It was true. The lieutenant, thanks to a couple of decent hands, was mostly breaking even.
"I can keep my spirits up too,” Father Murphy observed. He hefted his bottle of whiskey and took a swig.
Patrick laughed in delight. “Look at all this, Corey me lad. If I had any sense, I'd quit now and we'd live off my winnings while you heal."
"That would hardly be sporting,” Perkins protested. “You have to give us a chance to win back our money."
"Don't worry, Mr. Perkins,” Corey assured him. “Patrick never has had any sense."
"Twelve minutes,” called the conductor. “The train departs in twelve minutes whether or not all of you passengers are back on board."
Steel wheels locked and screeched against the rails as the conductor spoke, grinding to a halt in Laramie Station.
Lieutenant Ridgewood got to his feet. “If we could take a short break, ladies, gentlemen, despite our conductor's warning I feel I should check on my men."
"So you're not traveling alone then, Lieutenant?” Father Murphy asked.
"No, sir,” the lieutenant answered. “I'm taking six men to join the garrison at Fort Bridger. Now I don't mean to be rude, but I want to be back before the train starts rolling. While I could step between the moving cars, I much prefer to walk beside them when the ground is still."
The lieutenant collected his stake and left the table, moving toward the front of the car. Father Murphy stood as he departed. “I think the lieutenant has the right of it. We should all take advantage of this stop to stretch our legs. Shall we adjourn until the train is moving again?"
The priest scooped his stake and whiskey into his carpetbag. The other players pushed their chairs back from the table. Corey stood with them, carefully stretching the bruised muscles of his ribs, shoulders, and neck.
"Can't say as I'd mind a chance to walk about,” Perkins admitted. He followed Father Murphy toward the exit in the front of the car.
Corey took a step toward Miss Parson.
"Oh, Mr. Callaghan,” Miss Davis asked. “Would you help me with this bag? I just don't know what to do with it if I'm to get off this train and get some air.” She came around the table past Miss Parson and touched Corey's arm.
"Well I...” Corey wasn't sure how to respond to this request but quickly realized that whatever he should have done, he had chosen wrong when Miss Parson whirled about and stalked from the car.
Patrick chuckled with delight. “That's the way, Corey me lad. Just keep up the smooth patter, and I'll have you ready to train again in no time."
Miss Davis looked from Corey to Patrick and back again as if she couldn't quite understand what the old man was saying.
"Don't let him worry you,” Corey reassured her. “The old fool's just down and determined to make certain I regret my efforts to pull him out of trouble in Cheyenne."
Patrick continued to laugh.
* * * *
When Corey got back on the train, following Miss Davis with her bag, he found most of the players had preceded them. Patrick, Miss Parson, Lieutenant Ridgewood, and Father Murphy were already in their seats. Miss Parson would not meet Corey's eyes as he dutifully helped Miss Davis into her chair. Annoyed, he ignored her in return and began to round the table to recover his seat.
He stopped.
The noisy old woman with the Bible had relocated herself during the station stop and now occupied Corey's place. Her mousy-looking son and daughter filled the rest of the bench beside her.
Corey took a moment to consider the situation. It was awkward, to say the least. He had no doubt that nothing shy of physical force would move the woman now that she was sitting where she wanted to be. The smug expression on her hard face was proof of that. And whatever the perceived provocation, Corey could never lay hands on her to claim his place. Her mousy son, however, was another matter entirely. He was a few years older than Corey but seemed to shrink in on himself as he suffered the boxer's gaze. He could be moved without a problem.
"Aye,” Father Murphy observed. The three intruders were sitting directly behind him, which couldn't be making him happy. “I'm sure that you could force him up if you wanted to, lad. You could probably throw him off the train and no one would care a whit. But before you do, you might ask yourself if you really want to earn a place sitting beside the Devil's handmaid."
