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  AVAILABLE FROM PINNACLE BOOKS

  BURY the HATCHET

  A BUCK TRAMMEL WESTERN

  WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE AND J.A. JOHNSTONE

  PINNACLE BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 J. A. Johnstone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  PINNACLE BOOKS, the Pinnacle logo, and the WWJ steer head logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-7860-4587-7

  Electronic edition:

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4588-4 (e-book)

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-4588-4 (e-book)

  CHAPTER 1

  “Guess you heard the good news, Sheriff.” Deputy Jimmy “Hawkeye” Hauk hitched up his belt as they began their morning foot patrol along Main Street. The sunrise in Blackstone, Wyoming Territory, always revealed a few drunks who’d passed out in the alleys between the many saloons along Main Street. Some just needed help going home. A few were actually dead from time to time, which required much more attention on the part of Sheriff Trammel and his deputy. “Word is they’re hanging Madam Peachtree down in Laramie some time in the next month or so.”

  “Pinochet,” Sheriff Buck Trammel corrected him. “Her name is Pinochet, and yeah, I read about it in the Bugle, same as you.”

  “Pinochet,” repeated Hawkeye, as if he was trying it on for size. “Anyway, you got any plans to head down there and see her swing? After all, you’re the one who brought her in.”

  “And the reason why she’s swinging.” The big man shook his head. “Never was much for witnessing hangings myself, though. Too much of a spectacle for all the wrong reasons.”

  “After what she done to you?” Hawkeye said. “All them times she tried to have you killed? Hell, she almost had the entire town destroyed while gunning for you.”

  Trammel had no desire to relive the complexities of the Madam Pinochet matter with his talkative deputy. He genuinely liked Hawkeye and had come to rely on him. He admired the way the young man handled a gun. He wasn’t trigger-happy, but he wasn’t afraid to shoot when the time came. He was brave and even-tempered, and Trammel was glad to have him at his side.

  But if the boy had one failing, it was that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He’d been born in Blackstone and had never lived anywhere else. He knew everyone and they knew him, but Trammel couldn’t call him a gossip. Hawkeye was proud of his new position and the knowledge it gave him. He wasn’t old enough yet to know when to talk and when to keep his mouth shut. It was the kind of practical knowledge only years could give him and he didn’t have enough behind him yet. Only experience could teach such lessons.

  Lessons that Buck Trammel had learned long ago. The hard way.

  “They hit us with everything they had.” He decided to boost the younger man’s ego. “But we fought them off anyway, didn’t we? You and me.”

  The young man stood taller. Even though he was almost six feet tall, Hawkeye barely reached Trammel’s shoulder. “Yes, sir. We most certainly did.”

  Both men looked up when they heard screams coming from farther along Main Street. The town’s main thoroughfare was lined with dozens of saloons, gambling dens, and kitchens that all catered to various crowds. Trammel knew the scream could have come from any of them.

  When he saw Adam Hagen step out of the Pot of Gold Saloon, he knew the scream must have come from there. Trouble always had a knack for finding Hagen.

  The gambler and new proprietor of the saloon lit a cigarette as the lawmen approached him. His red brocade vest and white shirt were as fresh as if he had just put them on, though Trammel imagined his duties at the Pot had probably kept him up all night. “Morning, gentlemen. And what a morning it is! The crispness of the mountain air. The calmness of a town just beginning to shake off the dust of a good night’s sleep. The—”

  “That scream came from your place, didn’t it?” Trammel had no time for the gambler’s fancy talk. He knew Adam Hagen to be an elaborate man . . . in his words, in his dress, and in the saloons he had recently acquired. The two men had saved each other’s lives several times on the trail from where they’d first met in Wichita to Blackstone. They had once considered each other friends.

  That was in the past as far as Trammel was concerned. Their friendship ended the moment Hagen had decided to take Madam Pinochet’s place as the territory’s chief vice merchant.

  Hagen shrugged. “And what if it did? One is apt to hear a scream or two from a house of ill repute from time to time.”

  Hawkeye spo
ke out of turn. “The sheriff told you he’d leave you alone so long as you kept things to a dull roar around here. That scream’s not part of the bargain.”

  Hagen smiled at the young man. “Would you look at that? Pin a star on a gadfly and watch him turn into Wild Bill Hickok.” He looked up at Trammel. “Has he even begun to shave yet?”

