He spotted a handcar parked on a tiny perpendicular siding a few paces in front of No. 119. That’s what he needed. It was downhill all the way to Ogden. It would take no effort once he had the car rolling. First, he had to move it onto the tracks. It was too heavy for him to lift alone.
Paddy approached the cab of the engine and shouted. “Hey, engineer!”
A man leaned out of the cab window and looked down at him. “Yes?”
Paddy recognized engineer Sam Bradford from when he’d been employed by the UP. “Sure, Sam, and I need ye and yer fireman to help me get that handcar onto the tracks.” He pointed toward the siding.
“Why?”
“Well now, Grady Shaughnessy sent me to take the handcar down to Ogden with word ye’ll be coming right along with Doc Durant’s train. Don’t ye see?”
“Why doesn’t he send somebody up a telegraph pole and send a message?”
“Don’t ask me. I’m just a worker, and I takes me orders. If ye want to argue with Shaughnessy, be my guest.”
“All right. Come on, Cyrus. We’ve got to get wet to help this skinny runt.”
CHAPTER 46
Jenny arranged the canapés on a platter. She planned to serve them to Governor Stanford’s guests as their first course in the elaborate picnic he’d requested her to prepare. She opened the door to the oven and peeked at the loaves of bread baking on the top rack. The crusts of the loaves glowed a light golden brown, indicating they would be ready soon. Reaching into the bottom rack, she used a workman’s glove to lift the lid on the pan where a dozen roasting plovers emitted enticing aromas. Some of the men in Stanford’s party had shot a flock of plover along the shore this morning and had asked her to prepare them for their picnic instead of chicken. She inhaled the delicious smell, returned the lid, and closed the oven door.
The sound of hooves drew her attention once more to the two windows that allowed light into the kitchen of the Director’s coach. She had checked repeatedly since sunup, but had seen no sign of Will and Homer. Now, they finally approached. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out of the kitchen. She crossed the narrow hall in front of the water closet and went out onto the front platform of the car.
Will on Buck and Homer on Ruby reined in at the foot of the platform’s steps.
“What took you so long?” She looked down at the two with her hands on her hips.
“We’ve been riding,” Will answered.
“Riding? From where? Promontory Summit?”
“No, Jenny. Mr. Strobridge didn’t bring his work train to Victory until this morning. We waited overnight at Promontory. I didn’t want to ride thirty miles in the dark. Not to mention it rained all night at Promontory. How about here?”
“A few sprinkles last evening, but none this morning. Governor Stanford has already taken his guests down to the lake.”
Jenny pointed behind her to where a point of land extended a short distance out into the lake from its northern shore. A small rocky hill rose out of the water to a height of about fifty feet at the end of a slender spit of stony land connecting it to the point. Without the spit, the hill would have been an island, forming the only interesting feature along the otherwise barren lakeshore. The water of the lake lapped against the shore from a southerly breeze that wasn’t strong enough to create whitecaps.
“Well, we’re here, now,” Will said. “What do you want us to do?”
Jenny grinned at the tone Will used to phrase his question. He obviously would rather be someplace else and had no idea what she had in mind for him.
“Homer’s going to help with the cooking. You, Mr. Braddock, are going to help me wait tables.”
“Wait tables!”
“You heard me. Tie Buck and Ruby to the subsistence car.” She indicated the car coupled in front of the Director’s car. “You can stack your saddles inside on the floor of the car.”
Will led Buck over to the car and leaned forward to peer inside. A cackling sound emitted from the interior. He looked back at Jenny. “There’s chickens in cages in there,” he said.
“I gather the eggs each morning,” said Jenny. “And I wring the necks of a couple of hens from time to time to prepare a meal.”
Will and Homer slid from their saddles.
“Now,” Jenny said. “Be careful where you put your saddles in the car. Don’t ding that polished, laurel wood tie lying in front of the cages.”
“Laurel wood tie?” Will asked.
