The Intruders

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “That and other things, I guess,” Trammel told her. “She got a good look at the kind of work I do and I don’t think she liked it. Kind of like someone else I know, not that I can blame her. Or you.”

  “Still a lousy thing to do to you right before tomorrow.” She looked at all the new faces who passed by in town. “I was hoping word would spread about Albertson’s attempt on your life. I thought it might keep some of these people away. But I guess they were already on the road, so it was too late to make much of a difference.”

  The size of the crowd already bothered Trammel. And the few people who were able to get to town on horseback would come angry about the roadblock. “Yeah,” was all he could manage to say.

  “I heard you took a prisoner away,” Emily said. “How’s he doing?”

  “Hasn’t woken up since Hawkeye and I dragged him into the cell,” Trammel said. “Guess I hit him pretty hard.”

  “I’ve seen how you hit,” she reminded him. “‘Pretty hard’ doesn’t begin to cover it.” An idea came to her. “I’ll be happy to take a look at him for you if you’d like. I mean, I know I’m not as accomplished as Dr. Moore, but—”

  Trammel laughed. “Let me give Rhoades this report and I’ll take you over there.”

  “Good. And if you’re hungry, maybe I could fix us some dinner.”

  Trammel’s dark mood brightened. “Sounds like a great way to end a bad day.”

  * * *

  Lucien Clay pounded the mattress with both fists in impotent rage. “How could Micklewhite have been so stupid?” He looked at the man who had told him the news and spoke through clenched teeth. “Are you sure he’s dead?”

  “I’m sure that’s what I heard down in the saloon,” the man called Sully said. “A couple of others heard the same thing. And Pete’s in jail, too. Looks like Trammel’s taken care of both of them, sir. What do you want us to do?”

  Pete and Micklewhite’s bungling had damaged his plans but had not entirely wrecked them. If anything, their failure might cause Trammel to let down his guard.

  But he had to act quickly and not allow his anger to get the better of him.

  “You’ve been to Blackstone before?”

  “I can get there in the dark, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sully told him. “If we leave now, we’ll get there around first light.”

  He liked this one. He thought faster than Pete. Maybe this would not be a total loss. His jaw ached as he said, “Round up the others and ride there now. Use the back roads. Kill Hagen, then Trammel. Micklewhite had your money, but I’ll pay when you come back.”

  Sully headed for the door. “We’ll be back as soon as we can, sir.”

  But Clay was not done. “And Sully”—he pointed at his face—“tell anyone about this and you die.”

  “It’s nobody’s business, sir. You can count on me.”

  Sully left Clay alone with his own thoughts. Everything was in motion now. In fact, it had been in motion for hours. If Sully had not overheard some barroom gossip, he might not have known about it until it was too late.

  He closed his eyes and hoped it was not too late already. He even would have prayed to God if he thought it would do him any good.

  CHAPTER 33

  At just before dawn the next morning Trammel was at the livery, speaking to Elias. “Pick me out a winner. I’ll need a good-looking horse to impress the visitors.”

  “You need a good horse period,” the black man scolded him. “It’s not right for a man in your position to be borrowing horses all the time. What if all I’ve got is some broken-down old nag for you to ride? A big man like you needs a big horse.”

  A city man his whole life, Trammel had always figured one horse was as good as another. But Elias had spent his entire life around horses, so his words had weight. “I suppose you’re right. Got any suggestions?”

  “It just so happens I do. I’ll set it up for you. Wait here.”

  Trammel did not have to wait long before Elias led out a chestnut roan that was already fitted with his saddle.

  It was a fine-looking animal, even in the early light of dawn. The animal had a bright look in its eyes and was sturdier than any of the other animals Elias had lent him recently.

  “Where have you been hiding this one?” Trammel asked as he patted her muzzle.

  “Haven’t hid him anywhere,” Elias said. “He was Mr. Montague’s horse. Named him Starr with two ‘r’s’ at the end. Don’t ask me why. He’s a two-year-old gelding and strong as hell. Too much horse for Mr. Montague to handle if you ask me, but because no one asked me, I kept my mouth shut. But he’s the perfect animal for you.”

