His brand-new Winchester ’76 was in the scabbard beneath the right stirrup. He had bought the rifle more for its ornamental engravings than for its usefulness as a weapon. He hoped it shot as accurately as it was pretty. The double-barreled shotgun was in the scabbard beneath the left. He had plenty of ammunition for both and the Colt Peacemaker he had tucked in the shoulder holster beneath his brown duster. He had been a detective too long to ever become comfortable with a gun on his hip and knew, with the Bowman family likely on his trail, that this was no time for experimentation.
Satisfied his rig was as secure as it was likely to be, he decided it was time to go. The eastern sky was already beginning to brighten with the rising sun, and the Bowman clan was likely to follow soon after. Trammel went to grab Hagen, but found Lilly was already helping him get to his feet and steering him toward the gray.
Trammel held the stirrup steady for him, and was surprised when the drunkard climbed into the saddle easier than expected. “I don’t need your help, damn you. I was born on a horse.”
Trammel decided to leave the gambler alone, encouraged that maybe the journey would not be as one-sided as he had feared.
Lilly slipped a pint of whiskey into the pocket of Trammel’s duster. “That’s for him. He’s liable to need it before long. Wean him off it slowly and he’ll be less of a burden to you.”
Trammel was ashamed of himself for not thinking of that already. It wasn’t the first kindness Lilly had shown him, but it was most likely the last. He was suddenly ashamed of that and a lot of things. “I’m sorry for leaving you in the lurch, Lilly. You were always good to me, and I hate it ending like this.”
“Stop it. You helped me save my saloon more times than I can count. I don’t want to think about what I would’ve done if you hadn’t stepped off that stagecoach when you did, and I owe you more than I could ever repay you.”
Trammel looked away from her. “I shouldn’t have killed those boys like I did. My damned temper. It sometimes—”
She placed her slender fingers over his lips. “You had no choice then, just like you don’t have a choice now. Just get yourselves somewhere safe and, if you think to, send word of where you are. I’d like to know how you’re doing from time to time.”
She straightened his duster even though it didn’t need straightening. “Maybe I could come see you after you’re settled and all, especially now that you’re no longer in my employ.”
The words warmed him. He had thought about her as more than his boss several times since coming to work for her, but hadn’t said anything about it. Because saying something made it real to him and he was afraid she might not feel the same way. For one of the first times in his life, Buck Trammel was glad he had been wrong.
“Maybe open up another Gilded Lilly somewhere else, like in—”
She covered his mouth with her soft hands again. “Don’t say another word, Buck Trammel. I don’t know where you’re going, and I don’t want to know. I just want you to get wherever it is safely and soon.” She looked away as she gave him a timid shrug. “You’ve hung around here just about as long enough as you can. Best be on about your business.”
He gently brought her small hands to his mouth and kissed them, then kissed the back of her hands. She leaned forward and he laid his cheek on top of her head. He breathed in the rosewater he knew she used to wash her hair; the same scent he had grown to love over the past year. He knew that last smell might have to hold him for a long time, perhaps for the rest of his life. However long that might be.
Lilly backed away again, wiping tears from her eyes. “Now go. Both of you. And may God be with you.”
Hagen sluggishly doffed his bowler and slurred, “A lovely sentiment, m’lady, but a wasted one to be sure for, alas, God abandoned me quite some time ago.”
Trammel climbed into the saddle and brought his mount around. “Get moving, juice belly. We’ve got a good piece of riding ahead of us.”
Hagen plopped the bowler back on his head and followed Trammel as he rode away from The Gilded Lilly for the last time.
Trammel didn’t look back. He didn’t dare.
CHAPTER 4
It was just after nine in the morning when the Bowman family rode into Wichita. All twenty of them rode down Main Street, four lines of five horses across.
Matt Bowman was in the lead. He wasn’t an especially big man, for none of the men in the Bowman line ran big, but like his kinsmen, he was lean and solid. He had fought on the side of the Union in the late War Between the States, receiving a field commission of captain. He had brought the same leadership he had shown on the battlefield home with him after the surrender and helped his father build the BF brand into one of the most prosperous and respected in Kansas.
