The Lightning Lord

by Anthony Faircloth

  Persi and Boots were discussing Master John Moonshadow’s mysterious accident when Boots looked out the window. “Good lord,” he gasped, as a mounted aboriginal, flailing a war club and followed by at least a hundred others, rode up the side of the train. The impact of the club travelled up the wall and into the second floor where they sat watching, as did the hundreds of other bangs that followed.

  Once the warrior carried out the strike, he turned away from the train, rode out fifty feet, waited until the others joined, then back in to attack again. It reminded Boots of the rhythm of waves rushing the shore of a beach.

  “Calm yourself, dear,” Persi said, laying her hand on his, which had started reaching inside his jacket, “they are simply counting coupe. It is their traditional way of telling us they are upset about something. In the old days, it was enough to approach your enemy close enough to touch him, almost the same as killing him without all the blood and weakening a tribe’s numbers. A ‘civilized’ way of fighting, one might say.”

  He looked at her, his eyes wide open.

  “Oh, good lord, you know I have studied the local tribes of the Kansas City area,” she said.

  He looked back out the window as the train was pummeled again. “What is it they have to be upset about, and can’t they simply go through the appropriate legal channels?”

  “Yes, because that always works,” Persi said sarcastically.

  “Yes, well ...” Boots began, then suddenly half stood. “Hold on,” he said, “is that ... it couldn’t be.” Boots stepped away from the table, then bound down the aisle to the stairwell and proceeded to the observation deck above.

  “So I should follow then?” she asked rhetorically before gathering her skirts and moving towards the stairs.

  The first thing Persi noticed as she stepped out onto exterior observation deck was the shining three-foot tall brass railing that encompassed the entire deck. It was reinforced with crisscross grating, she assumed to keep pets and children from sticking their heads through. A roof, attached to the deck by substantial decorative wrought-iron columns, stretched across the front third of the car, skipped a space, then continued to cover one third of the back. The open space allowed those guests who appreciated time in the sun to take it in the large lounge chairs. Several vertical screens were placed about to deflect the rushing wind making the effect like visiting a large gazebo on a mildly breezy day.

  Persi looked around and saw no one but her mate, standing at the railing waving wildly at the aboriginal war party. She strode to the railing and looked up at Boots, who had an oddly exuberant smile pasted across his face, as he looked over the edge at the galloping sea of painted men, now able to hear their war whoops.

  “My Dear,” she started then stopped, unsure of her partner’s state of mind. Had he been more affected by the loss of young Master Moonshadow than she first thought? She folded her hands in front of her. “Lovely day for an aboriginal attack isn’t it?” she tried, glancing at the sun, “Not a cloud in the sky and not too hot.”

  He seemed to ignore her and continued to wave at the group of thundering riders. Suddenly, a warrior with a unique headdress, and wearing what appeared to be a red waistcoat, noticed Boots, and actually waved back. He veered over to another rider briefly, then steered away from the band and headed directly for the train. At the last minute, he stood on the horse’s back and sprung off the animal, making purchase of a handhold several feet below them. Not wasting time, the warrior found another handhold, then again, until his head was level with the deck. With a mighty heave, he pulled himself up the side of the car, threw one naked leg over the rail and dropped to the deck.

  He stood between them, his face unreadable. At this distance, and with as little clothes as he wore, Persi could see he was quite muscular, with a handsome face. He wore an odd combination of attire, from the breach cloth made from Scottish Tartan, and a beaded buckskin shirt of the native peoples, to the red tailored waistcoat and black riding boots of European design. Topping off his ensemble was a black top hat decorated with an array of eagle feathers. Front and center of the hat was a skull belonging to what Persi guessed was an eagle or some other bird of prey.

  The warrior stepped toward Boots and Persi’s hand slid under her jacket and onto the handle of her six-shooter. The slightest of head movements, and the look in Boots’ eyes, told her to hold.

