Bury the Hatchet

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  He decided to put a finer point on it. “We go in loose, then tighten up if we need to. Beats riding in there, guns blazing, doesn’t it?”

  The men exchanged looks and seemed to come to some kind of silent agreement that the plan was a good one.

  Alcott untied his horse and swung into the saddle. He saw the simple-minded deputy still standing by the jailhouse door, as bewildered as ever. “Will you release your prisoner to my men or should I just shoot you now and be done with it?”

  “Got no reason to shoot me, ’cause I’ve got no reason to stop you,” the boy said. “I ’spect the sheriff keeps the keys around here somewhere. I’ll open the cell as soon as I find them. Your men won’t get any trouble from me, mister.”

  Alcott was glad at least one person wasn’t looking to challenge him that day. “Smart man. Now tell me the quickest way to the Hagen ranch. And if you lie to me, I’ll come back and shoot you.”

  “Got no reason to lie, either, mister.” The young man pointed at a well-worn path just off Main Street. “You ride up that road and keep going until you see the house. Can’t hardly miss it. You’re going to have to pass through an outcropping known as Stone Gate a ways up the road, but when you see it, you’ll know you’re in the right place.”

  Alcott wondered if he shouldn’t simply shoot the lad just to be on the safe side. He decided against it, as he doubted his men would care one way or the other. If the day went as well as he hoped, he would have plenty of chances to show them his mettle before the day was out.

  He wheeled his horse around and steered her toward the road the boy had pointed out. The ten men followed him, and they rode together up the trail toward the Hagen ranch.

  CHAPTER 28

  As soon as the last of the Pinkerton men rounded the corner and rode out of sight, Hawkeye tossed off his head bandage, ran back to Somerset’s cell, and opened it.

  “What the hell is this?” the prisoner asked. “After all of this, you’re just going to let me go without a fight?”

  “You’re free,” Hawkeye said as be unlocked the back door. “Congratulations.”

  He ignored the prisoner’s other questions as he untied Daisy from where he had hitched her behind the jail and rode away. As he passed Bainbridge Avenue, he saw Doc Emily try to flag him down with her blanket, but he acted as if he had not seen her. He did not dare stop to speak with her. If he did, the timing of their plan would fall apart and Sheriff Trammel would be a dead man.

  He heeled Daisy and let the horse run full out. He figured the animal would be completely spent by the time they got to the ranch, but as much as he loved the horse, that did not matter to Hawkeye. The mare could rest for a week if she had to. Trammel, on the other hand, did not have that kind of time.

  In fact, he did not have any time at all.

  Emily watched young Hawkeye duck his head and speed up when he saw her try to wave him down. She knew he had seen her, but had sped up on purpose. She did not know if that was a bad sign or part of whatever plan he had cooked up with Buck.

  She had hoped Hawkeye could tell her what had happened with the thirteen men she had seen riding into town. She imagined they were the dreaded Pinkerton men that Buck had been concerned about for so long. She wanted to know if anyone had been hurt or killed. Was the prisoner Somerset still alive? She wanted to know if Buck was still okay. She had no idea what he was planning, but knew that whatever it was had risked his life.

  She stopped waving at Hawkeye when she realized she was doing so for selfish reasons, and this was not the time to be selfish. She did not know enough about Buck and Hawkeye’s plans to interfere in them. Hawkeye was likely the best chance Buck had to live. Best let him get on with whatever business had to be done.

  But there was still the matter of the crippled Somerset being left alone in the jail. A man she hadn’t been allowed to tend to for a day or so. A prisoner, yes, who also happened to be her patient. A defenseless one at that.

  Doubting Somerset could play much of a role in whatever Buck’s plan might be, Emily decided to head to the jail to see what had happened for herself. She went back inside to grab her medical bag, then walked over to the jailhouse to see Somerset. Buck and Hawkeye may have their duties, but she had a patient to tend to. Besides, she hoped addressing his wounds might help keep her mind off thinking about what was happening to Buck at that very moment.

