Chapter 6
The lamplight in Vanburgh’s office burned low. It cast a steady glow that turned the oak-paneled walls into a study of gold and shadow. The lamp glass had been polished to a dull sheen, but the air was still heavy with the oily tang of the wick.
The room always smelled this way: lamp oil and cigar smoke, with an undercurrent of leather from the chairs and the faint medicinal scent of whatever tonic Vanburgh kept in the locked cabinet by the sideboard.
Outside the tall windows, the night pressed against the glass. It was thick and moonless.
A map of the territory dominated the far wall. It wasn’t the standard government survey; this one was older and drawn by hand. Rail lines were inked in bright red, and mining claims were marked with neat black pins.
To a casual eye, it looked like any prospector’s tool. But at the center, just north of the Shoshone reservation boundary, gleamed a single gold pin.
Eagle Rock.
Vanburgh sat behind his desk with one boot propped on the corner and a thick cigar rolling lazily between his fingers. The smoke curled upward in slow ribbons. He didn’t rush his words or gestures. Men like him didn’t need to.
Across from him stood Lyle Tate with his hat in hand and his long coat powdered with road dust and faint smudges of mud on the hem. His eyes were steady, but there was a flicker in them. It was like he was running numbers in his head.
Bill leaned against the wall near the door with his arms folded over his chest. The man was a slab of muscle and patience. His gaze moved from Vanburgh to Tate and back again.
Vanburgh broke the silence first. “You saw him?”
Lyle nodded once. “Yeah.”
“How close?”
“Close enough to smell the horse he was riding,” Lyle replied. “Rode right up while we were moving the freight.”
Vanburgh tilted his head, watching the smoke rise from his cigar. “That takes nerve,” he said.
“Or foolishness,” Bill rumbled from the wall.
“What did he want?” Vanburgh asked.
“Asked questions,” Lyle said.
“What kind?”
“Where we were headed,” Lyle said. “What was under the tarp. We played it cool, like it was idle talk . . . but he was watching, like he wanted to see if we’d slip.”
Bill’s voice came again, low and steady. “Didn’t seem like a man just passing through.”
Vanburgh took a slow draw, holding the smoke in his mouth before exhaling toward the ceiling. “He’s not.”
Lyle shifted his stance. “You know him?”
“I know of him.”
Vanburgh’s eyes flicked toward the gold pin on the map. “Anthony Hawk,” he said. “His old man owned the Eagle Rock parcel before the fire.”
“Just make sure it’s handled before the week’s out.”
“Consider it handled,” Lyle said, his tone calm but edged with pride.
“No,” Vanburgh said, the word sharp enough to still the air in the room. “I don’t want it considered. I want it done. Eagle Rock is the key to the rail spur, and the spur is the key to the new vein. Without it, the eastern investors start asking questions. Questions I don’t have time to answer.”
Bill spoke again, his voice a shade more cautious than before. “What about the Shoshone?”
“They’ll move,” Vanburgh said without hesitation. “Once the water’s bad enough, they won’t have a choice.”
“You’re making it bad enough,” Bill said. It wasn’t quite a question.
Vanburgh didn’t blink. “Progress requires sacrifice.”
“That Monroe woman’s still sniffing around, though,” Lyle said. “Hawk too. One of them might put two and two together.”
“Let them,” Vanburgh said, his smile thin. “By the time they figure it out, it won’t matter. You just make sure Hawk doesn’t live long enough to raise a fuss.”
Bill shifted his weight. “You want it clean or messy?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, waving a hand. “So long as it’s final. And make it look like the territory got him. Bandits, accident, I don’t care. I don’t want the army sniffing at my door.”
Lyle set his hat on his head. “We’ll need the boys: Joel, Max, Dilan, Troy. Maybe Wesley and Silas.”
“Then bring them,” Vanburgh said.
The room went quiet except for the ticking of the wall clock, each second marking the distance between decision and action.
Vanburgh leaned back in his chair and let his gaze return to the gold pin on the map. He reached up and rested one finger on it, the nail clicking softly against the metal.
“Eagle Rock,” he said. “By the end of the week, it’s mine.”
***
Neither Lyle nor Bill replied. They both knew when the meeting was over. Vanburgh’s tone left no doubt. Lyle tipped his head once and turned for the door. Bill pushed himself off the wall, the boards creaking faintly under his weight.
The hallway outside was dim and smelled faintly of coal smoke from the kitchen stove downstairs. Their boots clicked on the floorboards as they walked, Lyle leading the way without looking back.
Once they stepped out into the street, they both let out a big sigh. The sky was a black dome overhead, scattered with only a handful of dull stars.
Lyle pulled his coat tighter and glanced sideways at Bill. “Well,” he said, “you heard the man. Hawk has got to disappear.”
“You got a preference how?” Bill asked.
“Quick is fine,” Lyle said. “Messy is fine too. As long as it don’t come back to us.”
Bill grunted. “You think he’s armed?”
“Most likely,” Lyle said. “Fella rides alone out here. He’s carryin’ something. But that don’t mean he’s ready to use it.”
Bill’s mouth curved in a humorless half-smile. “I hope he tries,” he said. “Gives me a reason.”
Lyle chuckled, low and mean. “Reason or not, Vanburgh wants it done,” he replied. “I say we catch him between towns . . . make it look like road agents hit him. Take what we can, leave the rest.”
“You gonna be the one doing the talking if we catch him alive?”
“Maybe,” Lyle said. “Depends on my mood. Could be I don’t say a word . . . just let him see what’s coming.”
They reached the hitch rail outside the saloon, where Lyle’s chestnut mustang and Bill’s big sorrel stood blowing steam into the night. Lyle rested a gloved hand on the saddle horn but didn’t mount up yet.
“Vanburgh’s right about one thing,” he said. “This ain’t just about a scrap of land. That rail spur’s worth more than gold. Means steady work, steady pay . . . for us, for the boys. Hawk gets in the way of that. He’s as good as digging his own grave.”
Bill nodded slowly. “Shame, though. Sounds like his old man worked that land himself.”
“Lots of men work land, Bill,” Lyle said, swinging into the saddle. “Most of ’em end up feeding the worms all the same.”
Bill mounted up beside him. “You want all the boys for this?”
“Not at first,” Lyle replied. “Joel and Max will ride with us. They’re quick. Dilan and Troy can watch the east road. Wesley and Silas can wait near the canyon in case Hawk slips past.”
Bill adjusted the reins. “And if we don’t find him?”
“We’ll find him,” Lyle said, giving him a flat look.
They started down the street. The town’s lamps cast small, lonely circles of light, and beyond them, the darkness seemed to press in.
After a while, Bill broke the silence. “You ever kill a man who didn’t deserve it?” he asked.
Lyle’s laugh was a dry rasp. “Every man deserves it to somebody. That’s all that matters.”
Bill didn’t answer, and they rode on in silence.