  A second later, the situation turned completely as the warrior laughed and held his arms wide. Uncharacteristically, Boots did the same and they hugged, slapping each other’s backs. Finally, Boots turned to include Persi, who had withdrawn her hand and had once again folded them in front of her.

  “Ms. Elizabeth P. Shuttleworth, this is,” Boots stepped back to look at the man’s headdress, “Chief Jonathon Walkingcrane Mackenzie.”

  The man took Persi’s gloved hand and made a chopped bow, more like those of the Germans and not the Scottish of which his name and Tartan suggested. “My pleasure, for certain,” he said with an odd accent, a mixture of Sioux and presumably Scottish. “And it’s, Lord Chief, thanks to my father’s position in parliament, but since we are neither in tribal council nor British court, you may simply call me, Johnny.”

  Persi retrieved her hand politely and smiled, waiting for a further explanation.

  “Johnny and I met during the war. He just returned from school in Edinburgh and decided to, how did you put it?” he asked, looking at his friend.

  “I believe I said I was looking for a break in my scholastic endeavors and a civil war was just the thing.”

  “At the time, I agreed, then after ...” Boots said, holding up his right hand, “I must say, I was not so ... “

  “Committed?” Johnny asked.

  Boots shook his head. “No, I was committed, at least as an abolitionist. My disfigurement made me more ... thoughtful.”

  Johnny nodded, “Yes, I think it made us all rather thoughtful, and thankful when peace finally came.”

  Boots looked at Persi. “When I was shot, I tried to get behind the line but blood loss and shock made me disoriented. Johnny found me crawling towards the frontline and pulled me out of the line of fire seconds before a round of grapeshot whistled by.”

  “The Great Spirit had caused it to be,” Johnny said, smiling at Persi. “A few minutes later, a rebel officer, lying in wait, tried to take my head off with his saber.” He nodded towards Boots, “He pulled his pistol and shot him, causing the blade to merely nick my shoulder.” He rubbed an old scar on the upper part of his arm. To Persi it looked like it had been more than the scratch Johnny ascribed to it.

  “I went back to spend some time in the hospital,” Boots continued, “then was discharged and sent home. I lost track of Johnny, until I saw him beating on our train car.”

  Persi looked out to see the war party pulling back and away from the train, apparently finished.

  Johnny smiled. “Yes, well, it is my way of keeping the peace. The young men hear the stories of old wars and romanticize them to be glorious displays of our culture and independence. Then another comes along and fills them with ideas of conquest and taking back what we once had, not understanding that with ALTA, we never really lost anything. But, they hear differently and soon want to go raiding. That’s when I step in, just as the troublemaker has an unfortunate accident, forcing me to lead the war party against the usurping Europeans.”

  “So you attack a train?” Persi asked, tilting her head.

  “The train is a symbol of European conquest, or so I tell them, and the worst that happens is that the service crew must conduct minor cosmetic repairs on a car or two. We camp out afterwards and eat jerky, I make them go through a manhood ceremony, and they all go home feeling like warriors.”

  “It seems rather ...” Persi started.

  “Deceptive?” Johnny volunteered.

  “Well, yes, not to place too fine a point on it,” Persi said.

  “Ms. Shuttleworth, having survived one, there can never be too fine a point placed o
n war. If I can relieve the pressures of the tribe and save us, both Aboriginals and Europeans, from pain and death, well,” he raised his hands and smiled broadly, “I’m okay with a little deception.”

  Persi pointed to the riders who were quickly being left behind as the train thundered on. “You seem to be stuck with us.”

  “Ahh,” he took her hand again and lifted it to his lips, “I can think of no better situation.”

  “Ahem,” Boots nudged him.

  Johnny stopped mid-kiss and looked at Boots then at Persi, who smiled shyly, “Oh, forgive me for my forwardness. I was not aware of your relationship.”

  Persi smiled coyly, “Well, Boots has been getting into trouble recently, I may soon be in a position to change up.”

  “Yes, well,” Boots said, stepping between them and taking her arm, “there will be no ‘changing up’ in your immediate future.”