  Her mind was still busy with worry as she walked to the jailhouse. Was Buck still alive? Shot? Wounded in some other way? The man could be so damned stubborn at times that she wondered if there could be a future between them. She had never thought she could ever love a lawman. Her husband had been such a quiet, unassuming type. Gentle and sympathetic. He was always willing to listen to reason and, more often than not, common sense prevailed with him.

  Sheriff Buck Trammel was a different sort of man. He was a kind man in his own way, but given to violence in a way her husband had not. He was a stubborn man who followed his own sense of right and wrong, which she judged was correct more often than not.

  His violent nature worried her and drew her to him. She did not fear him, but found herself fearing for him. Fearing what would become of him if he continued to live that way and take up the kind of fights he was taking up now. She feared allowing herself to fall in love with him so deeply that she would lose herself in him and find herself a widow once again. She did not know if she could live through another death. She was not sure she deserved that and began to wonder if solitude, though lonely, might be the safest and best option.

  She only prayed that Buck lived through today so the decision was not made for her.

  Glad to find the jailhouse door open and the door to the cells unlocked, she was alarmed to see Somerset’s cell was open and the prisoner awake and laughing to himself.

  “You seem to be in good spirits this morning.” Emily pulled the heavy door open wider. “Feeling better, I take it?”

  “Feeling better than I have since landing here,” he told her. “Yes, ma’am. I’m getting out of here today, one way or the other.”

  Once inside the cell, she set her bag on the chair and began examining his bandages. “I’ve been treating you for broken bones and strains, Mr. Somerset. I’m afraid your captivity has made you delusional. You’re not going anywhere except straight to the county jail in Laramie as soon as you’re fit to travel.”

  Somerset laughed. “Oh, I’m going to Laramie, missy, but I ain’t going to any county jail. Not when I’ll be a guest of Mr. Allan Pinkerton himself.” He laughed again, then regarded her. “You know, you’ve been real good to me, Doc. Better than I thought a lady doctor could be.”

  “Considering the source, I’ll take that as compliment.” She checked his shoulder and found the splint was still in place. The splint on his left hand had become loose and required to be tightened. She moved to check his ankles as she rebandaged his left hand. “Your feet appear to almost be back to normal. I think you might be able to stand, maybe even walk if you’re willing to give it a try after I’m finished with your left hand.”

  “No thanks, missy,” Somerset said. “I’ll just wait for my friends to help me out when they come back.”

  Emily was beginning to lose patience. “I’m afraid I’m the only friend you have in Blackstone, Mr. Somerset.”

  She looked up when she heard what sounded like a wagon in front of the jailhouse.

  The prisoner seemed to enjoy her surprise. “If you could see the look on your face right now, missy. Makes me wish I had a mirror for the first time in my whole life.”

  Forgetting about Somerset’s hand for the moment, Emily stepped outside the cell and saw a wagon had, in fact, pulled up in front of the jailhouse. Two men in gray dusters and matching bowlers were tying their horses to the hitching rail. She had never seen the men before, but knew who they were based on Buck’s description.

  Pinkerton men. The friends Somerset had just talked about.

  Somerset laughed as she shut the cell door and
hurried to fit the heavy key ring through the bars. Fumbling, she managed to lock the door, then clutched the keys to her chest and backed away into the corner of the cell—far from the door and the giggling prisoner.

  “You’ve got spirit, missy,” Somerset laughed. “I’ve got to hand it to you. It’ll most likely get you killed before all this is over, something I’ll greatly regret, but I sure do admire a spirited woman. I most certainly do.”

  Emily was too busy trying to mask her fear to bother answering him.

  The two Pinkerton men entered the cell area with their pistols at their sides. She judged both of them to be in their late twenties and taller than most, but not as tall as Buck.

  One of them looked in the cell and said to Somerset, “You the one Mr. Alcott sent us to fetch?”

