… repeat pattern from single crochet in back loop of next six stitches …
Jamie Sue carefully laid her crocheting aside as she spied Eachan Moraine trudging up the sidewalk in front of the house. She scurried over to open the front door.
“Eachan!” she called out. “Would you wait a moment? I have something for you to take home!”
He brushed his curly blond bangs off his forehead and shaded his eyes with his hand. “Mrs. Fortune, I’m not supposed to go in your yard.”
“I’ll bring it out to you.”
His voice broke from high pitch to low in the middle of the sentence. “It ain’t somethin’ spiteful, is it?”
“Heavens no, it’s a big cherry pie.”
“Really?”
“Yes, would you take it to your mother for me? I’m not allowed to go in your yard, either,” she called back.
A sly grin broke across his smooth, narrow face. “I reckon I could tote a pie.”
Lord, I know I promised Little Frank I’d bake us a cherry pie … but … You said, “If thine enemy hunger, feed him.” And that’s what I intend to do.
She slipped the pie into a blue, quilted pie carrier and hurried back outside. The aroma of the pie and the warmness of the late June sun that blazed down from high above McGovern Hill seemed to clear her mind and lift her spirits. She hiked out to the sidewalk. Eachan was slightly taller than she was.
“Take this to your dear mother, and tell her to enjoy it. Tell her I’m praying that these misunderstandings end quickly so that our families might become good friends,” she instructed.
Eachan scratched the back of his neck, then grabbed hold of the pie carrier. “Daddy’s a good man, Mrs. Fortune,” he said. “He just had some bad things happen to him when he was growin’ up in Ireland. It’s made him fearful. Mama says he still has bad nightmares about it.”
“Mr. Fortune didn’t write that hateful letter, Eachan.”
The boy peeked under the quilted cloth and sniffed the pie. “Yes, ma’am, that’s what Mama said. Who do you reckon did write it?”
“I don’t know. It’s certainly someone who didn’t want our families to be friends, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am. I reckon it was.”
“What do you think we ought to do about it?” she probed.
“We ought to find out who they are and punch them in the nose,” Eachan declared.
“Oh, dear, I think that would be letting them off too easily,” Jamie Sue challenged.
“Oh, yeah? You think we should hang them?”
“Heavens no, there is something even worse than that.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“We don’t know who they are, but we know the worst thing that could happen to them is that your family and ours became good friends. They are working very hard to see that doesn’t happen.”
“Whoa, I never thought of it that way. If we were good friends, we could spy out who’s angry about it,” he suggested.
“I believe you’re right.”
“So me and Little Frank should continue to be pals and keep an eye out for who is mad about it?”
“I think that would be a good idea.”
“Maybe me and Patricia Veronica could become chums too,” he added, “and see who would be upset with that.”
“I can tell you exactly who would get angry about that right now,” Jamie Sue grinned.
Robert Fortune slouched down in the backseat of the second and last passenger car. He had visually inspected the passengers and dismissed them all. He had checked the manifest of baggage and freight and determined the most valuable thing on the train was the diamond tiepin on the short man with a silk suit and starched, brimmed straw hat who snored away just across the aisle.
The most interesting person, though, was a well-dressed lady who was reading a book to two boys as they huddled in the front seat. Her black hair was immaculately tucked into her white, plumed hat, and she had a small beaded bag at her side.
Occasionally she glanced back toward Robert.
My guess is there’s a pearl-handled sneak gun in the beaded purse. And she’s not studyin’ me because I’m such a handsome head-turner.
Robert leaned his head back against the leather seat. With hat pulled low, he could still squint his eyes and see everything in the car.
Is it because I’m the most suspicious-looking man in the car? I inspected her … and now she inspects me. I wonder if she would do that if Jamie Sue were sitting by my side. I wonder if I’d be having this thought with Jamie Sue by my side.
