“Thank me by getting them back to work, John.” His eyes locked on Trammel. “As for our conversation, Sheriff, I intend on continuing that at a later date.”
“Just be ready to finish it when you do.”
Bookman turned and looked the sheriff up and down. He saw the Winchester resting on his hip. “I’ll be sure to get a word in before it’s all said and done. Real soon, too. And when I do, that star on your vest won’t count for much.”
“Just make sure you take a bath first. You stink, Bookman.”
The head ramrod of the Blackstone Ranch walked away, leaving the sheriff and his former patron glaring at each other.
“Boy,” Charles Hagen said, “if I was twenty years younger, I’d beat you to within an inch of your life for this.”
“No you wouldn’t. And you’re not twenty years younger. You’re just a mean old man used to getting what he wants. You’re a bully, Mr. Hagen, and if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to handle bullies. Now get back to your spread and stay there before you do something you won’t live to regret.”
Hagen cursed again as he violently jerked the reins, bringing his Morgan about and riding up the road back to the ranch.
Hawkeye appeared in the doorway, the coach gun still in his hand, though Trammel noticed he had at least eased down the hammers. “Damn, Sheriff. I didn’t think that would work.”
Neither had Trammel, but he saw no point in telling his deputy that. “Well, it did, and that’s all that matters.”
“Going to be a long time before the jail airs out,” Hawkeye said.
Trammel watched the road to Blackstone Ranch until the last Hagen man had ridden out of sight. “It’s going to be a long time for a lot of things to air out, Hawkeye.”
CHAPTER 15
In the telegraph office in Laramie, Adam Hagen watched Fred Montague write out the telegram addressed to Allan Pinkerton of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.
When the banker was done, he handed it to the clerk, but Hagen snatched it from him and began reading it.
“I’ve sent telegrams before,” Montague said.
“None this important,” Hagen said as he began to read it over.
“I’ve sent telegrams moving over a million dollars of your father’s money from one account to another.”
“None as important to me.” He finished reading the telegram and handed it to the clerk. “Send this out as soon as possible, my good man. Mr. Montague will be glad to pay the fee.”
Montague dug out the money from his vest pocket and paid the clerk the amount due. “We’ll be right outside waiting for the reply, so when it comes, you won’t have any difficulty finding us.” He glanced at Hagen. “At least I’ll be close, anyway. I’m sure my friend here will find comfort in the arms of a soiled dove.”
“And miss the moment my father delivers me from the clutches of villainy? Perish the thought.” Hagen whisked off his hat and gestured toward the door of the telegraph office. “There’s a lovely bench just yonder where we can await the news together.”
Montague stormed out as Hagen told the clerk, “When the reply comes, you give it to me first or I’ll be mighty cross, understand?”
The clerk nodded quickly that he did.
Hagen tugged his hat back and walked outside, where he sat next to Montague on the wooden bench. “So, how shall you and I pass the time, Freddie? Shall we discuss the weather? A brisk afternoon, I’d say, even for this time of year. A bit early in the season for a frost, don’t you think? Though I fear we may get one this evening.” He made a show of pulling up the collar on his coat. “It’s certainly chilly on this bench with you.”
“As it should be.” Montague refused to look at him. “In all of my years on this earth, I have never met a son who worked so hard at being a disappointment to his own father.”
“I disappointed Father the day I was born, Freddie. We both know that.”
Montague looked at the men and women moving to and fro in both directions on the street. “That’s because you were never different from anyone else. You always resented him for not being the man you wanted him to be rather than the man he is. And your father is a great man, Adam. You might be too blinded by your hatred for him to see that, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”
“You’ve always been a loyal employee, Freddie. No one can take that away from you.”
The banker turned as best he could on the cramped bench to face him. “Charles Hagen arrived in this territory with nothing and managed to carve something out of the wilderness.”
Hagen’s bark of laughter drew stares from men and women passing by. Even a shopkeeper across the thoroughfare looked up. Hagen tried to cover it up with a cough.
