He had invited Father and his sister, knowing full well they would decline the invitation. He knew his sister would have wanted to attend, but Father’s pride wouldn’t allow it. He hadn’t earned his respect yet. Montague had been president of his father’s bank for almost forty years and he still hadn’t earned the trust of King Charles, so Hagen knew the odds of his wayward son doing so were against him. Blood didn’t count for much where Father was concerned, a notion Adam Hagen had grown to share.
But when he received the polite rejection note from his father, he was surprised he had assigned John Bookman to represent the ranch. Bookman had earned Father’s trust after so many years of servitude. He had only been with the ranch for half as long as Montague, but had helped grow the Hagen empire in other, less-official ways. When he saw the tall, flat-faced ramrod of the Blackstone Ranch enter the hotel, he knew it was finally time to begin.
He regretted that Emily and Trammel weren’t there yet, but their presence wasn’t important to his plan. The people who could help him pull King Charles off his throne were here, and that was all that mattered.
Hagen set his glass on the dresser and shrugged into his coat. He checked himself in the mirror and admired his new clothes. He had no idea how a small town like Blackstone had managed to attract such a talented tailor, but it had. If Madam Pinochet’s ledger continued to be the treasure trove of secrets it already was, then Adam Hagen would give that tailor quite a bit of business in the years to come.
He saw his gun belt on the table by the window and thought about whether he should wear his guns. He decided against it. There may come a time when brandishing iron was necessary with this group, but now was not that time.
* * *
He entered the party and received the forced welcome he had expected. He knew they must have heard about his exploits throughout the years. Montague had never been one to keep a secret, and the Robertsons, no doubt, only added to whatever tales they had heard. He could see the judgment in their eyes as they smiled at him and thanked him for his hospitality.
Mrs. Robertson was the first to tell him about the attack on Trammel at the Bull Moose Saloon.
Hagen forgot all about the true nature of the party. “Was Buck hurt?”
“Him?” the mayor laughed. “No. Our new sheriff has proven himself quite indestructible. He crippled both bandits single-handedly. Though March wasn’t much of a challenge. He barely weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet.”
So says the man who has never been in a fight in his life, Hagen thought. “I suppose that’s why he’s late. I hope he’ll be here soon.”
He turned his attention to Bookman. “Thank you for representing the family, John. It means a lot.”
“I’m only here because your father sent me,” Bookman said. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Hagen hadn’t expected anything else from his father’s right hand. “Glad to see the years haven’t softened you any.”
“The years gnaw at everyone, boy.” Bookman glanced at Hagen’s outfit. “Those fancy threads don’t impress me or your father, either.”
“The only thing that impresses my father is money and power,” Hagen said. “And I plan on having plenty of both very soon whether or not he likes it.”
Bookman set his glass of whiskey on the table hard enough to make some of it slosh over the sides. Hagen half-thought the cattleman might hit him. “You threatening me or your daddy, boy?”
Hagen regretted allowing his emotions to get away from him. Contrary to popular opinion, honesty was not always the best policy. “Just a momentary declaration of honesty. No offense meant.”
Bookman’s eyes narrowed. “I’m offended by you just being back here. Anything you say just makes it worse.”
Hagen smiled. “Then ready yourself for an epic disappointment, John, because I’ve come to town with plenty to say.”
“Maybe, but you won’t stick around long enough to say it.” Bookman finished his whiskey. “You’ll get tired of being here before long and wander off somewhere else. California’s my bet.”
“For a man who has never left Wyoming, you seem to know a lot about the world.”
“I might not be as well-traveled as you,” Bookman admitted, “but I know this town and your father’s ranch better than anyone alive. And I owe your father more than I can ever repay. One word from him is all it’ll take for me to put you down.”