  Trammel let the horse smell his hand and was glad he did not try to take a bite out of it. He stroked the animal’s neck. “How much do you want for him?”

  “He was Mr. Montague’s horse, so he’s yours now. His livery fees are paid by the bank, so you might as well use him. He’s not doing anyone any good just sitting in the stall all day. Climb up on him and try him out for today. I think you two will get along just fine.”

  Trammel slid his Henry into the saddle scabbard and climbed up on the horse. The animal did not even budge.

  He may not have been much of a horseman, but even he could appreciate a good animal when he saw one. He felt like he had been born to ride this horse.

  Elias seemed just as happy as Trammel. “You look good on him, Son. You two were made for each other.”

  Trammel liked the view from the saddle and felt comfortable. “Thanks, Elias. I’ll let you know how we do.”

  He tapped his heels into Starr’s flanks and sent him walking along Main Street. He saw Ben watching him from the doorway of the Pot of Gold. He took a chance and nodded at the big man and was glad to see he nodded back. He had not approved of why he was in town or what he had done since coming to Blackstone, but he was glad he would be at this end of town in case trouble broke out during the march.

  Trammel continued to let Starr walk along Main Street. The people who had pitched tents were beginning to wake up. He could smell cook fires starting and the aroma of coffee in the air.

  The town and its visitors were also awakening and he knew Blackstone was in for a long day. Perhaps the longest day it had ever known.

  He looked up when a flurry of activity at the opposite end of Main Street caught his eye. Eight men had rounded the corner and drew their mounts to a halt in front of the Clifford Hotel. One of them hung back to hold on to the horses as the men dropped from their saddles, grabbed their rifles, and ran into the hotel.

  The long day had begun.

  Trammel dug his heels into Starr’s sides and set the horse into a full gallop. The gelding responded immediately, and he raced toward the hotel. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Ben running along the boardwalk.

  Trammel drew his Peacemaker from under his left arm as he sped toward the hotel. The man who was struggling to hold on to the horses saw him and pulled his own pistol, but was blocked by the animals shifting around him. Screams and gunshots came from inside the hotel, and Trammel knew the trouble had already begun.

  The man pushed through the animals and aimed up at Trammel.

  The sheriff shot the man as he sped by on Starr, hitting him in the middle of the chest. The impact sent him flat on the ground, where the panicked horses trampled him.

  Trammel brought Starr up short and jumped down from the saddle. Forgetting about the rifle, he ran toward the front door of the hotel, but stopped just short of going in. He listened from the side of the doorway first and saw the desk clerk running outside, followed by several guests.

  Trammel grabbed the clerk and pulled him out of the doorway. “Where are they?”

  The panicked clerk said, “They ran upstairs to Mr. Hagen’s room. The Chinamen are holding them off, but I don’t know how long they can last!”

  Trammel let him go and saw Ben had reached the other side of the doorway. He had brought his rifle with him.

  Another rou
nd of shots rang out from somewhere inside the hotel, and Trammel knew they could not wait any longer.

  He moved into the hotel, his Peacemaker leading the way. Ben followed close behind.

  Trammel spotted two dead Celestials at the base of the stairs and looked up to see if any of the gunmen were still in the lobby. The first one he saw was at the top of the landing, looking up at where the others had gone.

  He spotted Trammel and Ben below and fired a quick shot from his rifle. Neither man had time to dodge the blast, returning fire instead.

  Both bullets struck the man in the belly and he cried out before tumbling down the stairs in a heap.

  Trammel did the math. He had seen eight men. Two were down. Six left.

  Trammel broke to the right and Ben broke to the left as they expected more gunfire from above, but nothing came.

  This time Ben led the charge up the stairs and Trammel followed. Both men took the stairs two at a time and paused on the landing before they went up to the second floor.

