Crane crumpled the wire. He didn’t have power of attorney to withdraw funds from his father’s bank accounts. The assistant would do whatever Chane asked, but without a thorough knowledge of where his father hid his chestnuts, he might make some wrong decisions that would jeopardize his father’s investments. Chane knew there was no way he could second-guess accurately enough to come up with the money they needed by the tenth. If Lance didn’t make it…
Chane walked back to the office where Jennie was working. He stopped beside her desk. She looked up at him and said, “I don’t suppose you want to hear that we got an invitation to a celebration in Morley on the ninth to officially open the station there.” They had been two days ahead of schedule and so had passed through Morley before the celebration could be properly mounted. She passed the invitation to Chane, took the telegram from his hand, smoothed it, and read it.
Chane groaned. He was a little tired of celebrations, but they were an important part of railroad public relations.
Jennie smiled at the look on his face, then sobered and turned her attention to the wire. “I’d give the men a chance to decide,” she said after reading it. “Tell them you have a temporary cash-flow problem and that you’ll have the money any day. I’ll wager that enough of them will stay to give us time to work it out.”
Tom rode into town and went directly to the saloon.
“Where can I find Hessie Mae?” he asked the bartender.
“Well, you’re in luck, Tom. Since the railroad is going to be near here a while, making its run at the Ratons, she’s taken a room over at the Livingston.”
That was luck. He’d been afraid, when he heard she’d left the camp, that she’d taken a train out of town.
At the Livingston, he got her room number and went up and knocked on her door. After a moment, the door opened.
“Yes?” she asked, poking her head in the crack.
“’Morning,” he began, suddenly embarrassed.
Hessie Mae sized him up and stepped back, smiling. “Why, Tom Tinkersley. I never in my life expected to see you knocking on my door.”
Startled that she knew his name, Tom blinked. Up close, she looked nothing like Mrs. Kincaid. He’d been crazy to come here, thinking that just because he remembered this woman as small and blond and blue-eyed, spending time with her would somehow ease his aching heart. Mrs. Kincaid was a sleek and racy Thoroughbred, while Hessie Mae, though attractive in a common sort of way, was a work horse—no match for her at all.
“Come in, come in,” she said, stepping back and motioning him inside. She wore only a dressing robe. Her blond hair was pulled back from her face with a red ribbon. Her robe opened, revealing a sturdy leg, pleasingly shaped.
She closed the door and leaned against it, as if she knew he was only seconds from bolting. “Let me guess. Miz Kincaid made up with her husband, and your pore heart is a breakin’.”
Tom frowned. “You’ve got a smart mouth, girl.” He didn’t like the idea that everyone at the work site knew his business. He’d barely been aware of Hessie Mae, except as a potential problem, and here all this time she’d known far more about him and his business than he’d wanted.
“Yep, and a smart body, too,” she said, opening the robe and letting it slip off her shoulders. Her breasts were small and round with pale pink nipples. Her waist tapered into slim, boyish hips. Her pubic hair was thick and gold. Against his will, the fire that had been burning in his loins ever since he’d kissed Jennifer roared into an unmanageable blaze.
Hessie Mae led him to the bed. “A handsome man like you shouldn’t be wearing all those clothes. Let’s just get you out of them, right this minute.”
Jason Fletcher picked up his mail, which consisted only of a letter from his cousin, Latitia. He read it slowly, smiled, and put it in his pocket. This was the third letter he’d gotten from her demanding that he kill Jennifer Kincaid. Something had sure ticked her off. Fortunately, the timing was almost right. As soon as Kincaid’s brother arrived with the payroll money, the first pile of cash since Jason and his crew had been working for Kincaid, he planned to take both the woman and the money.
Jason patted his pocket, where he kept all of Latitia’s letters, and turned toward the door. As he did, he saw his boss, Tom Tinkersley, walk from the saloon to the Livingston Hotel. Since Jason wasn’t supposed to be in town, he stepped back and waited until Tom had disappeared inside. He waited a few minutes more. When Tom didn’t come out, he sauntered over to the hotel and waved a dollar bill in front of the desk clerk’s long nose. That was a day’s pay for him.
“Who’d Tom go up to see?”
The clerk looked at the bill and licked his lips. “That wouldn’t be that tall, blond feller, now, would it?”
Jason nodded.
“Hessie Mae.”
“She that blond whore that was following the railroad?”
“Yep.”
Jason smiled. In order for his plans to succeed, he needed to get rid of Tom anyway. And to relieve his own pressures, which had been building steadily, he could use Hessie Mae, who was slim and blond and blue-eyed, just like Mrs. Kincaid.
“What’d you say that room number was?”
“Two eleven.”
“Thanks,” he said, slipping him another dollar. “And, if you’ll see to it that Hessie Mae and me aren’t disturbed tonight or tomorrow morning, here’s a few more of these for you,” he said, peeling off three fives.
“Yes, sir,” the man said, smiling broadly and tucking the bills into his pants pocket.
Jason walked to the saloon and rousted Etchevarria from the arms of a young woman who was about to earn a little money herself. Etchevarria didn’t like it, but he followed Jason outside.
“Got a job for you.”
Jason told him what to do, ending with, “Wait till you’re about halfway back to camp to kill him.”
Etchevarria nodded.