A man like that could not be expected to take the deaths of two of his own kindly, even if they were only cousins and troublesome cousins at that. With his father being unable to ride any more, Matt was aware that it was up to him to defend the Bowman name now. That name meant something only as long as the family was willing to fight to keep it that way. And Matt Bowman was not known as a man to back away from a fight.
Matt brought his horse to a rough halt in front of The Gilded Lilly and tied up to the hitching post in front of the saloon. His nineteen other relatives followed his lead. He did not wait for them as he stormed up the steps and pushed his way into the saloon.
Never one given to drink or tobacco, he almost gagged on the stench of stale tobacco smoke and spilled rotgut. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as he looked around for any sign of the drunkard Hagen, that murdering giant Trammel or the woman who employed him, Miss Lilly.
He found most of the tables empty, with only a few old timers playing cards at the far end of the dimly lit saloon.
As his relatives began to pile in behind him, Matt yelled, “I’m here for Buck Trammel or that wench that hired him, Miss Lilly. Or the drunken gambler who goes by the name Hagen. I’ll see them now, or, by God, me and mine will burn this hellhole to the ground!”
“No, you won’t,” came a voice from the shadows.
Matt peered in the direction from where the voice had come, but could only barely make out the outline of a man. The broad brimmed hat and the coat he wore were as dark as the shadow he sat in, but the dull glint of the star on his chest told Matt who he was. “That you, Earp?”
The man looked up from his white coffee mug. “It is. And you’re interrupting my coffee.”
“I don’t give a damn about your coffee, boy. I came to see about my dead kin.”
“You’ll find William and Tyler over at the mortician where their earthly remains are being tended to as we speak. You can collect them any time you’d like.”
“There’ll be time enough for the dead,” Matt said. “Right now, I’m here to talk to the people who made them that way, namely that damned Trammel and that damned drunk Hagen.”
Earp sipped his coffee. “They’re not here. And you’re disturbing the peace.”
The iciness of the deputy’s tone almost made him shiver. “What about Miss Lilly?”
“She’s not receiving visitors at this time. She’s had quite a night.”
“She’s had quite a night? What about my kin? Will and Tyler are dead.”
“And they’re at the mortuary waiting for you to bring them home where they belong. I already told you that. I won’t tell you again. Best see about your business and leave the rest alone.”
Matt took a few steps into the saloon. His relatives moved with him. “You protecting those boys, Earp?”
“Not mine to protect. They’ve left town.”
“What?” Matt had to steady himself on a chair, his rage and sadness almost overwhelming him. “You mean you let them leave? After what they done?”
“Had nothing to hold them on. What happened here was fair and legal. I’ve got almost a dozen statements on my desk back at the jail attesting to that fact. I’ll let you read them if you’d like, once you’ve had tim
e to grieve over your losses.”
“My losses?” The words hardly made sense to him. “My losses? We’re not talking about a bunch of horses who’ve run off or have been stolen, Earp. We’re talking about the murder of two young men cut down in their prime by a murdering giant and a drunken gambler.”
“The gambler had nothing to do with it. And they disobeyed Trammel’s order to leave. They attacked him and got killed for their trouble. Serves them right for going up against a man damned near twice their size.” He brought his mug to his lips. “I told you to go collect your dead. I won’t tell you again.”
“Not before I’ve had a word with Miss Lilly.”
A chair scraping against wood pierced the darkness as Earp stood. “I said no.”
Matt felt his neck begin to redden. He had always tried to have respect for the law as far as it went, but in the face of his own dead, that respect didn’t go far. “Now see here, Earp. You and your brother might have that old ninny Meagher buffaloed, but I’m no old ninny. You’re only one against twenty and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of the way and let us get answers on our own.”