  Trammel snuck a look around the newel post and saw two more dead Celestials slumped at the top of the stairs, but no gunmen. A new round of screams sounded as the air above filled with gunfire.

  Trammel and Ben moved up the stairs at a crouch, stopping as they reached the top step. Hagen’s room was around the corner and to the right.

  Ben moved into the hallway and moved in that direction. Trammel looked around the corner and cursed to himself. All he saw were open doors. Hagen’s room only had one door and was in the center of the next hallway.

  He caught up to Ben at the end of the corridor and listened.

  “Damned thing won’t budge!” one of the men exclaimed.

  “Must be made of—”

  But Ben did not wait for the man to finish his thought.

  He rounded the corner at a crouch, aimed his Winchester, and fired.

  Trammel stood behind him and saw six men bunched together in front of Hagen’s door. The wood around it was peppered with bullet holes, but the door remained shut.

  One man spun like a top when Ben’s shot caught him high in the chest.

  The remaining five turned to fire as they tried to scatter in the narrow corridor.

  Trammel flinched as a bullet slammed into the wall above his head as he drew down and shot the man closest to Hagen’s door. The bullet hit him in the top of the head and stopped him flat.

  The remaining four tried to back down the corridor, one of them leaning flat against a doorway, returning fire.

  Ben levered in a fresh round and shot the man in the side. It made the gunman flinch, but not enough to fall. He got off another shot that buried itself in the floor at Ben’s feet while Trammel’s bullet hit him in the chest. He bounced off the door and fell across the hallway.

  The three fired wildly as they retreated down the hallway. One took cover at the corner, while the remaining two took off.

  Ben and the gunman traded shots while Trammel ran back toward the stairs to cut off the retreat of the other two.

  He reached the stairs just as the fleeing gunmen were halfway down the opposite staircase.

  They saw Trammel and fired up at him blindly as they ran down the stairs. Their bullets hit the ceiling, but not the sheriff.

  Trammel tracked the remaining two men and fired into the middle of them. The bullet struck the man in the side, causing him to bounce off the banister and tumble down the stairs.

  Trammel reached the landing, aimed down at the fleeing man and fired. The bullet hit the floor well behind the gunman, missing him entirely.

  His pistol empty, Trammel ran down the remaining steps and scooped up a rifle from one of the dead Celestials at the base of the stairs as a loud scream from the dining room caught his attention. He’d thought the fleeing man had run out the front door but knew now he was wrong.

  Trammel worked the lever of the rifle, ejecting a round, and saw he still had at least one more to work with.

  He moved toward the dining room and saw the man he had missed had grabbed hold of a maid. He had his pistol pressed against the woman’s head as he held her in front of him as cover.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, big man,” Clay’s man Sully said as he moved his face behind the frightened woman’s head. “You wouldn’t want to do anything that might get this nice lady killed, now would you?”

  Trammel slowly walked into the dining room, keeping his rifle trained on the gunman. “She dies, you die. Drop the gun and throw up your hands. Nobody else needs to die here today.”

  The maid squealed again as he dragged her backward toward the kitchen and the back door of the hotel.

  “The only one who’s going to drop his gun is you, Trammel,” Sully yelled. “Unless you want to see this woman die. Just let me go and that’ll be the end of it.”

  Trammel knew the woman would die the second he moved his rifle from him.

  A series of shots from upstairs echoed through the hotel, followed by a single rifle shot he imagined was from Ben.

  The gunman had heard it, too, and looked in that direction.

  Trammel slowly closed the distance between them. “That was your last man. You’re all alone now. The street’s filling up with men right now, armed to the teeth. All that shooting brought them out. When they see you holding her like that, they’re all liable to start shooting. I don’t want that and neither do you.”

  As they crossed into the kitchen, the maid let her shoes snag on the threshold, and she allowed herself to go limp. She slid down from the gunman’s grip, exposing him from the chest up.

  Trammel took the shot, and two more. All three hit the gunman, who fell back into a counter before dropping to the floor.

