CHAPTER 35
As the first light of dawn began to appear in the eastern sky the next morning, Smith had already saddled two horses and hitched up a team to an old wagon by the time Trammel, Elmer and Hagen got to the livery.
Hagen looked less than pleased by the two horses Smith had chosen. “Are you sure this old nag will make the trip to Laramie? Look more fit for the glue pot than the trail to me.”
Trammel may not have known much about horses, but even he could tell these two were scrawny and just about at the end of their rope.
“They’ll stay alive out of habit if nothing else,” Smith told him. “And with all of this shooting going on, I ain’t dumb enough to give you any good horses only to see them get killed. Or worse, that old drunk Elmer slappin’ them to death with them straps.”
Elmer climbed into the wagon box and took the reins. “I was handlin’ teams twice this size before you was a thought, you old fool. Now get out of my way. I’ve got prisoners waitin’ to get loaded.”
As Elmer moved the wagon off toward the jail, Hagen and Trammel began checking their saddles.
The sheriff could not resist the chance to rib his friend a little as they tucked their rifles into the saddle holsters. “Sorry if I cut into your social calendar by volunteering you like that, Adam.”
“Cut into it?” Hagen glared at him as he secured his Winchester. “You outright obliterated it. What got into you back there, volunteering me to ride to Laramie with you like that?”
“Figured it’d help pry your old man off your back,” Trammel said. “He was hitting you pretty hard.”
“I’d rather take a beating and be in bed than riding out with you and a wagon full of prisoners at this ungodly hour.”
“No need to come if you don’t want to,” Trammel said. “Just point me in the right direction and Elmer and I will bring them in together.”
“With your sense of direction and that old rum pot’s memory? You’d probably wind up in the Yukon before you found Laramie.”
Trammel felt a pang of resentment. “I’m a bit better at finding my way than that.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Hagen said. “You may be a hell of a man in a fight, but you’re hopeless on the trail. But I have big plans for your celebrity, Buck, and I won’t have those plans dashed on account of stubbornness on your part.”
“I’ve got my own plans.” Trammel slid the Winchester into the scabbard. “And they sure as hell don’t include being famous.”
“You’ll take to it, don’t you worry.” Hagen stopped checking his saddle and looked at Trammel. “You know I planned on trailing out after you anyway, don’t you? No matter what you said to Father in there.”
Trammel was glad he was right about Hagen. He would never admit it, but he felt better having his old trail partner along for the ride. He decided it best to focus on the business at hand. “You sure you don’t know anything about this Lucien Clay character?”
“I’ve only been in town as long as you have, Buck,” Hagen pointed out. “But Father is right. If he sent five men to shoot up a town to free our fair madam, then he probably has at least ten between here and Laramie to cover their retreat. Since I’m the one who brought you here, I feel a bit responsible for you. I’d hate to see you get killed on account of my plans.”
Trammel made sure the coach gun was secure in its scabbard. He may not have shared Hagen’s low opinion of his skills on the trail, but he was glad for the company. “I never pegged you for the type who had a heart.”
“Just keep it to yourself.” Hagen began leading his horse from the livery. “I’m in the process of building a bad reputation for myself. Wouldn’t want to ruin it.”
* * *
A small, but intrepid crowd of townspeople had gathered in front of the jail to watch the wicked Madam Peachtree and her cohorts be loaded on a wagon and ridden out of town. Trammel had asked the townspeople to clear out the wreckage of the roof and dead horses, and he had to admit they’d done a damned fine job. Save for the bullet holes in the jailhouse wall, there was no hint that men had died at the site less than twenty-four hours before.
Never one for spectacle, Trammel had ordered Elmer to bring the wagon to the back door of the jail, where Hawkeye brought out Madam Pinochet and March. Both of them had their hands shackled behind their backs.
When they were seated and secured in the wagon, Trammel said, “Good job, Hawkeye. Bring out the last one.”