Suddenly, quietly, Earp strode out of the darkness and stood less than a foot from Matt. The rancher flinched and took a step back despite his intention to hold his ground.
Earp didn’t move, not even a twitch. His flat blue eyes were locked on Matt until Bowman found himself taking still another backward step.
“I know you’re grieving, so this one time, I’ll repeat myself. You’re not going to bother Miss Lilly. You’re not going to kill Trammel or Hagen or anyone else. You’re going to collect your dead and bring them home for the Christian funeral they deserve. And when you’ve had a chance to mourn, you’ll come see me in the jail and I’ll prove what happened here. Until then, you have to leave town. All of you. Right now.”
Matt held his ground, his fading resolve beginning to weaken even further under Earp’s glare, until his cousin Walt Bowman said, “Damn you, Earp. You can’t stop us.”
But Earp’s eyes never left Matt’s. “Looks like I already have. Go. Now.”
Matt jerked his head up, trying to save some semblance of pride in front of his people. “We’ll collect our dead and bury them. But someone’s going to answer for this, Earp. Someone’s going to answer for this damned soon.”
He turned and pushed his way through his relatives. The rest of the Bowman family filed out after him, Walt last among them.
Earp stood where he was until the last of them rode away, then sat back down at the table and finished his coffee.
CHAPTER 5
“I need a drink.” Hagen was nearly doubled over his horse as they rode the flatlands north away from Wichita. “I need it bad, Buck.”
“Don’t call me that.” Trammel rode several yards ahead of him, hoping the distance would encourage his mount to pick up the pace a bit. He could see Hagen was hurting. He was sweating something awful, and his hands shook like a man riding at full gallop.
But Trammel also knew they needed to be farther from town than they were. Much farther. They had only a day or so to put as much space between them and the Bowman family as possible. At the rate they were riding, the family would be on them just as they reached the next town. “I only let my friends call me Buck, and you’re no friend, so let’s just leave it at Trammel.”
“Fine!” Hagen cried out. “I’ll call you anything you want, even beautiful, but I’m hurting bad and I need that drink. I need it now!”
Trammel kept riding. “You got your sip when we rested a while back. I’ll give you another sip when we make camp for the night as long as we get as far as we need to. That means you picking up the pace.”
Hagen sneered. “It’s called a hangover for a reason, you overgrown imbecile. I didn’t ask to come on this crusade of yours. I would’ve been just as happy to sleep it off in my room and take my chances with those Bowman idiots when I had my wits about me.”
“And a belly full of whiskey, no doubt.” Trammel normally didn’t let such insults go unanswered, but given Hagen’s current sorry state, he let it slide. “I didn’t have you pegged for a brave man.”
“I never said I’d fight them, but I’d be able to avoid them easily enough if I was in better shape.”
Trammel figured that was the case. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, we weren’t given much choice in the matter. Like I told you before, Earp pretty much ordered us out of town. Taking you with me wasn’t my idea, but we’re stuck with each other until we reach the next town. So the sooner you figure out how to pick up the pace, the sooner we’ll be rid of each other.”
Trammel noticed something he had said seemed to snap Hagen out of it. He bolted upright in the saddle, as if an iron bar had been jammed up his spine. “Music to my ears. Just where are we headed, Mr. Trammel, or have you not thought that far ahead yet?” He looked around. “We seem to be headed north.”
Trammel was glad for the chance to prove to Hagen he wasn’t an imbecile after all. “I let Bobby back at the livery think we were headed south. So we’re headed north instead. To Newton.”
“Newton,” Hagen repeated as though the word itself was poison. He leaned over the side of his mount and spat onto the trail. “How predictable. You’re more Moses than Daniel Boone, aren’t you, Trammel? A real north-and-south, left-or-right man. The kind who picks out a point on a map and rides straight for it. The kind of man who gets himself killed.” He spat again. “Just like a bloody copper.”
