There were dirty, dusty farm workers perhaps traveling to visit an ailing relative. They either didn’t have time to clean up or always looked that way. Then there were high-class men and women dressed to the nines in the latest fashions from Paris. Women’s hats were festooned with beautiful feathers plucked from exotic birds in strange and distant lands.
There were families with well-behaved offspring, playing quietly with chalkboards on their laps. Then there were the little hellions that made any trip miserable by running amuck up and down the isles, bothering everybody but those with sufficient drink to make them invulnerable to the raucous attacks.
But most surprising of all were the Indian passengers. There weren’t many of them but they were certainly members of tribes, that at one time, warred against the whites. Now, those once wild Indians sat stoically, staring emotionless out windows at the lands they once dominated.
Gopher had an urge to sit with them and inquire as to their destinations and their colorful past. But his learned hatred for the band of Apache that had abducted him years earlier had instilled a deep distrust for the red man in general.
The short trip to Lamy took nearly an hour, even though Gopher was convinced the train could have done much better than thirty miles per hour. He guessed the tracks were full of bends and twists, probably due to the rough terrain. Nothing else made sense, especially when considering the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad Company had refused to build a main line directly to Santa Fe claiming it was too costly to master the difficult terrain.
Once heading north out of Lamy, the train traveled through all kinds of scenery, making staying awake worthwhile. The trip to Denver took well over sixteen hours due to the many stops for passengers or to take on coal and water.
A quick mental calculation and Gopher estimated the train would pull in to the Denver station sometime around midnight, not the most optimal hour for someone new to the area to be arriving. The question of where he was going to stay while he awaited the opening of the D&RGW railroad offices was foremost on his mind. He did not want to squander his life savings on the cost of an opulent room for only a few hours, nor did he relish walking the streets all night just to save a few coins.
He had arrived early at the Lamy station and no one questioned his sitting there while awaiting the train. Perhaps the Denver station would allow him to hang out there until the rail company opened.
Other scenarios sent chills down his spine. Visions of highwaymen attacking him and relieving him of his bag and all his worldly possessions entered his thoughts often, as if they were ominous omens of things destined to occur.
Gopher told himself that this was the nineties and such things were rare during these days of civil respectability. He felt he was acting like an ignorant sodbuster or some backwoods hick that had just stepped out of the dark ages.
Still, he knew from some of his father’s tales of travel that it was wise to beware and wiser to trust no one.
During the day, whenever he wanted to stretch his legs, Gopher was very careful to bring his tote with him. At night, there were a host of hazards, not the least of which was falling asleep. He hadn’t slept well the night before, and when darkness fell, he felt weariness threatening to overtake him.
He had not thought to bring a length of rope or a few strips of rawhide, with which to fashion a tether, should he slip into a restful sleep. After an hour or so, he was truly getting tired. The rhythmic clattering of the wheels and the side-to-side rocking of the coach threatened to lull him to sleep.
He tried setting the bag squarely on his lap and lacing his fingers into the handles of his bag but they kept slipping out every time he nodded off. Something else was needed to warn when anyone made a grab for his goods.
There were no strings or leather thongs available, nor did Gopher wear a belt. The only belt was his gun belt and that was securely hidden deep inside his duffle.
Being dog-tired, the young man struggled to remain alert and fully awake, all to no avail. He studied those around and across from him in an effort to figure out if any of them might pose a threat. No one jumped out as a potential thief. Still, he felt vulnerable. Short of sitting on his bag, he could conceive of no way to secure it. Sliding it under his seat would do no good, as he couldn’t see it nor could he feel it if anyone moved it. Then, it came to him. He could unhook one of his suspenders and feed it through both handles. If anyone tried to take the bag or tried to look through it, the tug on his suspender would wake and warn him. It was a brilliant idea and he quickly put it into practice.
With his greatcoat covering his clumsy maneuverings, he managed to lace his right side trouser clip through both handles.
With a smile of satisfaction for figuring out a way to protect his belongings, Gopher leaned back and relaxed.
The train rumbled on through the night, stopping only for fuel, water and the occasional passenger exchange at small stations along the way.
Somewhere in the middle of a delightful dream concerning the supple flesh of one Grenda Friedman, the metal clamp of his suspenders smacked him in the face. He tried to put the offensive and painful interruption into perspective but he was still too groggy to make sense of what was happening.
He saw a shadowy figure running down the passageway toward the front of the coach. When the train jerked to a stop, the thief lost his balance and pitched forward, thereby missing the right side doorway leading to the loading dock.
In an instant, Gopher realized he had been robbed and gave chase. The fact that his trousers now were loose and falling down on his right side did nothing to aid in overtaking the downed thief.
With his right hand pulling his trousers up, Gopher surged forward, angry and determined to catch the thief.
When the man realized he had overshot the exit, he made a half-hearted attempt at grabbing the bag he had so recently taken. But Gopher was on his heels and the thief decided it was better to vacate the train and leave the bag behind than to engage in a scuffle with such a tall and determined fellow.
