Hagen looked back and watched Trammel bring the team of horses forward. He was glad he had convinced the big man to shave. He looked different this way and even more intimidating than he already did. He’d also be a bit harder to peg should anyone in town be looking for them.
Hagen knew the ladies might be happy they had reached Ogallala alive, but for him and Trammel, the danger was greater to them here than on the prairie. They ran the risk of being recognized now or remembered later on. They had no choice but to go into town now that they had to deliver the women to safety, but the way they went about it might mean the difference between life and having the Bowman family on their heels again.
A young woman in the back of the wagon named Mary Ford perked up when she saw Trammel approaching. “Good morning, Mr. Trammel. And God bless you.”
The other women giggled and teased her as Trammel touched the brim of his hat. “Morning, Miss Ford. And I appreciate the sentiment, as unlikely as it may be.”
Miss Ford’s daily greetings had appeared to humanize Trammel some. Hagen began to wonder if it was the eager sincerity about the young woman whenever she saw a man she considered her rescuer or if politeness was closer to Trammel’s true nature. Whatever the case may be, Hagen was sorry it was coming to an end now that they had reached Ogallala.
Trammel pulled his horses to a halt beside the wagon. “Why’d you stop?”
“Because I’m afraid this is where you and I must part ways,” Hagen explained, “at least for a little while.” He could tell the big man was confused, so he added, “Our exploits on the trail are bound to draw some attention, especially when we ride into town with a wagon filled with rescued women. Our descriptions are bound to end up in the local papers, and it’s not unreasonable to believe that the Bowman family could read them and decipher our whereabouts. I think we’ve succeeded in throwing them off our scent for the moment, so I wouldn’t want to risk that possibility because of our good deed here.”
Trammel thought about it for a moment. “So you get to ride into town and get all the glory?”
“No.” Hagen appreciated Trammel’s suspicious nature. “I ride into town and slip into obscurity.”
Mary Ford leaned forward and added, “As thanks to both of you for saving us from those brutal men, the ladies and children and I have agreed to not breathe a word about you to anyone, not even our own people, should they accept us in town. Mr. Hagen has made that point perfectly clear, and it is a humble price we are all too happy to pay. We owe you both our lives, gentlemen. Our children owe you their lives. Protecting your identities is the least we can do.”
“And I have always benefited from the discretion of pious ladies.” Hagen said to Trammel. “Still, we must take every precaution to not be seen together while in town. Do you have enough money to livery the horses and get a room?”
“I do, but it’ll just about clean me out,” Trammel said. “I wasn’t counting on being a fugitive, so money’s a bit tight.”
“I’ll reimburse you when I find you,” Hagen said. “Livery the horses for a week and secure a room for yourself for the same amount of time. Don’t worry about me. I’ll find you after I see to the ladies.”
He watched Trammel thinking it over; his lantern jaw set on edge as he thought of all the different ways he could answer. He was glad the man wasn’t a gambler, because, given his open nature, he’d lose his shirt playing poker. Hagen didn’t think Trammel was a stupid man by any means, but he wasn’t a quick thinker, either. He moved on instinct and, so far, that instinct had saved Hagen’s life and the lives of the women they had rescued. He intended on compensating the big New Yorker many times over for his kindness by the time their association came to an end.
When he was done thinking it over, Trammel simply said, “Okay. You’ll find me in town.”
He brought his big sorrel around and tipped his hat to the women in the wagon. “I suppose this is where we part ways, ladies. Best of luck to all of you and keep those prayers coming if you can spare the thought. Guess it can’t hurt.”
The ladies bid him good-bye all at once, but Miss Ford was the most enthusiastic. “Good-bye, Mr. Trammel. And thank you again for your immense kindness to us in the wilderness.”
Trammel smiled. “Ma’am.”
Hagen watched him swing his horses around and lead them down to Ogallala at a better clip than when he had been trailing the wagon.
