by Stephen Bly
Hillyard gurgled and coughed. The girl let go of his nose. He laid still, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and sat straight up. “I was going to take the stuff. You didn’t have to . . . .”
The belch started out deep and exploded so much that the girl in gingham jumped. Somewhere in the distance, Gibraltar barked.
“Excuse me ladies. That was rather . . . .”
“Purgitive?” Catherine asked.
“Eh, yeah . . . I reckon.”
“Do you feel better?”
Hillyard stood and took a deep breath. “Yes, but I can’t believe . . . .”
She patted his arm. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
“But I just drank the stuff, it can’t . . . .”
“It did, didn’t it?”
The other girls crowded around.
“Oh, goody,” Balera clapped. “Gibraltar is alright and Mr. Hilly is alright. What a glorious day.”
“After a very horrible night,” Calida added.
Darnia smiled. “I thought it was quite exciting.”
“You would,” Adora added.
“Now, if you ladies would excuse me, I’ve got to clean up and find some fresh clothes. Although what I feel like doing is falling over in the dirt like Gibraltar and sleeping it off.”
Everyone was reloaded in the coach when Race Hillyard pulled himself back on board.
“You look very nice, Mr. Hilly.” Catherine said as she motioned him to slide next to the window.
“This is my last clean shirt and coat. Actually, the only ones. I tossed my soiled ones.”
“Are you still sleepy?”
“Compared to how I feel now, being dead would be a picnic.”
“Try to nap. I’ll wake you if there is anything important.”
“I think I’ll give up eating and just live on air and water.”
“That bad?” Catherine started kneading his neck and shoulders.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’ll stop when it doesn’t feel good anymore or you fall asleep.”
Catherine stopped in less than twenty minutes.
Hillyard sat up quick, as if awakened by a pan of snow melt.
“It’s dark?”
“You slept through the day.”
He looked out the window. “I don’t sleep like that.”
“Well, you did. You missed seven long, tedious sidings, five stops, and Nancy singing ‘Amazing Grace.’ Other than that, it’s been a delightfully dull day. No one was shot, kidnapped, or tossed off the train.”
Francine leaned forward. “Did you know that Catherine can recite the entire alphabet in French?”
“As I said, a dull day.”
“But aren’t we suppose to have supper with the judge?”
“I postponed it. Seems Amanda Sue was a little sick also. We’ve got a long lay-over in Cheyenne. The judge offered a meal with them then.”
“I’m wide awake,” he announced.
“Good, we can talk about Texas.”
They visited about battlefields, baseball, bulls, Boston and buffalo, but nothing personal. Once gain, Francine and children took the sleeping board seats. Catherine and Race sat behind her.
“Go on,” she encouraged. “What happened next?”
“Like I said, Robert was fourteen and I was twelve. We’d never been to a city that big before so we . . . .”
“Mr. Hilly?”
A gingham dressed young lady hovered beside him. “Does Adora stand for adorable?” he asked her.
Her face turned bright red. “Oh, no. Father just found old names that matched all the letters in the alphabet.”
“Does he have twenty-six children?”
“Not yet.”
“What can I do for you?”
“We are all tired, but we don’t want to go to sleep and miss some of your stories. Would it be possible for you to wait and finish them in the morning?”
“You could hear me way back there?”
“I think everyone in the coach hears you.”
“I’ll try to be more quiet.”
“Oh, no. We want to listen. But we want some sleep first.”
The breakfast stop was early and they had only fifteen minutes. Hillyard drank a cup of steaming black coffee and munched on a wedge of sourdough bread.
“The eggs were tough,” Catherine admitted. “You have the best part.”
“I think my stomach still needs to calm down a tad. Another relaxin’ day would help.”
“Mr. Hillyard! Mr. Hillyard!”
The conductor trotted towards them.
The winded man in the dark surge uniform stopped to catch his breath. “Mr. Hillyard, I need your help. Johnny Socorro has escaped.”
“The long haired outlaw?” Hillyard pulled his gun and checked the cylinder.
The conductor waved toward the south. “He dove off into the brush.”
“Where’s the deputy?” Hillyard asked.
“They say Socorro knocked him out by slamming his head into the freight door.”
Catherine took the coffee cup Race handed to her. “But they were handcuffed.”
“Socorro threw the marshal across his shoulders and staggered off into overgrowth. As far as I know, they are still cuffed together.”
Hillyard stared across the brushy prairie. “Does he have a gun?”
“And a knife, but no keys,” the conductor explained. “The marshal didn’t have any keys to the hand cuffs. So he can’t go far, all strapped together.”
“If he has knife, he could get free,” Hillyard said.
“You don’t think that . . . oh, my word,” the conductor slapped his hand over his mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Miss Draper knows how to cure weak stomachs. I’ll go see what I can do, but I don’t plan on gettin’ shot over this.”
Catherine watched Race duck between the train cars.
I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone quite like him, Lord. He seems to attract crisis, yet never starts the trouble. He never backs down. I don’t know if he’s reckless or brave or just doesn’t care about his life very much. I pity the woman who marries him. She would be in constant worry about his safety. On the other hand . . . on the other hand, I have no business thinking about his future wife. What I really want to know is, was that truly Matthew Zane? If so, what is he doing on this train?