“Can’t,” Hawkeye said. “He hanged himself last night. Looks like March there gave him that blanket what hung between his cell and Madam Peachtree’s.”
Trammel reached into the wagon and snatched March by the back of the neck, pulling him upright. “Is that true?”
“It was his life,” March said, “his decision.”
“And your idea.” Trammel released him with a shove, allowing him to fall back into the wagon. “It was certainly your blanket. You just got a couple of charges added to your record, March. I know it was your lady’s idea, but you’re going to be the one who pays for it.”
“It was my idea!” March roared. “At least allow her the dignity of sittin’ upright, not lying in the back of a wagon like some damned sack of grain!”
Trammel looked at Pinochet’s prostrate black form and decided she did look a bit like a sack of grain after all.
She cursed in French and added, “You fools are riding to your deaths. None of you will make it to Laramie alive.”
Hagen nudged his mount close to Elmer’s team. “We’re going to be taking some rough paths though the wood between here and Laramie, old man. There’s a lot of tough customers between here and there. Some damned uneven terrain, too, especially for a wagon. You sure you’re up to it?”
“I’ve ridden through worse with hostiles hot on my tail hungry for hair,” Elmer said. “I reckon I can handle this bunch. Just point out which way you want me to go, and I’ll follow.”
As Hagen laid out the path, Trammel saw how dejected Hawkeye looked over the prisoner’s suicide. He didn’t want the boy dwelling on it in his absence. “That man’s death is not your fault, Deputy.”
“It was my duty to watch him.”
“It was our duty to watch him,” Trammel corrected him. “And we were both busy preparing for this ride. Besides, the man tried to kill me. There’ll be plenty of time and reason for regrets in this job. This dead man isn’t one of them. Understand me?”
“Don’t make it right, boss.” Hawkeye said.
“Then we learn from it and move on.” That was the last he intended to say on the matter. “I need you to keep an eye on things here in town while we’re gone. We should be back by lunch tomorrow.”
“And what if you’re not,” Hawkeye asked. “I mean, what should I do?”
“Don’t worry,” Hagen called out to him, his conference with Elmer finished. “My father will be more than happy to tell you what to do.”
Hagen tipped his hat to them as he galloped off into the woods behind the jail. Elmer set the wagon team moving with a crack of the reins.
The grim procession of leading Madam Pinochet and her disciple March to jail in Laramie had begun.
Trammel and Hawkeye turned when they heard a female voice say, “Weren’t you going to come say good-bye?”
Hawkeye pulled off his hat as soon as he saw her. “Morning, Mrs. Downs.”
“Good morning, Jimmy,” she smiled. “We’re also grateful that you’ll be watching over us while Sheriff Trammel is in Laramie.”
Trammel watched the kid blush. “You are?”
“Certainly. Anyone who the sheriff has faith in must be a capable man.”
“But I—” Hawkeye looked at Trammel. “I mean, I’m nowhere near as good as—”
Trammel decided to let the kid off the hook. “It’s been a long night, Deputy. Get some rest while you can. I’ll be back tomorrow before lunch.”
Poor Hawkeye was still bowing to both of them as he backed into the jail and slammed the doo
r shut behind him. Trammel was glad to hear the heavy bolt slide home.
Trammel and Emily shared a laugh at the young man’s expense.
“If he kept bowing like that,” Trammel said, “I was afraid he’d break something.”
Emily’s smile faded as she looked up at him. “I’m worried you’re going to do worse than break something in bringing that witch to Laramie.”
“I’ll be fine,” Trammel lied as much for her benefit as his own. “I took down five men singlehandedly yesterday, remember?”
“How could I forget? It’s all anyone is talking about. And the rumor mill has run the number up to ten as of this morning.”
He imagined the number would be as high as twenty by the time the drunks retold it that evening. “Five was plenty.”
“You don’t have to do this, you know?” She gently leaned against the jail and folded her arms. “Mr. Hagen could send ten men or more if you’d just ask.”
