Lance rode into a wide, well-graded road. At places farther south, the Santa Fe Trail was almost impassable. But here it was wide and comfortable. Cuts had been blasted in the mountain and bridges had been built. It was a proper road.
Lance saw a Conestoga wagon on the trail ahead. The curious faces of children peered at him from beneath the arched canvas. A woman held the reins in one hand and a baby in the other, while a boy, maybe twelve years old or so, walked barefoot beside the wagon. A man, probably her husband, rode a horse ahead of the team. He looked to be having an easier time of it than the woman, struggling as she was with the wagon, the baby, and the children.
An hour later Lance passed a team of freighters, two lone riders, and a Mexican leading a pack train of loaded burros. Miles later, at the crest of the mountain pass, Lance saw a small settlement—a blacksmith shop and livery stable, a big white house with a sign on it proclaiming it as an eating and sleeping establishment, and a small building beside the trail with a sign: WOOTTON’S TOLL ROAD.
Lance stopped at the sign and read the smaller print. Wootton apparently had a rate for every type of traffic. The old man in the toll shed next to the trail had beetling white brows and piercing eyes over a big, straight nose and a stern mouth. His straggling white shoulder-length hair was thin on top. He squinted up at Lance. “That’ll be four bits.”
“Worth every cent,” Lance said, fishing into his pocket to bring up a half-dollar.
“Humph! There’ve been some who didn’t think so.”
“You must be Wootton.”
“Call me Uncle Dick. Everyone else does.”
“Do you charge everybody who comes through here?”
“Never charge Indians, posses, or the army. Everyone else pays. Just toss it in that barrel. Sort of a sobriety test. If you can’t hit the barrel, you might want to lay over and sober up before you try to ride down the mountain. There’s sometimes a band of Arapahoes or Utes waitin’ to welcome strays who aren’t too alert.”
The barrel was a whiskey keg three-quarters full of silver coin. “You ever worry about bandits knocking you on the head and taking off with your silver?”
“Why, no. I’ve never met a bandit yet who wanted to work that hard. Mostly they just want something light to carry.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find the Texas and Pacific Railroad crews, would you?”
“Heard tell they’re parked near Starkville, getting ready to launch their attack on the Ratons. That should be something to see! Just bear north and follow the Santa Fe Trail. You can’t miss ’em. They make so much racket I can sometimes hear ’em from here.”
Lance tipped his hat in salute and rode down the mountain to find his brother and get rid of this money.
Trinidad’s switching yard looked capable of handling heavy train traffic. It had a turntable, primitive by New York City standards but quite functional, and six sets of tracks for sidelined trains. It had a maintenance shed for working on locomotives, two of which breathed quietly under the circular roof.
Jennifer had known that Chane was instituting freight and passenger train service as they reached each town, but actually seeing it in operation stunned her.
“When did you buy more rolling stock? I don’t remember paying for it…”
“All this was borrowed from my father’s railroad. I figured it’s the least he can do for us, since he helped get me into this.”
The switchyard was busy. One engineer was building a freight train while an assembled passenger and mail train waited on the siding.
It was a tremendous undertaking, and it had sprung up after Jennie had passed through following the track layers. The train was a reality that had already changed the lives of everyone in its path. It was like suddenly seeing the results of all Chane’s hours and days and months of work.
“Would you like to spend the day at the hotel? You could do some shopping. You haven’t shopped in months…”
“We need every cent to make the payroll tomorrow.”
“The payroll is over a hundred thousand, Jennie. The little bit you’d spend isn’t going to make a difference. Besides, you’ve earned a reward. Better take advantage of it. It may be a while before we get back here.”
He pressed some bills into her hand. “You worry too much. Take a day off from it.”
He and Steve walked with her as far as the general store. “We’ll be busy most of the day. I’ll meet you back at the hotel by suppertime, if we’re lucky.”
Jennifer shopped for an hour and then carried her bundles back to the train. She might have shopped longer, but she wasn’t accustomed to wearing a corset. Its bony stays were biting into her flesh, and she wanted it off. As she hurried back to the Pullman coach, she saw the door was ajar.
“Marianne!” she called out. “Are you here?”
Marianne heard her name being called, but Jason Fletcher had backed her into Mrs. Kincaid’s sleeping compartment. She struggled with him in silence. Jason’s hands were a lot stronger than they had looked. And his weight was wearing her out. Now he shushed her. She stopped her hitting and kicking and listened intently. So did he.
