Bury the Hatchet

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Was a captain by the time I left,” Beau answered.

  Hagen feigned being impressed. “Why, bully for you. I’m sure your mama must be proud. Well, if she was good enough to raise you to be a captain in Uncle Sam’s army, then let us hope she raised you to have enough common sense to recognize a fair offer when one is presented to you.”

  The second Pinkerton man said, “Like you’re in a position to be making any offers.” To Beau he said, “You want to shoot him or do you want me to do it?”

  Emily could tell Beau was still stinging from Hagen’s remark about the Seventh.

  “Let him keep talking. It’ll make me feel better when I ultimately plug him. I want to hear how he thinks he’s getting out of this.”

  “My proposition is simple,” Hagen explained. “You brave men let Doctor Downs go and I allow the three of you to ride off with Mr. Somerset and the wagon. As Sheriff Trammel and Deputy Hauk are occupied elsewhere and I am obviously in no condition to ride, you have my word that no one will pursue you.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Somerset said from the back of the wagon. “That snake is fixin’ to do something, I just know it. Just shoot him and be done with it.”

  Hagen remained leaning against the post. “No one needs to get shot. Not me, not you, not even old Somerset there, if you two gentlemen just let her go and ride on.”

  The second Pinkerton man said, “We came here to do just that. After you’re dead.”

  Emily saw Hagen’s left hand flick to the sling cradling his right arm and draw a pistol he aimed at the second Pinkerton. Hagen fired before the man touched his pistol, much less drew. The slug struck the man in the throat, causing him to gag horribly as he staggered backward before falling to the ground, clutching his bleeding wound.

  Hagen’s aim switched to Beauregard Hanson, who had just drawn his gun, but hadn’t raised it yet. Hagen had been that fast.

  Beau froze as he stood.

  “Offer still stands,” Hagen called out to him. “Drop the iron, tie your horse to the wagon, and ride on back to Laramie with Mr. Somerset in hand. Could buy you some goodwill with Mr. Pinkerton if you do.”

  Emily watched Beau’s gun hand twitch as he said, “I didn’t much like working for Pinkerton.”

  Emily thought Hagen looked as though he may pass out at any moment, but his pistol had not budged.

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” Hagen said, “but you’ll like dying even less. Drop the iron. Let Doctor Downs go and ride away.”

  Beau twitched as he dove back toward the jailhouse.

  Hagen fired. His shot caught Beau in the right side of the chest and came out the left. He was dead before he skidded into the open jailhouse doorway.

  Emily jumped off the wagon and skipped over Beau’s body as she ran toward Adam.

  “Take your time,” he managed to call out to her as he slowly slid down the porch post. “You are quite safe now.”

  She knelt before him and gently placed her hand against his forehead. His fever had spiked and his skin was damp. “Damn it, Adam. You should be in bed.”

  “And allow you to be taken captive by a bunch of scoundrels? I’d never be able to live with myself if that happened.”

  She tried to take the pistol from him, but he resisted. “I may need that yet, Doctor.”

  She let him keep it and checked on the bandages around his shoulder. Ideally, his arm shouldn’t have been in a sling for weeks yet, but the bandages were dry and there was no evidence of fresh bleeding.

  “By some miracle of God, your dressing isn’t damaged.”

  Hagen coughed as he laughed. “I’m afraid God has ended his association with me some time ago, but thank you for thinking otherwise.”

  She flinched when he raised his pistol and aimed it back at the wagon. “Mr. Somerset! You damned well better be angling your way down from that wagon so you can return to jail.”

  Emily saw the wounded man had somehow managed to work his way up from the wagon bed and into the jockey box. Despite his right arm being heavily bandaged and his left hand broken, he had grabbed hold of the reins and was struggling to release the brake handle when Hagen had called out to him.

  Somerset winced as he turned to look back at Hagen, his escape thwarted. “What the hell else would I be doing?”

  “Might be thinking about snapping those reins and taking that team to Laramie. A hard task for a one-armed man, and I’d hate to send you to hell on account of a stupid mistake.”