  Johnny laughed. “To answer your concern, I told my sub-chief to take them back to camp and perform the ceremony without me. Several of them are on break and will be heading back to university in a day or so.”

  Persi’s forehead wrinkled but the look Boots gave her told her to drop it.

  “So I take it you will be joining us, at least to the next stop, which I believe is Downingville, in the Oklahoma Territory later this evening?”

  “Topping, an evening with old friends.” he exclaimed, stepping between them and slipping each arm through one of theirs. He looked at Boots. “Would you perhaps have more appropriate attire I might borrow? I wouldn’t want to shake-up the other passengers.”

  “I believe that can be arranged,” Boots said. “You look to be about my size.”

  They began walking toward the stairwell. “If I follow you to your room, I will not need your clothes since the passengers will have already seen me in finest aboriginal regalia. Is your berth forward?”

  Boots and Persi nodded.

  “On the right or left side?”

  “Left,” Boots said.

  “Grand, then perhaps you could slip forward, open your window and hang some piece of cloth out so I might find it? I will slip in, clean up and change without anyone being the wiser.”

  Persi looked at Boots. “That window has been most abused as of late.”

  Johnny looked at her, “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, nothing, Chief, I mean, Lord, or rather ... Mr. Mackensie, we will do as you have suggested. Our car is about three cars forward and I will hang one of Boots cravats,” she looked at Boots, “The blue with green stripes?”

  “I thought you liked that one?” Boots groused, “You bought it for me.”

  “Yes, too quick of a purchase to be sure,” she said, turning to their new friend. “Look for a blue and green cravat, waving garishly in the breeze.”

  “Aye, I shall watch for just a sign,” he said, and with that Boots and Persi descended the stairs, and Lord Chief Johnny Walkingcrane Mackensie grabbed the edge of the roof and pulled himself up to the roof of the next car.

  Chapter 7 –Pinkertons’ Are Introduced

  An hour later, all three sat in the dining car, sipping Turkish coffees and making small talk. A young conductor approached and cleared his throat. “Excuse me sir,” he said, looking at Boots.

  “Yes?” Boots replied.

  “Yes, sir, I thought you’d want to know, on the last mail pickup we received a report that Junior Conductor Moonshadow’s body has not been found. “It may be that ...” The young man paused and looked at Persi.

  “You may continue. I am no wilting daisy,” Persi encouraged.

  “Yes ma’am. No body has been found however, the searchers also say that it could have been drug away by wolves, panthers, or bears.”

  Johnny shifted in his seat. “Excuse me, are you speaking of John Moonshadow, the junior mail clerk on board?”

  “Do you know him?” Persi asked.

  “Yes, he is my nephew.” Johnny answered.

  “Then I am so sorry,” Persi reached across the table and set her hand on his, “it is thought that he accidentally fell from the train several miles back. The report this young man is giving is based on the request from the Journey to the nearest transportation office to make a search for the body.”

  “This is awful,” Johnny said, “I was planning to visit him while onboard. My sister will be devastated.”

  “We are sorry,” Boots said.

  “He was a brave man,” the young conductor said. “He saved the train from robbers a couple nights ago, and was just promoted to Junior Conductor.”

  Johnny looked at Persi and Boots for confirmation.

  “It’s true,” Boots said.

  “Well, that is something. He will be honored by the tribe.” He looked at the conductor, “You must tell me the whole story so I can retell it at counsel.”

  “I can tell you what I know, for certain,” the young man said, nodding to Persi and Boots, “but these people here know some of it too.”

  Johnny nodded in reply, then asked, “When do we arrive at Downingville?”

  The conductor pulled a schedule from his pocket, then looked at his watch. “About seven twenty-five tonight, that’s around five and a half hours.”

  “Thank you, and might I collect his personal belongings? His mother will want them.”

  “Yes sir. I will speak with the senior conductor but I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “Please let me come with you, Johnny,” Persi said, patting his hand.