Gopher leaped at his attacker and reached out with both arms to tackle him, but the man was quick and Gopher’s trousers hindered his movement. He missed grabbing the man’s ankles by the narrowest of margins but did manage to retrieve his bag. In doing so, the hard floor and the iron grating stripped some of the skin off Gopher’s forearms and elbows.
Just as he regained his composure and considered leaving the train to continue the chase, the whistle sounded and the conductor’s voice rang out with the familiar, “All aboard.”
Once back in his seat, Gopher adjusted his trousers and re-attached his suspender strap through the satchel handles. He was grateful he had thought to create an early warning system. He hoped he would not need it again.
Sleep would not come, no matter how tired he was. His arms burned from the abrasions but there was nothing he could do about it. Fortunately, the long night was nearly over. There were but three more short stops before the train steamed into Denver’s Union Depot.
The car’s service attendant arrived on the scene and illuminated the car with a lantern. He wanted to know what the earlier ruckus was about. Gopher declined to elaborate. But an elderly woman had observed the entire incident and eagerly told about the event. She also asked Gopher if she could render aid to his bleeding arms. “I have no poultice but I have a handkerchief.”
Her attempts at whispering failed miserably, for she fairly shouted over her own deafness. Several other passengers were now awakened and curious as to what was going on.
When Gopher politely declined, the old woman shouted, “I was a nurse. I know what’s good for you. Now come over here and let me treat you.”
The attendant offered his apology for the attack and assured the passengers that the bad man had left the train. He then left the car to report the incident to the Conductor. Nothing more was said until the train arrived in Denver.
At that time, a man identifying himself as a railroad detective boarded and asked
Gopher to accompany him to his office, where his statement would be taken.
When Gopher politely declined, the detective insisted, claiming that sort of thing is very much out of the ordinary these days.
The interview took less than ten minutes. Gopher could not offer a reasonable description of his attacker. “It was fully dark and I saw nothing, not even what he wore.”
The detective promised it would not happen again and offered a chit for a small discount on his next train ticket.
“I thank you for being concerned for my welfare, and the discount will come in handy. But my immediate need is a place to stay while I seek work in the mountains.”
“Are you a miner?” The detective asked. “ You don’t look like the typical fortune hunter.”
“Actually, I’m looking for work on one of the high runs, where a specific locomotive might be operating.”
“Hmmm,” the detective said, as he rubbed his chin. “And are you a mechanic?”
“Why all the questions? Can’t a fellow simply ask about where a particular locomotive might be found?”
“That all depends on why you want to know.”
“Look, I have an interest in what’s known as a Fairlie engine, that’s all.”
“Never heard of it. You’ll have to ask the railroad boys downtown.”
And with that, the interview was over. Nothing was said about where Gopher might stay until morning when headquarters opened for business.
Union Station was not quite empty but there were no accommodations suitable for sleeping. The rock-hard benches made for poor substitutes for feather beds. But, it appeared that they were the only option. So, Gopher joined a half-dozen others that had made those benches their temporary bed.
The duffle failed miserably as a pillow but he had no desire to lose it again. With his neck craned at such an angle, sleep failed to overtake him once again.
Several hours later, another railroad employee rousted Gopher; this one wanted to see his ticket. Gopher only had his stub showing Denver as the destination. “This ain’t no hotel. If you ain’t payin’ to go on down the line, you ain’t stayin’ here.”
Walking through the blackened streets of Denver was not at all appealing. Unlike Santa Fe late at night, the streets were not empty. All sorts of riffraff watched him from darkened alleys and shadowed doorways. He gripped his satchel tightly, pulled his collar up and strode purposefully toward the center of town where the offices of D&RGW were located.
At one intersection, where there was still some activity from a raucous saloon, a filthy beggar came up and asked for an extra coin or two—just for something warm to drink.
For some reason, Gopher barked, “Get out of here; I’m workin’ this side of the street.”
The man staggered off, clearly confused at the unusual turn of events.
There were two hotels with lamps still lit inside, both of them located directly across from each other. Gopher stood out of sight and watched them for a few minutes. He was considering entering and sitting in the lobby until he warmed up. He reasoned, if anyone asked why he was just sitting there, he could easily inform them that he was waiting for his traveling associate. For no particular reason he chose the hotel across the street. Maybe it was because a happy couple entered that establishment and not the other.
In any case, his teeth were chattering and the place looked much more inviting than where he now stood, so he strolled across the stone covered street and entered.
Above the desk was a large white clock with black hands and numbers. He could hear its rhythmic tick-tock from the vestibule. There would be no sleeping with that monster making noise.
The clerk looked up and nodded to Gopher, as he chose a large wingback chair to sit in. While watching the clock and looking for a make believe companion, he placed his bag on his lap and laced his fingers together over it.
At one in the morning, the desk clerk said, “Don’t look like your lady is comin’.” Then the fellow wheezed a laugh at his private joke. At half past the hour, the clerk checked out two more couples and hung the room keys on their hooks.