  Somerset inched himself to the right until he was at the end of the seat. “I’m going to need some help getting down, though.”

  “You just stay there and rest a while.” He looked up at Emily and winked. “I think we’ve all earned a rest, don’t you?”

  But Emily didn’t smile. “Buck is out there alone, Adam. He’s out there alone against Alcott and the rest of those Pinkerton men.”

  “Where?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me, but I know it’s either at your father’s ranch or somewhere on the trail before there.”

  “Stone Gate.” Adam looked away. “I saw Hawkeye riding off in that direction before. I didn’t know where he was headed, but I suppose that makes sense. If they’re planning to hit Alcott anywhere along the trail, it’s at Stone Gate. It’s the only bottleneck between here and the ranch where a couple of men could hold off an army. At least for a while.”

  “Hawkeye’s head wound is so bad, he can barely see straight, much less shoot,” Emily said. “And that leaves Buck all alone between your father and Alcott’s men.”

  “Not for long.” He tucked his pistol back into his sling and wrapped his good arm around Emily’s neck. “Here, help me up.”

  She did her best, but Hagen was remarkably heavier than she’d remembered him being when she helped move him. “Let’s get you back to your room.”

  “Nonsense,” he said as he struggled to his feet. “You’re going to stick me in that flatbed along with all the pistols and rifles and bullets those dead men were carrying. You’ll drive that team toward Stone Gate. When I give you the word, you’ll throw the brake and get out of there. I’ll draw fire and hopefully give Buck a chance.”

  Smith from the livery ran over to help Hagen along. “Those two came over to the livery and stole that wagon from me at gunpoint. Made me hitch up the team and everything. So if anyone’s driving it anywhere, it’s going to be me. This ain’t no business for a doctor, much less for the only one we got in town.”

  Hagen swayed when Smith got him walking and struggled to compensate for the shifting weight.

  Emily trailed behind the two men. “I don’t think this is such a good idea, Adam. I know Buck needs help, but you’ll be passed out by the time we get there and no good to anyone.”

  “Nonsense,” Hagen said as he got a few steps under him. “I’ll be fine once I can—”

  Emily watched his grip around Smith’s neck began to weaken as he lost consciousness. Fortunately, Smith grabbed hold of him in time and was able to push him toward a bench in front of the Clifford Hotel before he collapsed to the boardwalk and damaged his shoulder even more.

  “You don’t look so good, Adam,” the liveryman said. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.”

  Emily pushed Hagen’s head upright and felt his forehead. His fever had returned with a vengeance, and his skin was clammy. The only place he was going was back to bed. His war was done.

  She wondered what that could mean for Buck.

  CHAPTER 29

  Trammel’s stomach sank when he heard a rider approaching through the dense woods that surrounded Stone Gate. Had Alcott sent a scout in advance of the main group to find a better route? Or had Alcott decided to risk leading his men to Blackstone Ranch through the forest?

  He triple-checked the location of his rifles before he poked his head up from behind the rocky outcropping. He had his Winchester Centennial in his hand and three other fully loaded rifles staged at other points around the outcropping. Two on the left si
de and one on the right where he was currently positioned. He knew he’d have to move plenty once Alcott’s men started firing at him, and he didn’t want to be killed for lack of weaponry. He hoped to save the Colt under his arm for any close-in work that might be necessary, should he live that long.

  When Trammel looked up, he was glad to see it was only Hawkeye racing toward him through the woods. For someone suffering from a bad head injury, the boy was riding faster and better than Trammel ever could.

  His deputy brought his horse up short about thirty yards away, still maintaining the cover the woods afforded him. His horse had worked up a good sweat and was breathing heavily.

  “Alcott and his men are coming this way,” Hawkeye told him. “They’re makin’ a beeline straight for you, so be sharp. They’ll be here in a couple of minutes or so.”

  Trammel was grateful for the advance notice. “Just remember to be careful while approaching Hagen’s ranch. I don’t want you getting shot for no reason after all we’ve been through.”