“Forgive me, Freddie, but I didn’t think you were serious. I’ve heard that old folktale all my life and it’s as comical then as it was now. Men like Hauk and the other men Father bought out or forced out may have started with nothing, but we both know Father had a healthy trust fund from Grandfather with explicit orders to not come back until he had at least doubled it.”
“And he quadrupled it,” Montague said with a tone of pride. “Why, it may even be worth five times that amount when you consider his mineral and railroad holdings, not to mention the oil wells in Texas.”
“A million dollars from one of the oldest families in Boston gives one quite a head start,” Hagen countered.
“It’s just as easy for a wealthy man to become poor as it is for a poor man to become wealthy.” He looked at Hagen for the first time. “But you know all about that, don’t you, Adam? You’ve been doing precisely that for almost twenty years.”
Hagen turned on him. “I didn’t ask to leave Blackstone, Freddie. Saint Charles pushed me out and gave me no say in the matter whatsoever.”
“All these years later and you’re still the same resentful little boy you were when he sent you away to be a man.”
“I didn’t need to be sent away to become a man.”
“Sounds like a boy talking to me,” Montague said. “And, just like a boy, you still took your father’s money all those years you were in exile. I should know. I’m the one who transferred the funds and kept his books.”
“As money was the only thing that ever mattered to that old man, I took great delight in defiling myself with his ill-gotten gains.”
Montague surprised him by springing to his feet. “How dare you? Your father never acquired a yard of land that wasn’t bought and paid for at a fair price.”
“If believing that fiction helps you sleep better at night, I won’t try to dissuade you from thinking so. But do sit down, Freddie. You’re making a scene, and besides, indignation was never your strong suit. You’ve been taking orders from Father for far too long to act prideful now.”
Montague reluctantly took his seat on the bench, though as far away from Hagen as the narrow space would allow. “Pride is what got you in this predicament in the first place, Adam. Did it ever occur to you that your father cast you out of his house as a test to see what kind of man you might become if left to your own devices?”
Hagen stifled another laugh. “Had that been his intention, he wouldn’t have tossed me out with only the clothes on my back. No, he knew my weaknesses even then and knew money was important to me. He used it as a weapon to keep me away, just as he’s using it with my brothers.”
“Benjamin and Caleb and Daniel are thriving in their respective positions within the various family enterprises,” Montague said.
“Nice little lambs, those three,” Hagen observed. “Toiling away in far-flung reaches of King Charles’s empire like Roman centurions patrolling Britannia. Dependent enough on him to be subservient, but sufficiently dispersed so as not to threaten to unite against him.” He looked at the banker. “I have no illusions about my hatred for the man, Freddie. I know I’m unfair and unwilling to give him a break, but not even you can be so gullible that you don’t see the nature of things. The true nature of Charles Hagen. At
least I hope not. I may never have held you in particularly high regard, but I never took you for a fool.”
“I wish I could pay you the same compliment,” Montague said. “I sincerely do. But given the decisions you’ve made since returning to Blackstone, that would be a tall order. Why, you’ve even managed to corrupt poor Sheriff Trammel, as evidenced by his foolhardy actions against the ranch.”
Hagen’s laugh was louder than the first. “Oh, Freddie, you’re as gullible as I am a fool. No one has ever been able to corrupt a man like Buck Trammel into doing anything, except believing that Father hired him to genuinely enforce the law.”
“Of course he did,” Montague countered. “Why else would one hire a sheriff in the first place?”
“To enforce the law of King Charles the First of Blackstone,” Hagen explained. “And Trammel’s perceived treachery is Father’s own damned fault. I don’t deny trying to turn him against the ranch, but I wasn’t able to actually do it until King Charles and Bookman stuck guns in his face. Trammel might not be familiar with the ways of the wilderness, Freddie, but he understands force and violence. Father only thinks he does. And today, he learned what happens when you take such a man lightly.”
