AHMM, July-August 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  * * * *

  Corey caught up with Miss Parson and Father Murphy on the platform of Rawlings Station just as they were pushing through the small crowd toward the main building.

  "I surely hope I can find a refill for my friend Jack,” Father Murphy was saying.

  "You will,” Miss Parson answered. “Just about everything can be found near the railroad."

  "I surely hope you're right, lass,” the priest replied, as he led the three into the large main room of the station house. A ticket window dominated the wall closest to the rails. One window looked out of the building onto the station platform, while a second looked into the station house. Between the windows was a narrow room that doubled as ticket office and telegraph station. Lieutenant Ridgewood and Miss Davis were already at the front of that window, with the lieutenant shouting angrily at the clerk.

  "What do you mean the line east is down?"

  Miss Davis clutched at the lieutenant's sleeve trying to calm the officer. He took no notice of her. Reaching through the window with his right hand he caught the clerk by his collar. “I lost two men in Laramie. What do you mean the line is down?"

  "It's down,” the clerk insisted.

  "Well when will it be back up again?” the lieutenant shouted.

  "There's no way to tell, sir,” the clerk explained. “It all depends on where the break is. A repair team will ride toward the break in both directions and fix it when they find it. Service could be restored in as little as an hour or as much as two or more days."

  "An hour?” the lieutenant shouted. “Two days? Oh, this is useless!” He released the clerk and whirled about in disgust. He froze when he saw Corey, Miss Parson, and Father Murphy staring at him, then stormed past them toward the train, trailing Miss Davis behind him.

  "That man is having an uncommonly bad run of luck,” Father Murphy observed as they watched the two figures depart. They did not return to the car in which they had been playing poker but went instead to check on the lieutenant's detachment. There were ten cars on the track behind the engine: a coal car, a freight car, two passenger cars, a baggage car, a third passenger car, three stock cars, and a caboose. Corey and the poker players were riding in the third passenger car. The lieutenant and Miss Davis entered the baggage car ahead of them.

  "Well, I'd best be off to find more Jack,” Father Murphy announced. “It doesn't do for a man to travel without his friend."

  Corey clapped the priest on the shoulder. “We'll find you a meal, Father."

  As the priest walked away Corey noticed that Miss Parson was still staring through the open doorway at the train. People walked in and out past her, but she ignored them. Corey tried to see what she was looking at. Perkins had gotten off the train and was crossing the platform toward them. Two of the more rugged hands were descending to the platform as they watched. People milled everywhere, but he could see nothing special about anyone.

  "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?” he asked Miss Parson.

  "I've seen that man before,” she answered. Her voice was very low, so that Corey had to strain to hear over the noise of the other people in the station. “I think it was in Tucson. We—"

  She broke off talking as Perkins's large frame filled the doorway. “Evening, Miss Parson, Callaghan,” he greeted them. “If you don't stop daydreaming you'll miss your chance to get a meal before the train leaves."

  Sully's broken nose and battered cheeks told a story. He might even have spent time in the ring.

  Miss Parson shook her head back and forth as if suddenly startled from her sleep. “Why hello, Mr. Perkins,” she responded, her voice suddenly warm and cheery. “I guess we were woolgathering. It's just that Lieutenant Ridgewood seemed so angry when he learned the telegraph lines were down. I think we may lose him from our game."

  "Is that so?” Perkins asked, his expression jovial, except in his tight, narrow eyes. “That would be a shame. It might cost us Miss Davis, too, the way she's been batting those pretty eyes at him. What do you say, Callaghan? If we lose both players can we count on you to sit in so we can keep playing?” As he spoke he clasped Corey hard on the left shoulder, squeezing the bruises there with his strong right hand. To all outward appearances, it was a gesture of good comradeship, but Corey knew that he was being tested. It was a common enough event in the world of bare-knuckle boxers, and he did not permit himself to wince. Neither would he allow himself to be bullied or intimidated.

  "I'm not much for cards,” Corey told Perkins, “but I'll think on it."

  "Good!” Perkins released Corey's shoulder and moved deeper into the station.

