Bury the Hatchet

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Clay glanced at the telegram. “So, ignore it. Claim you never received it. Happens all the time.”

  “I can’t do that, Lucien,” Alcott said. “It’s a personal telegram from Mr. Allan Pinkerton himself. To me. Personally. One doesn’t just cast that aside.”

  “Is Mr. Allan Pinkerton himself some kind of a formal title, like royalty, or just something everyone has taken to calling him? An awful lot of people around here seem eager to pay deference to a round little Scot in Chicago.”

  Alcott was in no joking mood. “Damn it, Lucien. This is no laughing matter.”

  Clay poured himself another bourbon and shoved the telegram back toward Alcott. “I don’t know why you’re so upset, Jesse. You and your men have been overdue for a week. You knew something like this was bound to happen eventually. You didn’t think the home office would just forget you were out here, did you?”

  “No,” Alcott admitted, “but I thought it would take a hell of a lot longer than a week. And it would have, too, if Trammel hadn’t gone and sped things along by contacting Allan personally.”

  Clay took a drink. “I had heard that Trammel and Pinkerton hadn’t parted company on the best of terms.”

  “They didn’t,” Alcott said, “but Pinkerton seems to still have a warm place in his heart for the thug, because he read and responded to his telegram damned fast.”

  Clay did not like Alcott’s reaction to the telegram. He did not like it at all. Well aware that he had been taking a risk in attempting to corrupt the Pinkerton man, Clay knew there was always a chance a corruptible man could double-cross him somewhere down the road. Or, Alcott could remain loyal to the agency and serve as a double agent, placing the shackles on Clay while offering him up to his employer for a nice pat on the head and a modest bonus in pay.

  Or a scenario Clay thought more likely—the cunning agent could have his men turn against Clay after learning enough about his plans to control the territory.

  Fortunately, Alcott did not know Clay’s men had already corrupted more than half of the former Pinkerton men. Alcott did not need to know it, either. For now, Alcott’s reputation with the agency had served Clay well in his attempts to win the support of the territory elders. Alcott’s presence gave Clay a sense of legitimacy that he did not have on his own, especially where Adam Hagen was involved.

  Madam Pinochet had been able to win them over because she was a foreign-born woman and knew how to charm men through flattering their vanity. Adam Hagen had been able to win them over because he was the great man’s well-traveled son and must have known what he was doing. And my, did he make them laugh!

  Lucien Clay did not possess a name or a history or charm. He was of the gutter born and had never been able to convince people otherwise. He insisted on wearing fancy clothes and adorning his office in ornate fabrics and furniture and had even hired a drunken actor from the London stage to help him lose his Arkansas drawl, but none of it had served to make him more than he was—a common street thug.

  But with a man like Jesse Alcott at his side, Lucien Clay was finally in a position to impress upon the leaders of the territory that he was worthy of holding the reins of power. He had the discipline and the men to keep the political and criminal machines running as smoothly as they had always done and keep their pockets lined with as much gold as Hagen had, and Madam Pinochet before him.

  After all, a man like Alcott would not just throw away his lucrative career with the Pinkerton Agency for just anyone, now would he? If Lucien Clay was good enough for a man of Alcott’s caliber to take a risk on, then perhaps Clay was worth a try after all?

  Now that he had the territory elders in his pocket, Lucien Clay wondered if Alcott was good enough to work for him. Clay was not so sure anymore. Why should the opinion of a fat old man over a thousand miles away in Chicago matter to a man who was on the verge of making so much money? The prospect of power and advancement of his own position should be enough to put Alcott at ease. Instead, he seemed to be hedging his bets, helping Clay as long as it did not damage his reputation back home.

  Lucien Clay did not like that kind of thinking. What’s more, he did not trust it.

  Never a man to hold on to his thoughts for very long, especially when they were troublesome, he said, “I don’t like that look on your face, Jesse.”