  “Don’t worry,” Hawkeye assured him. “The only one who didn’t like me up there was Mr. Bookman, and he’s in jail. I’ll be back in a few minutes with some help. And if not, it’ll just be me.”

  The boy took off again before Trammel could thank him. And for the first time since he had arrived at Stone Gate, the sheriff began to wonder if this crazy plan they had cooked up together just might work.

  * * *

  Alcott brought his men to a stop as he saw the trail to Blackstone Ranch dip down and pass between an outcropping of stone that had clearly been dynamited at some point to allow the road to pass through.

  The edges of the opening had been chipped down and smoothed by man and weather over the years, but the rest of the rocky mound remained. He judged the opening to be wide enough to fit four head of cattle through at the same time. It was probably a great way for Mr. Hagen and his ranch hands to count cattle before they were taken to market down in Laramie, but less than ideal for Alcott’s current purpose.

  “A bottleneck,” Alcott said. “I don’t like it.”

  “Makes sense it’s there,” Ty said. “The ranch probably uses it as a way to get a more accurate count on the number of cattle they take to market.”

  “I know why it’s there.” Alcott could barely hide his annoyance. “I just don’t like going through a bottleneck with so many men.”

  “That idiot down at the jail said it’s a straight shot to the ranch from here,” Ty reminded him. “I say we barrel right through and get there as quick as possible. Besides, if anyone was up there waiting for us, they’d be shooting at us right now.”

  Alcott looked at the high rock walls on either side of the trail and the dense trees that spread out as far into the distance as he could see. There really was no better way to reach the Hagen ranch except through this narrow opening before him. And he did not like his options one bit.

  “There’s got to be another way. Ty, ride out and find another way around.”

  “Hell, Jesse,” called out one of the men from the back. “There ain’t nobody up there waitin’ to shoot us. There ain’t nobody looking to stop us because nobody knows we’re comin’. Let’s quit wastin’ time and head on up to the ranch and get that Hagen fella to give up them men. The only danger we face is waiting like sittin’ ducks on this damned road like we’re doin’.”

  “The quicker we get this done,” another man said, “the quicker we can get back to Laramie and Clay’s girls and his whiskey. With the weather being as cold as it is, I aim to get my fill of both tonight.”

  “The sooner we kill those two we’re after,” still another said, “the sooner we can get back to the comforts of home.”

  The other men grumbled their agreement to keep moving straight ahead.

  Alcott did not like caving to the opinion of the mob, but he also knew these men were more familiar with life in the wilderness than he was. If they were ready to accept the risk, perhaps he was making more of it than he should. He had been looking for a way to prove himself in front of his men. This minor test seemed to be as good a place to start as any.

  He raised his hand and beckoned the column to follow him down the dip in the road and on through the opening the locals called Stone Gate.

  * * *

  Lying as flat as he could among the rocks atop the outcropping, Trammel watched the last Pinkerton man ride down the dip in the road. He had heard Alcott and the others deliberating before riding into the bottleneck. He had heard the men agree it was time to kill him and Adam.

  It absolved him of any guilt he may have felt about the ambush. Everything he did from now on was in self-defense.

  As he brought his Winchester to his shoulder, he dared not think of it as murder. He was giving these men more of a chance than they were planning to give him. He carefully drew a bead on the last man in the group and fired. The .45-75 round plowed through the Pinkerton man’s chest and threw him down from the saddle.

  The ten remaining riders struggled to keep their mounts under control as the shot echoed and the horses bucked amid the cramped confines of the narrow pass.

  Trammel quickly levered another round into the chamber, aimed into the mass of man and horseflesh, and fired once again, hitting a rider in the upper chest. The round passed through him and slammed into the man behind him. Both men fell to the ground as the booming rifle shots and screaming men served to whip up the horses into a full-blown panic.

  The man Trammel recognized as Alcott was caught between the main group and the entrance to Stone Gate, frantically waving at the others to head back the way they had come while he fought his own horse for control.