“Trammel better not get used to that star your father pinned on his chest. He’s not going to have it for much longer.”
“Then Father should get used to the idea of a revolt, because Sheriff Trammel has become much more than his employee. If today’s run-in has shown the good people of Blackstone anything, it’s that Father is just a man like any of them. And any man can be beaten. He may still have you and the bank and all of the titles your bank holds on various properties, but there are enough people in town who have seen a gap in the impressive Hagen armor.” Adam leaned in closer to Montague. “King Charles was never as tough as he let on. Now the rest of the town knows it, too. How long do you think it’ll be before someone else tests him? How do you think they’ll react when he hits back?”
Montague leaned closer until his nose was only a few inches away from Hagen’s nose. “He’ll burn the town and everything in it before he allows anyone to take it from him. Not you. Not your gigantic friend. Not the Pinkerton thugs, either. No one. He can always start over, Adam. He’ll do it if it’s just to show you he can.”
“But he can’t burn it down.” Hagen grinned. “Not if I burn it down first.”
The clerk cleared his throat from the doorway of the telegraph office. Hagen noticed he was holding an envelope in his hand. “I’ve just received word back from”—he looked around and obviously thought better of saying Mr. Pinkerton’s name in public—“from him. Which one of you am I supposed to give it to?”
“Give it to Mr. Montague here,” Hagen said. “We’ll share the news together. Head back inside and await our reply.”
The clerk did as he was told and went back inside to the warmth of the telegraph office.
Hagen looked over Montague’s shoulder as he read the telegram.
FEES ACCEPTABLE STOP RECALLING
MEN TO CHICAGO STOP
It was signed Allan Pinkerton.
Hagen cried out and slapped the banker on the back. “Rejoice, Freddie! A crisis has been averted.”
Montague folded the telegram and slid it into the inside pocket of his coat. “One crisis, perhaps. But another rises in its place.” He looked at Hagen. “Your father won’t forget what happened in town today, Adam. And he won’t forget your hand in it, either. There will be a full reckoning on his part, one way or another.”
“Nonsense.” Hagen waved it off. “He’s just used to old lackeys like you jumping whenever he snaps his fingers. His ego is bruised. He’ll get over it in a couple of days.”
“No, I don’t think he will. Not this time. I’ve seen that look in his eyes only a few times before, usually when he changed his mind about something, which doesn’t happen too often as you know.” Montague stood up. “You’re not a son to him anymore, Adam. You’re just another obstruction in his way. A rancher who won’t sell out. A nuisance to be dealt with. And he will deal with you eventually in his own time and in his own way.” He set his hat on the front of his head to brace against the wind. “I’d clear out of Blackstone if I were you, and I’d take Trammel with you. Do it before your father makes you do it.”
“Or dies trying.” Hagen fixed the banker with a cold stare. “I’ve wandered this world enough because of him. King Charles can try to uproot me from town if he wants to, but it’ll be a hell of a lot harder than he thinks.”
The banker looked disappointed, but not surprised. “And Trammel?”
“Buck speaks for himself. If he stays, fine. If not, that’s fine, too. He’s got his fight with Father, and I’ve got mine.” Hagen concluded with a final thought. “You’ve served the old man well for a long time, Fred. You’d continue serving him even better if you remind him what happened the last time he went up against us. He lost. And he’ll lose again. That’s a promise and a fact. If he stays on his ranch, he’ll have no trouble from me. But if he stirs trouble in town, I’ll bring my displeasure to his doorstep.”
Montague dipped his hat into the building wind. “I take it I won’t have the pleasure of your company on the ride back to Blackstone. I’m sure there’s probably a new crop of Laramie ‘girls’ for you to inspect.”
Hagen stood up without putting his hat on. “Those kinds come in all types, Fred. Some wear a bustle and powder themselves with rouge. I can think of a much more appropriate name for those who wear suits and call themselves bankers.”
