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.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Steve examined the wire that had been turned over to the town marshal as proof of Chane’s guilt. “This isn’t a real telegram,” Steve said, handing it to the man.
“The hell you say?” Marshal Turner took the wire and peered closely at it.
“See that?” Steve asked. “I wager if you show that to your telegraph operator, he’ll confirm it.”
Turner took the telegram and stalked out the door and across the street to the telegraph office. He shoved the telegram at the startled operator and asked, “Did you get this telegram today?”
The man studied the paper for a moment and then looked up at Turner and Steve. “No, sir. That’s not one of mine.”
Steve let out the breath he’d been holding. “Is there anyplace else in town this could have been received?”
“No, sir. I take the telegrams for the railroad, too.”
“Marshal, I want you to release Mr. Kincaid to me,” Steve said. “We’ll go back to the camp and find out what really happened there.”
Turner squinted. “I don’t see how I can rightly do that.”
“Everyone in the territory knows who Mr. Kincaid is and where he spends his time. I’ll personally guarantee that he will appear whenever this matter is set for court.”
Turner knew that Steve Hammond was an attorney, and as such, an officer of the court. His career would be on the line if he failed to keep his word. And the railroad was important to this territory. If Kincaid stayed in jail, it might not get built. Grudgingly, he walked to Kincaid’s cell and unlocked it.
Jennie and no. 42 were missing. The stationmaster said their leaving had looked forced to him. Chane sent a wire to all points south, ordering them to stop and hold all trains. He directed that they all be searched thoroughly for Jennie. Then he ran toward the tracks, confiscated Engine Number 6, The Bruiser, the most powerful one he owned, from a startled young engineer, and climbed aboard.
In mid-afternoon, Sarah Adair knocked on her new friend Hessie Mae’s door. She had seen that good-looking security guard, Tom Tinkersley, go into Hessie Mae’s room yesterday, and she wanted to know more about him. Tom was one of the handsomest customers she’d seen in a long time.
No answer. She knocked louder and waited. Still no answer. She tried the door. Maybe Hessie Mae was asleep, though she couldn’t imagine how she could sleep through such a racket as the one she was making. Sarah pushed the door open and looked into the bedroom.
“Hessie Mae? It’s me, honey.”
The room was dim. The window was open. A breeze flapped the shade, which had been pulled down. Sarah pushed the door open wider. Hessie Mae was on the bed, facing her, but her eyes looked kind of funny. They were open, but something seemed wrong with them.
“Honey?” Sarah stepped closer. Then she saw what made her friend’s eyes look funny. The pupils were so wide open that the colored part of the eyes had disappeared. Then she saw how pale Hessie Mae looked and that there was a strange pattern on her body. She peered closer and saw what looked like the heads of tacks, as if someone had pushed tacks into Hessie Mae’s skin from the middle of her thighs to the tops of her breasts. Blood had welled up around each tack, and in some places had trickled down her body and stained the sheet. The realization hit Sarah between the eyes. She backed away from the body, started to scream, and couldn’t seem to stop.
Marshal Davis checked the body, talked to the desk clerk, and sent a wire in both directions, letting every lawman along the telegraph lines know that Jason Fletcher was wanted for the murder of a young woman.
Within an hour word reached Chane. He was handed a copy of a wire that had arrived just after they left the work site. Chane read it with a sinking heart. The dead woman had to be Jennie, and yet he couldn’t believe it.
Jennie couldn’t be dead. He was filled with grief and rage. His lungs trembled as if he had taken a chill. It was the darkest moment of his life.
As Chane fired up The Bruiser, he was trying to think where Jennie would be, if she were still alive. Jason Fletcher had worked for him for weeks, but the man was a stranger to him. Chane had no idea what motivated Fletcher. Unless…he was after the payroll. If so, he might have taken Jennie to use as a hostage. In which case he might free her as soon as he got the money.
Chane prayed it would be that simple. He would gladly make that trade. Once he had Jennie home safe, he would track Fletcher down and kill him.
