Lefty might have only had one good eye, but he could see the agreement settling over them. Except for Parrot, of course. They had talked about this behind his back. They had come to a decision, despite his best efforts to keep them from doing so.
He had always known this day would come. The day when he found himself on the opposite side of them. It was bound to happen. It was the curse of leadership. He’d heard old sailors talk about it before down in Texas.
Mutiny.
He fought the urge to draw and gun them all down where they sat. Not because he didn’t think he could kill them and not because of all the miles they had ridden together. No, he didn’t kill them because he needed them.
And he needed them because they were going to Ogallala. Because that no-good Trammel had taken his eye and there was no way he could go on living with himself as long as that man was alive.
He decided to reach a compromise. “You boys want to punch cattle again? Fine. We can sign on with an outfit heading up to Ogallala.”
The three of them looked at each other. Parrot kept looking out the window, waiting for a random bit of conversation to strike him to repeat. Walt Bowman remained slumped forward in his chair and drooled on the table.
As Lefty expected, Hooch spoke first. “I’d say that’s a good idea, except that most of the outfits that have driven this far are all full up with hands. Hell, just look around this place. You can’t spit in here without hitting a puncher on a drive.”
Lefty grinned. “Then I guess we’ll have to make some vacancies, now won’t we?” He looked over at the table to his right. The five men drinking there were already slurring and hadn’t taken the time to slap the dust from their clothes. He launched a stream of tobacco at the closest man’s boots, but he hardly noticed.
Lefty decided on another way to get their attention. “Any of you boys riding north to Ogallala?”
CHAPTER 18
Trammel didn’t like the side-eye he was receiving from the assistant conductor. “Something on your mind?”
“No, sir,” the skinny man said. “Just wondering why you’ve decided to bring your saddle and rifle into your cabin. Most of our customers are content with securing their rifles in the livery car.”
“I’m not most of your customers,” Trammel said, “and there’s no law against it.”
“Of course, sir. As you wish. Just irregular is all.”
Trammel looked down at the man. “Anything about me strike you as normal?”
“No, can’t say that it does. Takes all kinds in this world, I suppose.” When they reached his cabin, the conductor opened the door. “Here you are, sir. Plenty of room, even for a big man like you. If there’s anything I can do to make your trip more comfortable, just ask.”
Trammel set his rifle on the bunk. During his time with the Pinkerton Agency, he had spent time on some private cars before, but never a cabin. He was pleasantly surprised by how spacious it was; large enough for not only a bed, but also a cushioned bench and chair.
“As a matter of fact, there is something you can do for me,” Trammel said. “You see that little guy I was talking to on the platform just now?”
“I would describe him more as having an average build, sir, but yes, I saw him. What about him?”
“You boys run a card game on this train?”
The conductor cleared his throat. “Well, not an official one, of course, but our customers have been known to begin a game on their own to help pass the time. No real money is exchanged, of course. It’s purely for enjoyment, you see.”
Trammel admired the conductor’s attempt at respectability, either for himself or for the sake of his railroad. “He’s got a habit of getting himself into trouble at the card table. If he does, I’ll expect you to come fetch me to get him out of it before it gets out of hand. Me and only me, understand? No one else, not even the head conductor.”
“I understand clearly, sir.” The man cleared his throat again and rocked up on his tiptoes as he smiled at Trammel. The native New Yorker knew what the conductor was waiting for. He was looking for a tip.
Trammel bent to whisper directly into the man’s ear. “You’ll get money if you live up to your end of the deal. And if you don’t, if something happens to him and you forget to tell me, I swear to Christ that I’ll throw you off this train while it’s moving. Understand?”
“Perfectly, sir. Forgive me.”
Trammel slammed the coach door as the conductor scurried away. He laughed to himself as he sat on the bed and pulled off his boots. Being his size wasn’t always easy, but every so often, it was fun.
* * *
Trammel wasn’t laughing when a frantic rapping at the cabin door woke him out of a dead sleep in pitch darkness. He’d meant to put his head down for only a moment before dinner, but given the darkness of his cabin, he realized he must have been asleep for much longer than that. “Who is it?”
“It’s Farber, sir,” came a harsh whisper. “The assistant conductor. You need to come quickly. I think your friend is in some distress.”
“Thanks.” Trammel cursed as he felt for his boots in the darkness before finding them. “I’ll be along in a minute.”
“Sooner, if possible, sir. Your friend is in quite a bit of trouble.”
Trammel pulled on his second boot and cursed again as he stumbled to find the door.
* * *
He could hear the commotion before he entered the dining car. Through the train doors, he saw Hagen sitting alone at a card table while three other men were standing over him.
As he followed the conductor between the cars, he heard the larger of the three men, “You are a lousy cheat and a damned liar.”
Trammel closed his eyes. Where have I heard that before?
“Everybody just calm down,” Trammel pushed his way past the conductor. “What’s going on here?”
The loudmouth glared at him. He was a lanky man who had the look of the gambler about him despite the plain suit he wore. Trammel pegged him for a cattleman or a railroader who’d recently made good. “This is none of your concern.”
“This man is my concern,” Trammel told him. “What’re you accusing him of?”
