Trammel was usually suspicious of gifts, but as he was new in town, decided to play along. “I thought Bonner was pretty popular around here.”
“Popular with all the wrong people if you ask me and plenty of others,” the shopkeeper said. “He met a fair and equitable end, dying the way he did as he ran out of town. Should’ve been ridden out on a rail years ago if you ask me.”
“But no one asked you,” his wife had shouted from the candy counter on the other side of the store. “And best not to speak ill of the dead lest they speak ill of us.”
Robertson beckoned Trammel closer. “That letter being tacked to the jailhouse door was mighty fishy. I think it was the work of the Lutherans, if you ask me. A mighty angry bunch, that lot. Mrs. Robertson’s a Lutheran, you know.”
“I heard that, you godless heathen!” his wife yelled back.
Trammel had been glad to take his bundle of clothes and escape the store as a full-on family squabble broke out. He’d been in enough scrapes for one day.
Now in his room at the Clifford Hotel, he buckled his new gun belt and secured the strap to his leg. He preferred the comfort of his shoulder rig, but after shooting Elwood through it, the bottom was ruined. The Peacemaker no long fit as snugly as it once had. Robertson took it and said he’d have a tanner either fix it up or give him a new one also free of charge.
The new rig sat against his right leg. The leather was soft, but Trammel knew it would take some getting used to. This was the wrong time to get used to a new rig, but he didn’t have a choice. Still, he enjoyed the sound the Peacemaker made when it slid home in the holster. Maybe he could get used to it after all.
He slid on his new coat and took a moment to admire himself in the mirror. Still ugly, he decided, but at least his clothes matched. Everything was the same relative shade of dark brown, but he liked the look. Should be good enough for whatever dinner party Hagen was throwing in his and Emily’s honor.
Instinct made him draw his pistol when he heard a sharp rap at his door. “Sheriff Trammel? You in there?”
Trammel stepped away from the door. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m Jimmy Hauk, sir,” a young voice said. “I work down at the Moose. You’d better get down here and quick. Sam March from the Den is out on Main Street, sayin’ he’s gonna gun you down the second he sees you.”
Trammel holstered his Peacemaker. If Hauk was a threat, he would’ve shot by now. “Where is he now?”
“On the other end of town in front of the Moose. They’re tryin’ like hell to keep him there, but he’s got a pistol with him and he’s awful drunk. My boss, Mr. Springfield, didn’t want you getting shot on account of him not telling you, so he sent me to do just that.”
Trammel wondered if he had a few more friends in town than he thought. “Step away from the door about ten paces, but don’t leave. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” came the response through the door. Then, “I done what you told me to, but hurry.”
Trammel threw open the door, but stepped to the side, waiting. When nothing happened, he looked out and saw a young man of about twenty at the end of the hall. Alone.
“Mercy,” Hauk said. “You’re even bigger than they say.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“Please, Sheriff. Come quick. The boys have an eye on him, but he’s liable to hurt someone or get himself shot if he keeps up the way he is. The men of the Moose hate loud talk. Cuts into their drinking.”
Trammel shut the door behind him and let the young man lead the way.
* * *
Dusk had already fallen over Blackstone as they walked along the boardwalk to the Moose. The sky bore dark purple and pinkish lines; a sight Trammel normally would have taken in and enjoyed watching had circumstances been different. He hated wasting a good sunset.
He noticed Hauk may be about twenty, but carried himself with the assurance of someone much older. “You ever in the army, son?”
“No, sir. Rancher. Or at least my daddy was until he gave up the family spread to Mr. Hagen a couple of years ago. Daddy drank the profits, but I’m still here. Sort of work out of the Moose these days doin’ whatever Mr. Springfield needs me to do.”
“You like that kind of work, Hauk?”
“Keeps me out of the gutter if that’s what you’re askin’,” he said. “And call me Hawkeye. Everyone does. Kinda sounds like my name, so I let ’em use it. Kinda like it. A little Injun soundin’ for my taste, but I do like it.”