Out of breath from running to catch up, Steve swung himself up into the engine cab just as Chane was pulling out. “Maybe Fletcher’s going to take the payroll.”
“If there is a payroll,” Chane said.
The locomotive breathed heavily. A thick cloud of coal smoke filled the air with the smell of sulfurous fumes. “You wait here,” Chane said.
“I’m going with you,” Steve insisted.
Chane shook his head. “I don’t intend to coddle this train with slow speeds. You stay here. That way, if I kill myself and wreck our rolling stock, you can pull things back together.”
“You’re going to need someone to shovel coal.”
“Someone, but not necessarily you.” Chane yelled over the noise of the engine.
Steve picked up a piece of coal, threw it into the firebox, and reached for the shovel.
“You’re going to regret this decision,” Chane said grimly.
Steve scooped another shovelful of coal. “Thanks.”
“If you wanted a good scare, I could have paired you up with a grizzly bear.”
Steve looked momentarily sick, then he expelled a heavy breath and bent his back to the task of keeping the fire lit. “I reckon you can do as good a job as any grizzly bear. Besides, I’m hoping to keep so busy chucking coal in this box I won’t have time to be scared.”
Jason sent the other men to the remuda to saddle some horses while he led Jennie to the office car. On the way, she kept hoping against hope that someone would stop them, but there was no one in sight. Either the men were all sleeping or they’d gone into Morley for the celebrations.
“Open the safe,” Jason gritted, pressing his knife against her stomach. She gasped with pain as the knife pierced through the layers of clothing and bit into her skin. Jennifer tried to think what Chane would want her to do if he were here.
“You open it right now, or I’ll stick this knife in you and keep jerking on it until you’ll beg to open it.”
Jennifer could tell by the look in his eyes that he would do it. She knelt down and began turning the lock.
Chane reached the work site and slowed The Bruiser in time to keep from running it into the supply cars on the tracks. He blew six long notes on the whistle, and waited. What few men were still at the camp ran out and gathered around the locomotive.
“Have you seen Jennie?” Chane asked, leaping down from the train. Steve looked a little shaky, but he leaped down, too.
Cooky wip
ed his hands on his apron. “No, solly. I heard Missy and security boys come in and then they go. I think mebby something up in Morley.”
“The payroll get here?”
“Your brother, he bring money then go sleep.”
“Have someone saddle me a couple of horses,” Chane yelled over his shoulder. He ran to the office and confirmed that the safe was empty. Then he ran to the sleeping car and found Lance sprawled in one of the bunks with his clothes and boots still on. He shook him awake, and Lance sat up, rubbing his eyes with his forearm.
“Chane! What’s the matter?”
“Jennie, my wife, has been kidnapped. They took the payroll.”
“The hell you say!” Lance said, lurching to his feet.
“Follow me,” Chane said softly.
The horses were saddled and waiting. They rode for an hour, cutting through the canyon to the south. If Fletcher was heading toward the New Mexico border, they might be able to head him off. If not…they might just lose enough time to cost Jennie her life. If she was still alive…
As the day wore on, the sun beat down hotly, and Jennifer swayed in the saddle. In too many places the roadbed was dangerously narrow. It was closed in between sheer rock cliffs on both sides.
On a course that paralleled the small creek, she rode as fast as Fletcher could push the horses through the underbrush. At times it was so thick they had to ride in the creek bed.
A stitch started up in her side. Every movement of the horse aggravated it. After an hour she felt certain she would die of it.
Finally, Fletcher stopped to rest the horses and let them drink from the creek. Jennifer slipped gratefully off her horse and knelt on shaking legs to lift a handful of water to her parched mouth. She drank thirstily, then patted water over her hot face and arms, feeling the sting where the sun had been beating down on her tender skin.
One of the men filled his hat with water and put it on his head, letting the water run down over his face and chest. “Damn! A man’s gotta be about three bricks short of a load to ride this hard in heat like this.”
The Lady and the Robber Baron Page 44