North of Laramie

Book 1: Buck Trammel Western

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Westerns

Synopsis

Johnstone Country. A New Legend in the Making. The bestselling Johnstones kick off their blazing new western series with a real bang-a fatal, fateful shootout that sends a man named Buck Trammel on the ride of his life . . . WHEN WYATT EARP TELLS YOU TO RUN, YOU RUN. Once upon a time in the Old West, Buck Trammel was a Pinkerton agent with a promising future. But after a tragic incident in a case gone wrong, he struck out for the wide-open spaces of Wichita, Kansas. Working as a bouncer at The Gilded Lily Saloon, he hopes to stay out of trouble. But soon enough, his gun skills are put to the test. The Bower gang shows up, turning a friendly card game with a Wyoming cattle baron into a killer-takes-all shooting match. Buck saves the cattle baron's life, but at the cost of two Bower men. That's when Deputy Wyatt Earp arrives. He warns Buck that he'd better get out of town, pronto, and take the cattle baron with him. The rest is history-if he lives long enough to tell it . . . This is the story of Buck Trammel. Hunted by outlaws. Fighting for justice. Marked for death. This is how legends are born . . . Live Free. Read Hard.

Release date: April 28, 2020

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 368

Sample

“Hagen!” one of the Bowman boys yelled. “You are a drunk, a cheat, and a liar!”

From his perch in the lookout chair, Buck Trammel watched the unfolding argument between the gambler Adam Hagen and two boys from the Bowman Ranch. All of the men were still seated around the poker table, which Trammel took as a good sign. A man on his backside was often less likely to cause trouble, at least without some warning. And since all of them had checked their guns with the barman, a fistfight was the worst he could expect. Given his size, Trammel found those much easier to break up than gunfights.

Experience had taught Trammel that he was better off staying in the lookout chair and allowing the matter to unfold on its own. He looked out at the rest of the room just to make sure none of the other patrons of The Gilded Lilly saloon were preparing to take sides in the argument. A glare from him usually discouraged such decisions. The double-barreled shotgun lying across his lap helped, too. Trammel’s size and reputation for violence were usually enough to keep amateurs and brawlers at bay, but the sight of a coach gun never hurt the prospects for peace.

The drunken Hagen held his cards as he laughed at William Bowman’s growing rage.

The cowhand only grew that much angrier. “I called you a cheat and a liar and all you can do is giggle like an idiot?”

“No,” Hagen slurred. “I giggle because I’m dumb enough to gamble with an idiot.” He slapped his hands at the cards laid out in front of him. Aces and eights. A handful of nothing. “I laugh because it’s the first hand I’ve won in an hour. I laugh because I bluffed you into building up the pot before you folded. I didn’t cheat you, Billy Boy. I didn’t have to. You cheated yourself by losing your nerve.”

Both Bowman boys stood at the same time as the other players scrambled away from the table. Armed or not, Trammel knew every member of the Bowman clan was a brawler and not to be trifled with, especially after being called stupid.

“Get up, you drunken sot,” Tyler Bowman said. “Get on your feet and repeat what you just said to Billy and me.”

The sound of chair legs scraping against wood broke the silence as gamblers and drinkers moved out of the way. Some stood on chairs to get a better look at the action.

A nervous look from Lilly, the owner of the Gilded Lilly, told Trammel what he had to do. He left the shotgun in the slot on the lookout chair as he quietly climbed down. No one was paying attention to him anyway. They were waiting to see what Hagen and the Bowman boys did next.

Hagen swayed in his chair as he pulled the pile of cash toward him, but made no effort to stand.

Trammel, a full head taller than any man standing and twice as wide, eased his way through the customers craning their necks to see what would happen. It had been too quiet for too long in Wichita—nearly three days since the last killing—and the patrons were anxious for a fight.

Will Bowman shoved aside the chair he had been sitting in. “Damn you, Hagen. We’re calling you out. Are you going to be a man and stand on your own, or am I going to have to rip you out of that chair?”

Trammel pushed his way through the crowd and came out behind the Bowman boys. “That’s enough. You’ve all made your point. The game’s over. Collect your guns and head on home.”

Both of them turned and had to look up to face him. He knew they didn’t like that. No one in the Bowman clan liked looking up at anyone. The family had enjoyed a free hand in Wichita for as long as anyone could remember, certainly long before Trammel had come to town a year before.

But Miss Lilly hadn’t hired him as the bouncer at The Gilded Lilly to be popular. She had hired him to keep the peace in her place, and that’s what he planned to do.

