Suddenly, the speaking tube squawked to life and Savannah’s hysterical voice screamed, “Mr. Tweng, let me out!”
“Right away, Miss St. James.” Tweng jerked on the small lever that locked and unlocked the doors. Nothing. The lever moved slackly in his hand.
“Please Mr. Tweng!” Savannah shrieked. “Unlock the doors.”
Unnerved, Tweng opened his door and jumped. When he got up he ran . . . into the lowered rifle of a man with cold eyes and his finger on the trigger.
Tweng raised his hands and yelled, “Please don’t shoot! I’m an engineer!”
The fire found Savannah and she began to scream.
Behind Kate, Cobb watched. “Oh, my God.” Red flames reflected on his face. Beside him Trace looked horrified.
Kate looked at the burning Emperor and saw what Frank and Trace saw. She gently laid Marco’s head on the grass and rose to her feet.
Savannah stood behind the glass, her face close to the pane, long fingernails tearing at the unyielding reinforced surface in futility. She had always envied Kate’s red hair but no longer had cause for envy. Her hair was red as it burned away on her scalp.
Kate made to move closer to the window, but Cobb stopped her. “No. It’s too dangerous.”
She had no option but to stand and watch the woman burn.
Just before the end, Savannah pushed her blackened face close to the glass and stared out, her face twisted, her teeth still white in her mouth.
At first, Kate thought the expression was one of pain. She realized she was wrong and saw it for what it was . . . a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. It was the face of a demon one could expect to meet in the lower levels of hell.
Kate crossed herself, and then Savannah St. James was gone. A sudden flare of fire marked the spot where her body fell.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
That afternoon, Dr. Mary Fullerton, who’d never attempted such surgery before, amputated what remained of Marco Salas’s leg below the knee. She used all the morphine she had for the operation and had none left.
“Marco will have to depend on whiskey to ease his pain during his recovery,” Mary said to Kate. “We’d better lay in a good supply.”
“Yes . . . yes, I’ll see to that,” Kate said distractedly.
Mary put a hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Don’t let that awful woman still torment you after her death, Kate. You must let it go.”
Kate looked at Mary with haunted eyes. “You didn’t see her face. Even as she burned to death, she hated me.”
“Well, she doesn’t hate you now, does she?” Mary pointed out somewhat carefully.
Kate shuddered. “I close my eyes and still see her face. She looked evil, like a devil.”
“Hate is an evil emotion, and most times it destroys the hater, just as it destroyed Savannah St. James.” Mary smiled. “Soon you’ll see your daughters again and the faces of Ivy and Shannon will be the ones you see when you close your eyes at night.”
They heard a short knock and the door to the doctor’s tiny cabin opened.
Pete Slicer stepped inside, smiled at Mary, and touched his hat. “Good evening, doctor.”
“Have you come to see me, Pete?” Mary asked.
“Unfortunately, no. I have a question for Mrs. Kerrigan.”
“Ask away, Mr. Slicer,” Kate said.
“I’m the one that captured the driver of that damned—beggin’ your pardon, Dr. Fullerton—machine. Do you want I should shoot him?”
Kate smiled. “No, leave him for the Texas Rangers.”
Slicer frowned. “He says he’s an engineer. Is that a good thing?”
“I suppose there are good engineers and bad engineers,” Kate said. “Marmaduke Tweng happens to be a bad one.”
Slicer was puzzled. “But you don’t want me to plug him?”
“No, Mr. Slicer. I don’t want you to plug him,” Kate repeated.
Slicer looked as though he was about to leave, but he hesitated. “I’m sorry about the count, Mrs. Kerrigan. I know you set store by him.”
“Yes, he was a nice man. He made me laugh, especially when he proposed marriage to me every other day.”
“Me and your son Trace and Frank Cobb made a box for him. It’s not much, but then there’s not much of him left to bury.”
Dr. Fullerton said, “Yes, thank you, Pete. You can leave us now.”
After Slicer left, Mary produced a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “I don’t know about you, Kate, but I could use a drink.”