They walked around the block and entered the hotel from the back alley. Etchevarria took his place on the steps and waited. Within minutes a door opened and footsteps started down the hallway toward the steps. From his vantage point behind the stairwell, Jason heard Etchevarria’s footsteps as he walked to meet Tom, then their voices, which he felt certain were clearly audible to the desk clerk in the lobby as well.
“Kincaid’s done sent for you. He’s madder’n hell about something.”
“He knew I was coming here,” Tom protested.
“Well, he didn’t say what it was, but rumor about camp is that it’s got something to do with Mrs. Kincaid.”
“She okay?”
“Fine, as far as I know. Maybe she can’t get through the day without seeing your fine, blond head.”
“You better watch that mouth, boy.”
Etchevarria chuckled. Tinkersley and Etchevarria walked past Jason’s hiding place and left. Jason could hear the desk clerk clucking his tongue. Satisfied that the desk clerk had heard and would gladly repeat and probably expand upon the hint of a rumor Etchevarria had started, Jason sauntered outside and got his satchel from his saddlebags. Then he mounted the steps and knocked on Hessie Mae’s door.
He would have preferred a more private place, but he wasn’t worried. He’d done this enough times that he was fully confident he could ease her through every step without her once screaming or crying out. He’d never met a girl who wasn’t scared speechless by the threat of a cut on her face. It never occurred to them that a scream and a cut would be better than dying, probably because they never expected to die. That always came as a surprise to ’em. He had no idea why.
Tom felt like hell. Instead of making him feel better, the episode with Hessie Mae had left a sick feeling in his gut. He was so down in the dumps he rode halfway back to camp without looking up.
Etchevarria rode a little behind Tinkersley. When he figured they were about halfway, he pulled out his gun and aimed it at the young man slouching in his saddle.
“Hey, Tom,” Etchevarria said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Turn this way a little.”
Tom turned to see what Etchevarria wanted. As he did, Etchevarria fired two bullets into Tom’s chest. Tom cried out and fell sideways off his horse.
Etchevarria dismounted, felt for a pulse on Tom’s throat, and, finding none, sheathed his revolver.
“Hope it was worth it, boy,” Etchevarria said, grinning. He hooked his rope into Tom’s belt and dragged Tom’s body off the trail so it wouldn’t be found before they took the payroll.
The ninth of May was warm and sunny. Blue jays squawked loudly in the trees overhead. About ten o’clock, Chane stuck his head in the open window in front of Jennifer’s desk. “I just realized we haven’t used every possible solution. How would you like to take a ride into Trinidad?”
“What for?”
“I need to see someone.”
“What are you going to do?”
Chane evaded her questions, acting as if revealing the plan would destroy it.
“What about the work crews?”
“Kim Wong and Jessup will keep pushing them toward Raton Pass. We’ll be back in time for payroll.”
Chane left to see to his men. The locomotive chuffed backward from the work site to pick up the Pullman coach and one flatcar. That didn’t tell her much. She gathered up her ledgers and walked to the Pullman coach waiting on the main tracks. She could catch up on her bookkeeping on the way.
Chane clambered up the steps and opened the door. “Ready?” he asked.
Jennie looked askance at Marianne, who nodded.
“Yes,” she said.
Chane waved to the signalman. The train rolled forward.
Jason Fletcher leaped aboard. “Where’s Tom?” she asked him.
“Don’t know, ma’am. He didn’t show up at breakfast this morning.”
Jennifer frowned. That wasn’t like Tom. Other men might get drunk and sleep through breakfast, but not Tom.
The train was picking up speed. Steve grabbed the rail beside the steps and clambered up onto the platform, looking a little pale. “No wonder you’re afraid of trains. I would be, too, if I had to get on that way,” she said to him.
Steve grinned. He and Chane moved to the table, where they conferred in low tones. Jason squatted on the observation platform, lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to everyone. Marianne started the noon meal. The clatter of pots and pans was barely audible over the rattle and click of the wheels against the track.
Jennifer put her ledgers aside and enjoyed the scenery. This was her first trip over these newly completed rails. The track between Clear Creek Canyon and Trinidad was steep and filled with sharp curves. In places Chane had built temporary switchbacks he intended to replace with deeper cuts, trestles, or tunnels once he had secured Raton Pass.
It seemed so different riding over the finished track than it had crawling slowly forward behind each day’s work. The sun was warm. Her foot felt fine. She had no idea what Chane planned to do today. Time was running out, but she trusted him, and she trusted the future. Except for the money shortage, things were finally going right.
She just wished it was Tom squatting up front instead of Jason. She was worried about Tom. He had looked so miserable the last time she saw him. It had hurt her to see him so grief-stricken.
Since then, she had realized just how unfair this had all been to Tom. She wished there was some way to make it up to him without betraying her husband. She realized that wasn’t really possible, though. Nothing short of her being in love with Tom would satisfy him. She knew from her experiences with Chane. Nothing but love is acceptable from the beloved.
As the train clicked along the rails, she rehearsed what she would say to Tom the next chance she got, searching for words that would let him know how sorry she was that he’d been put into such an awkward situation and how much she had appreciated his friendship. And how sorry she was that he’d been hurt.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
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.”
The Lady and the Robber Baron Page 43