  “I’m Somerset out of the Chicago office, boys. Glad to finally meet the acquaintance of some colleagues. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to get me out of here, I’ll be happy to put in a good word for you with Mr. Allan Pinkerton himself as soon as I get back home to Chicago.”

  The other man asked, “Where do they keep the keys?”

  Somerset inclined his head toward Emily. “Looks like the good doctor here has taken it upon herself to act the heroine. I’m afraid she’s locked us in, boys, and she has the only key.”

  A chill went through her as both men looked at her.

  The first one, Beau, stuck his hand through the bars. “Let’s go, miss. Hand me them keys afore you get yourself hurt.”

  Emily held them closer to herself. “If you so much as touch me, Sheriff Trammel will kill you both.”

  The two Pinkerton men shared a laugh. Somerset joined in.

  “Sheriff Trammel’s got troubles of his own right about now,” the second one said. “He’s on his way to dyin’ if he ain’t already there. Now, come ahead with those keys before we lose patience.”

  The first one stuck his pistol through the bars, cocked the hammer, and aimed it straight at her head. “We’re not here for you and what’s goin’ on here don’t concern you, lady, unless you make it that way. Now, hand them keys over, or I’ll shoot you and have Somerset here kick ’em over to us.”

  “No sense in getting yourself shot over a lost cause,” added the second man.

  Emily had never had anyone point a gun at her before. She felt her grip on the key ring loosen before it dropped to the floor. She could barely muster the strength to kick the ring over to the man at the door.

  The three men laughed as one of the Pinkerton men unlocked the door and pulled it open. The two Pinkerton men crowded the cell, pulling Somerset off his cot.

  “Take it easy,” he protested. “My limbs are just about healed up. Don’t need you two mules pulling on me.”

  Eyes clenched shut, Emily sat in the corner as they went about the slow work of easing the broken man to his feet. There wasn’t much space between them and the open door, but there was some. She thought she might be able to make a break for it while they were busy with Somerset, but knew she would never make it in time.

  She even hoped their labors with the prisoner would make them forget about her. She wished she could have pulled the shadows around her to make herself disappear entirely.

  But there was nowhere for her to go until they were done.

  She took cold comfort in the accuracy of her diagnosis as she saw Somerset was able to stand on his own two feet.

  “You did it, missy,” the prisoner proclaimed as he took one uneasy step followed by another with the support of the Pinkerton men on either side of him. “Looks like you did a good job patching me up. I’ll send you something for your trouble as soon as I get back to Chicago.”

  “Her work’s not done yet,” said the first Pinkerton man. “Not by a long shot. She’s coming with us.”

  Her eyes sprang open. No! she thought, though she couldn’t bring herself to form the word . . . or any other word.

  The first gunman slipped his hand under her arm and pulled her to her feet with such force that she almost fell over. She managed to catch her footing, refusing to grant him the indignity of seeing her stumble.

  He pulled her along with him as both Pinkerton men followed Somerset shuffling out of the jail. “You behave yourself, miss, and you’ll come out of this just fine. The way we figure it, there’s plenty of shop clerk heroes in this town who might get it into their head to try to stop us taking Mr. Somerset out of here. With you along, they’re liable to think differently about trying that. They couldn’t live with themselves if they got a lady hurt.”

  The second one said, “Don’t worry. We’re not in the business of harming women. We’ll let you go as soon as we clear town and let you walk back on your own, as long as you keep on doing what we say. Understand?”

  “Yes!” she gasped. “Just don’t hurt me.”

  “If you get hurt, it won’t be from us,” the first one said.

  The second Pinkerton man stepped out of the jail and onto the boardwalk first, pistol drawn. He pulled down the gate of the wagon. “You can climb in this way and lay down if it’s easier on you, Somerset.” He nodded at Emily. “The lady here can drive the team for us while me and Beau ride our own horses. You know how to drive a team, don’t you?”

