The next thing he knew, however, was the piece of pie being shoved in front of him by his sister with a devilish grin on her face.
“What … no à la mode?” he said, accepting as his gentle laughter carried through the air.
“That might be a little hard without access to the Cedar Ledge ice house.”
As they ate, he thought it was good to see Lijuan laugh. The woman could be as hard as they came, and she intimidated almost all whom she came in contact with despite her very petite if not well put together body that all the Wilde women had. With him, it was always different. When she was around him, he was aware that she was a different person than she presented to the rest of the world.
Dutch knew she enjoyed letting her guard down when the two would hang out together as they had done growing up. It seemed though that such occurrences were becoming fewer and fewer between Lijuan’s job running the business operations for all of Cedar Ledge, to say nothing of the woman dashing off to join Cassandra and the others in whatever dangerous business they frequently embroiled themselves within. That and his own military career with the cavalry and of course his time spent with Bright Feather.
After enjoying their pie, the pair sat there for some minutes in silence, with Lijuan leaning her head against his shoulder as she had done since they were the smallest of children. When he finally spoke, as was his custom, he thanked her for the help working the claim. Lijuan, as she always did and replied with a laugh that it was the least she could do for egging him on to buy the claim in the first place. Left unspoken was what he was really thanking her for and that was getting him to come out here that first time after the war that had helped him begin to reconnect with the real Dutch Wilde and not the war-weary former prisoner of war he had been upon his return to Alamieda. He loved his little sister deeply for what she had done him.
A short time later they busied themselves packing up the picnic and stowing the gold prospecting gear in a locked little shed Dutch had built years ago that no one had ever discovered or bothered with. There it would wait until their pilgrimage out there next year.
As he was locking the door he heard the sound of a train whistle off in the distance. As Lijuan went about untying their horses where they had been waiting patiently in the shade of the only tree along the bank of the river, she idly remarked that was probably the daily run to Stanton's Gap. For a moment the duo sat atop their horses looking back at the claim they had worked so many years before turning and riding away. They could never have guessed that the train she had so casually just mentioned might well be the thing that could be the catalyst for never laying eyes on the claim again as it would soon place their very lives in extreme jeopardy.
CHAPTER 2
* * *
Jim Cauley was a man one last straw away from telling his boss to take his precious foreman’s job and shove it as far up his ass as possible. He bit the inside of his cheek as he used his gloved hand to mop away the sweat from his forehead with the old red bandana his father had given him as a boy in the New Mexico Territory.
He looked back from his position at the head of his herd made up of hundreds of Longhorn cattle, watching his men do their best to keep the beasts moving along the wide-open terrain, which wouldn't be wide open for much longer. Looking ahead he saw the twin pairs of stubby mountains and the gap between in which they were heading. To his left, he looked at something else that was heading in the same direction, the rail bed of the Grand Western Railroad that led into the town that lay beyond the break between the mountains that carried the same name, Stanton's Gap.
In the distance, he heard the tell-tale sound of a locomotive chugging its way along the tracks coming from behind them. With an experienced jerk of his reins, he turned his sorrel mount around to face his cowpunchers.
“Hold up, men!” he called out with a bitterness in his mouth. Men! All but one were little more than boys in their late teens. A motley crew assembled hastily by his boss and owner of the Calico Ranch, Robert “Rooster” McCarthy. Rooster had little choice after all once his former crew of cowpunchers save Cauley and Betts McConnell had up and quit on him after the dual insults of cutting their pay only six months ago and now being a good two months behind on the men’s wages. Realizing they would never get paid their due, the ranch hands had quit en masse.
Cauley wished he could have quit with them but he had to be logical about it … and practical. Now that Rooster didn’t have to pay all the men who had quit then there would be money that would cover his wages. The fact was he needed that money. His wife, disgusted with life in the West, had packed up their two kids and moved back to Baltimore. Signing on as a mail-order bride had been the mistake of her life, she had fumed before she left him for good. He ached for his two boys, but since he could not be with them, he damn well was going to make certain they were taken care of. So, there had been little choice but to stick with life at the Calico in order to mail half his payback to Maryland for the twins.