Tyler, the younger of the two, took a step toward Trammel. “This here is a private matter, boy. Best if you just climb back up in your perch and let us be.”

Trammel looked at the chair that had been thrown aside. “Your private matter’s hard on our furniture and I can’t have that. Game’s over anyway. Take whatever money you’ve got left, collect your guns, and try your luck somewhere else.”

But Will Bowman hadn’t budged. He continued to glower down at Hagen. “Damn you, I said get up.”

Hagen waved him off with a boozy hand as though he were a fly. “Mr. Trammel, I would appreciate it if you would remove these men at your earliest convenience. They are interfering with the effects of my whiskey, which I’m afraid may soon cause me to become sober.”

Tyler Bowman remained between Trammel and the table. “What’s it going to be, big man? You taking orders from a drunk, now?”

“I only take orders from her.” Trammel nodded at Lilly, who’d been anxiously watching things from the bar at the left side of the room. “She doesn’t want any trouble in here. She wants you gone, so out you go.” He looked down at Tyler. “And that means all of you. Hagen included.”

“We’ll kill him the second we hit the street.” Tyler had said it like it was supposed to be an insult to Trammel. “We’ll kill him right in front of you.”

“What happens outside is between you and the town sheriff.” Trammel took one step closer to Tyler, making him crane his neck even more to try to maintain eye contact. “And I’m getting damned tired of repeating myself, boy. Everyone leaves. Right now.”

“We ain’t going anywhere ’til this is done.” Will Bowman reached for something tucked in the back of his britches.

Trammel shoved Tyler out of the way, sending him crashing into the poker table behind him, before grabbing Will’s wrist just as it came around to the small of his back.

Will tried to break free from the bigger man’s grip, but Trammel pulled up hard on his wrist until he heard the unmistakable sound of cartilage popping.

Trammel ignored Bowman’s screams as he searched for what he had been grabbing for. He found a knife handle sticking out of the back of Bowman’s britches. He pulled the blade free and threw it aside. He hated knives.

Still holding on to the broken arm, Trammel grabbed the screaming Bowman by the back of his shirt collar and steered him toward the door. “Out you go, boy. Best head over to Doc Freeman’s. Get that arm tended to.”

But Trammel stumbled when a glass bottle shattered across the back of his head.

Everything slowed. Sight and sound blurred and, for a fraction of a second, Trammel couldn’t feel anything at all. Not pain. Not surprise. Not even anger.

All he could feel was rage.

He yanked Will Bowman off his feet and threw him aside as he turned around to face his assailant. Tyler. The younger man was scrambling for another whiskey bottle at another table, but Trammel launched a roundhouse right that caught Tyler square in the jaw.

From his slowed perspective, Trammel could see the jaw was as broken as the dam that had once held back his temper.

Bowman was falling, but not before a left hook from Trammel connected with Tyler’s temple. The cattleman landed in a crooked heap on the floor between two card tables as men scrambled to get out of the way.

Somewhere in his mind, he could hear Lilly calling his name as he picked up a chair and brought it down hard on the fallen Bowman’s back. The chair splintered into pieces. A leg landed nearby.

Trammel picked up the leg and dropped to his knees, straddling the prone man. He brought the chair leg over his head like a club, intending on bringing it down on Tyler again and again until Lilly’s kind face filled his vision. The same face that graced the sign that hung over the front door, though this one bore more lines and was not as soft.

“No, Buck!” He felt her hands on his shoulders. “That’s enough. Stop, please!”

Trammel let the chair leg fall behind him as his senses returned and time began to become normal. He remembered the other Bowman boy. William.

Trammel rocked back and got to his feet in one motion, remembering he had thrown him aside right after Tyler had hit him with the bottle.

Some of the patrons had gathered around the place where Will had landed, trading glances amongst themselves. They knew what Trammel could see just by looking at Bowman’s neck. The twisted, unnatural angle against a broken chair only meant one thing.

“He’s dead,” one of the customers said. “His neck broke when he hit the chair.”

“Did you see how he flew?” another said. “Hell, I only ever saw a man fly like that when he was bucked off a horse.”

A cry from Lilly made Trammel look down. Her delicate fingers were pressed against Tyler’s neck, as if the Bowman boy’s vacant stare wasn’t proof enough for her. “He’s dead, too, Buck. You’ve killed both of them.”

“And with his bare hands, too,” said someone in the saloon. “Not a hog leg or a blade on him. Killed ’em both by touch alone. Lord have mercy.”