  “And I don’t like Mr. Pinkerton’s summons,” Alcott answered. “He’s expecting me and all of my men back in Chicago within a week at most. If we don’t arrive or at least send news that we have boarded a train back within that time, it’s entirely possible he will send another group to get us.” Alcott looked at Clay. “That is the reason for my apprehension, Lucien. Mr. Pinkerton is a most stubborn man.”

  Clay still didn’t see the cause for concern. “What makes you think this bunch will be any less corruptible than your bunch was? I’ll just hire them on, too. God knows there’s more than enough work to go around for everyone. Hell, three times that many.”

  “And what about after that?” Alcott asked. “He won’t send a third group out. Mr. Pinkerton is a powerful man. His alliance with the railroads has given him many friends in governments throughout the country, especially in Washington. If he finds out about your plans to take over an entire territory, he could voice his concerns to the territorial governor. Maybe even the United States Army. Either could put a serious crimp in your plans, Lucien. And jail would be the least of our concerns.”

  “The governor,” Clay laughed. “I already own the governor.”

  “But not the army,” Alcott countered. “And you don’t want to cross paths with those bluebellies. They’re slow to rouse, but when they do, they ruin everything in their path. If Mr. Pinkerton uses his considerable influence to have them put their full weight against you, there’s no stopping them.”

  Clay finally saw Alcott’s reason for concern. He knew he did not have as much influence over the governor as he claimed. Hagen probably did, as he had that damnable ledger of his, but Clay’s reach extended only by proxy. And when going up against Mr. Pinkerton’s considerable influence, proxy would not be enough. Influence would need to be direct and final.

  Those were terms Lucien Clay understood all too well. “Nothing is ruined, Jesse. Not yet, anyway.”

  Alcott staggered as he quickly got to his feet. “I don’t think you fully grasp the extent of Mr. Pinkerton’s influence in this matter. This isn’t just some man who fires off telegrams at will, Lucien. Every word he puts to paper has considerable weight behind it. And influence as well. He likely understands the governor has been corrupted and may send his next telegram to President Grant himself.”

  “There you go with that himself business. Must be some kind of Louisiana thing.” Clay selected a cigar from his box, bit off the end, and tucked it into the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jesse, but I simply don’t share your fears.” He struck a lucifer off the side of the desk and spoke out of the side of his mouth as he brought the flame to the cigar. “All Mr. Pinkerton’s telegraph means is that we are going to have to speed up our plans a little. Everything proceeds as planned. Nothing stops. Nothing changes.”

  “But the order in which they happen changes drastically. We were going to pull down the rest of the ranches around Blackstone first. Now we don’t have that kind of time.”

  “We always knew we would have to attack Blackstone and pull down King Charles Hagen from his throne eventually.” Clay puffed on the cigar until the flame caught. He waved the match dead and tossed the matchstick into the ashtray. “Yes, we had hoped to squeeze the areas around him to the point where either he or Trammel got smart enough to run, but we no longer have that luxury. Instead, you and your men must take the town and the ranch of Blackstone first. But you must find that ledger so we can get the power we need to secure our hold over the governor and every other official in this territory. Their pledges of loyalty will be more secure with evidence to hold over their heads.” Clay looked at Alcott through the thin veil of smoke
. “Nothing stops, Jesse. It just happens faster.” He watched Alcott as he chewed that over.

  He did not seem to like the taste of it. “And what if we fail, Lucien?”

  “Given the quality of our numbers, who could stand against us?” Clay eased the head of ash from his cigar into the ashtray. “But in the unlikely event that we fail, at least we’ll have the good fortune to know we won’t live long enough to regret it.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Trammel was having a tough time concentrating on his paperwork. The reports on the Somerset and the Blackstone Ranch arrests, followed by Bookman’s times in jail, all should be finished and soon, but Trammel wondered if they needed to be done. If the whole town burned anyway, a few lousy arrest reports wouldn’t matter worth a damn.

