The Dark Sunrise

by Terrence McCauley

  “That statement is all that ties Grant to the conspiracy you say he committed against the Dover Station Company,” Forester shot back. “Without that confession, there is no basis to believe Brenner acted against you or played any role in the attempts made on your life. Yes, his confession was witnessed by Chief Edison and some of his deputies after he attacked you. The assault charge you have made against him will likely stand. However, since Edison assisted you in the coup that removed Mayor Grant from office—”

  “Coup?” Mackey realized he had stood up. “That wasn’t a coup. That was a lawful arrest. The son of a bitch tried to have Underhill killed. He ordered Brenner and the Hancocks to kill me and my deputies. Hell, he almost poisoned Silas Van Dorn to death.”

  Forester glared up at him from behind his desk. “You will control your vulgarity and your temper or I will have my bailiff arrest you.”

  “Then I hope you’re not fond of him, because you’ll lose him if he tries.”

  Forester shut his eyes and laid his head back against his chair. “You’re not making this easy, Marshal.”

  “Sorry. Guess I’ve always had a hard time watching dirt get swept under the rug.”

  Forester’s eyes sprang open. “There are no brooms in this chamber, Marshal Mackey, and certainly no rugs. Brenner’s attorney is challenging the validity of his confession. That confession is the only evidence you have tying Grant to the criminal charges you have brought against him. Without it, you can’t even place Brenner at the scene of any of the crimes of which you accuse him, and you have absolutely nothing on Grant. In short, you don’t have a case.”

  Mackey could hardly believe what he was hearing. He had boarded the train with every belief that he was bringing Grant and Brenner to meet their fate at the end of a rope. Now it looked like they might be catching the next train back to Dover Station. “Men have swung with less evidence, your honor.”

  “Not in my courtroom.” Forester sat back in his chair and shook his head, his chins wagging. “No, sir. I know you and Mr. Rice want me to be your hangman, but I’ll not bend the rule of law for any man, not even him. And certainly not for you.”

  Mackey felt his body begin to shake and heard the quaver in his own voice. “This is rich. You’re a flophouse drunk Mr. Rice wrung out and sent here to represent his interests five years ago. He only put you on the bench to protect those interests. Don’t confuse the two, Forester. You’re no better than half the people you put behind bars. You’ve only been allowed to think you are.”

  Mackey leaned forward until his hands reached Forester’s desk. “And what do you think will happen when I tell him you’re letting Grant and Brenner go? What do you think will happen when Mr. Rice changes his mind about you?”

  Judge Forester looked down at his empty plate and pushed it aside with a heavy sigh. “How old are you, son? Thirty, thirty-one?”

  “Thirty-five. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “It means you’ve seen a lot of life in your time, but not as much as I have,” Forester said. “You’re a smart man and a brave one, too, but that’s not going to be enough for you to overcome what lies ahead of you.”

  “I’ve seen more of life than inside a judge’s chambers,” Mackey told him. “I’ve led men in battle and put them behind bars for the rest of their lives.”

  “And a fair many of them in the ground, if myth is to be believed,” Forester added. “Is what they say about ‘Mackey’s Garden’ true?”

  “Never liked that term myself,” the lawman said, “nor ‘hero’ nor ‘savior’ neither.”

  “But they’ve stuck to you anyway,” Forester said, “despite your best efforts to shun them.” He held out his hand for Mackey to see, and it quivered as if he was riding in a bumpy coach. “You called me a drunk earlier, and you’re right. I stand guilty as charged. It took me a long time to admit that to myself. But as the years go by, a wise man begins to forgive his own shortcomings and, eventually, embrace them. Maybe even put them to good use if he finds himself fortunate enough to do so.”

  Mackey’s headache was beginning to return. “What the hell does any of this have to do with letting Grant and Brenner go?”