“Yes, Governor Stanford is going to drive the golden spikes into it at the celebration. Then he’ll take everything back to Sacramento and put them in some museum, I guess. Be careful you don’t knock those fancy boxes off the shelf above the cages.”
“What?”
“There are four cigar-like boxes lined up on that shelf. Each one contains a gold or silver spike. They’re worth a lot of money. Be careful.”
“All right.” Will gathered up Buck’s reins.
“Come in here when you’re finished,” she said.
Jenny reached to open the coach’s door, then stopped. “Oh look. Here comes the wagon train.” She pointed to the east. “Mr. Hart climbed up that hill over there early this morning when we saw them approaching. He’s up there now, so he can take a photograph of the old-style train rolling past the new-style one.”
“Who’s Mr. Hart?” Will asked.
“Alfred Hart is the official photographer for the Central Pacific . . . like Andrew Russell is for the UP.”
“We passed those wagons about a half-mile back,” Will said. “Remind you of anything, Jenny?”
“Yes, it brings back memories. This has to be one of the last cross-country wagon trains anyone will see. Poor folks. They have a month more to go before they reach California. They should take those wagons back to Ogden, sell them, and ride the train. They could be in Sacramento in two days.”
“I doubt they’d receive enough for their wagons to pay the fares for themselves and the freight charges for their belongings,” Will said.
A few minutes later, Will and Homer entered the Director’s car. “We can’t all three fit into this tiny kitchen,” Will said.
“We don’t have to,” Jenny said.
“Huh?”
“Homer and I will work in the kitchen. You are going to stand right there in front of the water closet while I hand trays to you.”
“Trays? Aw, Jenny.”
“Now, Will, you promised.”
“Humph!”
“First, though. Homer I want you to go to the subsistence car and gather up some potatoes and onions. The sacks are on the floor opposite the chicken cages. Also, bring some lettuce, tomatoes, and radishes you’ll find in one of the ice chests.”
“Ice chests?” Homer said. “You gots chicken coops and ice chests?”
“Yes, Governor Stanford had the subsistence car built special for trips with the Director’s car. It’s equipped with ice chests for storing wines and fresh food.”
“Where do you find ice out here in the desert?” Will asked.
“California imports ice from Alaska. Our ice has been on board for three days now, and it’s melting fast. But, it should last through the ceremonies tomorrow and probably partway back to Sacramento.”
“All right, Miss Jenny,” Homer said. “I’ll go fetch them vegetables. What you want done with them?”
“Fry up the potatoes and onions. They’re to accompany the plovers you’ll find roasting in the pan on the bottom shelf in the oven. Then make a tossed salad and be sure to keep an eye on the bread. I don’t want it to burn.”
“Yas, ma’am.” Homer excused himself and left the Director’s car.
“Now, Mr. Braddock.” Jenny placed her hands on her hips.
“What?” Will shuffled his feet.
“You can’t be a server wearing a buckskin coat and carrying a rifle.”
Will glanced at the Yellow Boy he held in his left hand. He ran his other hand down the front of his fringed jacket.
�
��Hang your coat on the back of the door in the water closet and stash the rifle in here.” She opened a door of one of the kitchen’s cabinets. “And the pistol, too.”
“My revolver?”
“These are civilized people traveling with the governor. You won’t see any of them wearing pistols. What kind of impression would you make if you served them wearing one?”
“I’m not a server.” Will stood straighter and pulled his shoulders back.
Jenny narrowed her eyes and concentrated her stare on Will’s face. She felt her smile slowly crease her lips when she saw him wither under her gaze.
He shed his weapons and his hunting coat and stored them where she directed. “What if somebody comes in here and steals my guns?” he asked.
“Not to worry.” She pulled a key out of her apron pocket, locked the cabinet door, and dropped the key back in the apron. “I lock my reticule in there with my revolver . . . along with what little money I have.”
Will sighed. Jenny knew she’d won that argument.
“Now,” she said, “put on this waiter’s jacket and help me take the dishes and utensils down to where the conductor has erected the tent-fly. Then we’ll return and pick up the food.”
