CHAPTER 21
The day of Silas Van Dorn’s departure was appropriately dreary.
A steady light rain fell at the station as Mackey and Billy loaded their mounts on to the stock car after stowing the rest of their gear on the train. Mackey didn’t have to remind the hostler to be careful of Adair. He had loaded her onboard the Great Northwestern Railway before and knew her temperament.
With their animals secure, Mackey and Billy went back to Mr. Van Dorn’s private coach. Billy produced the key that only he and Mr. Van Dorn had to open it. Not even the conductor could enter the car without their permission. Restricted access to the coach was one of the provisions that Mackey had insisted upon before agreeing to protect Mr. Van Dorn.
The second was that one of them, Mackey, Billy, or Lagrange, was to be in the rail car with Van Dorn at all times. No exceptions. Not even Mr. Van Dorn could refuse.
James Grant agreed to every condition on Mr. Van Dorn’s behalf without the slightest hesitation.
That didn’t make Mackey feel any better about the notion of a plot. He had expected the man to have put up at least some kind of an argument, especially about having an armed guard with Van Dorn.
Grant had not even objected to Lagrange’s demand that ten Pinkerton men be on the train throughout the entire trek to New York to give Mr. Van Dorn an added layer of security. Lagrange had also been allowed to choose the men personally.
Yet, despite all of Grant’s agreement, Mackey knew the man was planning something. He knew it in his bones. He just had to figure out how he was going to pull it off.
Billy let out a low whistle as they walked through Van Dorn’s private railcar. “This is finer than any house I’ve ever been in. A few churches, too.”
Mackey knew it was typical of the kind of private railcar Mr. Rice offered on the Great Northwestern Railway. While Mr. Rice’s personal car was far more ornate and completely encased in steel, this car had plenty of its own comforts.
It was adorned with deep red wallpaper and brass fittings. The windows had heavy drapery that hid iron shutters that could be lowered if the train was attacked.
The heavy wood furniture and brass chandeliers made the car feel small. There was also a private bedroom Van Dorn could use whenever he wanted. Mackey had seen to it the iron shutter in his room had already been lowered and locked into position over the window. Unlike the ones in Mr. Rice’s personal car, these windows were not thick enough to be bulletproof. Since Van Dorn was most vulnerable when he was alone, Mackey decided the grand man would have to sacrifice scenery for safety.
The marshal sat in the plush chair next to the cabin’s head door and checked the gold pocket watch Katherine had given him for the trip.
It was fifteen minutes until Van Dorn’s coach was due to arrive at the station, which was exactly two minutes before the train was set to begin the first leg of its journey to Laramie, then on the long trek back east.
Van Dorn’s effects had already been loaded into the car, so he only had to walk from his coach and into the private car.
Mackey would guard Van Dorn for the first eight-hour shift before Billy took over, then Lagrange. They would stay on that rotation until they reached Laramie and decided whether or not they should stay with Van Dorn farther on his journey.
At least, that was the plan he had submitted to James Grant.
What would actually happen was a different story. He thought about that as he turned the watch over and read the words engraved on the back.
To the finest man
I’ve ever known.
With all my love,
KATHERINE.
He looked away before he welled up as he had when she had given it to him that morning. She always knew exactly what to say to him and how to say it.
Billy snapped him out of it by knocking on the wood paneling as he continued to look over the railcar. “This seems like this is a pretty solid set-up to me, Aaron. And with the extra guns on board, I can’t see how Grant could get to Van Dorn. Maybe we’re a bit too worried about this.”
“It’s Grant we’re talking about.” Mackey slid the watch back into his pocket. “You can’t see him for what he is by looking at him straight on. You can only trust what you see out of the corner of your eye.”
He stood up and motioned for Billy to unlock the door. “Let’s get outside and wait for Van Dorn on the platform. I hear Grant and Underhill have a special send-off lined up for him.”
“Probably a proclamation to his own greatness,” Billy said.
Once again, Mackey saw there was no arguing with his deputy’s logic.
* * *
From the station platform, Mackey watched the scene unfold with great ceremony. It reminded him more of a funeral than a farewell to the man who had helped transform the town.
Van Dorn’s heavy black coach was pulled by two black drays with wild manes. The interlocking DSC emblem of the Dover Station Company was on the door. Twenty men from Underhill’s police force formed a ragged honor guard that stretched from Van Dorn’s black coach to the station platform. The ten remaining men formed a line from the platform to the private railcar, where Mackey and Billy awaited Van Dorn.
Robert Lagrange stepped out of the coach first and quickly walked through the cordon of men toward Mackey and Billy at the railcar.
“At least he’s punctual,” Lagrange told them as he joined them next to the railcar.
“I’d say that’s Grant’s doing,” Mackey said. “He’s probably anxious to see him leave town as fast as possible.”
“There’s nothing fast about Silas Van Dorn,” Lagrange said. “If you haven’t seen him in a while, prepare for a shock.” He looked up at the gray skies. “Poor fellow looks like he might melt if it rains much harder than this.”
Billy swore when the line of lawmen snapped to some form of attention when James Grant stepped out of the black coach first. He wore a top hat and black morning coat that made him appear slimmer than he was.
“They call that attention?” Billy snapped. “Looks like a bunch of damned rag dolls.”