  “It has everything to do with it.” The fat man pitched forward and pushed himself out of his chair with great effort. He was taller than Mackey had expected, but not as tall as he. “You stand there, snugly cloaked in piety, youth, and bravery, and call me a coward and a drunk. You then revert to your true nature by threatening me with telling Mr. Rice about my decision that your case against Grant and Brenner is without merit. Yet you happily neglect to mention one simple, irrefutable fact.”

  Forester held his hands out from his side. “That no one cares about Grant and Brenner, Marshal.” He held up a finger to caution Mackey. “And, before you say it, they care even less about justice, so don’t bother trying to use that tactic on me.”

  “Grant’s guilty,” Mackey said. “He hired men to rob the same railroad he controlled. He robbed stagecoaches. He—”

  “Prove it.”

  Mackey could almost see the bedrock of the case against his prisoners crumble before his eyes. He felt himself growing desperate, and he did not like the feeling. “He poisoned Silas Van Dorn.”

  “A matter Mr. Van Dorn wishes not to pursue for the sake of his family and business interests.” His eyebrows rose. “Next charge?”

  Mackey saw all of the cards he held against his prisoners disappearing in his hand and played the only one he had left. “He tried to kill me in his house.”

  “After you barged in there without a warrant and no credible reason to take him into custody. Yes, you claim to have Brenner’s confession, but we’re past that now. Grant was also severely wounded in the process and almost lost his arm. His attorney tells me he’s still considering whether or not to sue over the affair. Not just you, but the United States government, as you were a marshal at the time of the incident.”

  Mackey caught something. “Grant’s attorney wouldn’t happen to be the same one Brenner is using?”

  “It just so happens it is,” Forester told him. “Mr. J. D. Rhoades himself. Finest attorney in the whole Montana Territory. Hell, maybe this side of the Mississippi, depending on who you talk to.”

  Mackey slowly lowered himself into his seat. He knew John David Rhoades and not from the articles he had read about the famed attorney’s exploits in The Dover Station Record.

  Mackey had known him when he was a major in the army.

  He had defended Mackey at his court-martial at Fort Concho.

  Grant had been keeping something up his sleeve this whole time after all.

  Forester looked at him. “I seem to recall someone telling me that you are acquainted with Mr. Rhoades.”

  Mackey sank in his chair. “Yeah. I am.”

  Forester selected a cigar from a box on a bookshelf next to his desk and offered it to Mackey. “May I offer you one?”

  “Only if I can use it to burn this place down.”

  “I’ve felt that way several times, my young friend.” The judge clipped the end of the cigar, struck a lucifer off the side of the bookcase, and lit it. “And we are friends, you and I, or at least we will be.”

  Mackey looked at him. “You letting two guilty men go free isn’t the best way to get on my good side, Judge.”

  Forester looked at him through the growing smoke as the flame took in the cigar. “I have no choice but to let them go free due to a lack of evidence on the charges you have leveled against them.” He held up a hand to hold off another argument. “What you brought me might hold up against anyone else, but not against the likes of Grant and Brenner. They have crossed paths with plenty of influential people in this territory. Men who have their eyes on other interests, larger interests, than seeing Grant and Brenner swing.”

  Mackey had never fooled himself into believing he was a particularly smart man, but he was far from dumb. And although he despised politics, he was able to understand it when he sa
w it. “You mean statehood, don’t you?”

  Forester grinned as he puffed on the cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth. “I knew you were smart. Yes, statehood is coming. Before the year is out, or so they tell me. And the sooner men like Grant and Brenner are forgotten, the better for all concerned. Especially where our mutual benefactor Mr. Rice is concerned.”

  Mackey felt his temper begin to rise as everything Judge Forester had just told him slowly came into focus. “You mean his company. His investments. His money.”

  “Not just Rice’s money,” Forester allowed, “but that’s the general gist of it. Men like Grant and Brenner remind people of this territory’s wicked past. And men like our friend Mr. Rice wish to focus on the territory’s future as well as the money that’s to be made there.” The judge opened his arms wide. “It’s the way the world works, son. It’s not always fair, but it’s quite predictable if you know what to expect.”