Will slipped his arms into the white waiter’s jacket and struggled to pull the front together over his chest. “It’s too tight. I can’t wear this.”
“Don’t button it.”
“Humph!”
“Here, take this tray of plates and glasses.” Jenny handed a large wooden tray to Will. She giggled while listening to his continued grumbling.
“I haven’t gone anyplace for two years without my Colt,” he muttered. “I feel naked.”
CHAPTER 47
Paddy had abandoned the handcar at the approach to the rail-yard in Ogden where he’d slipped onto a work train shuffling final construction materials up to Promontory Summit. The steady rain had kept workers away from the tracks, making it easy for him to climb into a boxcar. At the summit, he’d hidden out overnight in a tent with Collin Sullivan, the tracklaying gang leader who had helped him escape a pursuing Will Braddock in January along the banks of the Weber River. From Sullivan, Paddy learned Governor Stanford had withdrawn his train to Monument. He also learned the Central Pacific’s James Strobridge made frequent runs with his work train between Promontory and Victory, which according to Sullivan was only two miles from Monument.
Early the next morning, Paddy had snuck onto Strobridge’s work train. After reaching Victory, he’d located a picket line strung behind a row of tents occupied by CP supervisors. He almost got caught after he’d untied the horse he’d chosen to steal, and he had to ride away without a saddle. He’d ridden only a half mile beyond Victory when he overtook a wagon train. Rather than ride bareback all the way to Monument, he’d offered to give the last driver in line a quarter to let him ride in the wagon. The driver shrugged, looked at his wife beside him, and accepted the money. Paddy had tied the stolen horse to the tailgate and climbed into the back of the canvas-covered wagon. He’d ridden in the wagon only a short distance when Will Braddock and Homer Garcon rode past. He had been tempted to draw his Colt .32-caliber revolver and shoot them on the spot. But that would have given his hiding place away, and he first had to lay hands on those golden spikes. Then, he could worry about carrying out his vendetta.
Paddy lifted the bottom of the canvas next to where he sat so he could observe the wagon’s progress as it rolled parallel to the Central Pacific’s tracks. When Stanford’s special train came into view, Paddy observed that Braddock’s horse and Garcon’s mule were tied to what appeared to be a short version of a baggage car. What luck. He’d steal Braddock’s horse to ride after he found the spikes. He wouldn’t need the horse he’d stolen at Victory anymore. Besides, it would attract too much attention if he tried to untie that horse now from the rear of the wagon.
Paddy slid off the back of the tailgate and lay flat on the ground until the wagon train had rolled on past Stanford’s train. Then, he crawled to a large clump of sagebrush near the locomotive Jupiter and raised into a crouch to check his surroundings. If he didn’t make any sudden movement, the concealment provided by the bushes should keep him safe. He removed his bowler hat to be sure it didn’t show above the branches of the brush.
Two men descended from the locomotive and walked back past the tender. The older man had to be the engineer and the younger one the fireman.
“Mr. Booth,” the fireman said, “don’t you think we should close the subsistence car door? Those golden spikes are on the shelf above the chickens.”
“Naw, Murphy. That wagon train’s gone on by. They’re the only people for miles around, and they aren’t a problem now. Besides, Miss Jenny and those two fellows helping her need to keep taking food and wine down to the governor’s picnic. And we’re invited, so we better hurry down there before we’re missed.”
“Aw, George, do I have to go?”
“Yes, Murph. Come on.”
Paddy’s mouth fell open as the engineer and his fireman walked away from the train. They’d called it a subsistence car, they’d left its door open, and they’d told him precisely where to find the golden spikes. He clamped his mouth shut to keep from laughing out loud at his good fortune. To make things even better, Braddock’s horse and Garcon’s mule were tied to the car.
Paddy waited a couple of minutes before scurrying across the open ground to the subsistence car. He squatted down and peered beneath the car. The engineer and the fireman were making their way toward a tent-fly in the distance, around which gathered a dozen or so well-dressed people. That must be the members of Governor Stanford’s party. Farther ahead of the engineer and fireman, a man and woman drew near the fly. They each carried trays. On closer observation, he identified them as Will Braddock and Jenny McNabb. That accounted for everybody except Homer Garcon. Where could that former slave be?