  He knew that with Alcott and the Pinkerton men in Laramie, hell could break loose at any moment. An attack could come at any time, even at night. The men could ride straight for Blackstone and lay waste to the town. A few torches through a few busted windows would be enough to render the wooden town a wasteland in minutes. Only the bank, the Clifford Hotel, and the jailhouse would likely be all that remained. The town of Blackstone would be wiped off the map without a single shot being fired.

  Or Alcott and Clay could continue to bide their time as they had for the past week or so. The sheriff did not know what was worse—the waiting or the unknown.

  He went back to his reports, deciding it was best to focus on matters at hand. He needed to record an official account of what had happened so far, to get it all down on paper for Mayor Welch or Richard Rhoades from the Blackstone Bugle to read. Someone needed to know what had happened and why, especially if Trammel did not make it out alive. Someone needed to understand. By the time anyone outside Blackstone got around to reading it, he would most likely be dead.

  He no longer had illusions about his survival. He was outgunned thirteen to one, at the very least, and it was only a matter of time before Alcott and his men finally came to town to clear him out. He had been asking for it long enough, and he imagined his telegram to Mr. Pinkerton hadn’t endeared himself to Clay or Alcott. They were coming for him because he stood in their way. They would most likely hunt him, even if he had decided to run.

  Trammel knew there was no one in town to help him, at least not in a meaningful way. The jailhouse was sturdy, but could not protect him forever. Alcott would find a way to breach its stone walls eventually. Trammel would do his best to take as many of them with him as he could when the time came, but his death was a foregone conclusion he had come to accept. It was time to pay for his sins. There were less noble reasons to die.

  He looked up with a start when he heard Hawkeye shuffle into the jailhouse. The boy looked better than he had since the shooting, but was still so uneasy on his feet that Trammel imagined he should probably be in bed. He dropped into a chair by the door before the sheriff could rise to help him.

  “What are you doing out alone? I thought I told you I’d bring you over to the jail this afternoon.”

  Hawkeye was breathing heavy. “On account of me having to tell you something important, Sheriff. Something that might not be my place to say, but I’m gonna say it anyway.”

  Trammel set his pencil aside. “I think we’re beyond formalities here, Hawkeye. You might as well forget about what is and isn’t your place and just tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ these past couple of days. I suppose I haven’t been fit to do much except think as it’s the only thing that hasn’t made me dizzy or turn my stomach. I’d like to think I’ve put the time to some good use.”

  Trammel wasn’t sure where this was going. “I’m sure you have. You’re not stupid. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  The boy swallowed hard before saying, “Those Pinkerton men are coming and there’s nothing we can do to stop them, is there?”

  They had already discussed that the previous evening in Hagen’s room. He wondered if the boy was beginning to suffer memory loss from his head wound. If so, it was a bad sign that the damage might be permanent. “That’s true. We tried, but we don’t know if it’ll work. It probably won’t work in time to stop them. Why?”

  “That’s what I thought,” Hawkeye said. “So since we can’t stop them, we’re gonna have to find a way to control them somehow or a lot of people are gonna get killed. You know I respect you, Sheriff, and I owe you everything, but it’s true. These men aren’t reckless or desperate like them bounty hunters we went up against last week. Pinkertons are not stupid, and they’ve probably read every article about every run-in you’ve had since coming to Blackstone. They know how well you handle yourself when the lead starts flying. They won’t make the same mistakes others have done by coming at you head-on.”

  Trammel had though the same thing countless times along the ride from Laramie the night before. Hearing it said in the open did not make it any easier. “You’re not wrong, Hawkeye. But there’s nothing any of us can do about it except be as ready as we can when it happens.”

  “Now, that’s where you and me happen to disagree, Sheriff. I think there’s plenty we can do about it.”

  Trammel was obviously interested. “How?”

  “On account of you being a lawman, so you’re looking at it a certain way.” Hawkeye aimed a thumb at his skinny chest. “But me? I grew up on a ranch. When I see a herd stampeding toward me, I don’t think about how I can stop it. I think about how I can turn it, how I can drive it to where I want it to go.”

  Trammel could tell the kid just might be on to something. “Go on.”