Robert closed his eyes. The image of an angry Riagan Moraine emerged. I don’t think I’ve faced anyone who hated me so since that band of Chirachuas down in the Sierra Madres. Somebody wrote that slanderous letter. Someone who wanted to get at me … or the whole family. Who would want to do that in that kind of way? If they want to shoot me, they can shoot me.
He realized his right hand was resting on the walnut grip of his holstered revolver. He let his hands drop down to the leather seat cushion.
But whoever it was didn’t write Hawthorne Miller’s book. It seems too amazing to be a coincidence.
Robert hadn’t meant to close his eyes, but the whiff of strong violet perfume and the swish of a silk skirt forced his eyes back open. He caught a glimpse of the lady with white, plumed hat as she brushed by and shoved open the passenger car door behind him.
A flood of mild air and steel-on-steel noise flooded the railroad car. She paused for a moment with the door open.
“Is the conductor in that car?” she called out to Robert. Her voice was lower, more forceful than he had imagined it would be, but still with a musical quality.
He stood and pulled off his hat. “No, ma’am. That’s the baggage car. The conductor should be up in the next passenger car.” He pointed in the opposite direction.
She fumbled with the door latch and finally got it closed. Then she brushed her fingertips across the smooth, pale skin of her forehead. “Would you know if he has smelling salts?”
“I would think so, but I really don’t know. Are you feeling ill?”
She dropped her chin slightly and tilted her head to the right. “Yes, I don’t do well on mountain curves. Would it be alright if I sat back here in one of these empty seats in front of you and opened a window?”
“There’s plenty of room. Your boys can come back here too.” Why did she ask me for permission? Does she know I work for the railroad? I’m sure I’ve never met her before.
“Oh my, yes.” There was a slight smile on her wide, full lips. “They’ve hardly left my side since my husband passed away.” She started to return to the front. “I think I’ll check on those smelling salts before we move back here.”
“Would you like me to fetch the conductor for you?”
“Thank you, but the walking seems to perk me up. The fresh air between cars might just clear my head.”
Robert plopped back down. The lady returned to the front of the railroad car. The thick bustle of the gray-and-pink silk dress waved from side to side in what Jamie Sue had once labeled the “San Francisco Strut.” I suppose some women are never too sick to wiggle a bit.
She spoke to the boys, then exited the car and closed the door. Robert was still staring at the door when she returned, without the conductor. The door wouldn’t close, and she had to slam it several times. Before she reseated herself with the boys, she nodded her head slightly at Robert.
That widow lady’s flirting with me. Now, Lord, I can’t get up and walk away, but I can surely keep my eyes to myself.
Suddenly, there was noise up front. The woman slumped over in the aisle. The oldest boy, who looked about ten, jumped up and yanked on the emergency brake cord.
The train abruptly slowed and the passengers lurched forward. Robert staggered up the aisle past the alarmed passengers. He struggled to lift the lady in his arms as the train came to a stop. He was placing her on the leather seat when an explosion behind the passenger
car shook the train. Every window rattled. There was a chorus of screams. Robert pitched forward, almost falling on top of the lady.
The baggage car! Someone dynamited the baggage car! Robert yanked out his .45 revolver and shoved his way past gawking passengers to the back door of the train car, only to find it wouldn’t open.
With the train stopped on a curve in the track, he couldn’t see what was happening on the far side of the baggage car, but he heard shouting. “Get out of the aisle,” he hollered. “Everyone stay away from the windows on the east side!”
Reaching the front of the car, he noticed the two boys still huddled over the woman. “Open that window, boys, and give your mama some air!” he hollered. Grabbing the handle on the front door, Robert cranked on it, but it didn’t budge.
Both doors locked? How can that … ? How did they lock them when I didn’t even see them?
The window above the fainted woman was now open. Robert shoved his revolver back into his holster and crawled over the top of the lady and out the window. Dropping on the rocks below, he limped along, sneaking up on the baggage car. He had just reached the coupling between cars when a shot was fired from behind him. It ricocheted inches from his head.