  Corey waited for Perkins to get a few steps away before continuing his conversation with Miss Parson. “You knew Perkins in Tucson?"

  "Not Mr. Perkins, Mr. Callaghan.” A hint of exasperation could be heard in Miss Parson's voice. “Sully, Jim Sully, the rugged-looking man with the crooked nose, sitting toward the rear of our car."

  Corey didn't point out that there were a number of rugged-looking men on the train. Instead he searched his memory until he believed he had identified the one Miss Parson was mentioning. Sully, if Corey was correct in his identification, was a hard-looking man who had clearly been in a lot of fights. His broken nose and battered cheeks told the story. He might even have spent some time in the ring.

  "So what is Sully's story,” Corey asked.

  "The usual,” Miss Parson answered, the hint of a smile on her face. “Cardsharp, liar, thief, bank robber..."

  "Oh,” Corey answered, recognizing for the first time in weeks just how much he did not know about Miss Parson.

  "Why are you worried about him now? You know I'll protect you if he tries to bother you."

  Pandora Parson's face softened for the first time in hours. She entwined her arm in Corey's and began to guide him deeper into the station. “Mr. Callaghan, you are such a gentleman. I'm not worried about myself—at least not directly. It's just that when a known gambler doesn't join a card game on a long, boring train ride, I can't help but wonder why."

  "Perhaps he was worried you know he's a cheat."

  Miss Parson laughed—not a cruel chuckle, but an honestly delighted peal of merriness. “Why Mr. Callaghan, for a boxer you are remarkably naïve. Mr. Sully doesn't care if I notice him cheating. The worst I would do is leave the game."

  "You wouldn't accuse him?"

  "Of course not, a woman plays cards on men's sufferance. If one man accuses another of cheating, there are a whole range of options available to the accused, including drawing a gun and shooting his accuser. Women complicate matters. If I accuse a man of cheating, I would expect to be dismissed from the game. You see, men have no acceptable method to challenge my accusation other than to get rid of me. No, Mr. Sully is not worried about me."

  "I see,” Corey said. “Or maybe I don't see. Why do you think Sully isn't playing?"

  "I don't know,” Miss Parson admitted, “but when I add this to Lieutenant Ridgewood's problems, it makes me wonder about Mr. Sully's other professions."

  "I see,” Corey said again, this time really understanding her concern. “Should we warn the lieutenant?"

  "Warn him of what?” Miss Parson said. “A man I think might be a thief, might be responsible for his men missing the train at Laramie, and might be planning to steal the payroll under his protection. Why would Lieutenant Ridgewood believe us?"

  "It still seems like we should try,” Corey answered.

  Miss Parson sighed. “I know it does, Mr. Callaghan. I keep reminding myself that it's really none of my business, but I'm not wholly comfortable with the decision."

  She looked about and spotted a matronly woman selling cold dinners. “Now shall we attend to our immediate concerns before we find ourselves left behind like the lieutenant's soldiers?"

  * * * *

  Corey and Miss Parson reboarded the train with two minutes to spare, their arms full of Rawlings Station's notion of an evening meal. There were hunks of bread, cold potatoes, and a
few pieces of chicken to be shared with Patrick and the priest.

  "Cold again,” Patrick noted with a grimace. “You would think that since the station has the train's schedule, it could try to cook food to be hot when the train arrives."

  His complaints did not appear to diminish his appetite.

  A soldier appeared carrying food for Lieutenant Ridgewood and Miss Davis. The lieutenant appeared calmer than he had in the station, suggesting that nothing new had been amiss in the baggage car.

  Thinking of the lieutenant's problems reminded Corey of Jim Sully, and he twisted in his seat to look about the car but saw no sign of the man. He turned back toward Miss Parson, lifting his eyebrow in query when he caught her eye. She shook her head but said nothing.

  With the hissing release of steam, the train began to roll forward. Perkins appeared in the door behind Miss Parson, almost having missed the train. Sully did not appear behind him. Perhaps Miss Parson's suspicions had been wrong.

