Rose

by Jill Marie Landis

  “Reception?”

  “A party. A fiesta.” He used one of the few Spanish words he knew.

  “Ah. Festa.”

  “Do you think it is possible, a priest?”

  He could not resist teasing her. “What’s a possible priest?”

  She poked him in the ribs with an elbow. “Is a priest in Cheyenne? Is possible he can marry us?”

  “I don’t see why not. I’ll go into Cheyenne and find out tomorrow.”

  She shook her head in protest. “Not tomorrow. You will stay with me tomorrow. For now I keep you with me.”

  “Fine with me. I’ll be in your custody as long as you like, but I don’t want to wait too long.” Determined not to harm Rosa’s reputation, Kase put off thinking about their living arrangements. She would face enough change once they were married. He prayed silently that he was doing the right thing.

  They fell silent, each lost in thought. Rosa hoped she would meet his family’s approval far more than she had Giovanni’s. Kase knew how proud and happy his mother would be to meet the woman he had finally chosen for his wife.

  “I’m going back to my room now.” He sighed regretfully and gave her a final parting kiss, one he hoped would leave her thinking of him all day long. “I’ll see you downstairs at breakfast.”

  It was near noon, but still so cold in the marshal’s office that Kase had his coat on. He added more wood to the cast-iron stove in the corner before he returned to his desk. The usual disheveled pile of newspapers and notices had been sorted into neat stacks or tossed into the stove until the desktop had taken on an entirely new appearance. His pen and inkwell had made acquaintance with each other after months of separation amid the clutter. Kase sealed the letter he had just written to his family and looked up when Zach Elliot entered the office.

  “It’s about time you showed up.” Kase looked down at the letter in his hands.

  “I didn’t know I was ‘sposed to be here at any given time.” Zach sauntered toward the stove and rested his foot on its nickeled footrail.

  “Where you been?” Kase asked, trying to hide his excitement. He had expected Zach to be in the office when he arrived; Kase wanted him to be the first to know that Rosa had agreed to marry him.

  “I been out tryin’ to stay warm in this godforsaken hole. Where you been?”

  “I spent the night at Quentin’s.”

  Zach arched a brow. “Oh? And the widow?”

  Kase shrugged. “It started snowing and Quentin insisted we both stay on.”

  “Didn’t think she was even gonna get in the rig with me yesterday. I expected her to hightail it out o’ there the minute she laid eyes on you. Now I owe O’Hallohan two bits.”

  “You should know better than to bet against a sure thing.”

  Zach scratched at his stubbled beard. “You’re sure a mite more confident today than you was yesterday.” He pointed to the neat arrangement of papers on the desktop. “What’s the occasion?”

  Kase smiled. “It’s not every day a man gets engaged.”

  “Congratulations.” Zach spit into the wastebasket. Straight-faced, he asked, “To who?”

  “Who do you think?” Kase countered with a teasing twist to his smile.

  “Hell, then, I just lost another two bits.” Zach smiled despite the outcome of his gambling.

  “Paddie again?”

  “Naw, Floss this time.”

  “You should know better than—”

  “—to bet on a sure thing,” Zach finished for him. He crossed the room and formally offered Kase his hand. “Congratulations again, boy. I wish you years of happiness. By the way, I saw your bride-to-be headin’ for the depot a few minutes back. She appeared to be a woman with a purpose.”

  “The depot?”

  “Yeah, bundled up to the eyeballs with a head scarf under her hat and a coat, but I could tell it was her just the same.”

  Kase stood, set his letter aside, and stretched. He smoothed the pleated front of his blue madras shirt and adjusted the collar, then brushed back his hair with the palm of his hand. The room was getting warmer. He crossed to the coat hook intent on shedding his jacket when Zach said, “Here comes Tuttle, tearin’ up the street in an all-fired hurry. Ain’t even got on a coat.”

  Kase glanced out the window at the harried ticket agent and met him at the door. John Tuttle entered the office at a run and sputtered to a halt, wheezing and gasping for air. His wild eyes looked like two beacons in the gray pallor of his skin.