  “You may if you’d like, though I don’t want to burden you.”

  “No burden at all, old man,” Boots said. “I’m just glad we could be here.”

  “Well then fine sir,” Johnny said to the young conductor as he stood, “let’s go find your boss and get this over with.”

  ****

  The Senior Conductor Washington was most sympathetic and once Johnny showed him his tribal paperwork, took the three of them to the second car behind the engine. The first car berthed the engineer and all the engine and maintenance men. The second car held all the service personnel like the clerks and conductors. When they came to a door, Washington pulled a chain from his pocket on which dangled several silver keys.

  “The door has been locked since we found he was gone. It is our standard procedure to ensure no evidence is disturbed in case of foul play. We have investigated and concluded this was an accident.” He slid the key in, turned it.

  “You had a lawman onboard to assist you?” Persi asked.

  “No, ma’am,” the conductor said. The lock clicked and the door swung inward, “we had the assistance of several Pinkerton agents, including the boss himself, Robert Pinkerton.”

  Boots looked at Persi quickly, who simply smiled and bowed her head.

  “Good girl,” he said for her ears only.

  Johnny stepped into the room first, followed closely by Persi, then Boots.

  “Well, the boy was certainly in need of some discipline.” Johnny said, gazing at the clothing and other articles spread over every horizontal surface.

  Neither of the agents saw a messy room. Their training and experience showed them this room had been the scene of violence, at least two people had fought, and since young Moonshadow was no longer on the train it appeared he was the looser.

  Persi bent down and began picking up the clothes, folding them, and placing them on the lower of two bunks, while simultaneously looking for clues. “Who was Master Moonshadow’s bunk mate?” she asked the conductor.

  “He didn’t have one, yet. What with his unexpected promotion and all, we stuck him in the next available room, which was this one. It had been closed for maintenance I think.” He pointed to a broken light fixture and dirt scuffs on the wall.

  Boots was not sure those marks had not been done more recently, as if it had occurred during a struggle. “My good man,” Boots said, turning to the conductor, “Would you secure a large box, or perhaps a duffle bag that we might use to remove Master Moonshadow’s personal belongings?”

&nbs
p; The conductor hesitated a moment. “Well, yes, I suppose I could find something for you. Give me a few minutes.”

  “Much appreciation, thank you,” Boots said with a smile.

  Once the conductor had gone, Boots shut the door to the room and turned quickly. “Johnny, we must speak.”

  Johnny turned, hearing the seriousness in his friend’s voice. “Yes?”

  “I do not believe your nephew was creator of this mess,” Boots said softly. “This has all the earmarks of a room search, and a hurried one at that.”

  Persi nodded.

  Johnny’s eyes narrowed. “And you know this how?”

  Boots shook his head. “Perhaps we could save that discussion for another time. Suffice it to say things are not as they seem and I believe it is possible that Master Moonshadow was pushed overboard.”

  Johnny held Boots’ gaze for a full thirty seconds before dropping it. “Why would someone want to kill my nephew, and what could they be looking for in his room?”

  Persi stepped up to stand beside Boots. “There is an object at the center of the events of the last two days - a round ceramic ball. The robbers, John stopped two nights ago, appeared to be after it, and it has in fact disappeared from the safe in which it was placed. If someone thought your nephew had it, this might account what we are seeing here.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. This all seems fantastic ... surreal,” Johnny said.

  “Yes, but you must believe us, there is villainy afoot,” Persi said.

  Before she could continue, there was a knock. Boots swiveled his head toward the door, then back to Johnny. “That will be the conductor, we should keep our thoughts about this to ourselves and speak later, in private.”

  Johnny nodded and Boots reached over and turned the knob. The door swung open and standing in the doorway was a tall man in a bowler. The hat sat atop nicely cut brown hair, and his face was adorned with a thick, well-trimmed, brown mustache. By the quality of his suit, Boots knew this man had wealth, perhaps not the level of a J.P. Morgan, but something far above that of the common laborer.