  Trammel ran into the kitchen and kicked the pistol out of the dead man’s hand. A cook ran over and picked it up with a dish towel.

  He ran back into the lobby and yelled up the stairs, “Hagen! You alive?”

  “Of course,” Hagen yelled back. “Come on up.”

  * * *

  Trammel took the steps two at a time, mindful that there might be other gunmen around, until he reached Hagen’s room. The corridor was pockmarked with even more bullet holes than when he had left, but seeing the boots of the dead man at the far end of the hall told him Ben had finished off the last gunman.

  The door to Hagen’s suite was open and Trammel went inside.

  Ben London was out on the balcony. Hagen was in the middle of getting dressed.

  “Good morning,” Hagen greeted him. “What have you been up to today?”

  Trammel could not believe the man’s calm. “Don’t tell me you didn’t hear everything that was going on outside.”

  “Oh, I heard it,” Hagen said as he showed him the door to his room. “I even planned for it, too.” He pointed to the bullet-riddled wood on the front of the door.

  And to the iron plate behind it. “I prepared for this eventuality. Had it brought all the way from Detroit when I turned these rooms into my suite during my convalescence. I figured if someone had tried to kill me once, they would no doubt try again. Seems to have come in handy, don’t you think?”

  He grinned as he knocked on the iron before shutting the door. “It was an extravagance at the time, I know, but a wise investment.”

  Trammel watched Hagen go back to his mirror and finish tying his black Ascot. “Why do you look so glum, Buck? Don’t tell me you were hoping these ruffians would succeed in killing me. I know we’ve had our share of misunderstandings, but I’d like to think we haven’t sunk to the level of despising each other.”

  Trammel did not know what to think or say, so he just said what was on his mind. “The four Celestials you had guarding you are dead. One of the gunmen took a maid hostage. She fainted, but she’ll be fine.”

  Hagen finished the knot and seemed quite pleased with his reflection. “Which is more than I hope I can say for the man who took her.”

  “All of the gunmen are dead,” Trammel told him. “There were eight of them.”

/>   Hagen’s sharp laugh pierced the air. “That means two of them backed out. Lucien’s lucky number is ten. They probably refused him when they realized Albertson wouldn’t be able to pay them when they were done with me.” He pulled on his black coat. “Thank heavens for the predictability of the criminal mind, not that two more would have made any difference. Thank you, by the way, for capturing them the way you did. I have to find some way of repaying you for that. Ben, too.”

  Trammel followed Hagen out onto the balcony. The sun had risen higher now, and thin bands of purple and orange spread across the sky in all directions.

  Hagen looked over the railing and waved at the people who had crowded the thoroughfare and boardwalks of Main Street. Trammel saw Emily hurry into the hotel carrying her medical bag.

  “No cause for alarm, everyone,” Hagen told them. “Just a minor scrape, is all. A guest was displeased with his toast. Said we’d burned it. Just goes to show you the level of perfection the people who stay here have come to expect. You may all go about your business now. I’m quite safe, and Sheriff Trammel has things well in hand.”

  The townspeople muttered amongst themselves as they slowly broke away and went back to wherever they had come from.

  Hagen waved down at them as they dispersed. “They love me, you know. In their own fashion anyway. They don’t like to admit it, but everyone loves a man like me. And they’ll love me even more after this week. Mark my words, Buck. I’ll go from being hated to being beloved before you know it.”

  Ben broke his lofty speech by tapping Hagen on the shoulder and pointing at the end of Main Street.

  Trammel looked, too.

  Instead of seeing six ranch hands keeping vigil outside the barn where Mr. Hagen’s remains were kept, he saw a line of twenty men. All of them holding rifles. All of them staring up at the balcony.

  “Well, hell’s bells,” Hagen said. “That’s disappointing.”

  A flare of movement from across the street caught Trammel’s attention. It was Lonnie.

  He was holding a whiskey bottle with a rag tucked into the top of it. And the rag was burning.

  “Long live King Charles Hagen!” Lonnie yelled as he threw the flaming bottle up at them.