But Trammel’s mind was made up. “Mr. Hagen hired me to do a job, Emily. This is part of it. It wouldn’t be right to have him help me. I don’t just work for him. I work for the town. And if the people think I only work for him, then I’m no different than the judge or Montague or Mayor Welch.”
“You’ve been in town less than a week, Buck,” she said, “and you’ve already done so much. You don’t owe anyone anything.”
A part of him knew she was right. But another part of him knew she couldn’t be more wrong. “Maybe I owe it to myself to try. For a lot of reasons you don’t know yet.”
“Stubborn.” She shook her head. “In that case, you’d better make it back here in one piece so I get the chance to know more about what those reasons are. And more about the man they belong to.”
Trammel felt himself blushing again. He simply touched the brim of his hat and pulled his horse about to follow Hagen and the prison wagon down to Laramie.
He looked back when he reached the edge of the trail and was pleased Emily was still looking at him. “How’d I look just then? Like a Westerner?”
“Like a New Yorker.” She laughed, “But we’ll work on it.”
CHAPTER 36
Trammel caught up to Hagen and the wagon about a mile away from Blackstone. The gambler was leading Elmer and the prisoners on a crooked, uneven path over the tangled roots and uneven ground of the forest.
“How’s it going?” he asked as he pulled up next to Hagen.
“Relax, Buck,” Hagen smiled. “We’re barely a mile away from town. But her ladyship here has already regaled old Elmer and me with dark tales of our impending doom. About how we’ll both be gut shot before long and the last thing either of us would see would be her pulling the trigger.” He looked back at the wagon. “I leave anything out, dearie?”
Young March comforted her as she responded with a string of curses in her native French.
Hagen was amused. “I’d translate that for you, Buck, but I think you’ve blushed enough for one day. Let’s just say she didn’t dispute anything I told you. Though, I must say, if I’m to be called a lying, double-shuffle jackass, French is just about the prettiest language I can think of to hear it.”
“The last thing either of you will hear,” young March added, “will be the sounds of your own screams.”
Elmer cut loose with a stream of tobacco off the side of the wagon. “I’ll be more than willin’ to gag these two if you want, Sheriff. This here ride’s spooky enough without her yappin’ all the time. I don’t care whatever language it is.”
Trammel decided it might not be a bad idea. “Do it, but be quick about it.”
The wagon driver’s face brightened. “You mean it?”
“Just hurry.”
Elmer threw the break and eagerly swung his legs around and hopped down into the wagon.
The prisoners began to protest while Elmer produced filthy handkerchiefs from his pockets to use as gags.
Hagen rode closer to Trammel. “I think Elmer was just joking, Buck.”
“Well I’m not. These woods might be full of Clay’s men. One scream from either March or Pinochet could bring the whole bunch down on us. The quieter they are, the better for us.” Hagen looked like he had more to say on the matter, but Trammel wasn’t in the mood to hear it. “Since you seem to know these parts better than anyone, you take point and lead the way. If not, take over the wagon and let Elmer do it. I want to make Laramie as soon as possible.”
* * *
When they arrived at Laramie, Trammel got his first look at the town that had sprung up around the fort. Except for its size, it wasn’t all that different from Blackstone. It had shops and liveries and hotels all bustling with people moving to and from the train station. Teamsters dropped off goods at trading-company storefronts, and people gathered in front of lawyers’ offices and banks to chat about the weather and their crops and whatever else Trammel imagined people spoke about in towns like this.
All of them stopped whatever they were doing when they saw Hagen and Trammel leading Elmer and the prison wagon into town.
“I’ve been ridden out of this town in shackles plenty of times,” Elmer told them. “But I believe this is the first time I’ve ever led someone in that way.”
“Congratulations,” Trammel said, eyeing the crowd for anyone who paid too close attention to them. This was, after all, Lucien Clay’s domain, and the mystery man had sent a small army to free the madam. Now they he had brought them to his ground, Trammel knew anything could happen.
Hagen pulled off to the side of the thoroughfare and let Trammel and the prisoner wagon pass. “Continue on to the jail, Elmer. I trust you know where it is.”
