The Swindler's Treasure

by Lois Walfrid Johnson

  “What’s the matter with you,” Caleb demanded, “picking on someone half your age?”

  “Get out of here!” the bully cried. “It’s none of your business!”

  “You’re not touching this boy!” Caleb warned.

  “Who says?”

  “I do! Libby, call the conductor.”

  Within a minute the conductor was there, and behind him, a man with a bushy beard.

  “Tell the engineer to stop,” the second man said, speaking with a strong Irish accent. “We’ll put the boys off the train.”

  “You can’t do that to us!” the first bully cried.

  “You can’t pick fights on Mr. Godfrey’s train. You have only five or six miles to walk to the nearest town.”

  As the train clanked to a stop, the Irishman led the boys to an exit. Moments later the two bullies stood at the side of the track, their eyes resentful as they stared after the train.

  “Who are you?” Caleb asked when the man returned.

  “Allan Pinkerton, at your service. The Pinkerton Detective Agency.” He grinned, then repeated his agency’s motto. “The Eye That Never Sleeps.”

  “I’ve always wanted to meet you,” Caleb said.

  Quickly Libby wrote on the slate. When Peter understood, he offered his hand, and Mr. Pinkerton shook it.

  “Thank you,” Peter said solemnly. “I’m glad you were here.”

  Libby, Caleb, and Peter had just sat down again when Caleb groaned. “I can’t believe what I did!”

  “What are you talking about?” Libby asked.

  “I forgot the horses. How could I be so careless?”

  Libby stared at him. “The horses?”

  “Dr. Brown’s horses. The ones we used to go after Jordan. Remember? We tied their lead ropes to a couple of trees so they wouldn’t wander off while Jordan and Micah got into the house. Then things started happening so fast that I forgot to tell Frances where the horses were.”

  “Oh, Caleb!”

  “I left them without food or water.”

  “Frances will find them,” Libby said.

  “We hid them in a really good spot. Jordan and I talked about it. We didn’t want someone to steal the horses.”

  “Dr. Brown will find them,” Libby said.

  But Caleb wasn’t sure about that. “I need to get off. I’ll catch the next train back to Brighton and meet you in Springfield.”

  “But that will take hours!”

  “Yup! Hours when the Browns might not find their horses. Hours when the horses won’t have food and water.”

  “But what about Riggs?” Libby was upset now. “He’s probably still in Brighton, sniffing his way around. He knows you, Caleb. He knows you had something to do with Jordan escaping. Riggs will do anything to stop what you’re doing!”

  “Libby, the Browns were really kind to all of us. I don’t want to hurt them.”

  “Caleb, it’s dangerous for you to go back.” Libby’s voice was low. “The slave catchers in this area know you now. They know you walked down the streets of Alton with a fugitive slave, acting as if what you were doing was okay.”

  “I don’t have any choice but to go back,” Caleb said. “Jordan is safe now. All he has to do is hide in the baggage car until Springfield. Besides, Mr. Pinkerton is here. If there’s any trouble, he’ll help you.”

  “If Riggs and the slave catchers can prove you helped two fugitives, they’ll get you arrested!”

  “And Dr. Brown and his family are risking everything they have to help fugitives.”

  “Your grandmother, Caleb,” Libby reminded, hoping it would stop him from doing what she knew was dangerous.

  “Give her my love,” Caleb said quietly. “I’ll see you at the Colored Baptist Church in Springfield.”

  At the next stop, Caleb swung down to the platform. As Libby watched through the window, he turned and waved to her and Peter. Then Caleb hurried into the depot.

  Soon the great black steam engine chugged out of the station. As the depot behind them grew smaller and smaller, Libby felt lost and alone. She liked being with Caleb. She liked having him for a friend, but it was more than that. Whenever she felt scared, she depended on Caleb for help.

  Now Peter gazed out the window, trying to see everything. Libby leaned back. All she could think about was how good her bed on the Christina would feel. The railroad car was growing warmer by the minute.

