Rose

by Jill Marie Landis

  “I’m still here, Dawson,” Kase called back.

  Moments before, when the sound of a gunshot rent the air, Kase had been hard put to keep from rushing the train. Now, as he waited for Dawson to respond to his shout, he glanced at the men beside him. Zach chewed his tobacco as he stared off in the direction of Cheyenne. His face an emotionless mask, he held his rifle at the ready. As smooth and unruffled as he was when he held a winning hand, Slick Knox worked a toothpick between his teeth. The stout Irish barkeep was sweating profusely, his thick neck creased by the starched celluloid collar that seemed to have grown tighter in the last few moments. John Tuttle, wearing a jacket one of the men had loaned him, looked about to vomit onto the slush at their feet.

  Kase knew he could count on Zach. As for the others, he was afraid to hazard a guess as to how they might react in a crisis. Even as Kase measured the men’s worth, Bart Dawson’s voice drew his attention.

  “We’re sick of waitin’, Marshal.”

  “It’ll take time to get an engineer out here from Cheyenne.” Kase’s even tone belied the nervous tension that was eating at him. “We’re working on it.”

  “You damn well better be,” Dawson warned.

  Kase tensed when he heard a woman on the train scream. He felt Zach step closer. The scout put a restraining hand on his shoulder. When two more shots rang out, Zach’s fingers bit into Kase.

  The sound of a hollow thud alerted them to movement on the platform. Kase shook off Zach’s hold and stepped forward, careful to keep close to the station wall. Slowly, carefully, he looked around the corner of the building and saw a man’s body sprawled lifeless on the wood-plank loading dock beside the train. A vibrant bloodstain bloomed across the man’s shirt-front, the crimson a shock of color against the brown tweed of the dead man’s suit.

  “That’s just a warning, Marshal. If you don’t want more dead men littering your station, you best hurry it up.”

  “Dammit, Dawson,” Kase called out, “it’s going to take some time!”

  “Yeah? Well, jest be sure you ain’t usin’ the time to get any big ideas about comin’ in after us. We won’t stop to think about puttin’ the rest of these folks outta their misery.”

  Hard-pressed to contain his outrage, Kase did not deign to reply. He motioned Zach forward. The scout stared at the fallen man as he whispered to Kase, “We can wait ‘em out. Try and stall ‘em for a few hours, but Dawson sounds as jumpy as a flea on a dead dog.”

  “No way I’m putting an engineer on that train,” Kase affirmed. “No way in hell.”

  “You may not have to worry about it. If the folks that run the line come in from Cheyenne, you may not have a say.” Zach looked out toward the horizon. “With the sky as gray as it is, there ain’t more’n a few hours of good daylight left. If we could hold off till dark—”

  “We’d stand a better chance of boarding,” Kase finished for him.

  “Jest what I was thinkin’.”

  “Think it can be done?” Kase asked, his eyes searching the frosted windows for any sign of Rose.

  “Anythin’ can be done if you put your mind to it.” Zach spit an amber stream of tobacco across the slush-coated ground.

  “Keep reminding me.”

  When Bart Dawson and his henchman dragged the lifeless man’s body down the aisle past her, Rosa started shaking. When they fired two shots into the body and shoved it out of the car, she was certain her tremors would never cease. Now, three hours later, she discovered that all visible trembling had subsided, but not her overwhelming fear of the men who held her hostage. Rosa was certain of one thing; she was enough of a coward to do anything the men asked. For that reason, she thanked God they had not paid any more attention to her. As the afternoon passed, Bart Dawson had been too preoccupied with his plans to notice her. He spent the day roving from car to car, occasionally stopping to talk to the ever-changing guards he left with the passengers.

  Rosa hated Bart Dawson, and it was a new feeling for her; she could not remember ever having hated anyone in her life. The other guards were nothing more than faceless entities to her—puppets that did Dawson’s bidding—but each of them represented a threat that was so vile she could not put the thought into words.