Montague’s ego had clearly taken enough abuse for one day and he stormed off toward his horse without bidding Hagen good-bye.
He did not want the banker’s empty gestures anyway. As he walked along the boardwalk alone, Adam Hagen could not help but have a spring in his step. He had gotten what he wanted. What he needed. The Pinkerton men had been bought off and he could turn his attention to other matters, such as solidifying his grip on the town of Blackstone once and for all.
First he would take the town, then the ranch, and all of the glory his blessed vengeance would afford him. Vengeance for being forced into exile. For missing the death of his mother. For losing the love of his brothers and barely knowing their sister. For making him what he had become and for all the nasty deeds he had been forced to perform along the way.
It was he who should have had his choice of representing Father’s business holdings elsewhere. As the oldest, it was his birthright. Instead, Father had taken that away from him and left him with nothing but an allowance and a name. Adam Hagen would see to it his father paid for that—in one form or another—before one or the other of them was dead.
Anger and vengeance were thirsty business, and the ride back to Blackstone was a long one. He wanted a drink and to share his good news with his partner Lucian Clay before embarking on the vengeance trail.
He found Lucien in his office at the back of Molly Malone, the new saloon he had opened up in the same space that had been an apothecary the last time Hagen had been in town. He had wandered this part of the world for more than half his life and the constant change of one business into a completely different enterprise never ceased to amaze him.
Clay’s office was larger and far more ornate than his previous setup. Larger by more than double, Hagen figured. He wondered if this was the reason Clay had decided to open the Molly Malone in the first place. Unlike Hagen, Clay placed great importance on trappings like fancy drapes and fine bedding. Hagen wasn’t above such indulgences, but would rather see the money go toward the front of the house or the guest rooms where the suckers could feel like kings while they pushed their money at him for another dance with Lady Luck or a few enchanted moments with a willing lady.
“You’re a sight to behold, Lucien,” Hagen said as he entered Clay’s office. “The very model of efficiency.”
Clay looked up from the mass of papers and ledgers scattered across his desk. He had trimmed his beard since their last meeting into some
thing of a Vandyke. “Back so soon, Adam? I figured I wouldn’t see you until after winter.”
Hagen gestured at his own face. “I approve of the new look, Lucien. It gives you a more severe, yet dignified countenance.”
The vice merchant shrugged. “A new girl from New Orleans suggested I give it a try. Gotta say, I’m rather fond of it.” He closed one of the ledgers and sat back in his chair. “But I’m pretty sure you didn’t ride all the way from Blackstone to compliment me on my looks. You’re here about that Pinkerton business, aren’t you?”
Hagen threw back his head and laughed. “Good God, Lucien. You’re the only man in the territory with as sharp a mind as myself. I suppose that’s why we get along so well.”
“Or in spite of it. Any new developments on that front, by the way? With those Pinkerton boys, I mean.”
Hagan tossed his hat on Clay’s desk and took a seat. “Give me a drink and I’ll tell you a pleasing tale.”
Clay opened the bottom drawer of his rolltop desk and pulled out two glasses and a full bottle of whiskey. He poured four fingers of the amber liquid for both of them and put the cork back into the bottle. “That’s not the swill I serve the suckers out there. This is my own reserve stock from my family’s place in Kentucky. Brought all the way here by train, too.”
Hagen was surprised by the news. “Just when I thought it was impossible for me to be any fonder of you than I already was, you go and tell me your family makes their own bourbon. Why, if this keeps up, I’ll put your name forward for pope.”
“That’ll be the day.” Clay clinked Hagen’s glass and sipped. “So, what news of the Pinkerton men?”
Hagen sipped his bourbon, too, choosing to savor it as much as the good news he had come to share. “It’s over. My plan worked. Trammel and I were able to force Father into buying off the Pinkerton thugs. What’s more, I even had Montague send the telegram. Using Father’s own right-hand man to spite him was just too poetic a stroke for me to resist.”
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