  Perkins found his seat. He held a half-eaten leg of chicken in his right hand, and his mouth was full of unchewed meat. “Give me a moment,” he suggested, forcing the words out through the food in his mouth. “I'll be ready to play again in a minute."

  "No hurry on our account,” Miss Parson assured him, then took a far more delicate bite from a chicken breast.

  Perkins ignored her, stuffing more meat into his mouth before tossing the stripped leg onto the floor beside him. He wiped his hands on his vest and then reached for the cards.

  "I've only got a couple more stops to win my money back,” he told them. “Let's play some cards."

  * * * *

  Perkins, it appeared, should not have been in such a hurry, for when play resumed all luck seemed to flow the lieutenant's way. It began with the first hand Perkins dealt, dropping a natural full house in front of the lieutenant. Two middling hands followed that didn't amount to much as Father Murphy and Patrick took their turns dealing the cards, then Miss Davis carefully shuffled the deck and dealt out another hand. The lieutenant bid high for him—two full dollars. Miss Parson folded almost without considering her cards. Perkins stayed in the game, but Father Murphy quickly followed Miss Parson. Patrick licked his lips and matched the bet, while Miss Davis reluctantly folded.

  The lieutenant claimed two cards. Perkins tossed in his hand, and Patrick, confident in his coming victory, took two as well.

  The lieutenant looked suddenly very seriously at his hand, eyes growing wide with surprise. He looked down at his cards and bid three more dollars. Patrick foolishly matched the bet and called.

  Lieutenant Ridgewood placed four sixes on the table. Patrick threw his three eights onto the deck in a gesture of disgust.

  And that was the way it went for the next thirty minutes, with the lieutenant handily winning a third of the hands and Patrick's once large pot slowly deserting him. He was just starting to get angry when a sharp lurch shook the car and the whole motion of the train altered.

  "Did you feel that, Corey me lad?” Patrick asked.

  Corey was looking about him, the same as most of the other passengers. Something was amiss with the way they were moving forward, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong.

  Perkins began to scoop up his money, stuffing the coins into his pocket. Everyone else was listening to the sound the train made as it raced along the tracks. “Are we slowing down?” Lieutenant Ridgewood asked, rising from his chair.

  Shots rang out from somewhere up ahead of them—four or five bullets fired all in a rush.

  The lieutenant turned toward the front of the train in astonishment, clearly realizing at least part of what was happening. “My men!” he shouted and began to step toward them.

  Perkins, sitting across from the lieutenant, shoved the table hard into his retreating form. It wouldn't have been possible in a luxury car where the tables were bolted to the floor, but in this makeshift arrangement the edge of the table struck hard against the lieutenant's hip and knocked over Miss Parson as well, for good measure.

  Corey sprang to his feet, but somehow Perkins had gotten a small pistol into his hands, and he spun and whipped it against Corey's face. The boxer went down hard, momentarily blinded by the blow.

  A final shot sounded ahead of them, followed by an ominous silence.

  "We are slowing down,” Father Murphy announced. His voice sounded small and overwhelmed by the events exploding around him. “The sound of the engine is growing fainter and we're slowing down."

  On his hands and knees, struggling to clear his head, Corey could not tell if the priest was right or wrong. He blinked his eyes ferociously until the spots in them faded sufficiently to let him look for Perkins's boots.

  "Why did you hit my Corey?” Patrick was shouting.

  Perkins evidently ignored him, flipping the poker table over onto Miss Parson and moving toward the lieutenant.

  As Corey's vision finally cleared, the large man was striking the lieutenant again and again to make certain he stayed on the floor.

  The door at the front of the car opened, admitting Jim Sully. “We've got it!” he told Perkins.

  "Good!” Perkins answered him. “Now take a man and go to the horses. I want them out of the stock car and back up here as soon as these cars stop rolling. I'll hold these sheep here."

  Sully grunted and disappeared back out the door.

  Miss Parson and Patrick appeared to be unharmed. She pulled herself out from under the table into a sitting position. Patrick stood next to Father Murphy, gaping at Perkins and the chaos he was causing. The lieutenant was not so lucky. He lay on the floor where he had fallen, blood welling from injuries on the back of his scalp. “My men,” he groaned.