  Trammel racked in another round as one of the riders managed to get off a shot that bounced off a rock somewhere nearby, but not close enough to his position to make him move just yet. In all of the chaos and confusion, they hadn’t pegged his exact location, so moving might be more dangerous than staying put.

  He aimed down at Alcott and waited until the leader turned his way before firing again. The shot was a bit rushed and caught his target lower than he’d aimed. The man doubled over, but somehow managed to remain in the saddle.

  The Pinkerton leader yelled at his men over the sounds of screaming horses that echoed all around them and the men fired in Trammel’s direction.

  Time to move.

  Trammel scrambled off the top of the outcropping and slid over to the Stone Gate entrance. He stole a quick glance through the opening to choose his next target, but had to pull back when bullets began pelting the stonework. The shots were all rushed and fired blind, but even a lucky shot could end his life. He knew it was only a matter of time before they rallied themselves and charged through the opening. That would turn his only advantage into a death trap. There was only one way to hold them off before help got there, if it was coming at all.

  Trammel brought his rifle to his shoulder, levering and firing four rounds into the broiling mass of humanity and horseflesh in front of him as he moved from one side of the opening to the other. Gunfire and screams sounded from the riders and he lost count of how many men and animals he had hit as he reached the safety of the other side of the outcropping.

  The gun smoke from his rifle and the weapons of the Pinkerton men grew heavy as more gunfire began to pepper the left side of the wall. He could hear more men and horses screaming than before, but their return gunfire was also heavier than before. He had no idea how many he had hit in that last outburst, but knew it had to be at least four, if not more. His upper back burned, and he realized a stray bullet must have grazed him when he had broken cover.

  He had just levered another round into the chamber when one of the riders burst through the gun smoke and the stone opening. He was still on horseback, firing his pistol wildly. Trammel fell backward, ignoring the pain arching across his shoulders, and fired as soon as he hit the ground. The first round went wide, but he quickly levered a second round into the Winchester and fired. That round struck the man u
nder the chin. The rider was still clutching the reins as he pitched back in the saddle, causing his mount to also topple backward and on top of him. The rider certainly would have broken many of the bones in his body had he still been alive. Fortunately for him—and for Trammel—he was already dead before he hit the ground.

  The panicked horse scrambled to get up as bullet after bullet now peppered the outcropping. The wild horse ran toward Trammel, before veering away and darting through the opening in the rock. As the doomed animal absorbed round after round intended for Trammel, the sheriff used the confusion provided by the panicked horse to run back to the other side of the wall. He had no idea how many men he had killed, and he had lost track of how many times he had fired. He began feeding rounds from his pocket into his trusted Winchester when he realized the gunfire from the other side of the wall had stopped.

  Trammel’s hands trembled as he fed more rounds into the rifle. Alcott and the remaining survivors must be planning something.

  The sheriff ignored the pain arching through his back and scrambled up to the top of the outcropping to get a better look at what was happening. A shot rang out and a bullet ricocheted off a large rock just in front of him.

  He laid flat as more rounds began slamming into the rocks all around him. He pulled his legs to within the safety of the rocks, but knew the game was up. His position had been discovered, and it wouldn’t take long for the men to take him down.

  It would be only a matter of time before one of the shooters got an angle on him and finished him off, or another one rode through the stone gate and finished him off from horseback.

  Buck Trammel had done exactly what he could not afford to do.

  He had allowed himself to be trapped by Alcott and his men.

  * * *

  As soon as he reached the ranch house, Hawkeye spilled out of the saddle and ran up to the porch steps to the front door. He didn’t bother tying off Daisy, because the poor animal was too spent to move.

  Ignoring his own dizziness, he began pounding on the front door, hoping Mr. Hagen or someone else was inside. The gunfire from Stone Gate had just increased from a couple of shots here and there to a thunderous barrage of gunfire echoing throughout the valley. He had never been in a war but imagined it must sound something like that.