He was surprised when Miss Ford leaned on his shoulder to watch Trammel ride off. “He’s quite a man, isn’t he, Mr. Hagen.”
He imagined if Trammel had heard Miss Ford’s praise, he might have actually blushed. He would’ve paid good money to see that.
“No argument from me on that score, Miss Ford. Now, please take your seat and allow me to take you fine ladies to your new home.”
He snapped the reins and, with a great cheer from the women, headed off on the trail to town.
* * *
“How much for five days?” Trammel asked the liveryman.
The black man pulled his beard as he thought it over. Trammel saw a sign on the wall listing a price, but he wanted to see if the man would match it or try to gouge him.
The price the liveryman gave him matched the sign on the wall. Trammel plunked the coins in the liveryman’s hand and hoped like hell Hagen wouldn’t leave him there. He might not have counted on being a fugitive, but he hadn’t counted on stabling so many horses, either. The amount may have been fair, but it put a hell of a dent in his savings. After getting a room and meals, he figured on being broke within the week. He didn’t know why they just couldn’t have made camp on the outskirts of town, but he’d seen enough of Hagen’s actions to know the man always had a reason for doing whatever he did.
“Need a place to stay?” the liveryman asked as he led the horses to their respective stalls. “I can recommend The Old Hickory for you. It’s got just about everything a man could want all under one roof. Food, whiskey, cards, women. Food’s not even half bad. Tell ’em I sent you, and they’ll give you a right good price for a week. Name’s Sebastian.”
Trammel appeared to think it over for a while. “I just might do that. And thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Mister . . . ? You never told me your name.”
He had no intention of giving the man his real name. He already had his horses and a line on where he’d be staying. He noticed how the man watched him and, if he was like most liverymen, had a tendency to gossip. In Trammel’s experience, neither barbers nor liverymen could be relied upon for their discretion.
“Ronan,” Trammel said, using his cousin’s name. “Jim Ronan.”
The two men shook hands. “Big Jim Ronan,” Sebastian said. “It suits you. Yes, sir, it suits you right down to the ground you’re standing on.”
Trammel hauled his saddle onto his shoulder; the rifle and the shotgun still in their scabbards. “Take care of my horses, Sebastian. I’ll see you in a week.”
Sebastian continued to shout pleasantries at him as Trammel walked out of the livery. He saw The Old Hickory saloon at the end of the street and walked in the opposite direction.
Instead, Trammel took a room in the Clarkson hotel. It wasn’t the best place in town, but for the money, he had no complaints. The room was clean and it opened to the balcony that surrounded the second floor of the hotel. The clerk at the front desk said he could have food delivered up to his room if he wanted, though he was clear that such service was infrequent and the house made no guarantees that the food would still be warm if and when he got it.
Trammel was grateful the clerk looked too hungover to remember him if asked to describe him later. He imagined Sebastian at the livery had probably already told ten people about the big stranger named Jim Ronan.
Trammel had set his saddle on the ground and had just removed his boots for the first time in weeks when he heard a great clamor rise up from the street. In his stocking feet, he stepped out onto the balcony and saw other guests were already outside, looking for th
emselves.
Trammel looked down and saw Hagen in the wagon, leading the women up the street. A crowd of men and women had fallen in around them. Men tossed their hats in the air and ladies thrust flowers up to the women in the wagon.
Hagen noticed Trammel on the balcony as he passed and doffed his hat to him.
Trammel shook his head. So much for Hagen’s plan to quietly slip away.
He padded back inside and shut the door behind him, making sure it was locked and the shades were pulled down. He climbed into bed and heard the springs protest under his weight.
The bed might not have been as comfortable as the one he had enjoyed at The Gilded Lilly, but he was glad to have it.
As he waited for sleep to take him, Trammel wondered if Hagen would come back for him. He wondered if he’d still plan on going to his family in Wyoming or if there was even a family at all. Hagen was a hard man to figure out, and as a gambler, he’d made a life based on bluffing other men at the card table. But the prairie was a much different place than a gambling hall, and Trammel imagined most, if not all, of what Hagen had told him on the trail was likely true.