Hagen felt sorry for the man, even as he glared at him now. This part of the world was filled with men like Bookman, strong, capable men who might very well have made their own way in the world if they hadn’t somehow found themselves working for someone like King Charles Hagen. The tragedy of it all was that men like Bookman didn’t know how much working for someone else had cost them. He was happy living off the scraps his father fed him from the table and counted himself lucky. He had no idea how much Charles Hagen had kept him from reaching his full potential. Probably for the best, the younger Hagen decided. If Bookman ever figured it out, he’d probably shoot his father, then turn the gun on himself out of sheer desperation.
He was nothing but a hired hand who thought he was more than that. Hagen had no desire to tell him differently. He had read somewhere that it was dangerous to wake people who walked in their sleep.
“Then let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Bookman,” Hagen assured him. “Father is lucky to have someone so dedicated to his well-being and his fortune.”
Hagen looked at the commotion by the front hall of the hotel. Emily Downs had just walked through the front door with Buck Trammel in tow. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Hagen said. “You must excuse me, John, while I great my guests.”
Hagen greeted the new sheriff and the doctor by kissing Emily’s hand with a flourish as he bowed. “Good evening, m’lady. You do us a great honor by gracing us with your presence this evening.”
She laughed at the gambler’s air of formality. “You like to lay it on kind of thick, don’t you, Mr. Hagen?”
“A mere statement of the obvious on my part.”
He released her hand and shook Trammel’s. “Evening, Buck. Glad to see you’re still in good health, considering what you’ve been through today.”
“You heard about that already?” Trammel asked. “Guess it’s true what they say about small towns.”
Hagen patted his friend’s shoulder. “Give me time and I’ll have the scribes writing novels about your exploits. Daniel Boone will look like a two-bit piker compared to you.”
“No thanks,” Trammel said. “I’m popular enough as it is and for all the wrong reasons.” He lowered his voice. “You and I have to talk and soon.”
Hagen figured he’d want to talk about the ledger but did his best to sidestep the issue. “And talk we shall, but pleasure must come before business tonight for this is your formal introduction to the elders of the town.”
He led them from the lobby into the dining room and spoke over the din of conversation. “Ladies and gentlemen, just a moment of your time, please. Our guests of honor have arrived, and it is my pleasure to formally introduce to you our new sheriff Buck Trammel and a familiar face, Doctor Emily Downs. I hope you will give them as warm a welcome as you’ve given me upon my homecoming. Don’t let the sheriff’s impressive size put you off. You’ll find he’s as approachable as he is formidable, as long as you don’t have a gun in your hand.”
Polite laughter rose up amid the applause of those who had come to dinner at Hagen’s invitation. A part of him enjoyed seeing Trammel’s uneasiness at being the center of attention. He had never seen the big man in a social setting before, his perch in the lookout chair at The Gilded Lilly notwithstanding.
As Hagen expected, the mayor made a point of being the first to greet Trammel. “I think I speak for the rest of the town when I say we mourn the loss of Sheriff Bonner, but we are truly blessed to have found such an adequate replacement so quickly. Welcome to Blackstone, Sheriff Trammel.”
Trammel removed his hat
and shook the mayor’s hand. “I’m not sure everyone in town agrees with you, mayor, but I appreciate the sentiment just the same.”
Mr. Robertson, already feeling the effects of the spiked punch Hagen had provided, called out, “Is it true what they’re saying, Sheriff? That you buffaloed two men down at the Moose just now and one of them had a knife?”
Hagen watched Trammel blush. “It wasn’t that exciting. Just a couple of drunks who couldn’t hold their liquor. They’re sleeping it off in a couple of cells as we speak.”
Mrs. Welch gasped. “Why, you mean you put two ruffians in the same jail as poor Mrs. Peachtree? She may not be much of a lady, of course, but she should be locked in a cage with animals like them.”
“I’ve already taken that into account,” Trammel said. “She’s as safe as she can be. I plan on formally charging all three of them in the morning, once I figure out who the local judge is and where I can take them.”
“Judge Andrew Burlington is the law in these parts,” Mayor Welch said. “Only judge between here and Laramie. He couldn’t make it tonight, but I think you’ll find him a fair jurist.”