Trammel looked up when he heard the sound of clapping. It was coming from the poker table. It was Adam Hagen applauding him from behind his pile of money. “Bravo, Mr. Trammel. The citizens of Wichita salute you for the public service you’ve done here tonight, for the world is a far better place with two fewer Bowman boys slithering around in it.”

Trammel’s knuckles popped as he felt his fists ball up. Two dead men was nothing to clap about, even if it was two Bowman boys. “Someone get him out of here.”

Hagen tried to sit upright in his chair. “But I live here, sir, and my luck has changed for the better.” He gestured grandly at the empty chairs at the table. “Anyone care to play? We appear to have two vacancies at the moment.”

Trammel started for him, but Lilly scrambled to block his way. “Someone get him up to his room before Buck kills him, too.”

Three customers pulled Hagen to his feet, but not before the drunkard stuffed his winnings into his pockets. Gold and greenbacks bulged from the pockets of his coat and pants and vest.

Two men threw his arms over their shoulders as another cleared a path for them to the stairs and the rooms above. “Such service!” Hagen laughed. “Will one of you be so kind as to draw me a bath, as well?”

The man who had his right arm said, “The only thing you’ll be drawing is blood if you don’t keep that damned drunken mouth of yours shut.”

Trammel’s rage ebbed once more as he watched the men take Hagen upstairs and he realized Lilly was still holding on to him. He placed his large hands on her slender shoulders and gently eased her away. “I’m okay now, Lilly. I promise.”

Lilly didn’t take her eyes off him as she yelled, “Show’s over, boys. Sorry for the trouble. Drinks are on the house, courtesy of your Aunt Lilly.”

The patrons cheered and quickly went back to their respective games. The trouble and the dead men on the floor seemingly forgot by everyone except Trammel and Lilly.

“You’re hurt, Buck.” Lilly popped up on her toes to reach the wound on his head. “You’re bleeding.”

Trammel had nearly forgotten about the whiskey bottle that Tyler had broken over his head. He felt at the back of his head and found a shard of glass just behind his ear. He winced as he pulled it out and let it drop to the floor. He flicked other bits of glass from the wound, too, some of them falling down his collar. “It’s not the first time someone’s busted a bottle over my head. Doubt it’ll be the last.”

Lilly stepped away from him and looked at destruction all around her. “This is bad, Buck.”

“No, it isn’t. I’ll live.” He checked his hand and was surprised there wasn’t more blood. “I’ve been through worse.”

“I don’t just mean you. I mean the Bowman boys. Their people won’t take kindly to you killing two of their kin, even if they had it coming.”

Trammel looked down at the men on the floor. The two men he had just killed. He waited to feel something. He waited to feel anything at all. All he felt was tired. “Like I said. I’ve been through worse.”

About an hour after closing time, Trammel sat in a chair while Lilly tended to his wounds. He winced when she dabbed a rag in whiskey and put it to his cuts.

“Well, would you look at that?” She held out the bloody rag for him to see. “Looks like you’re flesh and blood after all. Not some demon like some of the boys suggested. From the Old Testament, no less.”

He looked back at the two dead Bowman boys on the floor. Someone had placed tablecloths over their faces, and Trammel found himself wondering where someone had found tablecloths. Must’ve been from another place in town. The Gilded Lilly wasn’t exactly known for fine dining. “As human as the next man, I suppose. Maybe even more so.”

“You just killed two men with your bare hands, Buck. That’s not a human act.”

“You didn’t hire me to show Christian charity, Lilly. You hired me to keep things around here to a dull roar. Those boys were going to cut that drunk Hagen to pieces. If you’d wanted me to let that go, you should’ve said something.”

“I don’t care about them.” She found a clean spot on the rag and dipped it into the whiskey. It stung less this time when she touched his wound. “I care about you.” She stroked his black hair. “You know that.”

“I’ll be fine. It was a fair fight. Everyone in the place saw it. I’m sure Marshal Meagher will see it that way, too.”

“I’m not worried about how he sees it,” Lilly said. “I worry about how the Bowman family will see it.”

“They knew what these boys were like,” Trammel said. “They won’t be happy about it, but I’m sure they’ll accept it once the marshal explains it to them. He’s always known how to handle them before.”

Lilly threw the rag on the bar. “Damn it, Buck. How long is it going to take for you to understand that not everyone is a reasonable man? Reason might’ve played into it back when you were a Pinkerton man, but you ain’t a Pinkerton man anymore. This ain’t New York City, neither, and reason don’t always apply out here, especially to people like the Bowman family. They listen to Meagher because he’s got a tin star on his chest and a couple of deputies willing to back him up. You don’t have any star on your chest, at least not anymore, and no one to back you except me.”