“I think I could use two or maybe three. I’d like to forget this day ever happened.”
“Why didn’t you shoot me, Mr. Slicer?” Marmaduke Tweng asked.
“Because Mrs. Kerrigan told me not to. She says to keep you for the Rangers.”
Tweng was chained to one of the blacksmith shop’s roof supports. He shook his manacles. “Is this really necessary?”
Slicer nodded. “It sure is. Mrs. Kerrigan says you’re a bad engineer.”
“On the contrary, I’m a fine engineer. That’s why I won’t hang, Pete. In these modern times, good engineers are hard to find. The whole world runs on steam and I’m one of the few who know how to tame it. The government will not stand idly by and see me hang.”
“You killed a man, Tweng, and crippled another,” Slicer said. “You’ll swing all right.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” the little man said. “This great nation of ours needs steam-powered airships, steam-powered underwater craft, steam-powered horseless carriages. Only engineers like me can supply those things.”
Slicer shook his head. “Airships and horseless carriages. You talk a lot of nonsense, Tweng. If the Rangers hear you speak like that, they’ll string you up for sure.”
Frank Cobb and Trace Kerrigan stood outside the burned-out hulk of the Emperor Maximilian in the waning day. A scorched door hung open on its brass hinges and from inside the stench of burned flesh was a palpable thing.
“It’s still too hot, Frank.”
Cobb shrugged. “It’s got to be done. Kate will expect a coffin.”
“I don’t want to do this, Frank.” Trace’s face bore an expression of trepidation and horror.
“I don’t want to, either. But we can’t leave it to the womenfolk.” Cobb smiled briefly. “This is what your mother calls men’s work.”
Trace frowned. “She says that about cowpunching.”
“She says that about a lot of things. Tighten your belt a notch and let’s get it done.”
Perhaps to make up for his hesitation and lest Frank think him a coward, Trace stepped through the open door first. The heat was intense, the odor rank.
Having nothing to prove, Cobb stood outside the door and said, “What do you see?”
Trace made no answer.
“Move aside there, Trace. I’m coming in.” Cobb stepped inside.
A slender column of carbonized flesh and white bone lay on the floor. The skull was intact; its empty eye sockets revealed nothing, but the white, perfect teeth grinned.
Cobb grimaced. “This is what hell must look like. I’m going to start saying my prayers.”
“I-think-that’s-another-one-over-there,” Trace said then he bent over and vomited violently.
Cobb gave him a push. “Go outside, Trace. Get some fresh air.”
Trace wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll stick.”
“It’s a body all right.” Cobb nodded. “Hard to tell, but I think it’s another woman.”
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Kate can tell us. We’ll make a pair of small coffins and come back and shovel this up.”
“I’m going out.” Trace hurried outside.
Cobb lingered a little longer. He would not have wished a death like this on anybody, even Savannah St. John.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
A week later, in response to a telegram sent by Frank Cobb, the Texas Rangers took Marmaduke Tweng away. Before they left, their sergeant tol
d Kate that Tweng would most probably go to trial and that she and the other eyewitnesses could expect to be called to give evidence.
Three weeks after the Rangers, a pair of middle-aged army captains showed up and spent several hours inspecting the wreckage of the Emperor Maximilian. They seemed less than impressed.
Captain Forbes, an officer with impressive handlebar whiskers and a whiskey nose, said to Kate, “I know how distressing my questions must be for you, dear lady, but did anyone take cannons out of the machine?”
“There were no cannons, Captain,” Kate said. “More sponge cake?”
The officer brightened and held out his plate. “I fear I’m imposing on your hospitality, ma’am. As bachelor officers, I’m afraid Captain Hale and myself do not often experience the exquisite joy of sponge cake, especially when served by such a beautiful lady.”
Kate smiled at the compliment. “You are not imposing in the least, sir. I do enjoy seeing men eat.”