With growing frustration, he watched the greenhorns work to draw the herd to a standstill. Once it was no longer in motion, one of the men rode up to him. It was young Mitch Dryden, who looked to Cauley as if he had yet to sport his first whisker. “Why we stopping, sir?”
“Train’s a’ coming. Don’t want to get the cattle spooked by it. Too many noises coming from those contraptions, you know.”
The blank look on Mitch’s face gave Cauley pause to wonder if the boy knew anything about anything. He thought back to the difficulty Dryden had keeping the herd in check as they crossed the Little Mescalero a short time ago.
"Go on now. Just keep an eye on them. That train is going to be upon us in no time."
“Yes, sir!” he called back over his shoulder as he rode back to take up his position along the herd. Cauley couldn’t help smiling. He was green and not the sharpest pickaxe in the world, but the boy had a good heart he could tell. Maybe he would make a good cowman someday, but getting his start at the Calico was a bad way to start one’s career. Cauley did his best to run the cattle operations as professionally as he could, but Rooster’s penny pinching made it nearly impossible.
As the train emerged into view, chugging along at a good clip, he thought what it would be like to work at one of the good, well-run ranches in the region. He especially imagined what it would be like to be foreman for the crown jewel of Arizona’s Sky Islands … the sprawling five-hundred-square-mile empire that was Cedar Ledge.
Cauley thought back to the day he had struck up a conversation at a stockyard with the actual foreman of Cedar Ledge who had been there on business as well. He had spoken glowingly of working for the family who owned the ranch. Damn good people to work for, he had said with conviction.
Cauley had heard of them, of course, but wasn’t sure if the stories were true, as he’d never actually seen them in the year he had moved from New Mexico to start work at the Calico. Four sisters who were white, black, Oriental, and Mexican, plus two brothers, one who was half-Yavapai. The icing on the cake was that all the women were drop-dead gorgeous with well-endowed bodies that were the figure eight. He was just starting to ask the foreman how much of this was true when one of the cattle in a nearby pen started acting up.
The foreman hadn’t taken two steps when a young Latina-looking woman leaped the fence and quickly brought the steer under control. With a nod of his head the foreman smiled and said if he had any more questions about the Wildes, that was one of them right there. His boss, Miss Catalina Wilde, whose skill in cattle punching were not second to any man in the West.
Cauley had introduced himself to Catalina and found her to be a charming quick-witted woman who always had a laugh on her lips and smile on her face. Talking shop, he learned that the foreman was not boasting about the woman’s knowledge and skill when it came to cattle ranching. He had thoroughly enjoyed meeting her and had left the stockyards that day very envious of anyone who was fortunate enough to be employed by this Wilde family.
“Keep a tight w
atch on them!” Cauley called out at the top of his lungs. He was pleased to see one bit of his training held for the novice cowpunchers as each man dutifully shouted the message to the next man all along each side of the herd so the men furthest back would get the order. He kept a watchful eye on the train as it was now dead even with the herd as it passed by.
He was biting his lips without even realizing it, worried that the train could blow its whistle for any reason that might put a scare into the Longhorns. The Calico foreman threw a curse Rooster’s way. They weren’t even supposed to be taking this route to Stanton’s Gap just for the reason that it was best to keep cattle away from trains. Thanks to Rooster losing so many men, the trip had been delayed while he worked to train the men as best as possible. Rooster had insisted they take this shortcut to make up for lost time as the cattle were already days overdue at the stockyards.
Casting his eyes upward, he gave thanks that this was just a short drive of a few hours and not one that would take days or weeks. These men simply weren’t ready for such an undertaking. From the herd came plaintive bellows from a few of the jittery animals unnerved by the clacking sound of the great wheels of the train as it thundered over the steel rails. To his relief, however, there was no sign that they were about to break into a mad dash.
