Trail to Shasta (9781101622049)

by Roberts, J. R.

  “Oh, Bridget,” Bride said, “steak.”

  “And potatoes,” the man said.

  “Oh,” Bride said, “no potatoes, please.”

  “But lots of other vegetables,” Bridget said. “Onions? Carrots?”

  “And peas?” the waiter asked.

  “Oh yes, please,” Bride said. “Sweet peas.”

  “And you, suh?”

  “A steak,” Clint said, “and I’ll take all the potatoes the ladies aren’t having.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  “And all the rest.”

  “Suh,” the waiter said, “and to drink?”

  “Tea,” Bride said.

  “Tea,” Bridget said.

  “Coffee,” Clint said.

  “Comin’ up, folks,” the waiter said.

  “So,” Clint asked, “are you both relaxed?”

  It was obvious that Bride was going to leave most of the talking to Bridget, who said, “Yes, we’re fine. It was an arduous trip on the ship and, at times, quite frightening.”

  “Were you . . . accosted at all on the ship?” he asked.

  “No, no,” she said, “the crew stayed away from us for the most part. It was frightening once or twice, but we came through it quite unscathed, thanks be to the Lord.”

  The waiter returned with their tea and coffee. The ladies added sugar and stirred it in for a long time. The waiter had also brought lemons, which they used. Clint simply drank his coffee black with nothing in it.

  Bride sipped her tea and said to Bridget, “Oh, this is heavenly.”

  “Wait until you have the steak,” Clint said.

  “It’s been so long since we’ve had beef,” Bridget said. “I mean, good beef.”

  “I suppose there were hardships for you in your country?” Clint asked.

  “Yes,” Bridget said, “we were living under great hardship when . . . well, when Mr. O’Neil came to our rescue.”

  “And how did that occur, if I may ask?” Clint said.

  The girls exchanged a look, and then Bridget said, “He did not tell you?”

  “I know only what was in the letter,” Clint said. “I haven’t seen Ed in some time.”

  “And yet he asked you to do this?”

  “We’re friends,” Clint said. “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other. We’re still friends.”

  “That is very admirable,” Bridget said. “Perhaps he should explain the whole thing to you when he sees you again.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Clint said. “I didn’t mean to be intrusive.”

  “You are very well spoken for a Westerner, Mr. Adams,” Bridget said. He didn’t want to insult her, but she was better spoken than most Irish he’d met.

  “I was born in the East,” he said.

  “I see.”

  The waiter came then with their plates, and they suspended their conversation while he laid them out. Bride’s eyes went wide with glee at the sight of the steaming steak and onions, as well as all the other vegetables.

  When the waiter withdrew, Clint said, “Well, I guess we’d better eat.”

  The girls didn’t have to be told twice.

  * * *

  Kemper returned to the passenger car, sat next to Ahern.

  “You see them?”

  “They’re in the dining car.”

  “All right,” Ahern said, “we’ll have to wait until they finish eating, then we can get something.”

  “We gonna find out where they’re sleepin’?”

  “We are,” Ahern said, “but we can do that by slipping a dollar to a conductor, or porter. Just relax, Kemper. Just relax.”

  SEVEN

  The steak wasn’t particularly good, but it was what Clint expected from railroad food. On the other hand, the Shaughnessy sisters loved their meal, consumed it with great gusto. The waiter brought them more tea to wash it all down.

  When they were finished and he had cleared the plates, the waiter asked, “Would the ladies like dessert?”

  “Dessert?” Bride asked.

  “We have several kinds of pie—” the waiter started.

  “May we have one of each?” Bride asked. She looked at Bridget, Clint, and the waiter, not at all sure who would make that decision.

  “I don’t see why not,” Clint said.

  “Very well, suh,” the waiter said. “One slice of each pie.”

  Bride slapped her hands together happily and Bridget smiled her thanks at Clint.

  “Thank you so much,” he said. “She loves sweets.”

  “Then she should have as much as she can take,” Clint said. “What about you?”

  She looked him in the eye and said, “My pleasures run to other things.”

  For a moment he wondered if she was trying to send him a message, but he didn’t know her well enough to judge.

  The waiter came with slices of apple, cherry, peach, and rhubarb pie. The girls gave the pie all their attention. Clint managed a small piece of rhubarb and a larger piece of peach, but other than that, the girls ate it all.

  When they were done, they sat and watched the countryside go by outside the window. Clint ordered more coffee, decided not to ask the girls any more questions for the time being.

  Instead, the girls began to ask him questions about the United States, which he answered as best he could. They also wanted to know about what they called “the Wild West.” During that conversation, realization dawned on Bridget, and Clint saw it on her face.

  “But wait . . .” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “You said your name is Clint Adams?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What is it, sister?” Bride asked.