“On the off chance you can find him sober,” Mrs. Robertson said. “He holds court more at the corner table in the Clover Leaf than he does in Town Hall.”
The mayor shot her a glare before saying, “His Honor’s shortcomings aside, you’ll find Judge Burlington a fair jurist like I said. Purest legal mind there is in these parts.”
“Pure on account that it’s pickled in rotgut,” Mrs. Robertson muttered to Mrs. Welch, causing the gathering to descend into a debate over Burlington’s fitness as a judge.
Hagen thoroughly enjoyed watching the townspeople engage in their tribal bickering. He was beginning to see where the fault lines were in this town, which would come in handy when he decided to begin to shake things up. Only Bookman stayed out of the fray, seemingly content to stand behind Hagen while the others argued.
“You remember Mr. Bookman,” Hagen said to Trammel. “You and Emily talk while I get you both some punch from my private stash. It’s much better than the stuff I had prepared on the other side of the room. Easier to get to as well.” Hagen turned to the bowl on the sideboard at his elbow and used the ladle to fill the glasses.
“Evening, Miss Emily,” Bookman said. “You too, Sheriff. Mr. Hagen offers his congratulations on your unexpected promotion to sheriff. The real Mr. Hagen, I mean, not Adam over here. Mr. Hagen wishes he could be here tonight, but sent me instead.”
“Promotion?” Emily asked as she accepted a glass from Hagen. “You mean you didn’t hire Buck outright?”
“Only as a deputy, ma’am,” Bookman said. “I guess Sheriff Bonner took it upon himself to leave once Mr. Trammel here signed on. Can’t say as I know why, but that’s how it played out.”
“Poor Sheriff Bonner,” Emily pondered. “He wasn’t much of a sheriff, but he certainly didn’t deserve to be gunned down as he rode out of town.”
Bookman seemed intrigued. “How did he die, ma’am?
She looked at Trammel, who motioned for her to go ahead. “Well, the formal report hasn’t been submitted to the sheriff yet.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Bookman assured her. “Mr. Hagen will ask me and I’d like to have an answer for him.”
Hagen handed Trammel a glass of punch. “That’s the real Mr. Hagen, not to be confused with this cheap imitation.”
“Hell, it’s probably all over town by now thanks to Elmer running his mouth all over town all day,” Trammel said. “Looks like he was shot twice in the back, probably while he was riding out of town. Like the doctor just said, it’ll all be in the official report filed tomorrow in the town hall, or wherever these things are filed around here.”
“Reports?” Bookman said. “Files? Been a long time since we’ve had that kind of efficiency around here, Sheriff. Mr. Hagen will be happy to hear that. Bonner had been a good man once, but he’d given to let things slide as of late. A little law and a little order would do this town some good.”
“That why he picked me for the job?” Trammel asked.
Adam Hagen was surprised by the big man’s attitude.
And Bookman was his normal affable self. “As I recall, Mr. Hagen asked you to become a deputy, not sheriff.”
“I don’t think Mr. Hagen gets out of bed in the morning without having every step he’ll take that day planned out a week in advance. So if Bonner was on the slide as badly as you claim he was, then it stands to reason why Mr. Hagen figured Bonner would quit on the spot. I’d like to know what you said to the man before I walked into his office and I’d appreciate it if you told me right now.”
Hagen enjoyed Bookman’s consternation. He obviously wasn’t accustomed to being questioned. Being his father’s mouthpiece tended to tamp down questions. When King Charles wanted something to happen in Blackstone—in Wyoming, for that matter—it happened. No, Bookman may not have liked standing for questioning, but Sheriff Trammel hadn’t given him much of a choice. It was obvious that Bookman was still trying to figure out how he felt about that when he said, “I told him what Mr. Hagen wanted me to tell him. That he wanted you hired as the deputy. He hadn’t had a deputy in years, and Mr. Hagen thought it would be good to have another man around to help keep an eye on things. He told me he’d see to it right away and I left. That was the last time I ever laid eyes on the man. Next thing I knew, he was dead.”
“Were you surprised?” Trammel asked.