  Trammel wouldn’t be baited. “You’re going to tell me where that scream came from or we’re going to kick in every door in the place.”

  “The change I’ve witnessed in you since you came to Blackstone is especially fascinating” Hagen frowned. “A few months ago, you were in a lookout chair at the Gilded Lily in Wichita minding drunks and drovers. Now you’re the pious lawman of Blackstone.” He looked away. “Guess the old saying about beggars and horseback still holds true.”

  Trammel felt his temper begin to rise. He didn’t like Hagen bringing up their former association. He didn’t like Hagen at all. Not anymore. “I asked you a question.”

  Hagen sighed as another scream came from the Pot of Gold, this one louder than the last.

  Trammel took a step closer to Hagen, looming over him. “What room?”

  “Let it burn itself out, Buck. It’s just one of my customers getting rambunctious. I’ll handle it myself when he’s done.”

  Trammel pushed past him and stormed into the saloon. Hawkeye was right behind him.

  From the boardwalk, Hagen called out, “Room twenty, damn you. But don’t kill anyone this time. Death is bad for business.”

  Trammel ignored the stares he and Hawkeye drew from the men at the gambling tables and standing at the bar. Every working girl in the place ignored their potential customers and looked up in the direction from where the screams had come. They knew that, one day, the screams might be coming from them.

  Trammel took the steps two at a time as an unholy shriek came from Room Twenty. He used his bulk to barrel through the door, splintering it from the jamb.

  A large man had one of Hagen’s girls pinned against the wall by the neck. He held a knife to her eye. Both of them looked at Trammel as the door slammed open and he stepped inside.

  The man’s knife twitched. “Take one more step, law dog, and I swear I’ll—”

  Trammel tomahawked the man’s knife hand away from the woman as he yanked him away from her. The assailant’s grip broke and the woman ran toward Hawkeye as Trammel threw the big man back onto the bed, causing it to collapse beneath his weight.

  Hawkeye drew his pistol and held it on the man as he shielded the young lady from further harm. “Don’t move, mister. You’re under arrest.”

  The panicked working girl bolted from the room, knocking Hawkeye out of the way, sending his pistol toward the ceiling.

  The attacker bellowed as he clumsily lunged off the collapsed bed at Trammel, his knife held high in his right hand.

  Trammel sidestepped the lunge, grabbed the big man’s right hand, and pushed the arm farther back. A sickening crack made the man scream as his shoulder broke. The knife dropped to the bed as he spilled onto the floor.

  Trammel put his foot on the back of the screaming man’s head, pinning him to the ground. “Tell me it’s over and I’ll let you up.”

  Hawkeye grabbed the knife off the bed and tucked it into his belt.

  Hearing no response, Trammel applied more weight to the back of the man’s neck. “Is it over?”

  “You broke my arm!”

  “I’ll do more than that unless you come along peacefully.”

  “Fine!” the man yelled as best he could. “It’s over.”

  Trammel grabbed a handful of greasy hair and pulled the man to his feet. The sheriff was about to lead him toward the door when the man’s left arm swung around wildly and broke his grip. Trammel staggered back with a handful of the man’s hair still in his hands. He launched himself into Trammel, knocking him back against the wall.

  The attacker staggered back and threw a left hook that Trammel easily dodged.

  By then, Trammel’s rage had already boiled over. The sheriff buried a straight right hand into the man’s belly, doubling him over. He snatched him by the back of the neck and his britches and threw him through the closed window.

  Trammel and Hawkeye looked out the window to see the man had hit the ground and rolled down the small embankment that ran behind all of the establishments along Main Street. His legs were still moving, but barely.

  “Looks like he’s still movin’,” Hawkeye observed. “So he’s still alive.”

  “Yeah.” Trammel spat blood out the window in the man’s direction. “Let’s go get him.”

  As they turned to leave the room, Adam Hagen was standing in the doorway. “Was that really necessary? Do you know how long it’s going to take me to get that window replaced?”

  Hawkeye hurried past him, but Trammel took his time. “The girl’s fine, by the way.”

  “I know she’s fine,” Hagen said. “I just checked on her before I came in here. But you still owe me the cost of a new window, Trammel.”

  “He pulled a knife on me,” the sheriff said as he pushed past him into the hallway. “You remember how much I hate knives, don’t you, Adam?”