  Bridget looked back at her sister and said, “Clint Adams, Bride. We have heard stories of him.”

  Then, suddenly, it also dawned on Bride.

  “You mean . . . the Gunsmith?”

  Both girls turned their heads and looked at Clint in awe.

  “I hope this won’t change our relationship in any way,” he said to them.

  It was difficult for the girls to talk to him after that, so he paid the bill for the food and escorted them back to their compartment.

  “Get a good night’s rest,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  They both nodded. He closed the door and went to his own compartment. This time when he got inside, he removed his boots and rubbed his feet. He stared out his own window for a time, and then somebody knocked on his door.

  When he slid the door open, Bridget stood there.

  “May I come in?”

  “If it’s all right with you, it’s all right with me,” he said. “I can leave the door open.”

  “I believe I can trust you,” she said. “After all, you are a legend.”

  “Come in.”

  She entered and he closed the door. He waved her to the seat he had just vacated, by the window. He sat on his berth.

  “My sister and I are sorry we did not recognize you immediately,” she said. “We are sorry we questioned you.”

  “It makes sense to be careful,” he said. “That’s all you were doing.”

  “We’re honored that Mr. O’Neil sent such an important man to escort us to him.”

  “Like I said,” he replied, “Ed and I are friends.”

  “Then I am more impressed with him than I already was.”

  “Tell me,” Clint said, “how did Ed and your sister first meet?”

  “Through the mail. Mr. O’Neil still has family in Ireland. When it became known he was looking for a wife, Bridget and I stepped forward. We both exchanged letters with him. He chose her.”

  “Is t
hat all right with you?” Clint asked. “That he chose your sister over you?”

  “It didn’t matter which one of us he chose,” she said. “We knew we would both come to this country.”

  “So you’re happy the way it worked out?” Clint asked.

  “Let us say we are satisfied.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “if you’re satisfied, so am I.”

  She nodded, and stood. She stared at him for a moment, wet her lips. He looked at her freckled skin, saw that her chest was heaving. She was breathing heavily.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I am . . . fine,” she said. “I just wanted to apologize to you.”

  “And you have,” Clint said. “Now why don’t you go and get some rest.”

  “Yes.”

  “We have a few more days of rail travel—we’ll switch trains once—before we get to the point where we will switch to wagon travel.”

  “Is it still possible to go on horseback? My sister and I are good riders.”

  “We can discuss that when the time comes,” Clint told her.

  “Very well. Good night, then.”

  He opened the door for her, watched her walk to her own room and enter. For a moment he thought she might try to seduce him, but maybe she didn’t know how.

  Or maybe she just wasn’t ready.

  EIGHT

  It was several days later when they disembarked in Saint Louis and Clint installed them all in the Magnolia Hotel. He had left his horse, Eclipse, there in the capable hands of a smithy he knew would take good care of him.

  When he put the ladies in their room, Bridget asked, “Will we be able to see anything of the city?”

  “Yes,” Clint said, “I’ll take you out for supper, but first I have to go and check on my horse.”

  “And horses for us?”

  “A wagon anyway,” Clint said. “We’ll need a wagon in order to transport your luggage.”

  “That makes sense,” she said.

  “I’ll be back in a little while. Get some rest.”

  “It seems like you are always telling us that,” Bridget said. “Hurry back, please.”

  “I will.”

  He left them at the Magnolia and went over to his friend’s blacksmith shop.

  * * *

  Ahern and Kemper followed Clint and the two women to the Magnolia Hotel.

  “You ever been in Saint Louis before?” Kemper asked.

  “Yeah,” Ahern said. “There’s a smaller hotel around the corner we can get a room at.”

  “Then what?”

  “They gotta be stayin’ overnight,” Ahern said. “I’m gonna send a telegram and get some instructions, but I think this is where we’re gonna make our move. Come on.”

  As Clint entered the shop, Jerry Trask looked up from the horse he was shoeing and spotted him.

  “There ya are,” he said. “I was hopin’ you wouldn’t come back and I could keep Eclipse for myself.”

  “At least that way I’d know he was in good hands.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “How’s he doing?” Clint asked.

  “He’s fine,” Trask said. “He’s been eatin’ well, has a nice shine to his coat.”

  “Good.”

  “Just a little depressed,” Trask added. “I think the big guy missed you.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Clint said. “I missed him, too.”

  “He’s in the back. Lemme finish this horse here, and then we’ll talk and have a drink.”

  “Okay.”

  Trask went back to the horse he was shoeing while Clint walked to Eclipse’s stall.

  “Hey, big fella,” he said laying his hands first on the horse’s rump, then his neck. Eclipse reacted to the familiar touch. “How you doin’, boy?”

  The big Arabian nuzzled his hand and Clint rubbed his neck hard.