It took a moment for the insult to penetrate the woman's aura of smug victory, but when it did, her expression of triumph froze unnaturally upon her face. Then the grin cracked and transformed into an angry, disbelieving scowl. “Devil's handmaid?” Her voice at first lacked force, as if she couldn't quite believe what the priest had called her. But then she recovered herself, and her growing fury added volume to her words. “Devil's handmaid? You despicable, drunken heathen—"
Father Murphy appeared not to recognize that he had crossed a line of propriety with his comment. Undeterred by the woman's anger, he offered another observation. “Sure enough, how else do you explain your crushing need to sit closer to me? And me being a man of the cloth?"
The woman stood and pointed a shaking finger at the priest and the table behind him. “A pox on all of you sinners!” she cursed. Then, white faced with fury, she gathered up her skirts and stormed off down the aisle to sit farther back in the railcar. The train gave a lurch as she found her seat, and began to roll forward. The woman's son and daughter looked at each other as if silently asking what they should do. Then they rose in unison and, heads bowed, hurried to rejoin their mother.
Father Murphy sighed. “Now then, Mr. Callaghan, why don't you take your seat so I won't have that harpy breathing down my neck again.” He appeared to notice for the first time the shocked expressions of the other players. “I'm sorry gentlemen, ladies, that was unpardonably rude of me, but I can only think of two reasons a woman like that would want to sit behind me in a poker game, and that is either to mess with my spirits,” he lifted Jack to his lips and drank, “or to spoil my game. I just couldn't play with her sitting behind me."
"I think that you can add a third reason in the future,” Perkins said. He had evidently arrived to stand behind Corey during the altercation between the priest and the lady. Now he took his seat at the table.
"And that would be?” Father Murphy asked.
"To push a knife into your back,” Perkins laughed.
The twinkle returned to Father Murphy's eyes. “And deserving it I would be,” he agreed.
* * * *
A sergeant in blue cavalry uniform approached Lieutenant Ridgewood a few minutes later and bent to whisper in his ear. Corey could not make out the man's words, but the lieutenant's face immediately grew grave with concern. When the sergeant finished speaking, the lieutenant got to his feet. “If you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I have to attend to this.” Without waiting for their response, he departed the table toward the front of the train.
A brief silence followed his departure, which was only broken when Perkins began shuffling the deck. “I guess we can play a few hands without the military,” he suggested.
"Just where did he run off to?” Patrick asked. “I couldn't hear what the soldier boy had to say. Could you hear, Miss Parson?"
Miss Parson frowned at Patrick's suggestion. Clearly if she had eavesdropped she was not about to admit to it in public.
Miss Davis had no such inhibitions. “Why, he said that two of the lieutenant's men didn't get back on the train at the stop in Laramie. Don't they call that desertion?"
"I would be doubting it's desertion, lass,” Father Murphy corrected her. “It's far more likely that for some reason they just couldn't get back on the train. They're probably back in Laramie right now worrying about how they will explain this to the lieutenant when they catch up to him."
"Father Murphy is right,” Perkins agreed. “When we arrive in Rawlings there will be a telegram waiting for the lieutenant telling him his men will be on the next train."
"Wonder why the soldiers aren't in this car with the
lieutenant,” Patrick asked.
"I expect that they are guarding something,” Father Murphy answered. “If the lieutenant had gone toward the back of the train, I'd say they were with the horses. But he went toward the front so it's my guess they're in the baggage car."
"I didn't know people could ride in the baggage car,” Miss Davis said.
"They can when they're soldiers with something to guard,” Father Murphy replied.
"Patrick rubbed his hands together with glee. “Must be something valuable. Maybe an army payroll. There could be a fortune in that car up ahead of us."
"It can't be much more than you've already won, Mr. O'Sullivan,” Miss Parson exaggerated. “Mr. Perkins, why don't you deal the cards and give us a chance to win some of our money back?"
* * * *
When Lieutenant Ridgewood returned, Miss Parson had just won her first hand of the day. It was a modest change in a weeklong run of abysmal luck, so she was pleased but not excited by her play.
Patrick, who had not won a hand since the lieutenant left, brightened noticeably when the soldier reappeared in front of the table. “Good to see you, Lieutenant. Hope you got that payroll locked up again. I didn't like you leaving. You took all my luck with you."