  The hysterical woman passenger who had witnessed not only her own husband’s death but the subsequent mutilation of his body, had become a mindless, helpless heap in the rear of the passenger car. Slouched in her seat, Rosa had long since given up any hope of offering the woman comfort. Around her, the male passengers sat as rigid as she, some staring into space, their thoughts centered on their own predicament, others ever watchful of their captors.

  It had been hours since Dawson had exchanged words with Kase. Long, silent hours that passed as slowly as a hard winter. Rosa’s tailbone ached from sitting, her bladder felt near to bursting, but she refused to ask—as some of the men had—for the privilege of using the toilet. The temperature in the car had dropped rapidly. As her breath fogged the chilly air, Rosa was thankful she had worn her heavy winter coat and the shawl that was still tied around her head. She suspected the shapelessness of her bulky coat turned aside the men’s attention. Staring at the empty seat before her, Rosa wondered what, if anything, was happening outside. By now Kase and the men must have assumed that the robbers had killed the dead passenger outright. If so, they were aware of the dangers they faced. Suddenly, but not surprisingly, Rosa found herself grateful for Kase’s ability with a gun.

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  During the course of the afternoon, the number of men in Busted Heel had swollen to over thirty. A marshal with a posse of some fifteen riders arrived from Cheyenne escorting a Union Pacific official and engineer; Quentin preceded them with eight of his best hands. Eight of the nine full-time male residents of Busted Heel—the one exception being the laundry man, Yee— remained in force to lend Kase whatever support he needed. John Tuttle was good for little except to relate his part in the morning’s affair.

  Rosa’s restaurant was in the building closest to the station, so it had been commandeered as headquarters for the lawmen. Inside the small building, the scent of hot coffee overrode the smell of damp wool and nervous men. Al-Ray’s, like every other establishment in town except the Yee family laundry, had shut down for the day. Alice Wilkie moved among the men in Rosa’s, passing out sandwiches and turning a blind eye to Flossie and the girls, who insisted upon helping. They distributed more smiles and encouragement than food.

  Unable to sit idle in the café, Kase refused to leave the rear of the station. He was slouched against the wall, staring at the train through the gathering dusk when he heard the whisk of satin behind him. He cursed silently. All he needed now was the distraction of one of the girls, especially Mira and her unwanted attention. Before he could turn around, he caught a whiff of Flossie’s overwhelming perfume.

  “How ya doin’, Kase?” She touched his sleeve reassuringly.

  He tried to smile and shook his head. “Fine, Floss. Fine as can be.”

  “She’ll be all right.” Floss sounded surer than Kase felt.

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded. “Know how I know?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, the way I figure it, there has to be a reason the good Lord led that girl all the way from Italy to this Podunk town, and I don’t think the reason is so’s she can end up comin’ to harm in a stupid situation like this.”

  Kase stared hard at nothing. Would Rose survive the day? He could not accept any other possible outcome, and swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to rescue her. He wished for an instant that he could see the future as he had seen his past in his dream. Once more he heard the haunting voice that had been so familiar and yet so strange: Look to the sacred center of yourself. Do not look to the past or to the future.

  Hesitant to deny the wisdom of the haunting reminder, Kase stared at the deserted platform and wondered exactly what might come of this fiasco and why Rose h
ad to be involved. He knew one thing for certain; he’d see her safe or the trying.

  He turned to Floss again. “Thanks,” he said, struggling to smile. “That’s what I needed to hear.”

  “What are you plannin’?”

  “The Union Pacific official from Cheyenne and Marshal Olson have put themselves in charge. They refuse to meet the gang’s demands. They’re working out some way to board the train as soon as it gets dark enough. They figure the guards on top won’t be able to see who’s coming up on them.” His gaze shifted toward the horizon as he measured the growing darkness. The temperature had dropped as the purple haze of twilight deepened the color of the sky. The few stars that were now visible stood out crisp and clear in the cold, dry air.

  “You just take care, Kase,” Floss advised, keeping her tone light.

  “You bet.”

  “Speakin’ of bets,” she said, “I won two dollars from that old coot, Zach. He told me earlier that you and Rosa plan to be married.”

  “Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight as he fought to keep himself warm. “Yeah, we are.”