“Marianne,” Jennifer’s voice called out again.
“Tell her to come in here,” Jason whispered, pulling his gun and waving it for emphasis. Marianne licked her lips. “Do it!” he gritted, pressing the muzzle to her side and stepping out of sight behind the armoire. She could feel the gun still aimed at her waist, even though it was no longer touching her.
“In here, ma’am!” she yelled, shivering at the thought of him pulling the trigger and sending a bullet into her helpless flesh.
Jennifer walked across the sitting area and stopped at the door to the sleeping compartment. “Marianne, would you unfasten me? These stays are digging into me.”
Jason Fletcher stepped out from behind the armoire and pointed his gun at her. “Just do as you’re told,” he said.
Just then a step sounded on the observation deck.
“Jennie!” Chane yelled.
She looked askance at Fletcher. He nodded, and she called out, “Go away.”
Jason lifted the gun as if he were going to bring it slamming down on her head. “You’re trying to get yourself killed,” he hissed. Jennifer stepped away from him and into the doorway of the sleeping compartment.
Chane walked across the sitting room and almost bumped into her. Trapped between them, Jennifer froze, and Jason pressed his gun into the small of her back.
Seeing Jason, Chane stopped. “What’s going on here? What do you want?” he growled.
“Making a citizen’s arrest,” Jason said, swinging the gun barrel toward Chane.
“For what?”
“For the murder of Tom Tinkersley.” Jason reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He smiled at Chane. “This is a wire from the work site. They found Tom’s body this morning about an hour after we left. There are two witnesses who say they saw you kill him.”
“That’s a lie,” Chane said.
“I guess the court can sort that one out,” Jason said, moving toward Chane. “Get your hands up. I’d hate to have to shoot you for resisting arrest.”
Jennifer watched in stunned silence as Jason marched Chane down the steps and across the station platform.
“What are we going to do?” Marianne asked.
“You go find Steve. I’ll gather some things to take to Chane.”
Lance reached the work site to find it almost deserted. He found one of the cooks still there, and asked him where the safe was. Fortunately for Lance, it was standing open—mute testimony to how bad Chane’s financial situation was.
Lance tossed the saddlebags into it, closed the door, and spun the dial. “Where can a man find a bed around here?” he asked. It had been almost two weeks since he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep.
Cooky laughed and led him toward one of the sleeping cars. “This usually full of cranky men, but they run off to Morley. Get drunk ’cause they no get paid.”
“Well, their loss is my gain,” Lance drawled, limping from sitting a horse for too long. He was sure glad he’d given up rangering.
Jason left his prisoner at the jail and walked back to the train. He could see Jennie moving around inside, like she might be looking for a weapon. He ran the rest of the way, skimming up the steps and throwing the door open. She stopped her frantic search and turned, her face flushed.
He pointed his revolver at her. “Where’s Marianne?”
“I don’t know.”
Jason took Jennie by the arm and pushed her toward the front of the train. They found the engineer sitting on the side of the cab, swinging his legs.
“Get your steam up. We’re going to the work site.”
Wendell French looked from Jason’s gun to Mrs. Kincaid. “You’d better do as he says,” she said reluctantly.
Frowning, Wendell stood up and started to fiddle with some of the dials. “Any smart moves on your part, and you’re a dead man,” Jason gritted.
“I have to turn around.”
“I’ve seen these locomotives going either direction.”
“It’s easier to see…”
“Forget it.”
Marianne found Steve at the general store. She rushed over to where he was talking to a clerk and pulled him aside. “Jason arrested Mr. Kincaid,” she whispered.
“What for?”
“For killing Tom Tinkersley. Jason took him to jail.”
“Where’s Jennie?”
“She’s still back at the train.”
Steve couldn’t imagine what was going on. “I better go see Chane,” he said.
Once out of the switchyard, the train rolled along without incident until the town of Morley came into sight. Wendell blew the whistle once to tell the brakeman to apply the brakes, and Jason realized that he was stopping. “What the hell?” he demanded.
“The tracks are blocked ahead. See that train there?”
Jason peered out the window. The train ground to a halt, and to their amazement, a band marched right up to the train. “What the hell is this?” Jason growled, looking at Jennie as if she had somehow caused it.
“Chane and I were invited to the station-opening ceremonies here today. I’d forgotten.”