  Emily nodded that she did.

  As the man helped Somerset angle himself into the wagon, Beau steered Emily toward the front. “I hope you’re not lying about being able to handle a wagon. If you can’t, you’re going to have to learn in a hurry.”

  She climbed up into the seat and took the reins. “I can drive one as well as you can ride a horse, damn you.” She quickly reached for the brake, hoping to catch the two men off guard and attempt some kind of getaway.

  But Beau’s hand fell over her own. “Easy on the brake, Doc. You thinking of making a run for it with a big old wagon and a wounded man in tow? That would be stupid. You’re not a stupid woman, are you? Being a doctor and all?”

  She couldn’t find the words to answer him, so she simply shook her head.

  “Good.” Beau took his hand away. “That’s what I thought. Let’s leave the brake on until me and my partner here are on our horses. We wouldn’t want you getting any notions about taking off and leaving us behind. Safer for everyone that way, isn’t it?”

  She wiped her hand on her skirts. “That’s the last time you touch me, understand?”

  Beau backed away, smirking. “Feisty. I like that. Maybe before this is over, you’ll like me, too.”

  A voice from behind them called out, “I doubt that very much.”

  Emily didn’t have to turn around to see who was speaking, but she did so anyway.

  Adam Hagen was not up at the Blackstone Ranch. He was standing in front of the Clifford Hotel in nothing but his britches and the black hat with the silver band that he favored so. His right arm was in a makeshift sling of black silk and he was not wearing a gun belt. His skin was pale and, though he masked it well given the angle, he was leaning with his back against the porch post in an effort to keep himself upright.

  It was clear to her that he had no business being out of bed, much less facing down two gunmen. Unarmed, no less! In fact, he looked like a good wind might blow him over at any moment.

  The Pinkerton man called Beau stepped away from the wagon and back up onto the boardwalk. “That you, Hagen?”

  The gambler managed something of a grin. “None other.”

  “Hell, the two of us were told you were up at your daddy’s ranch with your buddy Trammel.”

  “I’m sure the two of you have been told a lot of things,” Hagen said. “Like you’re tough men and good with a gun. You look like you’re gullible enough to believe them, too.”

  The other Pinkerton man left the buckboard open and walked into the muddy thoroughfare, away from Beau. “You sure are a tricky son for a man who’s supposed to be dying.”

  “And I intend to go on being tricky well after both of you are in the ground and forgotten,” Hagen told them. “Now, let Doctor Dow
ns go or face the consequences.”

  “Give me a gun!” yelled Somerset to his rescuers. “I have a right to defend myself.”

  “Shut up and lay down,” Beau said without taking his eyes off the pale man with his arm in a sling. “This’ll all be over in a minute and we’ll be on our way.”

  Somerset said, “You haven’t seen what this devil can do with a gun. I have. He’s armed somehow, damn it, so throw me some iron, now!”

  “They’ve no iron to spare at the moment, Somerset,” Hagen called out. “Just what’s on their belts and the rifles still in their scabbards under their legs. You’re in no condition to be handling a rifle, and these men are not about to give up one of their pistols for the likes of you.”

  Emily saw Hagen’s eyes narrow a bit as he looked at Beau. “I know you, don’t I?”

  “Good memory, Lieutenant Hagen. Beauregard Hanson, formerly of the Seventh.”

  “That’s right.”

  Emily thought she heard some of the old swagger return to Hagen’s voice, but did not know if she had only wished it.

  “A man of the Seventh,” Hagen repeated. “Always a blustery bunch if there ever was one. I can’t recall ever having much use for a man from the Seventh.” He grinned. “But the Lakota sure had. Used them as target practice, near as I recall.”

  She could sense Beau tighten. “Only because I wasn’t there. Custer always had a habit of overestimating his abilities.”

  “A failing that I hope hasn’t filtered down to his former lieutenants,” Hagen said.