Читать книгу North of Laramie - William W. Johnstone - Страница 8

CHAPTER 3

Adam Hagen woke with a gasp as a bucket of ice-cold water soaked him to the bone.

Trammel thought the gambler would have fallen out of bed if he wasn’t already passed out on the floor of his room. “Time to get up, Hagen. We’ve got some riding to do.”

“Writing? What kind of writing?” Hagen pulled himself up on his hands and knees, only to fall over on his side. “What are you babbling on about?”

“Riding, as in a horse. Not writing with a pen. Get up.”

Hagen tried to sit upright but slipped on the soaked floor. “Now, see here my good man. I’m as fond of a joke as much as the next man, but it’s far too early in the morning for a joke. And my head aches far too much for levity.”

“And it’s too late for your nonsense.” Trammel grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up to a seated position onto the bed. He thought Hagen might fall over and was surprised when he didn’t. “We’ve got to get out of town, thanks to you, and we’ve got to get moving. Now.”

Trammel had crammed as many of Hagen’s things as he could into a single bag, but doubted he’d grabbed a quarter of it. Even though Hagan was a drunk and a gambler, he had come to town with three trunks jammed with clothes. Trammel had asked Lilly to keep the rest and ship it to Hagen at the first place he could drop him off without the Bowman family finding him.

“What about all of my things?” Hagen asked. “It will take me the better part of the morning to get everything together. Now, how about you sit down and let’s have a drink while we discuss this like civilized gentlemen.”

“No time for that.” He found a bowler and plopped it on Hagen’s head before taking the gambler by the arm and pulling him off the bed. He stuck the bag into his gut, which Hagen grabbed more out of reflex than intent, and pushed him out the door. “Let’s go. Now.”

Hagen surprised Trammel by making it down the stairs on his own steam, only missing the last step, but managed to maintain his balance anyway. Trammel figured the old saying was true: “God looks out for drunks and babies.” He hoped the same extended to the people who got stuck watching out for them.

He steered Hagen out back where he had their mounts saddled and ready. His own horse was a spirited brown roan the liveryman had told him was about four years old. She’d been a good horse to ride around the countryside on his rare days off, but he wondered how she might fare on the open trail.

In fact, Trammel wondered how he would fare on the open trail. He had ridden after men in the past when he had been a Pinkerton and knew something about living in the open, but his assignments had usually been confined to areas along train lines and towns and cities. And he had never been in the field alone. Not that he’d be alone with Hagen along, but given the drunkard’s state of mind, he’d practically be alone until Hagen sobered up.

He tied Hagen’s bag to the horse he had procured for Hagen, an old gray that the liveryman swore on his children could survive a trek down to Texas and back. Trammel had no intention of putting that claim to the test.

While the gambler slumped on the back stairs of The Gilded Lilly, Trammel checked his own rig one last time. His saddlebags were stocked with enough coffee and grain to last them three days and nights, which should give them enough time to find another town and stock up.

His brand-new Winchester ’76 was in the scabbard beneath the right stirrup. He had bought the rifle more for its ornamental engravings than for its usefulness as a weapon. He hoped it shot as accurately as it was pretty. The double-barreled shotgun was in the scabbard beneath the left. He had plenty of ammunition for both and the Colt Peacemaker he had tucked in the shoulder holster beneath his brown duster. He had been a detective too long to ever become comfortable with a gun on his hip and knew, with the Bowman family likely on his trail, that this was no time for experimentation.

Satisfied his rig was as secure as it was likely to be, he decided it was time to go. The eastern sky was already beginning to brighten with the rising sun, and the Bowman clan was likely to follow soon after. Trammel went to grab Hagen, but found Lilly was already helping him get to his feet and steering him toward the gray.

Trammel held the stirrup steady for him, and was surprised when the drunkard climbed into the saddle easier than expected. “I don’t need your help, damn you. I was born on a horse.”

Trammel decided to leave the gambler alone, encouraged that maybe the journey would not be as one-sided as he had feared.

Lilly slipped a pint of whiskey into the pocket of Trammel’s duster. “That’s for him. He’s liable to need it before long. Wean him off it slowly and he’ll be less of a burden to you.”

Trammel was ashamed of himself for not thinking of that already. It wasn’t the first kindness Lilly had shown him, but it was most likely the last. He was suddenly ashamed of that and a lot of things. “I’m sorry for leaving you in the lurch, Lilly. You were always good to me, and I hate it ending like this.”

“Stop it. You helped me save my saloon more times than I can count. I don’t want to think about what I would’ve done if you hadn’t stepped off that stagecoach when you did, and I owe you more than I could ever repay you.”

Trammel looked away from her. “I shouldn’t have killed those boys like I did. My damned temper. It sometimes—”

She placed her slender fingers over his lips. “You had no choice then, just like you don’t have a choice now. Just get yourselves somewhere safe and, if you think to, send word of where you are. I’d like to know how you’re doing from time to time.”

She straightened his duster even though it didn’t need straightening. “Maybe I could come see you after you’re settled and all, especially now that you’re no longer in my employ.”

The words warmed him. He had thought about her as more than his boss several times since coming to work for her, but hadn’t said anything about it. Because saying something made it real to him and he was afraid she might not feel the same way. For one of the first times in his life, Buck Trammel was glad he had been wrong.

“Maybe open up another Gilded Lilly somewhere else, like in—”

She covered his mouth with her soft hands again. “Don’t say another word, Buck Trammel. I don’t know where you’re going, and I don’t want to know. I just want you to get wherever it is safely and soon.” She looked away as she gave him a timid shrug. “You’ve hung around here just about as long enough as you can. Best be on about your business.”

He gently brought her small hands to his mouth and kissed them, then kissed the back of her hands. She leaned forward and he laid his cheek on top of her head. He breathed in the rosewater he knew she used to wash her hair; the same scent he had grown to love over the past year. He knew that last smell might have to hold him for a long time, perhaps for the rest of his life. However long that might be.

Lilly backed away again, wiping tears from her eyes. “Now go. Both of you. And may God be with you.”

Hagen sluggishly doffed his bowler and slurred, “A lovely sentiment, m’lady, but a wasted one to be sure for, alas, God abandoned me quite some time ago.”

Trammel climbed into the saddle and brought his mount around. “Get moving, juice belly. We’ve got a good piece of riding ahead of us.”

Hagen plopped the bowler back on his head and followed Trammel as he rode away from The Gilded Lilly for the last time.

Trammel didn’t look back. He didn’t dare.