  “And do you know how much a new window will cost me? I’m a businessman now, Buck,” Hagen called after him as the sheriff walked down the stairs. “I don’t have to be the only one making money here. You could have your share, just like I offered, you know. It’s not my fault you’re so damned stubborn.”

  Trammel didn’t dignify it with an answer as he went down the stairs to retrieve his prisoner.

  * * *

  Trammel and Hawkeye ignored the injured man’s pleas for a doctor as they practically dragged the man all the way back to the jail.

  He screamed when they dumped him onto a cot in one of the cells and slammed the door shut. “I need a doctor, damn you!”

  “Seems like everyone we dump in here needs a doctor.” Hawkeye grinned. “Maybe we’re gettin’ what you might call a reputation for being rough?”

  “That’s a reputation I can live with.” To the prisoner, Trammel said, “We’ll see about getting you a doctor as soon as we’ve finished our patrol. You interrupted us while we were in the middle of making it, so you’ll have to wait.”

  The man slumped on the cot, his ruined right arm lying limp on the cell floor. “You’d better get me a doctor damned fast, boy. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  Hawkeye laughed as he turned the key in the cell door. “Where have we heard that one before?”

  “Don’t know how many times you heard it,” the prisoner said, “but this time, it holds water.” He glared up at the sheriff. “I know who you are, Trammel. So do a lot of people.”

  Trammel knew his name had appeared in the papers a few times as a result of the Madam Pinochet incident. He hadn’t been happy about all of the attention, but gunfights and shoot-outs on main streets were big news back east and elsewhere, so he had no choice but to go along with it and wait for it to die down.

  “The longer you keep talking, the longer it’ll take for you to get a doctor to look you over.” He elbowed his deputy. “Come to think of it, we haven’t had our coffee yet, have we, Hawkeye?”

  Hawkeye played along. “Can’t remember that we have.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m no damned good until I’ve had that first cup to start the day. We’d best get ourselves some before we resume our patrol.”

  “Sounds good to me, boss.”

  They ignored the man’s threats as they left the cells and shut the door leading to the office behind them.

  Hawkeye sheepishly laid the keys on Trammel’s desk. “Boss, we just had some coffee not half an hour ago.”

  Trammel sometimes forgot how gullible the young man could be. “That was just for his benefit. You stay here and keep an eye on him. I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble in his condition, but keep an eye on him just the same. I’ll go fetch Doctor Downs right away to take a look at hi
m. His arm’s broken, and he probably busted a few ribs when he fell out that window. Don’t want him dying on us if I can help it. Get started on writing up the report in the meantime.”

  Hawkeye eagerly pulled up a chair and took the paper from the bottom drawer of his desk. The boy’s spelling was horrible and his grammar was even worse, but he enjoyed writing up reports, so Trammel let him.

  The sheriff scooped up the keys from the desk as he left. “I’ll lock the door on my way out. Best to keep it that way until I get back. That drunk might have friends, and if he does, it’d be best if we faced them down together.”

  “I’ll be too busy with this here report to do anything else,” Hawkeye said. “Say, boss. What did Mr. Hagen mean back there? That stuff about beggars and horses.”

  Trammel knew Hagen had a unique ability of saying something that could stick in your mind all day. He knew he had fallen prey to it from time to time. “It’s an old saying. ‘Put a beggar on horseback and he’ll ride to hell on account of he doesn’t know any better.’”

  Hawkeye looked more confused than ever. “Well, you ain’t no beggar and Blackstone sure ain’t no hell.”

  Sometimes, Trammel admired the way the boy’s mind worked. “I’ll be back with the doctor as soon as I can.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Trammel enjoyed how Emily Downs’s kitchen always smelled like baked bread and coffee. The widow’s mother-in-law was a dour old woman who had lost her ability to speak after the sudden death of her son more than a year before, but she hadn’t lost her ability to cook.

  Trammel was enjoying some of that fine coffee while he sat in the kitchen waiting for Emily to come down from dressing. Upon being named sheriff of Blackstone, he’d rented a room in her house rather than in the run-down hovel that came with the job at the Oakwood Arms or at the Hagen-controlled Clifford Hotel.

  Trammel’s predecessor—Sheriff Bonner—had used a room at the Oakwood, and given how he’d been shot in the back as he fled his debts, Trammel decided to make his lodgings elsewhere. Mayor Welch, who owned the Oakwood, was annoyed at the loss of income, but the town elders applauded the sheriff for finding much cheaper lodgings at Doctor Downs’s place.