He smiled as he reached back and held her hand. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a formidable woman, Lilly Chase. I’m scared to death of you.”

She pulled her hand free and lightly tapped his wound, causing him to yelp. “Two dead men on the floor and you’re trying to sweet-talk me. You’ve caused yourself a lot of trouble tonight, more than I think you know. The Bowman family won’t take kindly to one of their kin being killed tonight, much less two of them. They’ll approve of the manner of their death even less.”

Trammel took the rag from the bar and placed it on his wound himself. “I said I’ll handle it. I always have before.”

“Not against the likes of the Bowman clan, you haven’t.”

He could have used this moment to explain his life to her, to tell her more than the snippets of details he had let slip over the past year. But he chose not to do that. She had hired him when he had stepped off the stage a year ago. He had been looking for a place to lose himself for a while after his career with the Pinkerton National Detective Agency had come to an end. All she knew was that he was big, could take care of himself and had kept good order in her saloon since the day he had signed on. Most people thought twice about crossing the Big Man from Back East, as he had become known, and few people had challenged him.

Trammel had always known it would only be a matter of time before the wrong man tried to test him; to see for themselves if the big man in the lookout chair was as tough as everyone said. He hadn’t thought his test would be this bad and he certainly hadn’t counted on it coming from the likes of the Bowman clan.

He knew he should have been more concerned, frightened, even, about going up against the might of the Bowman family. But Trammel wasn’t the least bit concerned. It just wasn’t in him to be afraid of a fight.

It was the reason why he had been forced to quit the Pinkerton Agency in the first place.

“I’ll handle it however you want me to handle it, Lilly. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

He looked up when a voice from the batwing doors of the saloon said, “You’re not going anywhere, Trammel. At least for a while.”

Trammel recognized the lean shape of the tall man who had just pushed through the doors of The Gilded Lilly. He wasn’t as tall as Trammel, but still taller than most men. His black, wide-brimmed hat was tipped forward just enough to shield his narrow eyes and thin nose. But there was no mistaking the man with the thick moustache for anyone else, even if he didn’t have the deputy badge pinned to his black frock coat.

“Evening, Deputy,” Trammel said. “What brings you around?”

If Deputy Wyatt Earp found any humor in Trammel’s remark, he did not show it. “Heard about what happened. Came to see it for myself.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Evening, Miss Lilly.”

“Evening, Deputy Earp. I’m sorry you aren’t here under better circumstances.”

“This is Wichita, ma’am,” Earp said as he paused to look down at the bodies. “No such a thing as better circumstances, just circumstances. I’d be obliged if you’d let me have a word with your man Trammel. Alone.”

“Of course. Can I get you something? Whiskey, coffee?”

“No, ma’am. I won’t be here that long.”

Lilly squeezed Trammel’s shoulder, as if trying to communicate something through her touch before she left. Whatever she was trying to say was lost on him. She disappeared into the back rooms, leaving him alone with the deputy.

He watched Earp stride into the saloon toward the body of Tyler Bowman. Trammel had seen Earp almost every day since he had come to Wichita and always noted the way he moved. He didn’t shuffle along or race around like other men. He moved in a manner that one of his old bosses at the Pinkerton Agency once described as “an economy of effort.” He moved neither fast nor slow, not even when there was gunplay or a fistfight to be broken up. He always moved at the same steady pace. He was as sure of himself and his movements as if he had planned and practiced every motion he would make that day before he even got out of bed that morning.

Trammel watched Earp take a knee and pull back the sheet covering Tyler Bowman’s face. The dead man’s gaze happened to fall exactly where Trammel was now sitting, as if the dead man had known exactly where the man who had taken his life would be hours after his death.

Earp cocked his head to the side as he studied the wounds. “Heard you did this, Trammel. Caved in his skull with one punch. That true?”

“It was a fair fight.”

Earp kept looking at the body. “I didn’t ask you that.”

Trammel had seen Earp in action and knew that his temper, and his ferocity, matched his own. “Yeah. I did it. But it was with two punches. First was a right that broke his jaw. The second was a left to the head. Either one could’ve killed him.”

Earp flicked the sheet back over Tyler’s face, stood and moved over to the second corpse, taking a knee and moving the sheet from Will Bowman’s body. Trammel couldn’t see it, but he could practically feel Earp’s eyes moving over the corpse. “What happened here?”