  Trying to recapture the euphoric happiness he had experienced just that morning, Kase stared up at the stars and made a silent vow: Everything’s going to be all right, Rose. I promise.

  Marshal Glenn Olson was a head shorter than Kase. A new Stetson covered his balding pate, but it did little to shadow his worried brown eyes. Kase watched as Olson and Quentin approached the station. Both men walked with purpose. Earlier, each had offered myriad suggestions for the expulsion of the outlaws. Their footsteps were punctuated by the metallic jingle of Olson’s spurs.

  “My men are ready,” he whispered to Kase.

  “I don’t mind telling you I think your idea smells as bad as a dead mule at forty paces,” Quentin grumbled.

  “There’s not a damn thing I can do about that, is there, Rawlins? The railroad representative said that under no circumstances are we to let that locomotive roll an inch out of this town with those killers aboard. Give ‘em one train and there’s no telling what kind of notion another gang’ll come up with.”

  Kase pushed away from the wall as Zach appeared silently behind the other two men. In a low tone that brooked no argument, Kase asked Olson, “How can you guarantee the safety of the hostages?”

  Olson turned away and signaled a group of men waiting beside Slick’s barbershop. They moved forward under the cover of growing darkness.

  “I can’t guarantee it, Marshal. But I’m sure as hell going to try to see they all get out of this safely. I’ve got my crack shots picked out to board the train. The rest of us will be waiting outside.”

  Kase rested his hand on his holstered Colt. “I want to be among the men who go aboard.” There was no way he would wait outside when there was a chance to board the train and see Rose to safety himself. No way in hell.

  Olson’s sigh was audible, his tone emphatic. “Listen, Storm, I heard all about your fiancée being aboard. Under the circumstances, I—”

  Quentin added his assurance. “He’s the best shot here, Olson. Hands down. There’s not a man among that crew you brought in from Cheyenne who can hold a candle to Kase. If anyone can get aboard and fire without hitting one of the hostages, it’s him.”

  “Well ...” Olson sounded skeptical.

  “There’s no use arguing,” Kase said. “I’m going.”

  “It’s your neck,” Olson said. “Let’s go over it one more time.”

  It took the men who were to board the train an hour to work their way along the tracks in either direction and then double back out of sight of Dawson’s guards. Concealed by darkness, careful not to make a sound, the eight men chosen along with Kase crept stealthily toward the cars assigned to them. Blood pulsed through his veins with a thunderous, repetitive beat that echoed in his ears as Kase became physically aware of his situation and surroundings. He had gone from cold to hot until he had begun to sweat; his heavy coat was an irritation he longed to shed.

  Aware of every breath he took, every sound he made as he moved over the uneven ground, Kase felt the hair at the base of his neck prickle. Instantly the image of a coyote he had once cornered came to mind. The animal’s hackles had stood on end, and its teeth were bared in a vicious snarl.

  He had only one goal as he edged close to the train: He planned to hold Rose safely in his arms before the hour was up.

  “Hey, ‘breed!” Dawson barked into the darkness.

  From beneath lowered lashes, Rosa watched the man pace back and forth in a tight space between the first row of seats and the doorway, hating the way the man used the word ‘breed whenever he addressed Kase. She held her breath and waited to hear Kase respond.

  She did not recognize the voice of the man who answered the summons.

  “Where’s that half-breed marshal?” Dawson yelled back. His question echoed Rosa’s own thoughts.

  “He ain’t here. He’s eatin’ supper.”

  Eating supper? Eating supper? Rosa frowned. While she sat hostage in a cold, half-dark passenger car, her tailbone aching, the muscles in her neck screaming with tension, her bladder nearly bursting, Kase Storm was having supper?

  “You tol’ me an hour ago the engineer would be here before dark. We’re damn sick of waitin’. In fact, we’re so sick of waitin’ we thought we’d hurry things along by relievin’ ourselves of some of this unwanted baggage in here.”

  Dawson stomped to the rear of the car and paced the narrow aisle. He turned to the guard and said, “Pick out one of these men and take him to the door and shoot him. Maybe that’ll make ‘em sit up and take notice.”