“Hawkeye,” Trammel said, trying it on for size. “I like it, too. You know this town better than I do. How you think I ought to go about stopping March from running his mouth?”
“I’d go at him through the back door of the Moose. Come out the front and get him that way. He’s liable to start blasting away if he sees you straight on. He’s too drunk to hit anythin’, but he’d likely miss you and hit someone else.”
Trammel liked the way Hawkeye thought. “This back door open?”
“It will be once I open it for you.” The boy pointed toward an alley between a saloon and a feed store. “Head down that way and keep walking in this direction. I’ll be standing out back waiting for you.”
Trammel, sensing a trap, stopped.
Hawkeye looked surprised. “I’ll go with you if you want, but it’ll take that much longer for me to go around and open the door. I’ve got no trouble with you, Sheriff, and I sure don’t want any, either.”
Trammel didn’t like it, but he had no choice except to trust the young man. “I’ll see you around back, then.”
He watched Hawkeye run down the boardwalk. Trammel drew his Peacemaker and held it in front of him as he slowly moved down the alley, mindful of any sound that might be a gun.
He reached the mouth of the alley without incident. He looked to his left and found Hawkeye beckoning him from the back door of a saloon he took to be the Moose.
Trammel moved, but not as quickly as one might expect, careful of anyone who might be waiting for him in the growing shadows. He reached the doorway without incident.
“Thanks,” Trammel said to Hawkeye. “March still out front?”
“And drunker than ever. Want me to go around and distract him?”
“Best you stay here until it’s over. This won’t take long.” He paused before heading into the saloon. “And Hawkeye, thanks.”
“Thank Mr. Springfield,” the young man said. “He’s the one who sent me, remember?”
Trammel was in no mood to argue.
He moved into the saloon, ignoring the looks he got from the men who separated as he walked in. The murmurs about his size spread through the room as he caught sight of March through the open door. He was swaying and shouting just as Hawkeye had described. The kid aimed his pistol at anyone he felt was looking at him too long, laughing at their reaction when they backed away.
Trammel decided shooting a drunkard, especially one who worked for Madam Pinochet, would only cement his reputation as a ruthless bully. He’d already killed two men from The Lion’s Den. He didn’t want to kill another if he could avoid it.
He holstered the Peacemaker as he cut through the bar crowd. He reminded himself not to hit March too hard, lest he meet the same result as his companions from the Den.
Trammel broke into a trot as he neared the saloon door. March faced the opposite direction and was still too drunk to hear him. He’d swayed to face the other side of Main Street and shouted, “Trammel! Come out and fight me, you yellow son of a—!”
Trammel burst from the saloon and tore the pistol from March’s hand. The young man turned and Trammel decked him with a short right hand to the temple. March was out cold before he dropped to the thick mud of the thoroughfare.
One of the bystanders said, “Sweet Jesus! Man hits like a mule I had once!”
Trammel looked at the pistol he’d taken off March. Even in the dying light of day, he could see that it was brand new and probably hadn’t even been fired yet. Too nice of a firearm for a
barman like March to—
From inside the saloon, Hawkeye cried out, “Look out behind you!”
Trammel jumped back as he turned, narrowly missing a knife thrust. This attacker was no boy, but a man of about forty who clearly knew how to handle a knife. His instincts had been right after all. He’d been set up, only this time, it was by March.
The crowd scrambled off the boardwalk as Trammel jumped back from another swipe of the bowie knife.
Trammel hated knives.
He jumped back again as the man slashed the blade from right to left. “I’ve got you now, you big blunderbuss!”
When his assailant lunged again, Trammel smacked him in the side of the head with the handle of March’s gun. The blow stunned the man, dropping him to a knee, but not totally out.
Trammel followed up with a kick that caught him under the chin and sent him sprawling onto his back.
The man’s arms splayed on the boardwalk, Trammel brought his boot down on the knife hand with a sickening crunch that made the spectators groan and his attacker scream.
Trammel plucked the knife from the ruined hand and slammed the butt of the knife handle across the man’s jaw, rendering him unconscious.
Trammel stood up and looked at the townspeople. None of them would meet his glare. “Anyone else want a turn? Might as well get it over with now that I’m here.”
The crowd backed away even farther.
Hawkeye pushed through the crowd and gaped down at the two unconscious men. “I thought you were a goner for sure.”
“So did they,” Trammel said. “And I might’ve been if you hadn’t called out to me like that. Thanks.”
Hawkeye nodded. “Lucky I saw him when I did.”
“Luck’s not the half of it.” An idea came to him. “You got a knife?”
Hawkeye said he didn’t, so Trammel handed the attacker’s knife to him, which he quickly tucked into his belt. “What about a gun?”
Again, Hawkeye said he didn’t, so he gave him March’s gun. “Check to make sure it’s loaded, then keep it on you. You might be needing it before long. You’re my new deputy.”
“Really?” Hawkeye brightened. “No foolin’?”
“I’m not in a fooling kind of mood, boy.” He looked at the townspeople. “Any of you fine upstanding folk got a rope I could borrow?”
* * *
Trammel ignored his attacker’s screams as he shut the cell door. Hawkeye did the same with March in the next cell over. Both men were still bound at the wrists and Trammel had no intention of untying them any time soon.
From her cell at the far end, Madam Pinochet yelled, “You’re not going to lock me up in here. Alone. With two men.”
“Why not?” Trammel said. “After all, they work for you, don’t they?” He pointed at March. “My first day in town, this idiot proclaimed his devotion to you.”
“But I’m a woman,” she hissed.
“That’s debatable,” Trammel said. “Besides, they’re tied up and will be for most of the night. They’ll be no harm to you, but I’ll see about getting you a blanket you can hang in your cell for privacy.”
She rattled the cell door, making poor Hawkeye jump back. “These two may have missed you, but your luck is running out, Sheriff. Do you hear me? Not all of my friends are as inept as these two!”
Trammel tugged Hawkeye’s shoulder and beckoned him to follow him out to the office.
He locked the door to the cells and tossed the keys on the desk.
“That Madam Peachtree’s a handful,” Hawkeye said. “She scares the hell out of me.”
Trammel couldn’t blame him. He checked the old Regulator clock on the wall and saw he was already running late to pick up Emily and escort her to Hagen’s dinner. “I’ve got somewhere I’ve got to be, so I have to ask you to stay here and mind the prisoners while I’m gone. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Ain’t you gonna swear me in or something if I’m your deputy?”
“Hell, I don’t even know if I’m legally the sheriff,” Trammel admitted. “But consider yourself sworn in if it’ll make you feel any better.” The expectant look on the boy’s face told him a tin star would go a long way toward improving his disposition. He went to his new desk to see if maybe an old star had been dumped in there with the rest of the contents of the previous desk.
That’s when he noticed several of the drawers weren’t quite closed.
Trammel always made it a point to make sure the drawers were completely closed. He had a habit of banging his legs on open drawers and cursed himself for his stupidity. He knew he wouldn’t have left them open like that.
Someone else had been there. And he had a good idea of who and why.
“Looks like I don’t have a star for you,” Trammel said, “but you’re on the payroll as of now. That counts more than tin in my book.”
Hawkeye looked happy enough to float away. “Could you give me a few minutes to tell Mr. Springfield the good news?”
Trammel admired the boy’s enthusiasm. He wasn’t a fool, just young. “Just be quick about it as I have something I’ve got to do.”
The kid stopped halfway out the door. “Mind if I ask what it is? Might be good to know, being that I’m your deputy now and all.”
Trammel saw no reason not to tell him. “I guess you could say I’m going hunting, Hawkeye.”
“Huntin’?” Hawkeye said. “At this time of night? And in them fancy clothes?”
Trammel remembered the half-closed drawers of his desk. “For the kind of game I’m hunting, these clothes are the best kind.”