The train was now past them and heading towards the gap itself and Cauley allowed himself a moment to relax and study the train. He was surprised to find it a hybrid between a freight and a passenger train. Behind the powerful locomotive and its coal tender were four boxcars that gave way to a passenger car and caboose. As it drew further away his thoughts were already turning back to completing the drive. Perhaps, just perhaps, he and his band of inexperienced men might make it to Stanton’s Gap without incident after all. It would prove to be wishful thinking with calamity looming on the horizon.
CHAPTER 3
* * *
In the cab of the locomotive, Hiram Farnsworth stuck his large, balding head out the open window of his steam engine and took a final look back at the herd of cattle that was falling behind them now. What the hell were those cowhands thinking?! he wondered with a shake of his head. In the years since the new track had been laid down hugging the edges of the flat land of the gap, not one cowpuncher had driven cattle through the gap.
Pulling his head back into the cab Farnsworth was unaware he shared a kinship with the man leading the mob of livestock they had just passed by. He had a rookie of his own and when the high-pitched voice flooded his ears again he was sure it had the same effects as if one were jabbing a china man’s chopsticks into his ear canals.
"Why didn't you blow your whistle as a howdy to them cowpokes out yonder?"
Slowly Farnsworth pivoted in his seat, not sure as if his sluggishness was due to how piss poor he had been feeling all morning or his mind trying to tell him to take a deep breath. Parker was just a kid, after all, a privileged and somewhat naïve one, but he was a kid after all. Dressed in what had once been a crisp conductor's uniform, now tarnished with coal dust and soot, the lanky seventeen-year-old leaned on the handle of his shovel. The lad had a grin that made him seem even more comical when coupled with the oversized ears that jutted out on either side of his head.
“Them’s Longhorns out there, son! Blasting that whistle could have spooked the whole lot of them!” he schooled the young man, thinking back to when he had witnessed such a thing firsthand in the past.
"Well, thunderation!" the youth said as he momentarily took off his cap, revealing his ginger hair, theatrically tipping it towards Farnsworth. "I sure didn't know that!"
"Well, there's a lot you don't know, "he grumbled before taking on a less gruff demeanor when he remembered the fact that Parker was one of the nephews of the managing director of the whole Grand Western line.”But you'll learn it in time if you stick with the railroad."
It was lip service he knew. If the boy did stay with the railroad he would be doing it while wearing a shirt and tie at the company’s headquarters up in Denver. The family that held the controlling interest in the GWR had arranged for young Parker to apprentice as a conductor to give him a veneer of credibility later in life when he would be not conducting passengers but the business affairs of the line.
Unfortunately for Parker a week into the job and they had arrived at this day when Farnsworth had no choice but to tap him for his own actual job as the train’s fireman so that he might slide into the role of the engineer. What choice did he have? None given that state that the true engineer had shown up in that morning when they had started the run from the railroad’s hub operating out of Lake Bliss.
It seemed almost from the start that everything had gone wrong. Arriving at the station early in the morning, he had casually flipped open the wicker basket to peruse what his wife had packed for him for his lunch only to learn she had made good on her threats. For months now, Henrietta had been harping about how much weight he had put on the last few years and that he needed to trim down. Continually she had threatened to do something about it and today she had struck.
To his dismay, his usual sandwich with its thick slab of beef garnished by several strips of bacon had been replaced by two thin slices of turkey breast on what appeared to be wheat bread instead of the sourdough he loved so much. He was just about to curse his well-meaning wife when he caught sight of a man in a waistcoat and top hat combination hurriedly making his way towards the locomotive.
Farnsworth had snapped to attention at the sight of the man he recognized as the lines regional manager, J. Bryce Monroe, and nipping at his heels was that station manager, Scott McGregor, and another man decked out in fancy duds and a bowler hat. This tall and thin last man he did not recognize. He doubted any of the men were going to shake his hand but he wiped them on a dirty rag anyway before jumping down.
