“Drop your knife, and we’ll get that looked at,” Matt suggested.
“The hell I will!” Posey made a long, slicing motion with his own knife but missed.
“Who’s paying you to kill John Gillespie?”
“What difference does it make to a dead man?”
The blood was now flowing rather profusely from Posey’s traumatically amputated fingers.
“If I’m about to be killed, I’d at least like to die with my curiosity satisfied,” Matt said, countering Posey’s swipe with one of his own.
“Nah! I want you to die curious.”
Posey made another thrust, doing so just as the car passed over a rough section of the track. Because of that, it threw Matt slightly off balance, and while reaching down to keep from falling, he dropped his knife. He made a desperate grab for it but missed, and the knife went over the edge of the car.
Seeing his advantage, Posey rushed toward him, this time with his knife raised over his head in position to make a downward stabbing motion. Standing quickly, Matt reached up to grab Posey’s knife hand by the wrist, and for a moment, the two men stood there, their shadows projecting a tableau vivant on the ground beside the train.
Posey managed to change hands with his own knife, and with his blade now in his bloody left hand, he opened up another slice across Matt’s arm. Blood from the wound joined the blood from the earlier wound, and Matt released his grip on Posey’s wrist.
Posey immediately seized the opportunity to break contact, and he leaped back.
“Must be kind of hard for you, being in a knife fight without a knife,” Posey mocked.
He rushed toward Matt again, this time with his knife held low. But to Posey’s surprise, Matt dropped onto his back, then raised his legs to put his feet into Posey’s stomach. Using Posey’s own momentum, Matt swung his legs around and Posey, with a scream of terror, went over the side of the speeding train.
Getting up quickly, Matt looked over the edge and saw Posey’s twisted and still body lying along the track, rapidly receding in the distance as the train sped along its way.
Matt returned to the Gillespie car the same way he had left it, by running along the top of the train and leaping from car to car.
When he opened the door to step back inside, he saw that John and Mary Beth must have taken his advice and gone into one of the bedroom compartments.
“John, it’s me,” Matt called.
The compartment door opened, and John relaxed visibly when he saw that it was Matt. But when they both saw all the blood, Mary Beth cried out.
“Matt! You’re hurt!”
“It looks a lot worse than it is,” Matt said. “I got a couple of cuts on the arm, but I don’t think they are very deep. Most of this blood is his.”
“You must let me tend to it,” Mary Beth said.
“Here,” John said, returning Matt’s pistol. “I’m glad I didn’t have to use this.”
A few minutes later Matt was sitting at the table with Mary Beth bathing his arm. The bleeding had stopped, and Matt had been correct in his assessment. The cuts were not very deep.
“John, had you ever seen that man before?” Matt asked.
“No, I haven’t. Have you, Mary Beth?”
“No,” Mary Beth replied.
“Did you find out who he was?” John asked.
Matt shook his head. “He said he had been in prison, so I didn’t really think it was very likely that either of you would have known him. He did say someone had paid him to kill you, though.”
“Did he say who it was?”
“No. I was hoping that you might have some idea.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, and last night I looked over some of the notes that Drew gave me before we left. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to them, because I thought the attempt to kill me had been an isolated event. But now I’m beginning to have second thoughts. He gave me three names who might be possible suspects.”
“Are the names people that you know?” Matt asked.
“Yes, I know all three of them. The names Drew gave me are Fred Keaton, Donald Mitchell, and Raymond Morris.”
“Who are they?”
“Keaton, Mitchell, and Morris are people who once owned businesses that went bankrupt. I took over all three of the businesses, saved the jobs of their employees, and kept them on as managers. But as I told you before, there is bound to be some resentment there. I mean when you think about it, being an employee of the very business you used to own has to be difficult for a person’s pride.”
“Did any one name seem more likely than any of the other names?” Matt asked.
John shook his head.
“No, none have. Actually, I don’t think I would have suspected any of them if Drew hadn’t suggested the names. But, as I have thought about them, I’m afraid he could be right. It could be any one of them.”
There was a light knock at the door and Mary Beth started toward it, but Matt stopped her. With his pistol in hand, he stepped up to the door, then jerked it open.
“Oh!” Kelly, the conductor, said, jumping back in surprise and throwing his hands up in fear.