  “Marshal, you gotta come quick, there’s trouble on the train.”

  Kase strapped on his gun belt as Zach snapped to attention across the room. “Calm down, John. What’s happening?”

  Gasping for breath between sentences, Tuttle began to explain. “It’s the Dawsons. They’re here again arid they’re on the train. Took it over a few miles back and rode it on in. When the engineer refused to go on, they shot him. Threw him out on the platform right in front of me.”

  Kase grabbed a rifle from the gun rack and charged out the door. Zach, equally well armed, followed close behind the two men.

  “I never saw anything like it, Marshal. Never.” John Tuttle talked incessantly as the three hurried along Main Street.

  “How many men?”

  “I don’t know.” Tuttle shook his head. “Seems like I saw rifle barrels aimin’ out of every window.”

  “What do they want, did they say?”

  “Yeah. Somehow they must have found out this is the least crowded run out of Cheyenne, but it carries the railroad payroll. They want another engineer, demand to be taken as far as Denver. Somewhere before Denver they want horses waitin’ for them and a clear shot to the south. They wanted me to telegraph Cheyenne for another engineer, but the lines are down, have been since the snow last night. I thought I was gonna take a bullet when I told ‘em. They didn’t believe it. Then the ornery one got off—the one that’s been here before— and checked the telegraph key. Finally he believed me. That’s when he rounded up the folks they were holdin’ on the platform and put them aboard, too.”

  Zach cut in immediately. “What folks on the platform?”

  “The ones waitin’ on the three o’clock.”

  Kase halted in mid-stride and grabbed John Tuttle by the front of his shirt. The small man dangled in Kase’s grip, his toes scraping the ground.

  “What people on the platform?” Cold, spine-chilling fear crawled down Kase’s backbone and then up again until he felt the hair stand up at the nape of his neck.

  John Tuttle tried to swallow, but Kase’s desperate hold was cutting into his windpipe. “A couple of cowhands headin’ east and”—Tuttle’s eyes bulged—“Miss Rosa.” He gasped out her name.

  Kase let go and John Tuttle crumpled to the snow-covered street. Zach pulled him up and dragged him along as they hurried toward the station.

  By the time they had traveled the length of Main Street, Paddie O’Hallohan and Slick Knox were right behind them, armed and ready to face whatever had the other three men on the move.

  “What in the hell was Rose doing here?” Kase rounded on the helpless agent when they finally reached the shelter of the station.

  Tuttle ran a shaking hand across his eyes and shrugged. “She had a special shipment of wine comin’ in—been waitin’ on it for days—and today of all days she comes to see if it’s on the three o’clock. They rounded her up with the rest. Lord, Marshal, there was nothin’ I could do.”

  Kase looked past the man, studying what he could see of the stranded train. His temper had simmered to a steady boil. His major concern now was to get Rosa and the rest of the hostages off the train. Then he would deal with the Dawsons. “What can you tell me about this train, John?”

  “Things could be worse. Not that many cars on this run, not even a first-class coach. Couple of freight cars, two day coaches, the caboose. That’s why it’s the gold run. No fuss, no bother. They put out a dummy train all armed and guarded that’s supposed to handle the Denver pa
yroll.”

  “But if you know that, so do a lot of other people.”

  Tuttle nodded. “I guess so.”

  “How many of the gang are on board?”

  “I think they have a man on each car.”

  “Any way of uncoupling the engine from the rest?”

  John shook his head. “Not from here. With the lines down there’s no way to signal ahead to the dispatcher. We could have a real problem ‘long about dark. No way to warn off the six o’clock.”

  Kase turned to Zach. “Get down to Al-Ray’s and have Ray ride into Cheyenne on the fastest horse Decatur has in his stable. Have him warn them at the depot that our lines are down and that we’ve got a train standing here at the station. Tell him to bring back an engineer and as many men as the marshal can spare. If they come by train, be sure they stop far enough away to be out ofsight of town. Have Ray send his oldest boy to Mountain Shadows. Tell him to have Quentinround up his best shots and get down here.”

