North of Laramie. William W. Johnstone

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