Matt lowered his pistol.
“Sorry if I frightened you,” he said.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Kelly?” John asked.
“Some of the passengers reported seeing . . . uh . . . I know this may sound absurd, but they reported seeing shadows on the ground of two men on top of the train. I was just wondering if you might know anything about it.”
“I was one of the men,” Matt said.
“Oh? And what happened to the other man?”
“He got off.”
“He got off? But how could he? The train hasn’t stopped since we left Reno.”
“I guess he was just impatient.”
“Mr. Jensen is being quite modest,” John said. “Another attempt was made on our lives. Thanks to Mr. Jensen, it was unsuccessful.”
It wasn’t until then that the conductor noticed the blood on Matt’s clothes.
“Oh! Were you hurt?”
“Only slightly,” Matt replied.
Chapter Seventeen
Elko, Nevada, September 2, 1885, 6:15 p.m.
The train was stopped in Elko long enough for the teleprinter to be connected to a Western Union wire. Mary Beth tapped out the message that John wanted sent.
THE ATTEMPT ON OUR LIVES IN SAN FRANCISCO WAS NOT ISOLATED. THERE HAVE BEEN TWO MORE ATTEMPTS SINCE WE LEFT. I AM THEREFORE BEGINNING TO THINK THAT ONE OF THE NAMES YOU SUGGESTED KEATON MITCHELL OR MORRIS MAY INDEED BE THE GUILTY PARTY. WHO AMONG THESE WOULD YOU THINK MOST LIKELY? HAVE YOU ANY OTHER SUGGESTIONS? WE ARE CURRENTLY IN ELKO NEVADA AND WILL BE HERE FOR TWO MORE HOURS. PLEASE REPLY WITHIN THAT PERIOD IF POSSIBLE.
Because there was a teleprinter in the home office, the exchange of messages between John and Drew was almost instantaneous.
GLAD YOU HAVE SURVIVED ALL ATTEMPTS ON YOUR LIFE SO FAR STOP PLEASE BE CAREFUL STOP AM GRATIFIED YOU ARE TAKING SERIOUSLY MY SUGGESTION THAT IT MIGHT BE KEATON MITCHELL OR MORRIS STOP I THINK IT MAY MORE LIKELY BE MORRIS STOP PLEASE KEEP IN CONTACT THROUGHOUT YOUR TRIP STOP I WANT TO KNOW THAT YOU ARE SAFE
John read the message tape, then glanced toward Matt. “I think Drew is correct. Morris probably is the most likely suspect.”
“Tell me about Morris,” Matt said.
“Raymond Morris owned a coal mine in Assumption, Illinois. Ten years ago, he had an explosion in his mine that killed forty men.”
Assumption, Illinois, ten years earlier
The mine explosion had devastated the town, not only because of the loss of life, but also because it was the financial backbone of the town. With the mine badly damaged and all production stopped, the money stmopped as well.
Raymond Morris tried to convince the miners to work for a delayed income in order to get the mine reopened.
“If we work together to get the mine reopened, it will pay off for all of us in the long run.”
“Not just me, Sullivan. Can’t you see that if we don’t get this mine reopened, there will be work for nobody? I’ll have no option but to close the mine and all the miners will lose their jobs. And it won’t just be we, of the mine, who will be hurt. The merchants in town will suffer as well. They’ll have no choice but to close up their businesses and go somewhere else. If that happens, the town will dry up and die.”
“Mr. Morris may be right, Sullivan,” one of the mine workers said. “I can’t afford to lose my job. I got me a wife and kids to feed. If the mine closes down like Mr. Morris says, what will I do?”
“Hold your ground, Pittman,” Sullivan ordered. “If we all stand solid, we’ll win this fight. You can count on that.”
When John stepped down from the train, he could feel the tension in the air, and when he approached the mine, he could see it. There were at least a hundred men standing outside the mine office shouting.
“We must be paid!”
“No pay, no work!”
John made his way through the picket line, then went into the mine headquarters.
There was only one man in the building, and he was sitting behind a desk drinking whiskey from a bottle.
John pointed to the whiskey. “I’m afraid you won’t find the solution to your problem from that bottle.”
“Yeah? How the hell do you know?”
“I’ve seen many try, I have yet to see one succeed.”