  “We’ll be out on the trail soon, big fella,” Clint said. “You been cooped up long enough.”

  “Clint!”

  Clint left the stall, found Trask standing there.

  “Come on, I got a bottle in my office. Let’s have a drink before you leave.”

  “I won’t be taking him out ’til morning, Jerry,” Clint said, “but a drink sounds good.”

  They went into Trask’s office.

  * * *

  “You like him,” Bride said.

  “Who?” Bridget asked.

  “Mr. Adams.” Bridget was braiding Bride’s hair, and looked at her sister in the mirror.

  “You know I do.”

  “Did you . . . on the train, did you . . . do anything?” Bride asked.

  “No,” Bridget said. “I wanted to. I almost did. But I promised you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Well,” Bridget said, “I may not always, but this time I am keeping my promise.”

  For now, she thought.

  * * *

  Ahern came into the room, and Kemper looked up from the bed he was reclining on.

  “Did you get an answer?”

  “I did.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Ahern sat on his own bed.

  “We take ’em now,” he said. “Those are our orders. They get no farther than this.”

  “So when do we do it?”

  “After,” Ahern said.

  “After what?”

  “After I get to the Magnolia and find out once and for all who we’re dealin’ with.”

  NINE

  Clint knocked on the door, which was opened by Bridget.

  “Thank God you’re back,” she said.

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “We’re hungry,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said, “well, we can take care of that right away. Are you ready to go?”

  “We are ready.”

  They left the room and walked down to the hotel lobby with him.

  Outside Clint said, “We’ll walk. There’s a restaurant not very far from here.”

  There was still plenty of daylight, so the girls were able to see something of the city. And its buildings.

  “Some of them are so big,” Bride remarked to her sister. “I have never seen such big buildings like these, and the ones we saw in New York.”

  “You won’t see big buildings like these when we get further West,” Clint told them, “but you’ll see some very big country.”

  “We have some big country in Ireland, Mr. Adams,” Bridget said. “Big and green.”

  “I’m sure you have, Miss Shaughnessy.”

  “Have you never been?” she asked.

  “I never have,” he said. “England is as close as I came. And I think for the remainder of the trip you and your sister should start calling me Clint.”

  “Very well, Clint,” she said, “and you may call us by our Christian names—Bridget and Bride.”

  “That’s great,” he said. “Here we are.”

  They stopped in front of a restaurant with a huge front window covered in stenciled lettering.

  “Steak?” Bride asked.

  “Steak,” Clint said, “and as much as you want.”

  They went inside.

  * * *

  Ahern and Kemper entered the Magnolia Hotel lobby and stopped just inside.

  “Stay here and keep watch,” Ahern said. “Let me know if you see them.”

  “How?”

  “Figure it out,” Ahern said. He walked to the front desk.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Yeah, I’m lookin’ for a friend of mine, supposed to be registered here.”

  “And his name?”


  “Jones,” Ahern said, “Roger Jones.”

  The clerk looked at the register very intently, then said, “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t seem to have your friend registered here.”

  “Really?” Ahern asked. “That’s odd, because a friend of mine said he saw him here yesterday.”

  “And he registered with us?”

  “That’s what I was told,” Ahern said. “Oh wait, I was also told he had two women with him—two Irish women. Young and pretty, they are. Maybe he registered them, but went someplace else himself.”

  “I suppose that could be,” the clerk said. “I would hate to think—well, we did have two young ladies register with us yesterday. Their name is Shaughnessy.”

  “That’s it, that’s the name,” Ahern said. “I was tryin’ to remember their last name. Are you sure Jones didn’t register?”

  “Well . . . there was a gentleman with them, and he did register, but his name is not Jones.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir, quite sure. You see, I remember, because . . . well . . .” He leaned on the desk and lowered his voice. “The man was Clint Adams.”

  “Clint Adams?”

  “The Gunsmith,” the clerk said.

  “Well, of course,” Ahern said, reacting quickly, “I knew it was Clint Adams, but I thought he was going to register under the name Jones, not under his real name.”

  “Ah, I see,” the clerk said, straightening up.

  “Are they in their rooms now, do you know?” Ahern asked.

  “Oh, no, sir,” the clerk said. “I saw them go out just a few minutes ago . . . to dinner, I believe.”

  “I see,” Ahern said. “Well, thanks. I’ll stop by later.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “Oh, one more thing.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Don’t bother mentioning to my old buddy Clint that I was lookin’ for him. I want to surprise him.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  Ahern slipped the man a dollar and said, “Thanks.”

  He walked over to the door, where Kemper was waiting, fidgeting from one foot to the other.

  “Well, what—” Kemper started.

  “Outside,” Ahern said. “Let’s get out of here!”

  TEN

  Bridget and Bride both ordered steak, and once again Clint ended up with a plate almost filled with extra potatoes.