  One of the hostages, the conductor, jumped to his feet with a roar and leapt toward Bart Dawson. He caught the outlaw unaware and nearly succeeded in resting the gun away before the startled guard aimed and fired.

  The gunshot in the closed car reverberated with thunderous sound. Unlike the woman in the rear of the car, Rosa did not scream. Instead, she clamped her hands over her ears and ducked down in her seat.

  The conductor’s body hit the floor with a morbidly final sound. Rosa squeezed her eyes shut against the reality of what had just occurred not three feet from her. The outlaws moved quickly, Dawson snapping out commands as the guard dragged the conductor’s body down the aisle toward the door.

  “Toss him out,” Dawson said. “We’ll give ‘em five minutes; then we shoot another one.”

  The rear door of the car was flung back on its hinges, and Rosa heard another member of the gang run in. The man’s voice sounded much like Bart Dawson’s but it pulsed with irritation.

  “What in the hell is goin’ on, Bart?”

  “Tom had to shoot him. He tried to take my gun,” Bart snapped. “Get back to the other car.”

  “I’m sick of this shit,” the newcomer growled. “I’m takin’ my share and movin’ on out.”

  “Like hell you are, Charlie. You’re goin’ no place. We’re all in this together.”

  “Thanks to you. Listenin’ to you is how we got ourselves into this mess in the first place. Ike’s sick of it, too. We want out of here.”

  “What about the gold shipment? There’s damn near more than we can carry out on foot, and there’s a town full of men just itchin’ for you to try it.”

  “Gold ain’t gonna do us much good if we’re dead. Ike and me’s cold and hungry. We’re gettin’ out of here.”

  Rosa peered over the edge of her seat and caught her breath when she saw Bart cast a frantic glance around the interior of the car.

  “You plannin’ on just walkin’ to Mexico?” he asked the man named Charlie.

  “We’ll take our chances. There’s bound to be a house nearby, maybe on the outskirts of town—”

  “Hell, there ain’t even much of what you could call a town.” Bart Dawson visibly stalled as his eyes roamed over the subdued hostages. He paused, staring for a moment at the glassy-eyed woman who sat staring forward in shock in the rear seat. The jaunty hat
Rosa had so admired now hung pitifully askew. The outlaw leader turned on his heel and began to stalk down the aisle. Rosa faced forward again and slid low in her seat. She felt rather than saw Bart Dawson stop beside her.

  “Get up. It’s time to play my ace in the hole.”

  Rosa shuddered and stared down at the fingers she held clenched tightly together in her lap.

  Kase stood beside the passenger car. He was so close he could press his cheek against the cold finish of the outside wall. The other men were in place, dark shadows against a moonless skyline. He listened for the soft whistle that would tell him it was time to climb aboard.

  Inside the passenger car, two men were shouting at each other. He could barely make out the words, but he was certain they were fighting about the gunshot that had just ripped through the car. As he strained closer to hear what the men were saying, the sound of a low, slow whistle drifted on the night air. He hoped the guards were too preoccupied to realize it was far too late in the year to be hearing birdsong.

  His hands gripped the cold metal ladder on the side of the car. Gingerly he climbed aboard and waited, standing on the coupler between two cars. Just as he was about to climb onto the deck at the front of the passenger car, he heard the door on the other side of the wall bang open.

  The sound of Bart Dawson’s voice shattered the night. “I got a woman right here who won’t live to see the dawn if you don’t get six horses to me fast. We ain’t waitin’ on no engineer.”

  “It’ll take a minute.”

  Kase cursed Olson for stalling. Why couldn’t the man have told Dawson he would comply immediately? Edging closer to the door, Kase stayed well behind the side of the car. He was no more than two feet from Dawson; only the rear wall of the car separated them. His heart pounded as he wondered whether the woman Dawson held in the doorway was his Rose.

  The slight sound of metal against metal sounded above him on the baggage car. It was followed by a groan, and then ominous silence. He assumed the guard on the roof of the car had been overtaken. He strained to hear more.