CHAPTER 9

On the road with Brady Kenton, Alex Gunnison had spent many days freezing in blizzards or roasting in the sun and many nights sleeping in barns, on the ground, in tepees, shepherd’s wagons, line camp cabins, and every other kind of rough shelter imaginable. Now that his professional life was more settled, it was difficult to adjust to the trappings of his family’s wealth. The money and mansions had been there a long time.… Alex Gunnison simply hadn’t been situated to take much advantage of them until Kenton’s “death” substantially ended his wandering life.

He was seated now in a passenger car on an east-bound train, Roxanne at his side. Surrounding them were common passengers—cowboys, sodbusters, traveling salesmen, all sorts. Babies cried and men smoked smelly cigars that made Roxanne cough.

“Alex,” she said to him, “how long are we going to sit here?”

“Oh, I don’t know. However long we want.”

“But we’ve got a car of our own to go to. There’s no crowds, no noise, no cigar smoke. There are padded chairs instead of these benches. Why can’t we go there?”

“I don’t feel right there. It’s too fancy, too uppity.”

“Then the Illustrated American has paid to have your father’s own private car joined to this train for no reason.”

“The Illustrated American can afford it. And it hasn’t been wasted. We slept in it last night, didn’t we?” He paused. “Frankly, Roxanne, that car is my father’s domain, not mine. I just don’t feel right being in it. I’m used to more rugged modes of travel.”

“Only because Brady Kenton always insisted on roughing it.”

“Not always. At times Kenton loved his luxury. But he always said that to practice good journalism, he had to be among the people, not cut off from them. So he looked for the cheap hotels and the cheap railroad tickets and the roughest barrooms. That’s where he found his best stories.”

Roxanne took a fresh faceful of cigar smoke and hacked for half a minute. “Alex, I think I should note that we’re not looking for stories. We’re simply traveling to New York. There’s no particular reason to be ‘among the people’ this trip … especially when they smoke cigars as smelly as the one that man over there is afflicting us with.”

He smiled at her. “I’m sorry, Roxanne. Old habits die hard, and I’ve not been thoughtful. Tell you what: why don’t you go on back to our private car? I’ll join you shortly.”

“Come with me now! How can you abide the smell of that cigar?”

“Actually, I’m thinking of smoking one myself.”

She frowned. Gunnison had recently taken up the habit of smoking a cigar a day, and she didn’t like it. Nor would she accept his explanation that his father had actually suggested he smoke more often, because it made him seem more professional, more one of the upper crust of the magazine world. In the publishing world, anyone who was anyone smoked cigars.

“If you’re going to sit here and add to the foulness in the air, then indeed I will go back alone,” she said. “Perhaps you will join me later … after the smell has had time to fade off your clothing.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Enjoy your cigar … in that you evidently prefer the company of tobacco to that of your devoted wife.”

“You’re very unfair, you know.”

“Yes, indeed.” She patted his knee, rose, and was gone.

*   *   *

He was halfway through his cigar when she was back again.

“Roxanne? You look pale.… Is something wrong?”

“Alex, we’re not alone on this train.”

“Of course we’re not alone.”

“No! What I mean is, someone is on this train because of us. Someone is following us.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because when I went back to our car, I saw someone trying to enter. I stopped and watched long enough to be sure.… I sat down in one of the empty seats in the passenger car and watched him at least two minutes. It was only when the conductor walked through that he stopped. He pretended to be looking for something he’d dropped at our door. He came walking back through the passenger car, but he didn’t see me. There was a newspaper there and I lifted it and pretended to read, and hid my face as he went by.”

Gunnison’s heart was pounding faster. He dropped the cigar onto the dirty floor and crushed it out. The car swayed and rumbled.

“Maybe it was just a common thief, trying to break into the nearest private railroad car.”

“I don’t think so. I saw the same man in St. Louis, as we were getting aboard.”

“It’s not that surprising.… He’s on the same train as we are, and he had to get on somewhere.”

“He was looking at you before we boarded.… I noticed it at the time but didn’t think much of it. You are becoming better known in the city.”

“Where is this man now?”

“Not in here … but he must have passed through.”

“Several people have passed through here; I paid no heed to them.”

“Let’s go back to our car. I don’t feel safe here.”

“I’d like to get a look at this fellow you saw. Maybe have a word with him.”

“No! No, don’t do it. I’m too scared for you to do that right now. But why would anyone be following us?” she asked.

“Who knows? Perhaps he is just a common thief after all, and thought I looked wealthy enough to be worth robbing.”

“Could it have anything to do with Kenton?”

“Surely not. I can’t see how. I mean, nobody knows what we’re up to except ourselves and Billy.”

“Maybe somebody else is trying to find Kenton, somebody bad. Maybe Kenton is in hiding because of that. And maybe whoever it is decided that Kenton might get in touch with you because you are his publisher and his old partner.”

“This is an awful lot to surmise just from somebody trying to break into our car. I’m sure that robbery in private railroad cars is nothing all that unusual.”

“Let’s go back to our car. Let’s stay there. I’m scared, Alex.”