“No doubt it would help,” Hawke agreed.
Before Hawke went to bed that night, he lit the lantern and walked over to the window to adjust it to catch the breeze. He saw, then, a sudden flash of light in the hayloft over the livery across the street. He knew he was seeing a muzzle flash even before he heard the gun report, and he was already pulling away from the window as a bullet crashed through the glass and slammed into the wall on the opposite side of the room.
Hawke reached up to extinguish the lantern, cursing himself for the foolish way he had exposed himself at the window. He knew better than to do that.
“What was that?” someone shouted from down on the street.
“A gunshot! Sounded like it came from over there by the—”
That was as far as the disembodied voice got before another shot crashed through the window of Hawke’s room. If he thought the first shot had cleaned out all the glass, he was mistaken, for there was another shattering, tinkling sound of a bullet crashing through glass.
“Get off the street!”
Hawke heard the voice, and even from up in his room it was loud and authoritative. The words floated up from the street below. “Everyone, get inside!”
Hawke recognized Deputy Hagen’s voice. On his hands and knees so as not to present a target, he crept up to the open window. Lifting his head up just far enough to look out, he saw Hagen walking down the middle of the street with his pistol in his hand.
“Hagen, no, the shooter is in the livery!” Hawke shouted. “Get out of his way!”
His warning was too late. A third volley was fired from the livery hayloft, and Hagen fell facedown in the muck of the street.
With pistol in hand, Hawke climbed out the window, scrambled to the edge of the porch and dropped down onto the street. He ran to Hagen’s still form and bent down to check on the deputy. Hagen had been hit hard, and through the open wound in his chest, Hawke could hear the gurgling sound of his lungs sucking air and filling with blood.
Hagen opened his mouth to try and speak, but no words came. Blood poured out of his mouth, he gasped a couple of times, then he died.
At that moment another shot was fired from the livery. The bullet hit the ground close by and ricocheted away with a loud whine. Hawke fired back, shooting once into the dark maw of the hayloft. Leaving Hagen, he ran to the water trough nearest the livery and dived behind it as the assailant fired again. The bullet hit the trough with a loud popping sound.
Hawke could hear the water bubbling through the bullet hole in the trough even as he got up and ran toward the door of the livery. He shot two more times to keep the assailant back. When he reached the big, open, double doors, he ran inside.
Moving quietly through the barn, Hawke looked up at the hayloft just overhead, though it was too dark to see anything. Continuing to the rear, he saw a ladder and started to climb it when he heard someone jumping down into the corral out back.
There were several horses in the corral, and they started whinnying and stomping around, disturbed by the fact that someone had suddenly dropped into their midst. There was no back door to the stable, but there was a side door, and Hawke ran to it, then looked out into the corral. It was dark and the horses were milling about, so he couldn’t see anyone.
Finally, he gave up and started back out front. By now several people had gathered in the street, most of them were standing around Hagen’s body.
“Hold it, mister. Put your hands up!” a cold, angry voice said.
Hawke complied.
“It wasn’t him, Sheriff,” someone said. “I seen him goin’ in after whoever was doin’ the shootin’.”
“Yeah, I seen it too,” another said, and several more verified the claims of the first two.
“Sorry,” the sheriff said, putting his pistol back in his holster. “Did you get him?”
Hawke shook his head. “He jumped down from the loft window into the corral out back,” he said. “By the time I got back there, he got away.”
“Did you see anything? Would you be able to identify him?”
“No,” Hawke said. “It was too dark.”
After moving through the corral, Metzger got through the back fence then jumped into a ditch.
“Shit!” he said aloud, realizing what he had dropped into. This was the corral drainage ditch, and it was filled with horse manure, liquefied by horse urine.
He climbed up to the edge of the ditch and looked back though the lowest rung of the fence to see if Hawke was still chasing him. He didn’t see him anywhere, so he was pretty sure Hawke had given up the search.
Metzger cursed himself for not taking a rifle up to the hayloft with him. If he had used a rifle instead of his pistol, he thought, Hawke would be dead now.
Chapter 20
DORCHESTER CALLED A MEETING OF ALL THE ranchers whose land was affected by the Sweetwater Railroad. Hawke watched the ranchers, big and small, arriving for the meeting in various means of conveyances; buckboards, wagons, open stages, phaetons, country wagons, traps, or just on horseback. Vehicles and livestock filled the curved driveway as the ranchers went into the house and gathered in Dorchester’s large parlor. By now all of them knew about the dam, and most had had some of their land confiscated by the act of eminent domain. Though Dorchester’s 144,000 acres was by far the largest amount, the others were proportionately just as badly hurt.
“I think all of you know that Bailey McPherson is behind all this,” Dorchester said shortly after he started the meeting.
“What I want to know is, how did she get the government to give her all that land?” one of the other ranch owners asked.
“Well, here,” Dorchester said, “I’ve got a copy of the act. I’ll read it to you.”
He pulled some papers from an oversized brown envelope and began to read:
“‘Whereas gold has been discovered in the Sweetwater Mountains of Wyoming Territory, and whereas it is the responsibility of the United States government to provide for the safety of those who travel, be it therefore known that:
“‘An act to aid in the construction of a railroad and telegraph line as follows:
“‘Be it enacted that the Sweetwater Railroad Company, together with Addison Ford, a commissioner herein appointed by the Secretary of the Interior, are hereby authorized and empowered to lay out, locate, construct, furnish, maintain, and enjoy a continuous railroad and telegraph from Green River City, Wyoming Territory, north along such route as Commissioner Ford directors, in accordance with the route as laid out by survey, to the area known as South Pass in the Sweetwater Mountains.’”
Dorchester quit reading for a moment and looked up. “And now, here comes the part effects us.”
He cleared his throat and continued. “‘That there be…granted to the said company, for the purpose of aiding in the construction of said railroad and telegraph line, and to secure the safe and speedy transportation of mails, troops, munitions of war, and public stores thereon, every alternate section of public land, designated by odd numbers, to the amount of five alternate sections per mile on each side of said railroad, on the line thereof, and within the limits of ten miles on each side of said road. Provided that all mineral lands shall be excepted from the operation of this act; but where the same shall contain timber, the timber thereon is hereby granted to said company.’”
“So, what does all that mumbo-jumbo mean?” one of the ranch owners asked.
“That means that Bailey McPherson can take all the land she wants, and there is very little we can do about it.”
“Yeah, well, McPherson ain’t hurtin’ none, that’s for sure. Fact is, she’s not only get land give to her, she’s buyin’ land from those who will sell to her,” one of the owners said.