  “Right.” Zach was off and running, one hand holding his hat on.

  “What other crewmen are on the train?” Kase asked Tuttle.

  “Couple o’ brakemen, a fireman, the conductor. One of the brakemen tried to jump off the top of the car, but a gunman signaled him back.”

  “Are the railroad men armed?”

  “I don’t know. Might have been a rifle up in the engine. Could be the reason the engineer’s dead now.”

  “Damn.” Kase shook his head as he stared at the train. There had to be a way to get aboard without any of the gunmen being aware of the intrusion. If there was no way in, he would have to find a way to get everyone out.

  He refused to let himself think of Rose. It was the only way he could suppress the rage coupled with fear that roiled inside him. He pulled out his watch and checked the time, then flicked the piece closed. Three-thirty.

  “Tell me again exactly what they wanted you to do.” Kase spoke to John Tuttle in hushed tones as the men crouched behind the station.

  “They told me to come get you. To tell you they were demanding another engineer and they wanted horses left for them just outside of Denver.”

  “Wait here.”

  John Tuttle was happy to oblige as Kase laid his rifle on the ground and stepped out from behind the building. He held his hands high, in plain sight of anyone on the train.

  “Bart Dawson!” he called out. “Dawson, I’m the marshal here. What do you want?”

  A shot rang out and Kase lunged behind the building. “Damn!” he said again.

  “What I want,” Dawson called out, “is your hide; You’re the one that killed my brother, ain’tcha, Marshal ‘Breed?”

  “That’s right,” Kase yelled back. “If I’m the one you want, why don’t you come on down off the train and we’ll settle this between us.”

  “Not on your life,” Bart sneered back. “ ’Sides, I brought the rest o’ the boys with me. I don’t think even you can stand up to all of us, Marshal.”

  “All of you?”

  “Yeah. All of us. I got five good men ridin’ with me now.”

  Kase turned to John Tuttle, who was squatting on the ground with his hands over his ears. “There’s six of them,” Kase whispered, then looked over his shoulder. Zach was running back up the street. Paddie and Slick Knox remained silent, willing to let Kase handle the situation.

  “Hey, Marshal,” Bart Dawson called out again. “What you gonna do about gettin’ us an engineer?”

  Kase looked at a huffing, puffing Zach who nodded confirmation; then he shouted back, “We sent to Cheyenne. It’ll take some time. Why don’t you let the women and children off?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Shit!” Zach cursed and spit. Slick Knox reached down and pulled a shivering John Tuttle to his feet. Paddie was sweating despite the cold.

  “What are we going to do?” Zach wanted to know. “You got any bright ideas?”

  “Until one of us can come up with something, we’ll wait for the engineer and reinforcements.” A muscle jumped along Kase’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. He wanted to call out to Rose, to tell her not to panic, that he’d see her to safety, but he knew that drawing attention to her would only put her in greater jeopardy. There were two things he could do now: hope the engineer from Cheyenne arrived soon, and pray that Bart Dawson would keep his hands off Rose.

  Somewhere behind her, the only other woman aboard whimpered softly. Rosa tried to turn around to see.

  “Eyes forward, little lady.” The guard who paced the aisle swung his rifle in her direction, and Rosa immediately cast her eyes to the floor and turned around.

  There were no more than half a dozen passengers in the railroad car, all of them male except the woman who continued to sob. Rosa had recognized Bart Dawson when he stepped out onto the platform to round her up along with the two men waiting to board the train, and although she had donned a shawl and wrapped it about her head and shoulders before she put on her hat, he immediately recognized her. Dawson had grabbed her upper arm and personally dragged her aboard the railroad car. Once they were inside, he thrust Rosa into a seat and warned her with a scowl that she had to stay put or else.

  “You’re the bitch that got Bert killed, but don’t think I’m as stupid as he was,” he warned. Bart Dawson leaned close to her and Rosa tried to turn her head, but he grasped her chin and forced her to look at his face. “Don’t think you’ll be gettin’ off easy, either. You’re one of my aces in the hole, and I plan to play you. And jest ‘cause you’re a woman don’t mean I won’t kill ya.” He gave her a last hard look and then stalked away.