“Was Mr. Hillyard ever a law man?” the conductor asked.
“Not to my knowledge,” she replied. “He fought in the war, then owned an armory in Texas, until recently.”
“He handles a gun and some tough men as if he had done it before.”
“Some men are just that way.”
“I suppose. I sure don’t know what to do about Johnny Socorro and the marshal. Here comes the express. I need to get the train back on schedule.”
“You can’t go off and leave Mr. Hillyard.”
The conductor pushed his cap back and scratched his head. “Quite right.”
The passengers on the siding watched the express train rattle past them. Most of the blinds on the cars were pulled shut.
“Load up!” the conductor called.
“Mr. Hillyard is doing you a favor. I wonder if you could do me a favor? I need to know if there is a Mr. Matthew Zane from New York City on this train.”
“I can’t reveal passenger lists. It’s a company policy.”
“And it’s a very fine policy, I’m sure. But this is a rather delicate situation.”
“Delicate?”
“Yes. I noticed a man who looks a lot like a friend of my sister’s. A very good friend, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, yes. Train conductors are very discreet.”
“Well, if it is this friend of my sister’s, I need to say something to him rather personal. But if it isn’t, well, I can’t be confused about it. I don’t need to see your passenger list. Just read it through and nod your head if there is a Matthew Zane on the train.”
“Really, I
can’t . . . .”
Catherine touched his sleeve, then tilted her head. “I know I have no right to put you in such a bind. I don’t want you to reveal anything more than a nod. Just think of me as your spoiled daughter.”
“I’m not that old, lady.”
She yanked her hand from his arm.
He tugged a list from his vest pocket. “What name?”
“Matthew Zane from New York City.”
He looked around as if expecting someone to be spying on them, studied the list, then rubbed his chin.
“Well?” she asked.
He nodded his head.
Zane is on the train. What’s he doing here? I need to know how Catelynn’s doing . . . and why he’s going west again . . . without him knowing that I’m on the train. Perhaps she’s travelling with him this time. That would be a wonderful answer to prayer.
“There you are.” Francine Garrity waddled up, a child in each hand. She shoved Nancy over to Catherine. “This delay is quite something. Most times we never have enough time to eat. Now, I got a little peckish and had another helping. That Indian lady is quite the cook. Are you getting back on board?”
“Yes, the conductor said it’s time.”
“It’s all right with me. I’ve seen all of this part of Nebraska I want. Have you ever been to Cheyenne?”
“I’ve never travelled anywhere west of Pittsburgh until this trip.”
“I’ve gone all over. That’s before I hitched up to my Farley.”
They settled back in their seats on the train. While Preston slept, Nancy studied a ladybug crawling on her arm. Francine leaned forward while Catherine sat across from the saddle.
“I hear that Mr. Hillyard was sent to apprehend that man in irons.”
“I believe so.”
“He’s really something, isn’t he?”
Catherine wrinkled her nose. “Mr. Hillyard or the man in irons?”
“If I weren’t a married lady, I’d wrestle you for Hillyard.”
Catherine gritted her teeth as she thought about wrestling the very large lady. “Well, you are married and I’m going to Sacramento to marry my Phillip, so I suppose other women will have to fight over him.”
“That’s right . . . I forgot about your Phillip . . . what with you and Hillyard being so chummy and all.”
Catherine rubbed the bridge of her nose. “We have become friends, that’s all.”
Francine rocked back and forth. “That kiss up there by the Pullman cars looked more than chummy.”
“It was a diversion. I was hiding from someone. At least, I thought I was.”
All the train car windows stood open, as the passengers filed back into the car. Adora, Balera, Calida, Damia, Ermina, and Faustina Jordan each stopped to curtsey for Catherine. Finally, Mr. Jordan strolled down carrying a sleeping Gilbratar.
He tipped his hat. “Once again, special thanks to you and your husband for rescuing my dog yesterday.”
“I’m glad we could help, but he’s not. . .”
“I bought Gibraltar when wife number one died. Gave me comfort in my loneliness.”
After he had passed by, Francine whispered. “Didn’t his other wives give him comfort?”
“I was wondering the same thing.”
Francine sat back and folded her bare arms. “Now, tell me why that kiss with Race Hillyard didn’t mean a thing.”
“Only if you promise to keep it to yourself. And you have to help me do something.”
“I promise.”
Catherine whispered most of the account about Matthew Zane and his relationship with her sister.
“What can I do for you?” Francine asked.
“I need you to positively identify Matthew Zane for me.”
“How am I going to do that? I’ve never met the man.”
“He’s wearing a red silk vest and has a thick, black mustache that is rather lopsided. He’s six foot tall, with hazel colored eyes. You can’t miss him. Check out his scar.”
“What scar?”
“Upper lip, right side. He got hit by a sad iron.”
“Your sister hit him with an iron?”
“No, I did.”
“Another reason you don’t want to see him, I suppose. What shall I say if I find him and he admits to being Matthew Zane?”