Captain Hale had soulful brown eyes and no doubt, a hidden sadness. “The army has long been interested in a steam-driven fighting machine that can carry cannon, but the one that attacked your ranch falls very short of our expectations.” He smiled under his mustache. “The Emperor Maximilian was a clever clockwork toy, no more than that.”
Kate wanted to say that it was a clockwork toy that killed one man and maimed another, but she held her peace. The minds of the officers were made up and nothing she, a mere civilian, could say would change their opinion.
The officers left with a sponge cake for the trail and Kate thought that was the end of it. But a month later, on a cold fall morning, two silent Pinkertons in bowler hats and long wool coats arrived.
Like the army officers, they inspected the wreckage but ventured no reason for their visit and didn’t reveal their conclusions. They arrived and were gone in less than thirty minutes.
That night, Cobb reported to Kate on conditions on the range. The grass was plentiful and the cattle seemed in good shape. “Mose said they look like the fat kine in the Bible . . . but he’s always saying stuff like that.”
“Mose says we need to get rid of the wreckage on our pasture.” Kate poured more coffee in his cup. “He says two women burned to death in there and that it’s an evil thing. Did you notice that the cattle don’t go near it?”
“I guess we could hire somebody to take it away, Kate. But it’s going to be an expensive proposition.”
“I don’t care, Frank. I want it gone. I swear the ghosts of Savannah St. James and Leah still haunt the awful thing.”
Cobb nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
“Please do. It brings back some terrible memories.”
Cobb brought in several contractors who inspected the massive heap of scrap iron, rubbed their chins, then refused the job.
“The word has gotten around about what happened here,” one man said. “None of my men will work on this hulk.”
And that’s where the matter might have remained . . . but during the first days of winter, the government arrived and everything changed.
The Federals arrived with a dozen heavy freight wagons, fifty men bearing an assortment of cutting tools, and an escort of an army infantry company.
Despite the show of power, the man in charge was a lowly clerk in the War Department, accompanied by a stern, middle-aged female secretary who would later lecture Dr. Fullerton on the laxative virtues of prune juice.
The clerk’s name was Atwood Mitchell and he proved to be affable enough. Sitting in Kate’s parlor, he told her the wreck would be cut into pieces and loaded onto the wagons. “It will then be taken by rail to Washington for further study.”
“The government’s interest surprises me, Mr. Mitchell. Especially since the army showed no interest.”
“Ah, yes, but we’re acting on a recommendation by the Pinkertons, Mrs. Kerrigan. The Pinkertons, more than most, realize that we’re living in a technological age driven by the power of steam. It drives our factories, our great oceangoing ships, our powerful locomotives, and soon it will govern every aspect of our lives.” Warming to his subject, Mitchell took a quick gulp of coffee and said, “There is already talk in Europe, yes, and in Washington, that the lower orders could be locked in their factories while steam power supplies their every need by way of food, clothing, and rudimentary accommodation. Think of it, Mrs. Kerrigan, the working class need never leave its workbenches except to eat and sleep.”
“I don’t think I would wish to live in the kind of future you envision, Mr. Mitchell,” Kate said, her eyes frosty.
“Well, of course, not, Mrs. Kerrigan. You are a lady of means and beef production is a necessary part of the plan. The masses must be fed, you know. No, I was talking only about the working poor.” He smiled. “Or, as the modern term in Washington has it, the factory poor.”
Oblivious to Kate’s mood, Mitchell rose to his feet. “A thousand thanks for your hospitality, dear lady. Now I must see to my workmen.”
Cobb, who had been listening intently to Mitchell’s speech, felt a mean little pain in his belly. “You know if the man who invented that steam monstrosity outside has been hung?”
“Oh dear no, sir. Indeed he has not. That is, if you’re referring to Mr. Tweng . . . or should I say Sir Marmaduke Tweng since Queen Victoria has seen fit to knight him for his services to steam engineering.” Mitchell smiled. “My dear sir, you don’t hang engineers of Sir Marmaduke’s caliber.”
“You do know he killed a man and crippled another,” Kate pointed out rather coolly.