  Hawkeye pointed in the direction of the Blackstone Ranch. “There’s that rocky outcropping on the main road to the Hagen ranch, remember? The one we call Stone Gate. I was able to watch Mr. Hagen and his men come down from there while I spied on him before they rode into town.”

  Trammel remembered it well. “It’s like a natural gate to the Hagen spread.”

  “Nothing natural about it. Mr. Hagen blew a great big hole in the boulder on account of him wanting a straight rode into town to drive his cattle.” Hawkeye waved off his digression. “But that doesn’t matter now. Hagen and some other cattle outfits like to use the bottleneck as a way to get a better count on their cattle heads before they take them all the way down to the railhead at Laramie. I say we use that bottleneck not for cattle, but for slowing up Pinkerton men.”

  Trammel knew he did not have Hagen’s mind for tactics or even Hawkeye’s experience with cattle drives, but even a city boy like him could see the advantage of rocky outcroppings. It would force Alcott and his men into a bottleneck where Trammel could be hiding among the rocks, picking off at least a few of them before they returned fire. And when they did, he would be lost among a forest of rock. At least for a little while.

  “I see where you’re going with this,” Trammel said, “but the ranch is on the other end of town. There’s no reason for Alcott and his men to head that way first before lighting a match to the town.”

  “Which means we’re going to have to give them a reason, boss,” Hawkeye pointed out. “And that reason is you and Adam.”

  Trammel tamped down the excitement he was beginning to feel. “Go on, Hawkeye. You’re doing fine.”

  “The one thing we know is that, when these Pinkerton fellas come to town, they’re going to be gunning for you and Adam first, right? It stands to reason on account of them hating you and figuring that the fall will be quicker if the both of you are out of the way.”

  Again, none of this made Trammel feel any better. “You’ve got a bleak way of putting things, my friend.”

  “That’s when someone tells them that Mr. Hagen has taken Mr. Bookman’s arrest mighty poorly and that he’s holding you and Adam hostage up there at his ranch. I’ve got a feeling that would be enough reason to make Alcott ride up through the Stone Gate and finish both of you off once and for all.”

  Trammel took the thought all the way through to its conclusion. “And lea
d them into a fight against Hagen’s ranch hands? Why, even though the Pinks would be outgunned, they would still be more than enough to put down a couple of cowpunchers, especially if they didn’t know the attack was coming.”

  “That’s why we won’t tell them,” Hawkeye said. “And they’re not going to attack the ranch, either. You’ll keep them bottled up at Stone Gate while I ride out to the ranch and let them know an attack is coming their way.”

  The idea was beginning to make sense to Trammel. “It just might work. Especially if they thought Mr. Hagen had the ledger.”

  Hawkeye grinned. “And I know a way we could make them think precisely that. Won’t be all that hard to get them to think that way, especially coming from a dummy like me.”

  “You’re no dummy, my friend,” Trammel said. “The only problem is keeping them off me once I pick them off from the rocks.” Some of the terms Hagen had used while they were on the trail from Wichita to Blackstone came back to him as he thought it over. “I’ll have cover and the high ground, but even if I had all the ammunition in the world, I’d still be outgunned thirteen to one.”

  “Probably less than that if my plan goes accordingly,” Hawkeye said. “Maybe nine or ten at most.”

  “That’s still a lot of guns against me and a lot of lead coming my way. All it takes is one shot to put me down. Even at ten to one, I won’t be able to hold them off forever.”

  “You won’t have to hold them off that long,” Hawkeye said. “Just long enough for the cavalry to arrive.”

  “Cavalry?” Trammel began to think his deputy may have been ranting this entire time after all. “There’s no way the army will ride from Fort Laramie to get involved in a local dustup like this.”

  “We’ve already got an army in Blackstone, Sheriff.” Hawkeye smiled. “One that’s a hell of a lot closer than Fort Laramie, too. In fact, it’s just right up the road from Stone Gate. Guess you might say it’s an army fit for a king.”