North of Laramie. William W. Johnstone
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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.
CHAPTER 4
It was just after nine in the morning when the Bowman family rode into Wichita. All twenty of them rode down Main Street, four lines of five horses across.
Matt Bowman was in the lead. He wasn’t an especially big man, for none of the men in the Bowman line ran big, but like his kinsmen, he was lean and solid. He had fought on the side of the Union in the late War Between the States, receiving a field commission of captain. He had brought the same leadership he had shown on the battlefield home with him after the surrender and helped his father build the BF brand into one of the most prosperous and respected in Kansas.
A man like that could not be expected to take the deaths of two of his own kindly, even if they were only cousins and troublesome cousins at that. With his father being unable to ride any more, Matt was aware that it was up to him to defend the Bowman name now. That name meant something only as long as the family was willing to fight to keep it that way. And Matt Bowman was not known as a man to back away from a fight.
Matt brought his horse to a rough halt in front of The Gilded Lilly and tied up to the hitching post in front of the saloon. His nineteen other relatives followed his lead. He did not wait for them as he stormed up the steps and pushed his way into the saloon.
Never one given to drink or tobacco, he almost gagged on the stench of stale tobacco smoke and spilled rotgut. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as he looked around for any sign of the drunkard Hagen, that murdering giant Trammel or the woman who employed him, Miss Lilly.
He found most of the tables empty, with only a few old timers playing cards at the far end of the dimly lit saloon.
As his relatives began to pile in behind him, Matt yelled, “I’m here for Buck Trammel or that wench that hired him, Miss Lilly. Or the drunken gambler who goes by the name Hagen. I’ll see them now, or, by God, me and mine will burn this hellhole to the ground!”
“No, you won’t,” came a voice from the shadows.
Matt peered in the direction from where the voice had come, but could only barely make out the outline of a man. The broad brimmed hat and the coat he wore were as dark as the shadow he sat in, but the dull glint of the star on his chest told Matt who he was. “That you, Earp?”
The man looked up from his white coffee mug. “It is. And you’re interrupting my coffee.”
“I don’t give a damn about your coffee, boy. I came to see about my dead kin.”
“You’ll find William and Tyler over at the mortician where their earthly remains are being tended to as we speak. You can collect them any time you’d like.”
“There’ll be time enough for the dead,” Matt said. “Right now, I’m here to talk to the people who made them that way, namely that damned Trammel and that damned drunk Hagen.”
Earp sipped his coffee. “They’re not here. And you’re disturbing the peace.”
The iciness of the deputy’s tone almost made him shiver. “What about Miss Lilly?”
“She’s not receiving visitors at this time. She’s had quite a night.”
“She’s had quite a night? What about my kin? Will and Tyler are dead.”
“And they’re at the mortuary waiting for you to bring them home where they belong. I already told you that. I won’t tell you again. Best see about your business and leave the rest alone.”
Matt took a few steps into the saloon. His relatives moved with him. “You protecting those boys, Earp?”
“Not mine to protect. They’ve left town.”