  “Quit talking to me like I’m a kid,” Mackey snapped.

  “No, you’re not a kid. That’s the problem. You not a man with a death wish or a thug with a badge, either. You’re a West Pointer, by God, and you’ll always be a soldier whether you want to be one or not. You need a mission to carry out. A goal to achieve. That star on your chest doesn’t change that. If anything, it lets you continue to be a soldier even out of uniform. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s as much of your strength as it is your weakness, just like the bottle is mine. Why, it will serve you well until it gets you killed one day. But by then, you’ll be old enough to see the bullet as a blessing.”

  Forester looked down at his shaking, spotted hand holding his cigar. “I used to think old age was something to which one should aspire. It isn’t.”

  He squinted at Mackey. “But until that day comes, I believe you’ve got the makings of a fine lawman. Exactly the kind of man this territory is going to need when statehood comes. The kind of man who can see beyond Grant and Brenner and let them be swallowed up by the past.”

  “I’m not interested in hearing a recruitment talk, Judge. I had my fill of those in the army.”

  “These are far from empty words, son. These are facts. The governor won’t last past statehood. The ranchers and the miners and the loggers will sweep that grinning idiot aside like old leaves when the time suits them. But men like you need to remain if this state has any chance of thriving. You’re not going to last if you won’t let go of the past and grab on to the future with both hands and never let go.”

  “You mean let Grant go. Give up on Dover Station.” He shook his head. “Funny. I heard that speech from Mr. Rice a few weeks ago.”

  “And now you’re hearing it from me but for a different reason. You and I owe Mr. Rice our positions, yes, but now that we have them, we owe this territory more. Mr. Rice is a good man but a wealthy man, and wealthy men are easily bored. They can afford to walk away when they get bored with things. He’s bored now. Bored with me and with you and this whole Grant-Hancock-Dover Station business. He’s built his fortune. He’s making money in Dover Station even if Grant was stealing from him. He used Dover Station to solidify his foothold in the territory, as if owning the railroad wasn’t enough. His focus is now on statehood, and nothing else matters to him. Nor, in all fairness to him, should it.”

  Mackey did not want Forester’s words to make sense, but they did. “Why?”

  “Because he has his role to play in statehood, just as you and I have ours. Important roles, if we have the wisdom to take them. If not, the same winds that blew in our favor yesterday will blow against us tomorrow. If Grant and Brenner hadn’t secured such capable counsel, things might be different. But they’re not, and Rhoades will use every means at his disposal to drag this out for as long as he can. At least until the referendum on statehood comes to pass. Powerful men want Grant and his kind forgotten, Marshal. And we need to forget them, too, if we’re to have any hope of shaping the future.”

  Mackey felt his breath growing shallow. “And what kind of future will we have if men like Grant and Brenner can just walk away after all they’ve done? They’re guilty, damn it!”

  “I know they are,” Forester allowed. “But I’ve read the brief Rhoades plans to present in court in a few days. Fine work indeed. Unless the prosecutor can come up with a convincing case, I’m afraid they’ll escape the noose for now. But I wouldn’t hold out much hope for their chances of a long life, particularly Grant.”

  “Why?”

  Forester moved out from behind his desk and sat on the edge of it close to Mackey. “Grant’s a clever man, but not nearly as clever as he believes himself to be. By bringing the Hancocks into Dover, he’s the sheep who has allowed the wolves into the pen so there’ll be more grass for him. But wolves do not eat grass. They eat sheep. And one day very soon, they’ll eat James Grant, too. I know you want to see him dead at the end of a rope. For what it’s worth, I believe he’s guilty of every charge you have made against him, but you can’t prove any of it.”

  He dared to pat Mackey on the shoulder. “His position with the Dover Station Company has been filled by Mr. Bishop. From what I’ve heard, Grant is unlikely to be allowed to resume his position as mayor of Dover Station, and his usefulness to the Hancock clan has come to an end. It’s only a matter of time before they hang him for us. There are more ways to serve justice than in a courtroom, my boy. I should think you’d know that by now.”