Lieutenant Ridgewood stood frozen halfway down to his seat. “What did you say?"
His voice was sharp, commanding, almost angry, and Patrick stopped smiling. A look halfway between surprise and concern covered his face. “I said I'm luckier when you're sitting here playing."
"No, I mean before that! What did you say?"
"I think,” Father Murphy suggested, “that O'Sullivan here is guilty of listening to table gossip. We've been speculating that your men are guarding an army payroll. I guess from your reaction we are right?"
The lieutenant let himself sink the rest of the way into his seat. “I see.” He fumbled with the coins that compiled his stake, arranging them in neat orderly piles, which would not long survive the train's vibrations as it raced along the rails. “I would thank you gentlemen, ladies, not to interest yourselves in military matters."
Miss Davis leaned close to the lieutenant and placed her hand upon his arm. “Surely it cannot hurt for us to know what you are escorting."
The lieutenant visibly controlled his anger at this contradiction of his wishes. He forced himself to smile and laid his hand atop Miss Davis's. “Of course it wouldn't. Anyone who saw my men carrying the pay chest on board knows what we are escorting. I simply prefer not to discuss the matter in public."
"Quite sensible,” Perkins agreed as he gathered the cards together and began to shuffle. “I'm just glad you're still able to play with us. How many men got left behind in Rawlings?"
The pretense of calm good humor fled the lieutenant's face as his eyes snapped away from Miss Davis to lock upon Perkins. The anger evident in that stare did not disconcert Perkins at all. He began to deal the cards, and Corey, with a fighter's instincts and peripheral vision, found his attention suddenly pulled away from the lieutenant and Perkins to the rest of the table.
Father Murphy's back was mostly to him, but from the positioning of his head Corey believed he was looking directly at the lieutenant. Patrick was mostly doing the same, shifting his attention between the lieutenant and Perkins. Miss Davis was also staring at the lieutenant, and with an expression much harder than her fawning words would seem to indicate. But Miss Parson was looking at neither man. Her gaze was directed back into the train behind Corey, and she had a most thoughtful expression etched upon her face.
It was over in an instant. Miss Parson masked her features and pushed her attention down to the cards she was gathering automatically in her hands. It was over in an instant, but Corey could not shake the feeling of urgency her expression invoked in him. Thoughtful described it, but not fully. Her face had also expressed a significant twinge of concern.
Twisting in his seat so that he could lean back against the wall of the railcar, Corey looked back over his shoulder toward the back of the car. He could feel the wall vibrating rhythmically against his shoulder blades. The lieutenant was reluctantly answering Perkins as Corey examined the faces behind him.
"I lost two men. Somehow they didn't make it back on the train at the stop in Laramie."
There was the old woman and her family, of course, and a handful of men in suits, each evidently traveling alone. There was also a younger family with three small children and more than a half dozen rugged-looking trailhands scattered across the length of the car. No single passenger attracted his attention. No single passenger seemed to justify Miss Parson's concern. Perhaps Corey had misread her expression and she was merely annoyed with Perkins for aggravating the lieutenant. She seemed to like the officer, but somehow that didn't seem explanation enough for the boxer.
"I suspect you'll find a telegram waiting for you in Rawlings or Green River,” Perkins was saying. “They'll be on the next train desperate to catch up with you before you reach your new posting. Where did you say you were headed again?"
"Fort Bridger,” the lieutenant answered, forcing the words through gritted teeth.
Perkins continued talking as if he was unaware of the lieutenant's growing anger, but Corey's instincts told him he was baiting the man. “Bridger? Isn't that in Utah among the Saints?"
"Near enough,” the lieutenant answered. He took a deep breath, put the palms of both hands flat upon the table, and began to push himself to his feet. “If you'll excuse me?"
"Now look what you've done, Mr. Perkins,” Miss Davis complained. “The lieutenant made a simple request of us, and yet you insist on continuing to stick your nose into his business. Lieutenant Ridgewood, please stay and keep playing. We will all promise not to ask you anything else about forts or payrolls or missing soldiers for the rest of the journey. Please stay."