“Thievery,” said a second man. He was in a suit, too, but it didn’t fit him quite so well. “It’s plain and simple. The sorehead here was losing all night, letting the pot build up before he pulls a full house out of nowhere. Broke every one of us.”
The third man nodded in quiet assent. He seemed content to let the other two do his arguing for him.
Trammel looked down at Hagen. He couldn’t remember what aliases they were supposed to be using, so he avoided using his name. “This true?”
“Superior strategy isn’t cheating,” Hagen said. “I lulled them into thinking I was a poorer player than I was, but I didn’t cheat. I offered to submit to a full search to prove I am not hiding any cards. They are angry their own gullibility got the better of them.”
Trammel looked at the lanky man who had been doing all of the complaining. “That true?”
“Sure, he submits to a search now, after he wins. What about before? He could’ve been holding on to a paint card all this time without us knowing.”
Trammel looked at the two other players. “Anyone notice anything funny in the card play before my friend here broke the bank?”
He looked at each of them in turn, even the loudmouth. None of them said a word.
He hadn’t expected them to. “You boys have a dealer or did you change who was dealing the cards?”
The lanky man pointed at the conductor. “He was dealing the cards on account of his impartiality.”
“Any of you object to him searching my friend here in front of you? See if he’s got an extra deck or maybe a few cards stashed away?”
None of them objected, so Trammel stepped aside and let the conductor get to work. Hagen stood slowly and held his hands up while the conductor patted him down. He turned out every pocket he could find. He took off Hagen’s
coat and shook it out before laying it on the table and searching the pockets and the lining. “Nothing here,” he pronounced, before patting down Hagen’s pants and shoes and vest coat once again.
When he was done, the conductor stood up. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but as you can see, this man wasn’t holding back any cards. I couldn’t find anything on him and neither could any of you. I have no choice but to give him the money he’s won fair and square.”
Hagen lifted his jacket from the table and began to put it on. “I’m sorry to have upset you gentlemen, but poker’s as much about the cards you’re dealt as it is about the men you’re playing. I can understand how you might’ve thought I was cheating, but—”
The lanky man grabbed Hagen’s arm before he pulled the jacket on. “Wait just a damned minute. Check them sleeves again.”
“I . . . I already checked them,” the conductor stammered. “You saw me check them. There’s nothing there, sir. Nothing at all. He outplayed you, plain and simple.”
The lanky man began to pull Hagen across the table. Trammel fired a straight right hand that broke his grip and sent the big man sprawling backward into the crowd of passengers who had gathered to watch the confrontation. The man was out cold before he hit the carpeted floor of the salon car.
Hagen resumed putting on his coat. “Nothing quite so uncouth as a sore loser.”
Trammel stepped past him and moved toward the man he had just knocked out. He took a knee and began going through his pockets. He wanted to know if the man was carrying any weapons he might need to worry about later on. It was still a long ride to Laramie, and an armed man with a grudge could prove to be a problem.
He threw open the man’s coat and froze. A .38 Colt hung from beneath his left arm. A shoulder rig, just like the one Trammel wore. A cold feeling began to spread through him as he continued patting the man’s pockets until he found what he feared he would find. In the inside pocket of his waistcoat, there was a thin, black leather wallet.
He opened the wallet and saw the identification card saying his name. Jesse Alcott—Pinkerton National Detective Agency.
Trammel closed his eyes and hung his head. Of all the people on the train that Hagen could have played cards with, much less cause Trammel to punch, it had to be an operative from Trammel’s old detective agency.
Trammel couldn’t remember anyone named Jesse Alcott from his time at the agency, but that was hardly remarkable. The organization had hundreds of operatives all over the country. He hadn’t been with the organization long enough to meet them all. He wondered if anyone had.
But once Alcott woke up, he’d remember the fancy gambler he believed had cheated him and the giant of a man who had laid him out cold. Trammel hadn’t left the agency on the best or quietest of terms. Reports of Alcott’s misfortune were certain to reach the ears of Mr. Allan personally, and that may or may not prove to be a further inconvenience to Buck Trammel.
Trammel stuffed the thin wallet back into Alcott’s vest pocket. He stood up and glared at the spectators until they gradually melted away to wherever they had been before the melee broke out. Even the gamblers disappeared, leaving Hagen, Trammel, and the conductor alone near the table piled with money.
Trammel asked the conductor, “What station is he supposed to get off at?”
“T . . . the next stop.” The conductor fumbled as he pulled his pocket watch from his vest and opened it. “We’ll be there in two hours. More than a day before your stop, sir.”
Trammel grabbed several greenbacks from Hagen’s pile and stuffed it into the conductor’s pocket. “Let’s keep that to ourselves. Get this man ready and off this train at his assigned stop. I don’t want him hanging around, understand?”
“Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll see to it. You can count on me.”
Hagen protested when Trammel swiped another bill and stuffed it into the conductor’s pocket. “Let’s keep it that way.”
He came around the table and took Hagen by the arm. “Let’s go.”
The gambler scooped up the greenbacks in his arms as he stumbled forward. “But I have silver on the table I need to collect.”