“Hey, fella! If your woman ain’t comin’ you can’t sit there all night. We’ve got rules here, ya know.”
When the two o’clock hour rolled around and a few more couples came and went, Gopher was ordered outside. “This ain’t no lounge. Can’t stay here for free, now get out or pay for a room.”
“When Gopher asked how much a room was, he was asked how long he needed it for.
“Why until morning, I think.”
“Without no woman you must be one of those strange fellas.”
Gopher didn’t know what he meant but decided to leave anyway. As he stepped outside the hotel and onto the street, two scantily clad women asked if he was “up” for a good time.
More tired than curious, he politely declined and moved on toward the downtown district. With his hat pulled low on his forehead he set his gait at a speed that spoke neither of tarry nor of haste.
THE LONG WALK NOWHERE
The morning sun was slow in showing itself. But when it finally warmed the stone and brick pavers it created a dense steam rising from the evaporating dew.
Gopher had never seen such a sight, as Santa Fe had nothing but dirt for streets. The only things in common were the corner gas lamps and a harried little man that tended them. Gopher watched as each gas lamp was turned down and the flickering flame extinguished.
He hollered out, asking where the offices of the D&RGW might be. The little man ignored him and went about his business without looking back.
The glorious smells of cooking food soon set his stomach to growling. Gopher had not eaten much in the last day or so. He was far too excited to spend his time or his money on things to eat.
To his surprise, he sometimes knew what was being prepared so early in the morning. Guadalupe often combined leftover pulled meats with chilies, eggs, onions and diced potatoes. She called it Estofado de carne. The familiar smell offered a modicum of comfort in a strange land. But he had no desire to knock on anyone’s door to ask for a handout. Instead, he remained intent on finding the headquarters of the railroad.
Gopher wondered at the lack of policemen in Denver. He had seen nary a one. Back in Santa Fe, Marshal Ivan Petronoff could be seen late every evening and early every morning testing the locks on doors to insure they were still secure and had not been tampered with. Here in Denver, he failed to see anything of the kind.
The larger buildings indicated he was getting closer to the main part of town. Here there were more businesses than houses, yet no one was out and about. Denver, it seemed, had few if any, farms or ranches. Therefore, Gopher decided, there was no need to arise early, as was often the case back home.
When Gopher came across a small, grassy park dotted with shade trees, he sought a bench in order to rest his weary feet. From that vantage point he could see much of that business district.
Two workers could be seen in the distance coming his way. One pushed a two-wheeled cart; the other carried a wide, flat shovel. They stopped at each pile of dung and scooped it into the cart. The men chatted merrily as they moved from pile to pile.
Gopher inquired as to the whereabouts of the railway offices and was told to continue walking due north for three blocks and then two more to the west. He thanked the workers and headed in that direction. Once he turned left, the rising sun warmed his back. It was the first time since leaving Santa Fe that he felt warm enough to forget about the biting cold of the high mountains.
After locating the railroad offices building he decided he should pay attention to his growling stomach.
By the time he actually began considering buying something to eat, a few street vendors appeared, ready to hawk their wares to harried executives and hungry merchants.
One of the vendors sang out that he was ready for business and invited his first customer over to see his offerings.
Among the hot foods displayed were the usual husk-wrapped Me
xican dishes he often enjoyed at the restaurant. He chose two with different meat fillings. One was supposedly filled with seasoned chicken; the other with seasoned pork.
Neither agreed with him and he soon found himself in a much worse situation. He was suddenly aware of a driving need to relieve himself.
Being in the downtown business district, there were no public facilities like might be found in back behind every home in Santa Fe. Gopher quickly sprinted between two buildings, headed for the back, where he hoped to find a suitable back house for his immediate needs.
To his surprise, there were only a few, where he expected the back yards to be littered with toilet facilities. There was no time to dally over which shanty he was going to select. He jerked the door open on the closest one. It had two holes. Thankfully both were, at the moment, unoccupied.
With some relief, Gopher thanked his lucky stars that he had not messed his trousers.
But when it came time to finish the job, he discovered there was no paper inside—nothing, not even a scrap of paper.
Many thoughts raced through his mind. Should he venture out into the daylight in search of paper or stay where he was and await the next patron; perhaps he would have paper with him.
But what if the next patron was a woman? How could he face her in his current condition?
There must be another way. Then it occurred to him that he did indeed, have paper with him—in his duffle.
With great care he sifted through his belongings. It would not do to lose anything down the neighboring hole. He was looking for the note on which he had jotted down the directions for the railroad offices. Then of course, there was his folding money.
The small note was not sufficient to do the entire job. His predicament remained.
The inventory of his bag yielded a backup pair of wool stockings, a ruffled shirt, which he planned to wear to a job interview, a pair of heavy work trousers, his money and the now useless note.
In his mind he tried to balance the cost of a pair of socks against the money he had brought with him. Nothing came to mind, as he had never gone shopping for clothes with his mother. Oh, how he wished he had, for then he would know the relative value of things and which way to go.
The Adventures of Gopher Piddington Page 10