  As the train picked up speed, cinders blew in through the open windows. Watching the cinders, Libby remembered stories about them falling onto a railroad bed. Often they lodged in the wooden ties beneath the tracks and flared up when conditions were right. Grass fires were common in areas where trains passed through.

  The tinder hot day made Libby feel jumpy. What if some train dropped a cinder in the wrong place?

  Silly! Libby tried to push the thought away. You’re borrowing trouble.

  Just the same, she didn’t like the specks of black dust all over her dress. Peter’s shirt already looked dirty. Reaching up, Libby closed the window next to her.

  Soon the heat became so unbearable that she opened it again. The hot wind was better than no air at all.

  In laying out the railroad to Springfield, Mr. Godfrey had planned a village every ten miles. Between the towns, great areas of level land stretched off in every direction. As Libby settled back, she watched the four- and five-foot-high grass waving in the wind.

  Now in the first week of August, the grass was dry, but countless flowers had sprung up across the prairie. More than once Peter pointed, wanting her to see the blue flowers and the white, with now and then a scattering of red.

  At the next village, the engine stopped alongside the large tower close to the track. Lowering the spout, a man let water flow from the tank into the tender—the car just behind the engine.

  As passengers started to leave the car, Allan Pinkerton stopped to talk to Libby and Peter.

  “I’m needing to get off here,” he said. “But you’ll have no more trouble from bullies.”

  Inwardly Libby groaned. When Caleb left the train, he had counted on Mr. Pinkerton if she and Peter needed help.

  Again Libby tried to push the thought away. Everything is going fine. In no time at all, we’ll be in Springfield. But just in case—

  “There’s something else,” she said quickly. “We’re looking for a swindler who stole money from my pa and from a church in Galena. If we find him, what do we do?”

  Mr. Pinkerton rubbed his bushy beard, thinking about it. “If the man stands still long enough for you to accuse him, you’ll have to prove you know what you’re talking about.”

  “I can tell you the exact amount of money he took from Pa and Jordan.”

  “That would help,” Mr. Pinkerton said. “But do you know of a way to identify the stolen money?”

  “Ink blotches!” Libby exclaimed. “The pastor at Jordan’s church said there are ink blotches on about ten of the bills.”

  Mr. Pinkerton looked pleased. “If you manage to find bills with ink blotches on them, you’ve got something to go on.”

  For the first time in their search for the stolen money, Libby felt they were getting somewhere.

  Then Mr. Pinkerton offered a warning. “Just don’t try something foolish. A foolhardy man rushes in where even angels fear to tread. But a brave man is wise about handling danger. Sure and I’m wishing that the ten toes of your feet steer you clear of trouble.”

  “We’ll be in trouble, all right.” In that moment Libby felt sure of it. “Is there some way to get hold of you?”

  Reaching into his pocket, Mr. Pinkerton pulled out a card for his Chicago agency. Flipping it over, he wrote an address on the back. “I’ll do my best to be in Springfield in a few days. I’ll be staying with a friend. You can find me here.” Then Mr. Pinkerton was gone.

  While workers loaded freight, Libby and Peter watched out the window, studying every passenger who drew close to the train. A man with hunched-over shoulders stood near t
he baggage car. Wearing the overalls and straw hat of a farm worker, he leaned on a thick wooden stick for support. As the other Negro passengers boarded the train, the man kept looking back down the track. Only when he swung up into the car did Libby see the side of his face.

  After the man disappeared, Libby kept thinking about him. Once, she had seen Jordan pretend he was an old man. Without that picture in her mind, she might not have suspected that the worker was Jordan’s father. But now a great shout of laughter bubbled up inside of Libby.

  Taking Peter’s slate, she wrote the good news. “Micah Parker just got into the baggage car.”

  Peter grinned. “He was the one who looked like an old man?”

  Libby wrote quickly on the slate. “I’m sure of it. Jordan and his daddy are SAFE!”

  Once again the engine chugged away from the depot. Just thinking about the happy reunion in the baggage car made Libby want to celebrate. What was Jordan thinking right now as he recognized his father?

  “Springfield, here we come!” Libby wrote on the slate. “All we have to do is walk off the train and find the Colored Baptist Church.”