  Mackey had learned that lesson long ago. He had learned in his days at West Point. He had learned it among the silent sands and spartan lands of Arizona and Texas and New Mexico. He had learned it long before he had handed Darabont over to the Blackfoot warriors who buried the marauder up to his neck and let the red ants eat him alive for butchering their women and children and old ones.

  Yes, Mackey knew justice came in many forms. He knew there was more to justice than the white man’s justice. But he had come to Helena hoping to find it anyway, because anything else had just been a waste of time.

  Had he known it would turn out like this, he would have let Billy shoot Grant in his office all those months ago. Maybe Underhill would have still been alive. Maybe a lot of things would have been different.

  “Maybe the prosecutor is better than you think,” was the only hope Mackey had left.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Forester said through the cigar smoke. “He’s my son and not exactly the swiftest horse in the herd if you understand my meaning. But miracles happen every day, so maybe he’ll surprise me.”

  It took a few moments for Mackey to realize the judge had worked his way behind him and opened his office door. “Our business is concluded for today, Marshal, but I still have plenty of work to do. I’ll expect you in my courtroom the day after tomorrow, ready to give testimony should things get that far. I doubt they will, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.”

  Mackey swept his hat from Judge Forester’s desk as he stood. “Hardly see the point in it now.”

  “Point is that you’ve brought a matter to be considered before this court, son. It has to be officially adjudicated one way or the other. A lot of people are watching this case. They’re watching it the way a greedy son watches his father’s death bed. It can’t end soon enough to suit them, and they shall rejoice when it does.”

  He actually patted Mackey on the back. “Don’t worry. Grant will eventually die in the gutter where he belongs. And if we work together, we’ll live long enough to see it. Come back tomorrow after you’ve settled in at the Hotel Helena. We’ll talk about all of the other matters of your office that deserve your attention then.”

  The judge shut the door behind Mackey before he had a chance to ask him any further questions.

  He found himself standing in the narrow hallway alone. Quiet. Like it used to be when he had led patrols through Arizona and Texas, hunting Chiricahua and Mescaleros and Comanche.

  As quiet as it had been that fateful morning at Adobe Flats before the charge.

  Alone with the finality of a closed
door in his face.

  He tucked his hat back on his head and made his way out of the office. The clerk did not bother to look up. And Mackey saw no reason to bid him good day.

  CHAPTER 10

  Mackey began to feel a little better as soon as he climbed back in the saddle. Everything always seemed clearer when he was on horseback.

  He steered Adair in the direction of the Hotel Helena but let her move along the street at her own pace. He desperately wanted to see Katherine after so long apart, but he had a lot to get straight in his mind before he saw her. He had come to Helena a hopeful man. Now, everything he had been certain of was teetering on a knife’s edge. It was as though the terrain had shifted around him in a blink of an eye. One second, he knew exactly where he was and where he was headed. But now, he found himself in a strange town where nothing was as he expected.

  The ghosts from his past were mingling with his present. J. D. Rhoades had once saved him from a military prison, and now he was working for the man he despised. He knew Brenner’s confession was legal, but since Judge Forester did not see it that way, that was no longer the case. He had expected Grant and Brenner to be dancing at the end of a rope after being convicted of murder.

  Now it looked like they would be back in Dover Station before the week was out. What would that mean for the town? What did that mean about the way Mackey did his job? He had not seen any of this coming? Should he have? Maybe Lynch was right. Maybe Mackey had used his federal office to avenge personal grudges. Maybe he was not fit to hold a federal post for an entire territory.

  In a span of an hour, months of planning had been laid flat. Nothing was where it should be, and he found himself wandering. Lost.

  Except for Katherine. She was the constant he kept his eye on as he moved through life. She gave him direction, and that meant everything to him.

  He quickened Adair’s pace to bring him to her. Everything felt better after a few moments in her arms.