A man in a top hat and a black suit who had been leading the makeshift band stopped before the cab of the locomotive and pretended to knock on an imaginary door.
Wendell stepped forward to see what he wanted. Jason whispered into Jennifer’s ear. “If you put up a fuss, I’ll shoot holes in some of those younguns over yonder.” He pointed to about a dozen very young children who were following the band.
His voice was still polite, but a chill started at the nape of her neck and ran the length of her spine. She nodded her understanding. Fletcher took her elbow and led her to the side of the cab.
“Welcome, welcome,” the man said, extending his hand to help her down the steps. Jennifer descended the steps, holding onto his arm. A large crowd had gathered near the locomotive.
As they walked across the station platform, a military band struck up a rousing rendition of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” A fat man in a stovepipe hat walked over and bowed to Jennifer.
“So glad you could come, Mrs. Kincaid!”
Jason Fletcher flashed a look at her and nodded toward the children playing near the edge of the station platform.
“How dja do, Miz Kincaid. I’m Eldred Withrow, mayor of this fine town. I’m so glad you could make it. Will Mr. Kincaid be along?”
“No. My husband is…working on a problem in Trinidad.”
“Well, we’d rather have a beautiful woman any day,” Withrow said, taking Jennifer’s hand and leading her toward the front of the station, where hundreds of people crowded around. Six soldiers in full-dress uniform stood at attention.
Jason nudged Jennifer in the side. “Oh, Mr. Withrow, I’d like you to meet Jason Fletcher.”
The two tipped hats at each other.
“I’m Mrs. Kincaid’s bodyguard,” Jason explained.
“Yes, I’ve seen you before,” Withrow said, nodding. “In this country it’s a good idea to be careful.” He turned back to Jennifer. “We’re hoping you’ll say a few words to the folks here, Miz Kincaid.”
Fletcher stopped to smile at one of the little girls and her mother. Jennifer was chilled to the bone. Withrow led her to a chair, where she listened to him go through the formalities of dedicating the new Morley station. Fletcher took the chair beside her and dandled the little girl on his knee. The mother stood in the front row beaming at her daughter.
Withrow had a certain flair for solemn pomposity. He was smart enough to keep his remarks short, although he thanked just about everyone he’d ever known. At last he introduced Jennifer.
She expected to be nervous, but with Jason Fletcher holding the little girl, she chose her words carefully. She thanked the townspeople for their support of the railroad, accepted a gold-plated key to the city, and said she hoped that today’s events were only the beginning of a long and harmonious relationship between the town of Morley and the Texas and Pacific Railroad. She sat down to thunderous applause. At last the ceremony was over.
“Will you be staying over with us, ma’am?” Withrow asked.
Fletcher shook his head ever so slightly. “No. I guess not, Mr. Withrow,” she said with genuine regret.
Jason took Jennifer’s arm and pushed her toward the waiting locomotive. A boy hawking newspapers ran over and waved a paper at Fletcher. “Souvenir edition. Last spike driven to connect Morley to points east!”
Fletcher flipped the boy a nickel and took a paper. “Mrs. Kincaid should have a souvenir,” he said, taking her elbow again and urging her toward the waiting train.
It was almost a relief to get back onto the train. Jason forced her into the locomotive. The train that had been blocking their way was gone now, and Wendell had kept the steam up, so they were able to get rolling immediately.
The train picked up speed until it was rolling along at twenty miles an hour. As they neared the outskirts of the work site in good time, Wendell slowed the train to a stop.
Four men who’d obviously been waiting for them dashed out of the brush and ran toward the train. They stopped beside the cab.
“Howdy, boss. We got worried when you weren’t on time,” Etchevarria said.
“We got stopped by a speechmaker.”
Jennifer recognized all of them. Except for Jim Patrick, they were employees of the railroad. Etchevarria, Blackburn, and Stringer, the last security guards Tom had hired. She was especially disappointed with Jim Patrick, whom she now saw as lower than a dog’s paws.
Jason motioned one of the men into the locomotive to keep charge of Wendell French. The rest of them walked toward the office car.
“So the money got there, huh?” Jason asked.
“Just got the wire a little while ago.” Blackburn slapped his thigh. “He put the money into the safe and fell into a deep sleep like he hasn’t slept in weeks.”
“He musta been crazy to travel alone packin’ that kind of money,” said Stringer.
“All them Kincaids are crazy.”