  Libby felt sure that nothing more would go wrong. In Springfield they would all be together again. As soon as Jordan and his father met Hattie and the other children, the family could go where they wanted and begin their new life of freedom.

  Then Libby remembered. Even if his family was together, Jordan would never be satisfied until his name was cleared. His name couldn’t be cleared until Jordan found the stolen money and turned it over to John Jones.

  And Pa. In twelve days Pa needs to make the double payment. If he doesn’t, he’ll lose the Christina.

  Discouraged again, Libby leaned back and closed her eyes. Isn’t there some way we can solve the mystery of the swindler’s treasure?

  Like a worm, a thought wiggled its way into Libby’s mind. Jordan and his daddy did just fine without us. We didn’t need to get on this train. Caleb and I could have stayed in Brighton and tried to catch the swindler.

  Libby’s thoughts went round and round, always coming back to the same place. We made a stupid choice, and all for nothing!

  Just as Libby drifted off to sleep, Peter poked her. Quit bothering me, she thought, half-awake and half-asleep. Let me be!

  Peter tugged at her arm. “Libby! You’ve got to look!”

  At the sound of panic in his voice, Libby came awake. As she opened her eyes, Peter pointed out the window. Alongside the train, the tall, dry prairie grass swayed back and forth in the wind. But farther ahead and off to the right, flames raced across the top of the grass.

  “Fire!” muttered a man just ahead of Libby.

  From the front of the car came a woman’s cry. “Prairie fire!” Jumping up, people crowded the aisle to look through the windows on the right side.

  Brakes squealing, the train came to a stop. Leaning out, Libby saw that the fire wasn’t only off away from them. Just ahead of the engine, the grass along the track was scorched black, as if the fire had begun there. Still farther ahead was a trestle with the long bridge that crossed the bed of a nearly dry creek. Near that bridge, flames lapped at the timbers under the tracks.

  “No panic now!” the conductor called as he hurried through the car. “Women, keep your children with you. Men and boys—all able-bodied people—we need your help!”

  Already the smell of smoke drifted in through the windows. The moment the doors opened, men hurried down the steps. Libby grabbed her denim skirt from her bag and followed Peter off the train.

  Pulling off their suit coats and shirts as they ran, men headed for the creek. Buckets in their hands, trainmen raced down the banks. Within moments a line formed.

  Libby followed the others to the water. Already Peter had taken a place in the line. Standing in the creek, a man filled buckets. From one person to the next the buckets passed until the closest man emptied water on the flames.

  As the empty buckets passed back along the line, there came a rhythm. Buckets filled, passed, emptied. Water sloshed against the burning railroad ties. Buckets returned to the creek.

  Joining the women without children, Libby plunged her heavy skirt into the creek and ran up the bank. On the right side of the engine, the area of charred grass was growing larger. Leaping before the wind, the fire raced across the top of the tall grass, moving out across the prairie. But tongues of flame also crept along the tracks, as though trying to reach for the train.

  Spreading out along that line, women pounded their shawls or whatever clothing they could use against the burning grass. “Here! Over here!” a woman shouted.

  Her long hair blowing in her face, Libby joined the line. Pounding her wet skirt against the flames, she felt the heat. Her throat burned with the smoke. Then she choked and had to pull back.

  From behind her came the calls of men working together. “Faster! Faster!” someone cried. “The bridge! The fire’s going toward the bridge!” called another.

  Around Libby, the women worked steadily on. Now and then a hole opened in the line as a woman ran back to plunge a garment into the creek. Gradually the women started to gain on the fire.

  Peter! Libby wondered once. Where is he?

  Filled with panic, she whirled around, then saw him farther along the line, passing buckets to the men near the tracks. Libby drew a deep breath, glad to clear her lungs of the heavy smoke. At least the women were winning.

  But when Libby raced to the creek, only small pools of water remained. Ahead of her, a bucket came up half full. Another was only a quarter full. Then, from high on top of the tender, Libby heard a cry.

  “Up here! Toss me a bucket!”