“That he lit out or that he was dead?”
“Take your pick.”
Hagen smiled as he looked away. Trammel was turning out to be much more than either Father or Bookman had bargained for.
Bookman drew a deep breath before he answered. “Plenty of people around town thought Bonner had lost a step or two over the years. Some even say he’d fallen under Madam Peachtree’s influence and that he was even paid to look the other way.”
“And what do you say?”
Bookman grinned. “I say Mr. Hagen wanted you hired on as deputy. You became sheriff instead. It was probably going to happen sooner or later anyway, and I’m glad it happened sooner. Mr. Hagen tends to get ornery when he doesn’t get what he wants.”
“And how do you feel about Bonner getting killed on his way out of town? Mr. Hagen want that, too?”
Bookman set his empty glass on the table. “That sounds an awful lot like an accusation, Sheriff.”
“If I accuse you of something,” Trammel said, “there won’t be any doubt about it. I asked you what you thought about Bonner getting shot. The question still stands.”
Bookman shrugged. “Didn’t affect me one way or the other. He’d fallen in with a bad crowd. I supposed it ended the only way it could have.”
Trammel looked at Emily. “You told me pretty much the same thing.”
“Bonner wasn’t a complicated man,” the doctor said. “He died as he lived.”
“Sounds like it,” Trammel looked at Bookman. “Mr. Hagen got any plans as far as I’m concerned? Like you said, he wanted me to be a deputy, not a sheriff.”
Bookman held out his glass to Adam until the gambler took it and began to refill it. “Mr. Hagen usually gets what he wants. If he didn’t want you to be sheriff, he would’ve told me. So far, he seems pleased. Like you, if he’s displeased, you’ll know that, too.” He accepted the full glass of punch from Adam. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll continue to enjoy Mr. Hagen’s support.”
“And, if not, I’ll end up like Bonner,” Trammel concluded.
“No, Sheriff. I’ve got a feeling you won’t end up anything like Bonner.” He nodded toward Emily. “Especially if you continue to keep good company with people like Miss Emily here.” He inclined his head toward Adam. “And as far away from this one as possible. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Hagen asked me to have a word with the mayor.”
“That’s the real Mr. Hagen,” Adam said as Bookman walked away.
Emily laughed.
<
br /> Trammel didn’t. “You never know when to stop, do you, Adam?”
“Forgive me if I don’t bend at the knee for my father’s lapdog,” Hagen said. “He’s nothing more than an errand boy, just like that poor fool you have watching Madam Pinochet right now. What’s his name? Hauk? Hawkeye.”
“Yeah.” Trammel set his glass on the sideboard. “We need to talk about that. Right now. Will you excuse us, Emily?”
“Of course, but something tells me your conversation will be a lot more interesting than the usual small talk out here.”
Trammel nodded back toward Hagen’s room. “In private. Now.”
Hagen saw no other choice but to do what his large friend said and led him back to his room.
CHAPTER 31
Hagen shut the door behind them. “I take it by your tone that I’ve done something to displease you, Buck.”
“Were you in the jail tonight while I wasn’t there?”
Hagen crossed his arms. “Why would I be?”
“I’m beginning to understand the way you talk.” Trammel began pacing around the room. “You don’t outright deny something, but you won’t admit to it, either. Fine. I’ll ask it a different way. Why were you in the jail after I left?”
“What makes you think I was?”
“Because the desk drawers were opened more than I’d left them,” Trammel said. “Like someone had opened and closed them quietly so no one outside might hear it. That and the fact that I know you’ve got keys to the place thanks to your old man.”
Hagen was fully aware he still hadn’t answered the question. He intended on stringing it out for as long as he could, just to see where Trammel was going with this. If his dinner had served no other purpose, it had helped him realize that Buck Trammel was far more competent than first believed. Maybe even more than Father had thought. “What could I possibly want there?”
Trammel reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a slip of paper. The receipt Hagen had signed for Madam Pinochet’s ledger. “This.”
North of Laramie Page 21