But Ogallala was also different from the prairie. Different from Wichita, too. He hadn’t seen much of the town before getting a room at the Clarkson, but he’d seen enough to know it offered all of the same vices Wichita had. Gambling and whiskey and women. The same vices that had brought Hagen to ruin the last time around. The same vices that had led to Trammel killing two men, sending them into the wilderness, as Miss Ford had said.
Trammel knew he could make a life for himself in a place like Ogallala. He’d done it in Wichita, so he could do it here. But if it was just about getting a job, he could’ve gotten one in Dodge City or Newton weeks ago. He reminded himself they had fled for a reason. The Bowman family was still on their trail and weren’t apt to let the deaths of their relatives go unanswered. As they were a ranching family, it would be only a matter of time before they found Hagen and Trammel there.
No, Trammel decided. As much as he might’ve hated the rough going on the trail, they had to keep going. And he’d have to make sure Hagen didn’t slip back into his bad habits and put them at risk again. They were Wyoming bound, for good or for ill. The both of them, whether Hagen liked it or not.
He felt sleep begin to pull on him as he thought of Hagen right now, in all his glory as he delivered a wagon full of widows to civilization. The words to an old hymn his mother used to sing came back to him. I once was lost, but now am found.
He began to dream about Miss Ford. Not the prettiest woman he had ever seen, not by a long shot, but young. Too young for his taste, nothing like Miss Lilly, but Lilly had never looked at him like that. She’d known too much of the world. Known too much about him.
Sleep took him before he had any other foolish thoughts.
CHAPTER 15
The pounding woke him.
He drew his Colt from his shoulder holster as he sat up and found himself in complete darkness. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim lights from behind the drawn shades for him to remember where he was in his room in the Clarkson Hotel. Ogallala, Nebraska.
He heard the pounding again and realized someone was at the door.
Realizing that he would probably be blinded by the light from the hallway if he opened the door, he cocked his pistol and aimed it at the light. “Who is it?”
“It’s me.” Trammel recognized it as Hagen’s voice. “And I come bearing gifts. Open up.”
Trammel tucked the gun back under his arm and got out of bed. He cursed as he tripped over his own boots in the darkness and fell against the door. He unlocked it and opened it, shielding his eyes from the light from the hallway.
Hagen rushed in carrying two plates of food. “God, you’re living in complete darkness like some kind of bat. Leave the door open while I find a lamp.”
Trammel stood on the other side of the door as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. He thought he had been asleep for a few minutes after lying down; maybe a half an hour at most. But he could tell he had been asleep longer than that.
“What time is it?”
“Just past nine in the evening,” Hagen said as he struck a match and lit a lamp in the corner. “The day after we arrived in town. You’ve been asleep for more than a day, my friend.”
“What?” Trammel shut the door. He was fully awake now. “How’s that possible?”
“You’re exhausted,” Hagen explained. “And for good reason. But don’t worry. I had the clerk open the door so I could check on you once or twice to make sure you were still among the living. Alas, you never moved, just snoring the hours away. I decided now might be a good time to wake you up.”
Trammel couldn’t remember a time he had ever slept so long. Drunk or sober, he’d always gotten up at first light, even back in New York. But now that he was on the trail, he was sleeping more at a time when he could ill afford to do so. “You should’ve woken me up.”
“Why?” Hagen set the lamp on the table where he had placed the food. Two steaks spilled over the sides of the plate. A generous pile of mashed potatoes had been heaped beside them. “You needed your rest, and there was nothing for you to do, anyway. I thought it best for one of us to lie low while the other tended to business.”
Trammel remembered the last time he had seen Hagen. He was leading a parade up the street with the women they had rescued. “What business? You getting your name in the papers for bringing those women in alive?”