He dove under the railroad car and tried to peer back to see who fired the shot. They have the train surrounded? And there is not one thing worth stealing. They are going to a lot of work for nothing.
Lying flat on his belly, Robert crawled forward over the gravel and railroad ties between the railroad tracks. He felt brass buttons on his wool suit pop off, and a hole ripped in the right knee.
There were no more shots behind him. He concentrated on watching the feet of two men who were loading something heavy on the back of a farm wagon.
With the shredded remains of the baggage car door concealing him, Robert crept forward. As he started to swing out from under the car, a man shouted, “He’s under the baggage car, Dunny!”
The report of a carbine sounded. An explosion near Robert’s head peppered his face with shreds of granite. Wiping his eyes on his now dirty suit coat sleeve, he saw the boots of two men sprint toward the wagon.
Robert’s first shot ripped into the heel of the man wearing gal-leg spurs with big Mexican rowels. As the man staggered and clutched the wagon, Robert squeezed the trigger at the other man’s dirty brown boot.
There was a scream.
Then a curse.
“Shorty, I got shot in the foot!” he bellowed. He clenched the wagon as the first man shot back at Robert. He rolled behind the steel wheel of the railroad car.
“Drive, Shorty … drive … drive!” Dunny shouted, and the farm wagon lurched forward toward the trees.
Shorty and Dunny? Again? Every time I let one loose, they come back to haunt.
Robert rolled out from under the train car. He fired two shots in the rocks in front of the team of horses. The big sorrel geldings reared, then jerked the lead line out of the driver’s hand and galloped straight at a slope of boulders.
Robert stood, pointing his gun at the back of the wagon. He hesitated to shoot again as he studied the large, bulky object in back. The girls’ trunk? All of this was to steal the girls’ wardrobe trunk and a half-million dollars of worthless money?
Who knew there was money in there? It’s just an ordinary trunk, with the girls’ scribbling on the outside. Who would know?
Besides the people the twins told … which was probably every man, woman, boy, girl, dog, and cat in Deadwood.
Robert jogged after the runaway wagon, then watched as the panicked horse spun to the left instead of running into the rock field. The wagon tipped on its side, propelling both wounded passengers and the large trunk onto the boulders. The trunk burst open and the money sprayed across the granite like confetti at a New Year’s party. But the horses continued to drag the wagon for another hundred feet.
Neither man was moving when Robert reached the rocks.
Robert spun around when he heard a roaring shout from the passengers. They now sprinted out of both cars of the train clamoring over the rocks and boulders, snatching up the money.
Robert dragged one of the unconscious men off the rocks as the engineer and fireman reached him.
“What happened, Mr. Fortune?” the conductor asked.
“They blew the door off the baggage car in order to steal a trunk full of worthless money.”
The engineer ran his finger through his sooty gray hair. “What are we going to do now?”
“Put your telegraph operator on that pole line and have him signal Rapid City. Find out if they want us to go forward, back up to Deadwood, or just wait. Tell them we have two of the culprits, and nothing of value was lost.”
“What will we do with them?”
“Let’s tie them up before they come to and stuff a rag in their boots so they won’t bleed to death.” Robert stared at several dozen people scampering and tripping over boulders and rocks. “They’ll break every bone in their bodies for worthless pieces of paper.”
“Help me!” Above the shouts of the crowd Robert heard a man scream. “Help me!”
“Is that coming from the railroad car?” he asked the conductor.
“I thought everyone had debarked!” the conductor mumbled.
Robert sprinted back to the car. The man with the patent leather shoes and diamond tie tack lay sprawled across the backseat, across from where Robert had sat.
He held his bleeding forehead.
Robert yanked out a handkerchief and pressed it against the man’s forehead. The conductor followed him into the car.
“I’ve been robbed,” he said.