Mackey remembered Billy had been a stickler for ceremony when they had been in the cavalry. “At ease, Sergeant.”
They watched Underhill step out next and heard the springs of the coach groan as he put all of his considerable brawn on one side of it.
Silas Van Dorn came out next. He had been a pale, skinny man of about forty the last time Mackey had seen him about six months before.
Now, he looked like he had aged twenty years since then.
His cheeks were sallow, and his skin was almost as white as porcelain. He was stooped over, even after Underhill reached up and practically carried him out of the carriage. He crept past the honor guard of gunmen with the aid of a cane. Mackey decided Lagrange hadn’t been exaggerating. Van Dorn looked like he might shatter if he fell.
“Don’t remember him being so delicate,” Billy observed.
“Me neither,” Mackey agreed.
“Don’t bother trying to talk to him,” Lagrange said. “He speaks barely above a whisper, if at all, and even then, only to Grant. We won’t have many dealings with him on the ride east. He’s even brought his own butler with him to tend to him, even cook for him.”
Mackey didn’t like hearing that. “A butler could complicate things.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Lagrange said. “He’s quite the dandy, and that means something coming from me. Goes to bed at ten o’clock each night, regular as clockwork. Doesn’t appear to have much use for Grant, either, but that’s just a hunch of mine. I don’t think he’ll be a problem.”
But Mackey did worry as he watched Van Dorn stop every few steps as Underhill and Grant flanked him, with a man Mackey took to be the butler trailing close behind.
Mackey hadn’t counted on Van Dorn being in such poor condition, and he began to wonder if they might have to scrap their plans to protect him. “But Van Dorn being so feeble could wreck our plan.”
“Nothing we can’t handle,” Billy said. “Him being frail could make things easier.”
“We’ll see how he is once he’s on board,” Lagrange said. “He’s not just feeble. He’s downright brittle.”
Mackey decided he was making everything worse by second-guessing himself. “Everything goes as planned until we know more.”
The matter settled for now, they touched the brims of their hats as Mr. Van Dorn crept closer to the private car, guided by Grant.
“Marshal,” he greeted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Deputy Sunday. Mr. Lagrange here says you have been charged with providing my protection?”
“Along with ten Pinkerton men spread throughout the rest of the train,” Mackey told him while looking at Grant to make sure the point stuck.
“You’re in the best of care, sir,” James Grant said loudly. It was like he was speaking for the benefit of the people who had been drawn by the spectacle on the platform. “If Aaron Mackey could save Dover Station from the likes of Darabont, he’s well-suited to take care of you on your journey, sir.”
But Mr. Van Dorn seemed more concerned about navigating the steps up to his railcar than receiving any compliments from his former assistant. He grasped the railing with frail, thin hands and insisted on pulling himself up without assistance.
Underhill shook Mackey’s hand, then Billy’s. “Godspeed, gentlemen. Here’s to an uneventful journey.”
“Good luck with the Hancock mess,” Mackey called after him. “Looks like it’ll get worse before it gets better.”
Grant quickly closed the short distance between them. He was almost as tall as Mackey, but the top hat made them look the same size. “Keep your voice down, damn you. We don’t want people getting the wrong idea.”
“Or the right idea,” Mackey said, “depending on how you look at it.”
Lagrange and Billy trailed into Van Dorn’s private car, leaving the mayor and the marshal alone.
Grant looked at the policemen still standing at attention and motioned for them to move on. They hurried into the station, happy to be out of the rain.
When they were alone, Grant said, “I would have thought that after the fire, you would have learned that you and I are better off working together than against each other.”
“We’ll work together just fine,” Mackey said, “as soon as you sign a confession listing all the people you’ve either killed or had killed since you’ve come to Dover Station. If Judge Forester acquits you, I’ll give you a ride back to Dover Station personally. If he hangs you, I’ll see to it they hire a hangman who knows how to tie a good knot.”
“Normally, I admire determination in a man,” Grant said, “but in this case, it’s bordering on stupidity. You simply can’t get over the fact that I’ve already won, can you, Aaron? I’m not only the mayor but the man who runs the Dover Station Company and therefore the town.”
Grant shook his head in pity. “You can’t live with the notion that another man came into your town and supplanted you as the favorite son. I can’t say as I really blame you. Dover might not have been much before me, but it was all you had, wasn’t it? The people here idolized you, didn’t they? Now, you’re just a story the newcomers tell in saloons. A legend your father spreads in the general store. And none of it would have been remotely possible if it hadn’t been for me.”
Mackey resented everything Grant had just said, mostly because it had the hint of truth.
But he thumbed the U.S. Marshal badge pinned to his lapel. “Whatever I have was enough to get me federal authority over the territory, Grant, and that includes Dover Station. That means you.”
But James Grant smiled. “The only thing you’ve become is the worst thing that can happen to a man like you. You’ve become a legend in your own time. A legend I helped to build and one I’m going to enjoy tearing down.”
The locomotive cut loose with the whistle, and Mackey climbed up to the lowest step on Van Dorn’s car as the conductor yelled, “All aboard!”
Mackey leaned forward so Grant could hear him over all of the noise. “And just think about how famous I’ll be when I’m known as the man who brought down James Grant.”
Grant said something, but Mackey couldn’t hear it. He hopped up onto Van Dorn’s private railcar as the great wheels began to move and the train slowly pulled out of the station.