CHAPTER 30
“A punctual man,” Emily Downs observed as she watched Trammel climb down from the saddle. “That’s a rarity in this part of the world.”
“I was hoping to be earlier but it didn’t work out that way,” he said. He told her what had happened with March and the knifeman.
“As long as you’re not hurt,” she said. “Do you think you broke the man’s arm? Maybe I should see to him before dinner.”
Trammel wasn’t in as generous a mood. “He can wait until after dinner.”
“Trouble’s got a really nasty habit of finding you, doesn’t it, Buck?”
“Sure seems that way. New York. Wichita. Hell, even way out here in Wyoming. Don’t know why I can’t seem to shake it, but I can’t.”
“Well, as long as you’re okay,” she said again. “You’re sure the knife blade didn’t nick you?”
“Never gave him the chance. I’m a big guy, remember? Or so people keep telling me.”
“How could I forget? Though, you are like most men out here after all.”
“How so?”
“You never complimented me on my outfit, silly.”
He made a show of looking her over. It was a lavender dress with dark ruffles and pretty bows. He had never had much of an eye for fashion, but he knew she looked pretty. “It’s beautiful. Too good for this crowd.”
“I didn’t wear it for them.” She slid her arm through his. “Come, kind sir. We have a dinner to attend.”
Trammel smiled for the first time all day.
* * *
Adam Hagen didn’t much care for the main dining room of the Clifford Hotel. The room was populated by dark, heavy furniture and gleaming silverware. The dishes were gilt-edged and the glasses were cut crystal. The fireplace gave the crowded room an even warmer feeling.
The oak-paneled walls and dark wooden furniture was too close to Father’s drawing room for his taste, but it served his purpose for now. Once he ingratiated himself with Blackstone’s leading citizens, he’d begin to quietly make changes on his own; changes so subtle even his father and his minions wouldn’t notice until it was too late to stop him.
Judging by the number of people who had accepted his invitation to dinner, Hagen knew his plan was off to a spectacular start. From behind the half-closed door of his room, he sipped his whiskey as he counted the number of people who had already arrived.
Mayor
Welch and his wife had been the first to arrive. He had been a lowly teller in his father’s bank when Hagen had left home years ago. He had been under Charles Hagen’s thumb then and, as mayor of Blackstone, even more so now. Owning his own hotel gave him some semblance of independence, but not enough to buck King Charles on his throne. Father only allowed his people to grow so far.
Fredrick Montague, president of the Blackstone Bank, had arrived with his niece, Clara. At least he had told everyone the young woman was his niece from Missouri come west to visit her old bachelor uncle. Hagen thought the young woman may be from Missouri, but he doubted any familial relation. His inability to remember whether or not she was his brother or his sister’s daughter had led credibility to the rumor that she had come west via mail order as much as stagecoach.
Hagen remembered the bank president had always enjoyed a reputation as something of a scoundrel. He was glad to see some things remained the same even after all of these years. He planned on putting that reputation to work for him as he laid his plans to take over the town.
Mr. and Mrs. Robertson of The Blackstone General Store had also come, no doubt to politely mention how happy they had been to refuse the new sheriff’s money when the poor man came into their store with only the clothes on his back. They wouldn’t miss the opportunity to tell everyone within earshot how they couldn’t take his money after what had happened to Sheriff Bonner, God rest his soul.
Hagen made a mental note to make sure to pay them twice over whatever Trammel had bought. He had no intention of allowing Buck to be indebted to a damnable general store owner and his chatty wife.
Hagen had other uses for the storekeeper, the mayor, the banker, and their better halves.
He hadn’t decided to throw this party as a homecoming for himself or a welcoming party for Trammel or as some kind of jumped-up memorial service for Sheriff Bonner.
No, the purpose of this party was business. The business of the future. Adam Hagen’s future here in Blackstone. And, if he played his cards just right, that future just might include his father’s ranch.
North of Laramie Page 20