  The guard assigned to the coach was unfamiliar to her, and she suspected he was not a Dawson; he was much shorter and darker than the two men who had been in her restaurant.

  The other hostages, a varied lot, were herded together in the forward passenger car. Two young cowboys who had been waiting on the platform with Rosa had been forced to turn over their weapons and leave their belongings outside. They complied willingly with their captors’ demands, but not the railroad men, who showed their anger by arguing and scowling. After many threats and much shouting, they, too, had complied with the gang and were seated separately in the passenger car.

  The wood-paneled day car held only two other passengers— a man and the crying woman whom Rosa had spared only a cursory glance after the guard warned her to keep her eyes to herself.

  She tried to see out the window, but it was fogged. A few moments before, she had heard Kase call out to Bart Dawson and heard the answering gunshots. Her hands were balled in her lap, her fingers intertwined as she tried to still their trembling. It seemed an eternity before she heard Kase’s voice again and was able to breathe freely.

  Prayer was an alternative to her fright. Prayer and silence. She closed her eyes and tried hard to imagine what it would feel like when she stepped off the train into Kase Storm’s arms.

  A woman’s cry for help shattered the vision Rosa had conjured. The lady who had been crying was now frantic. “My husband needs help!”

  Rosa was afraid to turn around again, but as the guard moved to the back of the car, she chanced a peek over her shoulder. The woman, who was well dressed and sporting a stylish hat, was fanning her husband, who had slumped against her. His face was mottled; his hands furiously clutched at his collar.

  “Please help him,” the woman cried out again.

  A railroad man in overalls stood up.

  The uniformed conductor swore.

  The guard fired the gun toward the ceiling. The sound of the shot reverberated through the close confines of the coach. Rosa pressed her hands over her ears.

  “Everybody stay put,” the guard warned. His eyes narrowed until they were barely visible beneath the brim of his hat. “I ain’t fallin’ for no tricks.”

  The rear door of the car burst open and a second gunman entered. “What’s goin’ on?”

  The first man pointed his rifle barrel at the now gasping, obviously ailing p
assenger. “Could be a trick.”

  “It’s no trick,” the now frantic woman stood and pleaded. “My husband has a bad heart.”

  “It don’t look like it’s gettin’ no better,” the second gunman said as the sick man slumped forward and fell against the seat in front of him. The woman screamed.

  The first guard unceremoniously shoved her aside and threw the unconscious passenger back against the seat. He felt the man’s neck, searching for a pulse. From the look of satisfaction on the gunman’s face, Rosa knew there was no response.

  “He’s dead,” the man announced to the second guard.

  The woman began to sob. Rosa longed to comfort her, but fear held her immobile.

  When Bart Dawson came through the door, Rosa pulled her shawl farther forward and listened intently, trying to understand the men’s conversation.

  “What in the hell was you shootin’ at?” Dawson demanded.

  The guard smiled sadistically. “Just keepin’ everybody in their places. We got a dead one here, boss.” He swung his gun barrel back toward the body. “Seems he couldn’t take the excitement.”

  Dawson stared at the dead man for a while; then he smiled. “Drag him out of there. I’ve got an idea.”

  The guard obeyed. Rosa watched while Dawson began to pace the aisle. “We got ‘em on the run. The marshal said he’s sent to Cheyenne for an engineer. I don’t want them pullin’ anything on us.”

  “You got the lookouts on top?”

  “Yeah, two. Tim’s gettin’ nervous, though.”

  The second guard looked around the car. “I ain’t feelin’ none too easy about this, either.”

  Dawson grunted a noncommittal reply, then turned back to the first guard. “Shut her up,” he growled, indicating the still sobbing woman. Obeying orders, the guard walked back to where the woman stood and stared at her for a moment before he reached out and backhanded her into unconsciousness.

  Rosa felt the bile rise in her throat. She choked it down.

  Dawson opened a window and bellowed out one word. “Marshal!”

  Rosa held her breath and waited for Kase to answer.