“Tell him you spotted him at the station and wondered whether Catelynn was with him.”
“What if she is?”
“That would be far too great a coincidence. But if she is, you’ll spot her. She looks just like me, only better dressed.”
Francine brushed down her skirt, then stood. “You babysit. This trip has turned out to be more exciting than pullin’ calves in January.”
A gunshot from the brush along the south side of the tracks sent everyone scurrying to the other side of the train car, to peer out the windows.
“Mr. Hillyard?” Francine asked.
“That would be my guess,” Catherine added.
Everyone at the windows began to cheer and clap.
Catherine picked up Nancy and carried her across the car. By the time she shoved her way to a window, a dirt covered Race Hillyard dragged an unconscious Johnny Socorro and the marshal next to the car.
“Are they dead?” someone shouted.
“They are just sleeping,” Hillyard gruffed. “A couple of you fellows help me load them up so we can leave.”
The westbound train was up to speed by the time Hillyard washed up and returned to his seat next to Catherine.
“I trust you are okay?” she asked.
“Yep. But I don’t have any more clean clothes. Are you babysitting again?”
“Francine is doing an errand for me.”
“Does it have to do with Mr. Matthew Zane?”
“Why did you say that?”
“Why did you avoid answering me?”
Catherine sat back and grinned. “Isn’t this marvelous?”
“What?”
“The way we harp at each other. Do you have this same adversarial relationship with anyone else?”
“Nope.”
“Neither do I. Don’t you think it was rather ironical of the Lord to place each of us on a train, sitting next to someone so entirely different than ourselves?”
“Entirely different? I thought it was because we are so much alike,” he grumbled.
“Mr. Race Hillyard, you and I have so very little in common.”
“Besides being stubborn?”
She slipped her arm in his. “Yes, besides being bull-headed, pushy, blunt, soft-hearted, creative, courageous in the face of danger, handsome, and totally self-centered, we hardly have anything in common.” Catherine laughed and laid her head on his shoulder.
“You forgot two things.”
“Only two? What were they, besides both being pals of Mr. Walker?”
“We are both running away from something. And we are not sure of what lies up ahead.”
“That’s not true. I know what’s up ahead for me. My precious Phillip will be there at the station to whisk me off to paradise.”
“If you truly believed that, you wouldn’t have you arm tucked in mine, or your head resting on my shoulder.”
Catherine sat up quick, and dropped her hands to her lap.
~~ CHAPTER SIX ~~
Francine Garrity sashayed down the aisle as if the prime exhibit at a county fair. “Matthew M. Zane, mining consultant and attorney.”
Catherine studied her face. “Zane said he was an attorney? That’s a new one.”
“Yes, and Catelynn is not with him.” Francine checked on the sleeping children before she wedged herself into the train seat. “I didn’t speak to him direct. I spoke to his shadow, Chester Pinehurst. He said that . . . .”
“Pinehurst is on the trip?” Catherine’s hand flew to her chest. “He always stays in New York to watch Catelynn.”
“Well, he’s here now and he carries a sneak gun in his trousers.”
“He told you that?”
“Of course not. But a woman can spot such things, if you know what I mean. To him, I’m Francine Garrity, an actress from Atlanta.”
“Actress?”
“There are more big girl parts than tall girl parts.”
Catherine noticed how Francine’s amber eyes were deep-set in her round, full face.
Such pretty features.
“Perhaps you’re right about that.”
Francine folded her massive arms across her lap. “I told Chester I had been in a couple of plays with Catelynn and thought his boss looked a lot like her husband.”
“Husband?”
“I didn’t know what else to call him. Pinehurst told me Zane was a mining consultant and attorney from New York and wasn’t married.”
Catherine looked straight at Francine. “That’s right, but he didn’t acknowledge Catelynn at all?”
“Not to me. But Zane had the sad iron scar under the mustache.”
“How did you get that close?”
“When I stooped to retrieve my handkerchief, he peeked at me then looked away. Men do that when I stoop. While his eyes focused elsewhere, I studied his upper lip. It’s your Matthew Zane, alright.”
“I just can’t figure why Pinehurst is with him.”
“Maybe he got a promotion and has someone else to watch your sis.”
“Or perhaps, she ran him off like you suggested,” Hillyard interrupted “And there is no more relationship.”
Catherine leaned her head back and sighed. “That would be too good to believe.”
He tossed his hands in the air. “Is it that an unreasonable possibility?”
“Knowing Catelynn, it is. She will hang in there with a jerk, just to prove something to me. Being a twin is a blessing and a curse.”
“Then why not think of it as a blessing?” he chided.
“You are an optimistic fellow all of a sudden.”
“It’s easier to be optimistic for someone else than for yourself.”
Catherine shook her head. “You are pessimistic about your prospects of finding the men associated with the diamond swindle?”
“I know it’s just ridin’ blind. But the big disappointment is up ahead, so I pretend I’m doin’ somethin’ important and it helps me make it through the day.”
Francine breathed on her with peppermint breath. “What are you goin’ to do next, Catherine?”