Smart. Very smart, Mr. Clay.”
Rhoades looked hopeful as he said, “Can I quote both of you saying you fear trouble at the march tomorrow?”
“No,” Trammel and Hagen said in unison.
Trammel said, “No direct quotes from either of us. The report I’m finishing up here will give you everything you need to know for your article. Just play down the parts about violence until after the march. We don’t want to give anyone ideas about causing trouble. There are probably enough men out there looking for a fight as it is.”
Rhoades looked deflated. “Well, I’m going to need to have some kind of quote in my article, gentlemen. Otherwise it’ll look like you are unprepared, which is just as bad as talking about the possibility of violence.”
Trammel looked up from his report and glared at the reporter. “You make sure you tell them we’re ready for anything.”
They heard a knock at the door just before Hawkeye came in. Trammel had sent him to take a look at how the men from the Blackstone Ranch were blocking the road. He feared the young man might come in blabbering about the good work Lonnie and his men had done, but upon seeing the reporter, he only said, “Evening, everybody.”
Trammel was glad the kid was growing into the job. He said to Rhoades, “You need to leave now, Richard. I’ll send along the final copy of my report for your morning edition as soon as it’s ready.”
Rhoades stood up and put his hat back on his head. “And when will that be?”
“The quicker you leave, the sooner I’ll get it to you.”
That was encouragement enough to send the reporter on his way.
Hagen watched him leave. “One of us should have the decency to shoot him. Save the poor devil a lifetime of embarrassment.”
Trammel did not have any time for his nonsense. “How are Lonnie and his men?”
“Got it all done in a couple of hours,” Hawkeye said. “Draft horses make all the difference in that kind of work. Stacked three trees across the road and crossed two on top of them. Even threw some thorny bushes at the front to make it tougher for people to get to. Yes, sir. There’ll be a lot of disappointed people tomorrow morning.”
“I just hope we won’t be among them,” Hagen said.
Just when Trammel was beginning to see a glimmer of hope, Hagen had to come along and snuff it out. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” the vice peddler said as he examined his nails. “It’s just that by blocking the road, the men of the Blackstone Ranch have not only blocked anyone from getting in, they’ve also blocked most of us from being able to get out. We’re at their mercy until they decide to move the roadblock, which I wager won’t be until Bartholomew and Caleb tell them to do so.”
Trammel was glad that was his only objection. “A man on horseback can still get out of town if he wants. It’s just much tougher for a wagon, which is what we wanted, because most of the marchers are riding up here on wagons.”
“I hope you’re right,” Hagen told him. “I sincerely do. Especially because you’ve put all of our lives into the hands of the same men who have threatened to kill both of us at one time or another.”
* * *
Trammel had finally finished his report and was walking over to the Bugle to deliver it as promised. Hagen and Hawkeye followed.
Trammel watched as another wagonload of marchers arrived in town. With all the hotels being filled to capacity, tents had begun to pop up in the empty lots between Blackstone and the ranch. Some had even set up in the half-built houses Hagen had put up.
“You want me to clear them out of there?” Trammel asked Hagen. “They’re trespassing.”
“Let them stay,” Hagen told him. “They’re probably doing it to provoke me, but I won’t let them. Both of you should adopt that policy for the next couple of days. Ignore any attempts at provocation from anyone. Unless gunplay is involved, I’d advise you to grow a very thick skin and look the other way.”
Trammel knew Hagen was right, which made him angry. Hagen was smart and steady in a fight. If he would have just decided to work on Trammel’s side of the law instead of his own, the territory would be a much better place. Instead, he worked only for himself, and for his revenge on Charles Hagen. Now that the man was dead, Trammel wondered what angle Hagen would take to get the empire he felt he deserved.
“That should be the last of the wagons that made it through, right, Hawkeye?”
“I’d say so,” the deputy told him. “Nothing came through while we were cutting. Let’s just hope no one finds the pile in the night and sets to clearing it. One stick of dynamite will turn those trees into toothpicks.”
“They won’t have dynamite,” Hagen assured them. “They’re poor people, and the blockage is well situated to be far enough from town so the miners won’t be tempted to help.” He patted Trammel’s back. “A wise plan, my friend. A wise plan indeed.”
The three men stopped walking when they found themselves across from the offices of the Blackstone Bugle.
“Well, gentlemen,” Hagen announced, “would any of you like to join me for a drink at the Gilded Lily before you give Rhoades your report?”
Trammel told Hawkeye, “Go ahead if you want to, but I’ll be turning in early.”
“What’s the matter?” Hagen chided. “The place just isn’t the same since Lilly decamped to Laramie this afternoon?”
That was exactly the reason why, but Trammel would not give him the satisfaction of admitting it. “Big day tomorrow, Adam. For you, too. A hangover will only make it worse.”
“Perhaps,” Hagen allowed, “but sobriety won’t make it any better.” He beckoned Hawkeye to follow him. “Come, my young friend, and allow me to show you wonders the likes of which you’ve never seen and won’t soon forget.”
Trammel encouraged him to go. The next day would undoubtedly be a big one, but it also might be his last. If the last couple of days had shown Trammel anything, it was that Hawkeye was well on his way to becoming quite a man. He had to trust that he would not allow himself to get too drunk with Hagen. The young man knew how important Saturday was. Experience was a better teacher than words.
“Don’t go having too much fun.” Trammel looked at Hagen. “And if he comes back itching, I’m going to hold you to blame.”
Hagen threw his arm around the lad’s shoulders and began to fill him with stories and lies of men and women he had known in his travels.
Trammel knew he should be concerned with leaving the young man alone with a vice peddler like Hagen. But he also sensed that Hagen would never allow any harm to come to him.
He stood alone on the crowded boardwalk and watched the newcomers building tents and shaking hands
and making new friends. Robertson had kept the general store open late and it looked like the place was doing great business. The few dining halls on that side of Main Street were packed with people, and the smell of roasted pig wafted from the camp that had been set up just outside town. Sounds of laughter drowned out the saloon sounds of pianos and song, and Trammel wondered, even for a moment, if Blackstone could be more than what it was. If this was not a glimpse of what it could be. He certainly hoped so, for he might very well die for this place tomorrow.
He walked across the thoroughfare, glad the wagons and horses moving in both directions stopped to allow him to pass. Given his size, he knew he was tough to miss.
He opened the door of the Bugle only to find Emily Downs on her way out.
“This is a surprise,” Trammel said as he held the door open for her to leave. “What are you doing here?”
“Answering some questions about my embalming methods on Mr. Hagen,” Emily told him. “I doubt he’ll be able to use any of it, but Mr. Rhoades was very insistent.” She smiled. “What’s your excuse?”
He held up his report. “I usually give him a copy of the official report of what we do every day. He thinks what happened at Mrs. Higgins’s place today will make for a great story.”
“Not for poor Mrs. Higgins,” Emily said. “I had to give her a sedative. Her house is a shambles. She feels horrible that Albertson tried to kill you. She really does.”
“He was a con artist,” Trammel said. “He fooled a lot of people, not just her.”
She reached up and touched his right cheek, which made him wince. It had not hurt until then. “That’s quite a bruise you’ve got there.”
Trammel had no intention of removing her hand. “It’ll heal.”
“You should have Lilly tend to it,” Emily said.
Trammel forced a smile. “Kind of hard for her to do that from Laramie.”
She slowly withdrew her hand. “Oh, Buck. I’m sorry to hear that. Is it because of the march tomorrow?”
The Intruders Page 25