Trammel blocked his way and shoved him toward his sleeper coach. “Leave it. You’ve won enough for one night. And probably caused us enough trouble for a lifetime.”
* * *
Trammel sat in a chair in the doorway of his coach; keeping an eye on the passageway as Hagen whispered, “I don’t know why you don’t just let me keep watch and you go to bed. It’s my fight anyway.”
“Because that man who grabbed you was a Pinkerton man.” Trammel moved his Colt from one hand to the other to stay alert. “And when he wakes up, he’s not going to be happy.”
“A Pinkerton man?” Hagen repeated. “Did you know him?”
“No.”
“Do you think he recognized you?”
Hagen’s questions were beginning to annoy him. “He didn’t at first, but he might now. I had a reputation at the agency, and he’s bound to put two and two together if he gets wind of our being questioned back in Ogallala. And when word about this reaches the home office in Chicago, the agency may figure out it was me.”
Hagen propped up his pillow. “Don’t be dramatic. How likely is that?”
“Damned likely.” Trammel kept his eyes on the passageway. “The railroads are the Pinkerton Agency’s bread and butter. That loudmouth Alcott was most likely assigned to keep the peace on the train while he was on his way to some destination or another. He might not want anyone knowing about this, but someone in the home office will. And when they do, they’ll have a good line on where I am.”
“Are they looking for you?”
“I don’t know.” Trammel kept watching the passageway. “I didn’t wait around long enough to find out. We didn’t part on the best of terms.”
Trammel hoped Hagen let it go at that and was glad he did. “So your plan is to shoot him before he gets the chance?” Hagen asked. “Murder doesn’t suit you, Buck. You’re not the type.”
“I’ll only shoot him if he comes down here with a gun before he steps off the train. I damaged his pride and that’s not going to sit well with him, especially him being a Pinkerton man.”
Hagen continued to explain how paranoid he was when Trammel noticed a shadow at the end of the passageway. He’d never put much stock in shadows, but given the size of this one, he knew it was either the conductor or Alcott.
He shifted the Peacemaker to his right hand and waited.
The shadow flattened as the man who owned it rounded the corner.
It was Jesse Alcott of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.
He stopped at the end of the passageway when he saw Trammel sitting with the Peacemaker in the doorway of his coach. He was careful not to aim the pistol at Alcott. He didn’t want to start any trouble, but he intended on finishing any that came his way.
Beneath the bandage across his face, Trammel could see Alcott’s eyes had already begun to blacken from the broken nose. He wondered if whoever had patched him up had been skilled enough to set the cartilage properly. Trammel’s nose had been broken several times, and he knew how much it hurt. He knew how much it could blur a man’s vision, and he hoped Alcott’s vision was too blurry to start any trouble.
Trammel didn’t like the way the man just stood at the other end of the train car, so he decided to spur some conversation. “You lost, Alcott?”
“You know my name,” the Pinkerton man said. “Guess it’s only fair, seeing as how I know yours. Your real name, that is. Not that fiction you wrote on your ticket. Buck Trammel as I live and breathe.”
“Can’t be breathing too well through all the packing in your nose.” He lowered the Peacemaker a hair. “As for living, that’s up to you.”
Even from that distance, he could see Alcott grin in the dim light of the sleeper car. “I’m alive and well, and I intend on staying that way. I’m not fool enough to go up against a man who’s got the drop on me. For now.”
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“For now and forever,” Trammel said. “I don’t want to shoot you, Alcott. You strike me as a good man who got a little heated over a game of cards. You got rough with my friend, and I did what I had to do. I’m willing to call it even if you are.”
He saw Alcott’s fists ball at his side. “And if I’m not?”
“Then the next time I see you, things will have a different ending.”
Alcott’s booming laugh filled the car. He wondered how many people in the other berths could hear them. He wondered how much they’d heard and if they’d remember his name, too. There wasn’t much he could do about that now. He had enough to worry about with the big man at the other end of the car.
Alcott stopped laughing. “Yes, I believe it will end different, Trammel. Much different indeed.”
Trammel felt the train begin to slow as it approached the station. He lowered the Winchester enough so that it was pointed in Alcott’s general direction. “Looks like your stop, Jesse. Wouldn’t want to miss it, would you?”
Alcott touched the brim of his bowler hat. “I’ll be seeing you, Trammel. Real soon.”
“Give my best to Mr. Pinkerton when you get back to the home office. Make sure you tell him I sent my regards to Joan.”
Alcott stepped back around the corner.
Trammel kept the Peacemaker aimed down the passageway until the train pulled out of the station. He didn’t think Alcott could’ve wired ahead for any colleagues to meet him here at the station, but only a fool would take a Pinkerton man lightly.
He was surprised when Hagen spoke from the window. “We’re clear, Buck. He walked into the station building and never came out again. Though I must say, you know the most interesting people.”
Trammel stood up, pulled the chair back inside and shut the door. “You and that damned mouth of yours. But you’re right about one thing.” He set the rifle on the bunk and sat beside it. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. You can sleep on the bench over there. And try not to get us killed before we reach Laramie.”
North of Laramie Page 11