“He got into a fight with a drunk over cards. He reached back for a knife he had tucked in his britches. I stopped him. Think I broke his elbow in the process when he put up a struggle. I was about to throw him out when Tyler over there hit me with a whiskey bottle.”

Earp leaned in closer to the corpse. “Looks like his neck’s broke. How’d that happen?”

“After Tyler hit me with the bottle,” Trammel explained, “I threw Will to the side. He must’ve hit that chair as he landed.”

Earp looked at him for the first time. “You threw him. From where?”

“From right around where Tyler is now.”

Earp looked back and judged the distance. “You threw him that far?”

“That’s right.”

Trammel saw Earp’s hat flinch as he placed the sheet back over Will’s body and stood up. “You’re a strong man.”

Trammel didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He just kept the rag against his wound.

Earp walked over to him until they were about a foot apart. Most people didn’t stand that close to Trammel, given his size, but Wyatt Earp wasn’t most people. “Take the rag away.”

Trammel complied and lowered his head so the deputy could see the wounds for himself.

Earp had obviously seen enough. “You can put the rag back on it now.”

Trammel complied again.

Earp moved and leaned against the bar next to him. “Judging by the amount of scars you’ve got back there, I can tell you’ve been hit with a bottle before.”

Trammel closed his eyes. Here come the questions. “I have.”

“You kill those men then, too?”

“Sometimes.”

“They all fair fights? Just like you say this one was?”

Trammel looked up at him. “Every one of them.”

“I thought so.” Earp looked right back at him. “And what duty might that have been?”

Trammel looked away. The deputy was trying to get him to talk about his past. “I’d prefer not to say.”

“Prefer doesn’t play into it, Trammel. I’d prefer to be in bed right now, but instead, I’m here talking to you with two dead men on the floor. I’d prefer not to have to explain to Old Man Bowman how two of his kin got beaten to death in The Gilded Lilly last night. And I sure as hell would prefer not to have to deal with them when they ride into town looking to kill you for what you did to their people.”

“It was a fair fight. Legal, too. You can ask anyone who was here.”

“Already have,” Earp said. “Got statements from ten people on my desk back at the jail right now. All of them said you were provoked. All of them saying the Bowman boys refused to leave. They all say that drunkard Hagen started it, too. That true?”

“Will and Ty said he was cheating,” Trammel said. “I don’t know if he was or if he wasn’t. He didn’t look like he was, but I wasn’t watching the whole game, either, so I can’t swear to it.”

“You were in the lookout chair, weren’t you?”

“And all I saw was Hagen get drunk and lose a lot. The boys were mad he bluffed them for the pot with nothing more than aces and eights. They accused him of cheating. I don’t think he was, but like I said, I can’t swear to it.”

Earp considered that for a time. “Hagen lives here, doesn’t he? Upstairs?”

“For the past month.”

“Anyone ever accuse him of cheating before?”

“Nope.” Trammel winced as he shifted the rag from one wound to the other. “He seems to win most of the time, but not enough to rankle anybody. He gets drunk mostly, and needs help up to bed, but until tonight, he’s never caused any trouble. Polite enough to the girls. Pays them extra when he uses them, which is often enough. Always pays his rent bill on time, too.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I would’ve thrown him out on his ear if he didn’t. Miss Lilly doesn’t take kindly to people who owe her money.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Earp admitted. “She’s a kindly woman for the business she’s in, but I’ve never known her to lose money without putting up a fuss.” He looked at Trammel again. “You really have to beat those men to death tonight?”

Trammel had seen this line of questioning before, where the topic drifts elsewhere, only to snap back to what the questioner really wanted to know. Not too long ago, Trammel was the one on the other side of the table asking the questions.

He took the rag from his head and looked up at Earp. “I’ve seen you in plenty of scrapes like this one since I’ve come to town. Never saw you stop to crack open a Bible and read verses at them until they saw the light.”

“Never claimed to be a preacher, Trammel. But I’ve got the law on my side. You don’t have anything except Lilly’s good graces and a room somewhere out back. That’s not going to be enough when the Bowman clan comes to call. I think a man of your experience knows that.”

Trammel was beginning to get tired of all the talking. “You arresting me, Deputy, or running me out of town?”

“Neither.” Earp crossed his arms and kept his eye on the door. “It was a fair fight, just like you said, and I’ve got no reason to lock you up. But there’s been plenty of talk about you since you came to town, Trammel. You know that. You’ve kept your head down as much as you can, but that just makes people talk all the more. I’ve heard you were a policeman bac. . .