  Jordan knelt on the tender, the huge water tank behind the engine. Already he had thrown back the heavy cover.

  “A rope!” he shouted, and someone threw one up.

  Quickly Jordan knotted it around the handle of a bucket, then lowered the pail into the tender. When it came up full, the bucket line reformed. Swinging his pail over the side of the tank, Jordan lowered it to the ground. There a man emptied the water into another pail and sent the bucket down the line.

  Again and again Jordan lowered his bucket into the tank of water, pulled it up, and lowered it to the men on the ground. Fanned by the wind, flames leaped along the wooden ties close to the bridge. At the head of the line, next to the trestle, Jordan’s father poured water on the flames.

  Libby plunged her denim skirt into the last bit of creek water, pulled it out dripping, and ran back to the line of women. The wind had shifted now, and the fire that had been moving away turned back. In a great arc it was circling around toward the end of the train.

  Libby panicked. Fire ahead of us. Fire behind? We’ll be surrounded!

  Eating new grass as it came, the flames leaped across the prairie. As the line of women changed its position, Libby again pounded her skirt against the ground. Her arms ached now, and smoke rose around her, fueling her fear. Can I possibly hold back my part of the line?

  Filled with terror, she glanced back toward the train. Two men stood behind the last car. At first Libby thought she was seeing things. Two men doing nothing while everyone else worked to put out a fire?

  When the smoke lifted, one of the men was gone, but Libby recognized the other. Riggs! Riggs standing there, while all around him people poured out their lives?

  For an instant Libby stared at him. Then the line of fire in front of her flared up again. Desperate now, Libby worked on.

  Just as she felt she could do no more, Peter stood next to her. Skinny but strong, he pounded his wet shirt against the ground. Libby felt better just seeing him there. Side by side they worked until the ground around them was cinder black. The last flame was out.

  In that moment a great shout went up. On the railroad ties closest to the bridge, men raised their arms in victory. Dragging whatever they had used to beat out the fire, exhausted women stumbled toward the engine.

  All around her Libby saw their sweaty, soot-blacken
ed faces. Their torn and dirty clothes. Their blistered hands, their hair blowing loose in the wind.

  The shirtless men were as dirty and tired as the women. Like the women, some had singed hair and eyebrows. Others had welts on their faces and blistered skin.

  Then, as if each person thought of the same thing in the same moment, they turned. As one person, they looked to the top of the tender where Jordan still knelt, a bucket of water in his hands.

  When he dropped to the ground, men clapped his shoulders. Others shook his hand. Women offered their thanks. But Libby looked around. At the edge of the crowd stood Riggs, watching Jordan.

  CHAPTER 18

  Mr. Lincoln’s Springfield

  Grabbing Peter’s arm, Libby stepped out of sight behind the engine. Quickly she signed a J for Jordan, then an R for Riggs. Peter nodded that he understood.

  When they tried to warn Jordan, he had already slipped away. Libby could only wonder how the slave trader had managed to board this train. Frances had been so careful to protect Jordan. Libby knew he was the last person on board. Riggs couldn’t have followed him. Unless—

  Libby’s thoughts tumbled on. Like the ringing of a bell, she remembered the slave trader’s words to Micah: “I came for your boy and found you!”

  While trainmen checked to see that the tracks and trestle were safe to use, one of the passengers filled the buckets with water. People began washing off their sweat and dirt. When Libby sloshed the clean water over her face and arms, she felt a welcome coolness after the heat of the fire.

  As Peter finished washing, he pulled on his shirt and looked around. Glancing the same direction, Libby saw Jordan’s father climbing into the baggage car. Again he walked hunched over like an old man, but during the fire he had forgotten his helpless look. As a strong, well-conditioned man, he had taken the difficult place next to the bridge. Libby had no doubt that Riggs had also seen Micah Parker.

  Her throat tightened just thinking about Jordan’s father. Hours before the rest of them boarded the train for Springfield, he had left Dr. Brown’s house. The Underground Railroad conductor who helped Micah had driven a long distance to put him on this train. If it weren’t for the fire, both Jordan and Micah would have been safe in the baggage car.