The plea was the most sincere appeal Corey had heard in a long time, and it wasn't hurt by the way Miss Davis was staring up into the lieutenant's face and batting her eyes. He didn't see how the man could refuse her request. The lieutenant clearly agreed with Corey's silent assessment. He sat down again and faced the men at the table. “I would greatly appreciate it, gentlemen, if we could find another topic for our conversation."
"Fair enough,” Perkins agreed.
"Anything to keep you here,” Patrick announced. “You see, you're lucky for me. And that's a quality I quite admire in a card player."
Corey rolled his eyes. The worst part was that Patrick probably thought he was pleasantly changing the topic of conversation.
"So tell me, Lieutenant Ridgewood,” Father Murphy lifted his voice to be sure it carried beyond the table to the rest of the car where many of the passengers had been listening to the exchange. “I wouldn't be wanting to pry further into your business, but I must confess that I'm bursting with curiosity about something. And unless I miss my guess, I'm not the only one to wonder.” He indulged in a dramatic pause as his fellow players wondered if he was about to drive the lieutenant away from the game after all. “So tell me, Lieutenant Ridgewood, on your honor as an officer and a gentleman speaking to a man of the cloth—” The priest gave a meaningful nod toward Miss Davis. “—are you married?"
Even Miss Parson smiled.
* * * *
Conversation naturally dwindled as the poker game heated up again. Lady Luck had definitely deserted Patrick, but she hadn't settled fully on a new favorite. Lieutenant Ridgewood won the first hand, followed by Miss Parson, who beat Perkins out of a hard fought, high stakes pot with three jacks to his three nines. Then it was Father Murphy's turn, followed by the lieutenant again. And so it went with every player sharing in the winnings, and only the lieutenant clearly stretching ahead.
At Rawlings, as he had in Laramie, the lieutenant excused himself to check on his men and presumably to inquire about a telegram. As he left the table, Miss Davis caught at the lieutenant's hand. “Would it be possible, Lieutenant Ridgewood, for me to accompany you while you review your men?"
/> The lieutenant frowned while he considered the request. Corey thought he would refuse the young woman, but clearly Miss Davis's charms overpowered the officer's initial instincts. Lieutenant Ridgewood bowed formally. “It would be my pleasure.” Offering Miss Davis his arm, he escorted her from the car.
Corey stood as well. “Hungry, Miss Parson? Patrick?"
"Oh, so you notice me again, do you, Mr. Callaghan?"
Corey eyed Miss Parson cautiously, recognizing a dangerous mood but not actually feeling responsible for her temper. “Always,” he offered tentatively before trying to change the subject. “It should be possible to get some food here if you'd like me to."
"I, for one, would be grateful of it, lad,” Father Murphy announced. “I know you didn't offer, but I'd appreciate it if you'd help me out."
"Of course, Father,” Corey agreed.
The priest stood up. “It's not that I don't plan to get off the train,” he explained. “It's just that Jack here,” he indicated his bottle of whiskey, “is starting to look thirsty, and I need to see about filling him back up."
The priest stepped past Perkins and stopped next to Miss Parson. “Now don't be too hard on him, lass. That little Miss Davis is after playing games just like that old harpy."
Miss Parson started to reply, but her eye caught sight of something in the back of the car and she noticeably hesitated. Recovering herself, she forced a smile as she turned toward the priest. “Perhaps you're right, Father,” she agreed. “But let's get off the train while we talk about it.” She intertwined her arm with Father Murphy's and escorted him toward the front of the car.
Looking over her shoulder, Miss Parson called back to Patrick. “Would you remain here with our things, Mr. O'Sullivan?” Without waiting for an answer she called out to Corey. “Coming, Mr. Callaghan?” Then she and the priest were through the door.
"If that don't beat all,” Patrick said. “You invite a woman to travel with you, and the next thing you know she's giving you orders."
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