Paddy didn’t have time to waste. He had to find the spikes. He climbed into the subsistence car and surveyed the interior. Two saddles lay in the center of the floor. The cackling of hens greeted him from cages along the rear of the car. In front of the chicken cages lay a highly polished railroad tie with a silver plate tacked to its center. He leaned down and read the inscription. Ah, they planned to drive the golden spikes into this fancy tie. A long-handled maul lay propped against the tie. Paddy lifted it and discovered its head was coated with silver. It was too heavy as it was, and he didn’t have anything to saw the head off the handle. He dropped the maul onto the floor.
But there, right before his eyes, in plain sight, as the fireman had said, four boxes were lined up on a shelf above the cackling chickens. He lifted the lid of one of the cigar-box-sized containers.
“Wow! Sure, and ain’t that something.”
Paddy lifted a gold spike out of the box. He weighed it in his hand. My, it was heavy. Must be worth a fortune. He returned the spike to its box and opened the next one, revealing a gold and silver spike. The third box contained a silver spike, and the fourth box another gold spike. Four spikes in all. They should yield a tidy sum in precious metal if they were melted down, but the Central Pacific would pay him a lot more to get them back. He fished into a vest pocket and withdrew a note he’d written earlier demanding ten thousand dollars for the return of the spikes. He’d decided to demand twice the amount of money he had when he’d kidnapped Jenny McNabb. He lay the note on top of the polished railroad tie and secured it in place by positioning the silver-headed maul on top of it.
Paddy found saddlebags affixed to the saddles. He untied one of the bags from the saddle’s cantle and dumped the contents of clothing and ammunition onto the floor. Paddy felt a smile crease his lips and wrinkle his scar. Once again he was going to steal Braddock’s horse.
He was in the process of cramming the boxes containing the spikes into the saddlebags, when he heard footsteps crunching on the gravel ballast outside the subsistence car. He whirled around to see a familiar, black face looking up at him from the o
pen car door.
“Hey!” Homer shouted. “What’s going on in there?”
Paddy flipped the flap up on his holster to draw his revolver. Before he could lift the pistol free, Homer threw a pot at him knocking his hand away from the holster. Paddy quickly drew his Bowie knife from its sheath in his boot and threw it at his enemy.
“Ow!” Homer stumbled back, grabbing his left arm. Blood spurted from between the black man’s fingers. The Bowie knife lay at his feet.
Homer dropped out of Paddy’s sight, disappearing beneath the subsistence car. Paddy retrieved his pistol from the floor, grabbed the saddlebags, and jumped out the open door. He stooped, cocking his pistol as he did so, and looked under the car. He didn’t see Homer, but he did see drops of blood on the ties and ballast. Paddy didn’t have time to search. He returned the revolver to its holster, picked up the Bowie knife, wiped the blade across his trousers to clean off Homer’s blood, and slipped the knife back into his boot sheath.
Not knowing where the African might be hiding, nor whether he might have a pistol, Paddy decided he didn’t have time to saddle. He needed to move. He untied Buck and led him back to the passenger car. He mounted the bottom step and used it to heave himself onto the horse’s back.
Paddy would have to ride bareback after all. He balanced the saddlebags across his lap and kicked the horse in the flanks, urging him down the side of the Director’s car. He needed to stay away from the gathering of the governor’s party down by the lakeshore, as well as the wagon train, which he could see moving farther away to the west. He pulled on the reins, guided Buck across the tracks behind the Director’s car, and headed southwest toward the northern edge of the lake.
He jammed his heels hard into Buck and slapped the reins.
CHAPTER 48
Will stomped back up the gentle slope covering the two hundred yards from the picnic tent to Stanford’s train in quick order. He gritted his teeth as he walked, shook his head, and muttered to himself. “Do this! Do that! Fetch this! Fetch that! Humph!”
Golden Spike Page 20