Elmer laughed and told him of course he knew, having spent many a night as a guest in one of its cells.
Trammel pulled his horse next to Hagen’s. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“What I came here to do,” Hagen said. “Become acquainted with the town’s criminal element, especially Lucien Clay.”
“But what if I need you for . . . something?”
“But you won’t need me,” Hagen told him. “It’s your show from here on in, Buck. Just follow Elmer and his wagon to the county sheriff’s office right up the street. You should be the one who leads Pinochet and March into the jail. I’ll drop back to a safe distance and cover your back, just in case this Lucien Clay or his men attempt to stop you.”
Trammel rode past him, surprised by how much attention the two riders and the wagon were receiving from the people on the street. News of their arrival rippled ahead of them along the boardwalks like a wave along a shoreline until it crashed upon the rock that was the county jail. By the time he reached the jail, a man Trammel pegged for the county sheriff was already on the boardwalk, flanked by two of his deputies. The sheriff was taller and older than the other two, but all of them were well fed and bore the coloring of men who had spent a great deal of time in the sun.
Elmer had already thrown the wagon brake in front of the jail when Trammel stopped next to him. Neither man made an effort to dismount.
“You Sheriff Abernathy?” Trammel asked the man in the center.
“I am.” His eyes shifted back and forth between Trammel, Elmer, and the two prisoners in the wagon. “And just who the hell might you be, big fella?”
“Sheriff Buck Trammel from Blackstone delivering a prisoner to stand trial. Mrs. Alexandra Pinochet and Mr. March, her accomplice.”
“Madam Peachtree?” one of the deputies asked. “How the hell did—”
“Shut up, Johnny,” Abernathy barked at him. He looked up at Trammel. “I hope you’ve got writs for these prisoners from Judge Burlington, boy, because we’re not in the practice of taking other town’s trash here, not even from Blackstone.”
Trammel noted the rifles each deputy was carrying as he slowly pulled Judge Burlington’s writs from inside his coat pocket. He heeled his horse to move closer as he handed the sheet of paper down to him. “I was told to give these to you. Judge’s orders.”
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Abernathy frowned as he opened both sets of papers and read them. He handed it to the deputy on his left and took a closer look at the woman prisoner. “You really have to lead her in here like that? Chained up and gagged in a wagon the whole rough ride to Laramie?”
“I just showed you the charges against her,” Trammel said. “She tried to kill me personally and was responsible for several attempts on my life, one of them at the hands of Mr. March here. You can’t blame me for being cautious.”
Abernathy looked up at Trammel. His jowls had begun to sag with age, and he reminded Trammel of a bulldog. “I don’t know you, mister. That star on your vest says you’re the sheriff of Blackstone, so I guess that makes it so. It’s up to a judge to figure out why you did what you did to Madam Peachtree and her friend here. That’s what judges are for. But I do know King Charles, and I know his men ain’t known for being subtle. Guess you might as well unhook her and bring her inside.”
“That’s your job, Abernathy, not mine.” Trammel dug the key to the shackles and tossed it to Elmer. “Help the deputies take the prisoners into the jail. I’ll cover you from here in case one of them tries anything.”
“One of my men,” Abernathy said, “or one of the prisoners, Trammel?”
Trammel let that one go. “Just be quick about it because we’re hungry. Got a place around here where me and Elmer could get something to eat?”
One of Abernathy’s deputies began to say, “There’s Olson’s—”
“Shut up, Johnny,” Abernathy said. “Climb up into that wagon there and help Milt here with the prisoners.”
Trammel caught the exchange. “What’s wrong with Olson’s?”
“Nothing,” Abernathy said. “It’s a fine place, but there’s a much better place right across the street called The Longhorn Saloon. Best steaks in town, by my reckoning. You can leave the wagon right here if you want. Come back for it later after you and your man here have had a meal.”
Elmer clapped his hands. “Sounds downright affable to me!”
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