"Farnsworth, you remember Mr. Monroe, I trust, and this is his new assistant, Niles Pierce," McGregor said by a way of introduction as Farnsworth kept his thoughts to himself that the man with the beady eyes and ferret face looked like a Niles Pierce. In short order, he was startled to learn that he and the crew were to uncouple the caboose and a special passenger car was to be attached to the last freight car. Hesitantly, he inquired as to why.
Pierce, obviously out to impress his boss, took the liberty in answering. "Besides the fact that we are telling you to do it, we have a group of investors and their families that wish to partake in the festivities for the Founder's Day celebration in Stanton's Gap. Things being quiet around here these days," he said haughtily as he referenced a recent attack by Black Hawk's band of renegades known as the Omegas on the fort across the lake. Vacationers to the once-thriving resort of Lake Bliss had dwindled considerably in the aftermath.
Monroe laid a hand on the shoulder of his assistant as a show of restraint and said good-naturedly, “Everyone knows the Founder’s Day celebration is one of the most festive events in the territory. McGregor and I have to return to the home office on my special train. There are urgent matters to attend to concerning our trestle project over at Devil’s Canyon outside of Casper’s Crossing. Pierce here will be escorting the group. Take good care of our investors, Farnsworth, and I can guarantee you a token of appreciation from the line. Gentlemen.”
With that Monroe and McGregor had turned on their heels and headed off to the locomotive and lone passenger car that would ferry them to Denver.
Pierce had looked over at Farnsworth with clear disdain and the fireman felt a tightening in his chest that had passed almost as soon as it came on.
“Where is the engineer?”
“Hank Colburn will be along soon. As fireman I get here first to make sure the boiler was kept in its warm state overnight so it won’t take us long to build up a head of steam,” he replied, certain the man didn’t know much about the way railroads operated if he had to ask that.
Pierce didn’t dally after that as he simply told him to make sure that the train was ready to leave on time. Today the schedule must be kept and
he had finished by adding that Monroe would reward him if all went well but it would be Pierce that would fire him if the railroad was embarrassed in front of the investors. The pompous man had excused himself and went back to the hotel for breakfast with the investors and their families.
From there it had gone from bad to worse. As he worked with some of the other men to attach the passenger car he became aware that Colburn was overdue reporting to duty. Further aggravating him was when young Parker showed up as the assigned conductor for the passenger car. Again, the tightening in his chest had come and gone as his blood pressure completed spiking.
With the passenger car coupled in place and the caboose reattached, Farnsworth ordered Parker to make sure the beverage cart was well stocked on the train. It would be several hours from Lake Bliss with stops in Carlyle Springs and Alamieda along the way before ending up in Stanton’s Gap. He figured the city slickers were going to want to be enjoying their cocktails along the way.
To his horror, as he sat in the cab looking over the controls, Hank Colburn had arrived. Farnsworth actually had smelled him before he pulled himself up in the cab. He reeked of the corn whiskey that had taken over the man’s life of late. Staggering he stood there in front of Farnsworth, his stringy hair matted to his forehead, his bloodshot eyes redder than a matador’s cape. Capping the sorry sight was the two days’ worth of stubble on the man’s face. Farnsworth could sum Colburn up in three words … a complete mess and he knew full well why.
The drinking had started two years ago when Colburn’s son had at long last died in a convalescence home for Grand Army of the Republic veterans. The young man had languished there since 1864 when he had taken a bullet to the head. Though he had lived, Charles Colburn had never been the same and was forced to take up residence in the home along with the meager care the Army provided for him. When a sickness swept through the home Hank’s son had been an early victim seeming to have no will to live and had died quickly with his body having done little in the way of fighting the virus.
Sing The Death Song: Dutch Wilde & Bright Feather Western Adventure (Half Breed Haven Book 6) Page 3