“Water under the bridge, gammon and spinach, as Mr. Dickens says. Sir Marmaduke is back in Washington even as we speak, working on a steam-powered balloon that can carry an entire ballroom, including an orchestra and two hundred waltzers under its belly.” Mitchell’s voice took on a reverent tone. “He’s a genius indeed, is Sir Marmaduke.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Kate Kerrigan and Frank Cobb stood at a distance and watched the Emperor Maximilian cut to pieces. The day was chilly and for the first time in a year, Cobb wore a sheepskin and shotgun chaps. Kate had on a pioneer bonnet and a heavy wool cloak.
The wagons were fully loaded and the machine all but gone except for a few scraps of metal and charred wood when Mitchell bent at the waist, picked up something, and examined it closely. After a few moments he stepped to Kate and said, “I found this on the ground, Mrs. Kerrigan. Did you lose it, perhaps?” In the palm of his hand was a gold ring with a massive, bloodred ruby stone. “If it had been in the steam vehicle when it burned, I’m sure the gold would have melted.”
Instinctively, Kate shrank back from the ring. “It’s not mine. It belonged to a woman called Savannah St. James. She died in the fire.”
“Ah, then perhaps you’d like to have it as a keepsake,” Mitchell offered.
Kate looked ready to object but Cobb said, “I’ll take it. Mrs. Kerrigan is a little overwrought at the moment.”
Mitchell nodded. “Yes, I can understand that. And now, Mrs. Kerrigan, I must bid you adieu. Thank you once again for your hospitality.”
“You are most welcome, Mr. Mitchell,” Kate said, giving him a little curtsy as etiquette demanded. In fact, she thoroughly disliked the man.
As the short day shaded into evening, she and Cobb watched the wagons leave.
Kate turned to him, her back stiff with anger, “Why did you say I was overwrought and why did you take the ring?”
“As to the first, I thought you seemed upset,” Cobb said.
“Well, I wasn’t, Frank. I was glad to see that horrible thing leave. And as to the second?”
Cobb shook his head. “I don’t know, Kate, I really don’t.”
“How could you possibly think I wanted a ring that once was on the finger of Savannah St. James?”
“I . . . I didn’t. I don’t know what I thought.”
“Chicken and dumplings for dinner tonight, Frank. Are you looking forward to it?”
Cobb smiled. “I sure am.”
“Well, you won’t get any until you get rid of that ring.”
“I’ll chunk it away first chance I get.”
“No, I have a better idea. Come with me.”
A cold north wind swept the cemetery on the rise as Kate and Cobb made their way to the most recent graves. Savannah St. James’s grave was a little way from the rest.
Kate could not abide the thought of her resting near Count Andropov. She shivered. “This is where we laid her. One day I’ll get a marker for her. Let me have the ring, Frank.” When Cobb passed it to her, she laid it on the grave. “It was hers. Now she’s got it back.”
“Do you think she knows?”
Kate nodded. “She knows. Wherever she is, she knows.”
“She was beautiful, you know.”
“Yes, you said that when we buried her. And you were right. Savannah was a beautiful women.” Kate raised her pert nose and smelled the air. “Ah, chicken and dumplings are in the wind.”
“Good. I’m starving.”
“Frank, that future Mitchell was talking about. Will it come to pass?”
“Kate, it’s already here.”
“But it won’t be our future.”
“Not a chance.” Cobb waved a hand. “Our future is out there on the grass with the cattle. The Kerrigan Ranch is our future.”
“Will we have peace now, do you think?”
“Kate, it will soon be 1870. Modern times. Savannah St. James was the last of the old-timey outlaws.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.” Cobb took Kate’s hand and they walked to the cabin, hungry for chicken and dumplings, and the warmth of the family and the fire in the grate.
EPILOGUE
Over the next couple years, Kate Kerrigan prospered as her land and herds grew and she became the most important rancher in West Texas. She soon abandoned the little cabin and built herself a fine house. It was not yet as large as it would become, but two of its eventual four pillars were already in place.
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