  "They're dead, Lieutenant.” Perkins said it flatly, just a simple bit of information. Then his voice turned cruel. “While you were enjoying yourself playing cards and flirting with the lady, my men were planning to murder yours. Should I send you to join them? Would you like to lead them in hell?"

  He pointed his pistol at the lieutenant's head but laughed and did not pull the trigger.

  He's probably only got six shots, Corey realized, and he has to be worried that some of the men in this car are armed. This wasn't the East, after all. A lot of men in the West carried guns.

  Corey slid his feet beneath him and prepared to stand up.

  "I wouldn't do that, Callaghan.” Perkins waved the gun toward him. “I prefer you on the ground."

  The door opened behind him, and Sully and a second man pushed past Perkins. “We're coasting uphill,” Sully announced, as if it was news.

  Perkins cursed.

  "Can't be helped,” Sully said. “It's all hills out here. We'll roll back downhill aways, but I don't think it's steep enough to make us jump the tracks."

  Perkins cursed again and Sully grinned. He started down the length of the car but stopped almost immediately and tipped his hat toward Miss Parson. She glowered at him, making his grin grow broader.

  Sully and his man crossed the length of the car and disappeared through the back entrance.

  Silence filled the car as its passengers listened to the engineless train grind to a halt as it coasted up the hill.

  The silence was broken by Father Murphy's female adversary. In the wake of Sully and his man passing to the rear of the car, the old woman had made her way up to the front until she stood, quivering with anger, in front of Ted Perkins. She pointed a finger at the large man. “You scoundrel!” she spat at him. “I warned you that you were about the devil's work!"

  Perkins mockingly doffed his hat. “And you were correct, madam. Now why don't you return to your seat before I add another case of assault to my sins."

  The old woman stood her ground, and Corey finished getting to his feet. Perkins immediately pointed the gun directly at him. “I told you, Callaghan, I prefer you on the floor. Now take a dive!"

  Patrick lurched forward, sudden fury written plainly across his face. “My lad never takes a dive!"

 
; Perkins started bringing the gun to bear on Patrick, but the old woman shoved hard at his gun arm. The result almost got Corey killed, but the prematurely fired bullet passed somewhere between him and Father Murphy and through a window of the car.

  Corey surged forward before Perkins could fire again, but in the small, confined space Patrick's lead was sufficient to let the old man get there ahead of him. In his prime Patrick O'Sullivan must have been a force to be reckoned with. He was shorter than Perkins, smaller of build and easily twenty years older, but the man who had taught Corey how to fight proved that he could still handle himself in a brawl. He slipped in next to the old woman, and his right fist shot out twice into Perkins's chin. The gambler's head was flung up, and he took a heavy step backward.

  Patrick turned his attention to Perkins's stomach, hammering blows against it with impressive speed and form. Corey arrived beside him, scrambling to grab hold of Perkins's gun hand and shove the muzzle of the weapon up toward the ceiling while also striving not to knock the old woman down.

  Perkins roared with anger. His meaty left hand swung around and knocked Patrick into Corey's bruised ribs. In the narrow confines of the bouncing railcar, Corey lost his balance, and while he did not fall, he lost his grip on Perkins's weapon. The gambler started to bring the weapon to bear on the two boxers, but Lieutenant Ridgewood surged to his feet beside Perkins, forcing him to reassess the odds against him. Evidently, three angry men in close quarters were more than he wanted to face, even with the pistol to balance the odds. Perkins took a quick step back, fumbled with the latch on the railcar door, and was out of the interior and crossing to the baggage car before his opponents could react to his retreat.

  Patrick was still quivering with rage. “Imagine that! Thinking you would take a dive!"

  "He was pointing a gun at me, Patrick! And we're not in the ring! It's hardly the same thing."

  Corey shot out a hand and grabbed hold of the lieutenant's arm as the officer started to follow Perkins into the space between the cars. The lieutenant rounded furiously on Corey, and the boxer held his hands up in surrender. “I guess I don't really care what you do, Lieutenant,” he said, “but do you really want to charge after him? He's still armed."