“I’m not a cop, damn you.” Trammel resented the insult to his logic. “You weren’t exactly in any shape to give an opinion on direction when we rode out this morning, so I made the best choice I could. Newton is a solid choice, and it’s got law to protect us if the Bowman family catches up to us.”
“Thank God I’m beginning to regain some of my senses.” Hagen winced and doubled over, no doubt from the clawing in his stomach from the lack of booze. “Fortunately, the Bowman clan are no brighter than you are and are likely to do the same thing.” He looked around and saw a copse of trees just ahead. “That’s exactly why we’re not going to Newton.”
Trammel resented the man’s affront to his authority, until he realized he didn’t have any authority. He wasn’t a Pinkerton man anymore, and Hagen wasn’t his prisoner. Hell, he technically wasn’t even his charge. Earp had told him to bring the gambler out of town with him, and he had done that. Whatever happened to him now that they were out of town limits was out of his control. Not even a man like Earp could hold him responsible for that.
But Trammel also knew Hagen was right about him. Trammel was a straight thinker. He had picked out a spot and headed for it, just like he had always done. The Bowman family, or at least the few members he had known at The Gilded Lilly, were the same sort. They came in after a roundup to get drunk and that’s what they did. They came in to gamble for high stakes at the tables and did just that. Sometimes they won and sometimes they lost.
They went straight at whatever they set their mind to, and they’d most likely do the same thing when they came after Trammel and Hagen. And he had no doubt they’d come for them and keep coming for them until they found them. It sounded like Hagen knew that, too, and might have a way around it.
“Never took instruction from a drunk before,” Trammel admitted, “but I suppose there’s a first time for everything. Since we’ve both likely got a price on our head by now, where do you think we should go?”
“A haystack where two needles like us can disappear quite nicely,” Hagen said. “Come, Moses. And let me lead you to the new and eternal Jerusalem of our kind.”
Trammel’s mount flinched as Hagen put the spurs to his own horse and bolted for the trees. The old gray no longer moped like an old nag, and Hagen no longer rode like a drunk slumped over in the saddle. He rode upright and erect, the way he’d seen some of the army officers ride when they came to Wichita on their first day of leave. They hadn’t ridden out the same way, of course, but on t
hat first day, their poise left an impression on Trammel.
His horse bucked a bit and he could tell it was anxious to follow. He let up on the reins and let it have its head. “Okay, Mr. Hagen,” Trammel said to himself. “Let’s find out if you know what you’re talking about.”
CHAPTER 6
Ambrose Bowman’s bones creaked as loudly as the floorboards of his back porch as he walked to his rocking chair. He sat down and filled the bowl of his pipe the way he had almost every night he had spent in his home. This very same home he had built decades ago with his own hands. His own sweat and labor. He saw no reason why the death of his kin should interfere with the ritual. Bowman men and women had been dying in Kansas since his father had moved the family to the wilderness long before the War Between the States. They had died since and, he reckoned, more would die before he finally passed over to whatever lie beyond. He knew not whether he would go to Heaven or Hell, but imagined that God, in His own infinite wisdom, would find a way to split the difference and plant him in Purgatory for a spell, if such a place existed. If it did not exist, he had no doubt the Almighty would create such a place if only to stick him there out of spite. His relationship with his creator had always been thus.
He struck a lucifer on the side of his chair and brought the flame to the bowl, puffing until he brought the tobacco to a decent burn before waving the match dead and flicking it over the porch railing. It was already past sunset, and he watched the purple hues of the western sky grow deeper as the sun sank farther behind the horizon.
Yet there was still enough light for him to see the family graveyard where his people lie molding, their headstones crooked and bent in the soft Kansas soil. He saw the outline of the horses in the near field and, just beyond it, the pasture where his cattle grazed.
Both herds were larger than his father and his uncles had brought with them. He was confident they would grow larger still under his son Matthew’s reign. He was sure of that. His son wasn’t good at much, but he knew how to raise horses and cattle. He was a Bowman, by God, and Bowman men knew how to make this land their own. They always had and, he reckoned, they always would.
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