Hagen grinned as he pulled a couple of chairs to the table. “That was entirely unintended, I assure you. Who would have thought that a wagonload of Quaker women would bring such attention? They insisted that I bring them directly to the church, and as I did, we acquired something of a following.” He shrugged. “It couldn’t be avoided. Now eat. Your steak is getting cold.”
Trammel didn’t realize how ravenous he was until he sat down and began to eat. “I hope you didn’t tell anyone your real name.”
“No,” Hagen assured him, “but the attention was unwelcome just the same. I wasn’t expecting to need an alias, so I’m afraid I gave two different reporters two different names. I can’t even remember which one I gave them; a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the reporters, I’m afraid.”
Trammel stopped eating. “That remark I made about the papers was supposed to be a joke.”
Hagen laughed. “The funniest jokes are often the truest. I didn’t want the attention, Buck. You know I didn’t. But once it was foisted upon me, I had no choice but to play along. Ignoring the attention would’ve only made me more obvious. I didn’t mention you, and the ladies refused to speak to anyone before they spoke to their parson or their preacher or whatever they call their cleric. The damage is minimal, but I’m afraid it means that we won’t be able to linger in town as long as I had hoped.”
Trammel was too hungry to be angry and kept eating. “Don’t tell me you’ve been spending all this time in church.”
“Hardly,” Hagen said. “I’ve had my share of fun. Won a couple of hands at the poker table, too. People are such suckers for celebrity. They all wanted to play with the man who delivered the women from evil.” Hagen grinned. “It wasn’t even fair. I cleaned them out, and they were happy for the experience. At least it gave us enough money to live on for a few weeks. Speaking of which, we’re leaving town right after dinner.”
Trammel kept chewing. He was too hungry to care. “Where are we going?”
“We’re catching the night train to Laramie.”
That was enough to break Trammel’s focus on the steak. “You mean we’re not riding to Wyoming?”
“On rails, but not horseback,” Hagen said. “That was my surprise, Buck. I never had any intention of riding all the way to Wyoming when we can afford passage on a perfectly good train. It departs at midnight, so you can take your time with your meal. I’ve already arranged for our horses to be loaded. All you need to do is bring your saddle to the livery. As you’r
e the more obvious of the two of us, I’ve taken the liberty of booking you a private berth. I’ll be content in the dining car with the gamblers. Figure I’ll keep my hand in at cards while we head back home. Money in the pocket is preferable to money on credit.”
“Speaking of which . . .” Trammel started.
But Hagen waved him off. “I’ve already settled your account here at the hotel, too, ‘Mr. Ronan.’ I’ll give you the money once we’re on the train. I’d hoped we could have enjoyed some female companionship before we left town, but, alas, that won’t be possible. Well, not for you, anyway. I met a wonderful soiled dove last night. She was—”
Trammel let him talk while he focused on eating. He had put the idea of women out of his mind since he left Lilly back in Wichita. The two of them had never been together, but he had still come to think of themselves as a sort of couple. He had never been sure if she had felt the same way, not until that morning when they had ridden out of town. He wondered if he would ever see her again. He wondered if he wanted to.
Trammel kept eating. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll make my own way in that regard.”
“Yes, I’m sure you will,” Hagen observed. “I couldn’t help but noticing that you managed to catch the fancy of Miss Ford, though.”
“She’s a kid.”
“She’s eighteen, according to her mother, and ready for a husband. She’s not the kind of woman that men like you and I are used to, of course, but I’m sure she’d welcome the chance for you to play the role of Moses and part her waters, to borrow a biblical term I know she would appreciate.”
But Trammel appreciated the steak more than he appreciated Hagen’s references. “You’re the one who played Moses in leading them here, not me. And you’d damned well better hope the Bowman clan don’t read papers or they’ll be back on our trail worse than before.”
“Our deliverance to our own promised land is only a few days away by train,” Hagen said. “And then—”
North of Laramie Page 9