“What do you want?” he asked
“I take it that you are Raymond Morris?”
“Yeah, I am. What of it?”
John pointed toward the window. “You seem to have a lot of upset men outside.”
“Oh? Are there people outside?” Morris took another drink of whiskey straight from the bottle, then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I hadn’t noticed,” he added with a burp. “What do you want?”
“I want to clean the mine up and get it open again,” John said.
“Yeah? Well, mister, that’s what we all want. Only thing is, they want to be paid before the mine starts making money again, and I’m not able to do that. Especially since it is going to cost so much to replace lost equipment, shoring, and everything else.”
“I might have a solution for you. If you are interested.”
Morris took another swallow of his whiskey before he replied. “And what would that be?”
“I’ll buy all the new equipment that might be needed, and I’ll pay the men to clean up the mine and get it reopened.”
“And just why would you do that? What I mean is, why would you be so generous?”
“Believe me, it isn’t as much a matter of generosity as it is a matter of business. I’ll do this, you see, because I want to buy the mine.”
“You want to buy the mine? You mean as it is now?”
“Exactly as it is now.”
“As it is now, it will take several thousand dollars to get it opened and operating again. To say nothing of the salaries and back salaries of the men. And they have let it be known that they won’t work again until all their back pay is brought up-to-date.”
“Yes, I’m quite aware of that.”
“And you are prepared to spend that much money?”
“Yes.”
“Who the hell are you, mister?”
“My name is John Bartmess Gillespie.”
Morris was about to take another drink, but upon hearing the name he put the bottle down and stared at John.
“Are you lyin’ to me, mister? Is that really who you are?”
“It is.
“This was a very productive mine, one of the most productive mines in the country. What makes you think I’d be willing to sell it?”
“I know that you can’t get any more financing on it. And I know that if you don’t get the mine reopened, the loans you do have are going to come due, and you’ll lose the mine. If that happens, I could leave you completely out of it and just buy the mine from the lien holders. But I don’t want to do that.”
“And why don’t you want to do that?”
“Because I will need those men out here to work the mine, and I will need someone to manage the mine. I would hope that would be you.”
“Let me get this straight. You expect me to work for the same mine that I now own?”
“Yes.”
“You said you were willing to buy me out. How much are you prepared to pay me for the mine?”
“Oh, Mr. Morris, I won’t pay you anything,” John said.
“What? Well now, that’s a hell of a thing. You expect me to give the mine to you?”
“Mr. Morris, I will pay off every lien holder there is. Some of the liens I know are personal in nature, but I will pay them as well. And I will hire you to work as the manager. You will probably make more money than you were making when you owned this place, and you will be relieved of the worry of having to keep the mine afloat.”
“It’s more than a question of money,” Morris said.
“What more is there?”
“I’m a man who likes to run things,” Morris said. “If I see a decision that needs to be made, I want to be the one to make it. I don’t want to have to wait on instructions from somebody who lives way off somewhere.”
“Oh, but Mr. Morris, the reason I would want to keep you in control is for exactly what you just stated. I want someone who is self-motivated, someone who can make a decision on his own, whenever a decision has to be made.
“No, sir, Mr. Morris, I want to buy this mine as an investment. I have no intention of trying to run it myself.”
Morris stared at John with a questioning expression on his face. “Are you saying that if you buy this mine, and you hire me to run it . . . that I’ll have free hand?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Morris extended his hand. “You’ve just bought yourself a mine.”
On board the Gillespie car
Instead of leaving the train, they ate in the private car that evening. The dining table was set for dinner, and little flashes of light bounced off the shining silverware, the sparkling china, and the softly gleaming stemware. Julius Calhoun, the porter, brought the meal to them on a pushcart. The menu was leg of lamb, buttered noodles, minted green peas, and rolls.
“Please don’t tell any of my cattlemen friends how much I enjoyed lamb, but this was a fine meal,” Matt agreed.
“I won’t,” John replied with a chuckle.
“So, Morris took you up on the offer to take over the mine,” Matt said as he took a sip of wine. “Excellent wine,” he said.
“I’m glad you like it. It’s from a winery that I own in the Napa Valley. I think the day will come when California is as well known for its wines as France. Yes, he took the offer, and I was right about the results, too. Since I bought the mine, