North of Laramie - William W. Johnstone A Buck Trammel Western

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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.”

      CHAPTER 2

      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

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