Robert leaned back and surveyed the man’s black silk tie. “They didn’t get your diamond tie tack.”
“That’s a phony. They went right for my case.”
“What case?”
“My diamond case.”
“You were carrying a case of diamonds?”
“I’m a representative for Royal Dutch Diamonds. My display case contains gemstones worth over $10,000.”
“And you didn’t put it in the baggage car safe?”
“They blew up the baggage car.”
“But not the safe.” Robert glanced at the conductor. “Go find some linen to bandage his head.” Then he turned back to the injured man.
“I notified the railroad in Deadwood that I’d be carrying diamonds.”
“You did? I’m the railroad inspector and my office heard nothing of this. Who took your diamonds?”
“The dark-haired woman with the boys. We chatted on the train a few days ago. Now she’s robbed me. After she shot at you through the window, she came back and robbed me.”
“Woman? The one who fainted?”
“She seemed to recover well. She had a pearl-handle sneak gun. It’s what she creased my forehead with. She shot at you, then ran back here. I thought she was going to try to shoot you out the window, so I grabbed her arm. She must have clobbered me, because when I woke up everyone was scurrying off the train toward those boulders. That’s when I noticed my case was gone.”
“Where did you keep it?”
“Handcuffed to my wrist.”
“She unlocked your cuffs?”
“Apparently she got my key.”
“Where did you keep the key?”
“In my right boot.”
Robert looked down at the man who wore one boot. She knew which boot to take off. “When you came to, did you see what direction she was going?”
He pointed to the west. “I saw her and the boys running through those whitewood trees.”
The conductor brought back a roll of linen gauze.
“Take care of this man. I’m going after the woman who robbed him.”
“But you’re on foot!”
“So’s she … and she has two small boys with her.”
Robert shoved more bullets in his revolver as he stalked toward the grove of trees. I can’t believe I let her get away with that. I was too preoccupied with the Moraine
business … and the Irish thing … and, Lord, I know … with her good looks. Then the blast. It was all a decoy. But it worked. This is the very thing I warned Stillman and Guthrie about, and I fall for it. Guthrie almost came on this trip. What would he have done? No worse than the boss, I surmise.
The sharp heel prints of a woman’s boot were easy to spot. The shade of the trees ensured that the soil beneath them would hold the impression of each step.
In the cover of the trees, Robert followed the prints, one soft step after another. He crept over two tree-covered ridges and waded a shallow creek before he heard voices. Robert dropped to his knees and crawled behind a large stump.
“What do we do now, Mama?”
“Wait for Daddy,” the woman replied.
What was this about being a widow? A ruse, I suppose. But what kind of man sends his wife and kids to rob a train? Surely she can’t be married to one of those two that got foot-shot. She’s much too classy for them. Besides, she saw what happened to them. She’s waiting for someone else.
“What if someone tries to follow us?” a young boy quizzed. “What do we do then, Mama?”
If I wait, maybe I can catch the father as well.
“We’ll shoot ’em.”
What a lovely family.
“I don’t have any gun,” the littlest one complained.
“I’ll shoot them,” the woman promised.
Lying on his stomach, Robert inched his way over the ridge. The woman and two boys crouched in a small grove of short aspens near a dirt road.
It seemed like a half hour, but his watch showed only ten minutes until a buckboard pulled by two wide white horses rumbled down the road. Robert trained the sight of his gun on the driver, whose hat was pulled low.
The lady and the two boys ran out and waved.
“Daddy!” the oldest one shouted.
The man at the reins reached down to assist them up. His hat continued to shield his face from Robert’s stare. Lift your head up, mister. Let me get a good look.
“As you figured, they bumbled the hold-up and wrecked the wagon,” she reported, then held up a small black leather case. “But I got these!”
“Fortune didn’t get shot, did he?” The man kept his head down, but at the sound of the familiar voice, Robert slumped back into the pine needles.
Friends and Enemies Page 20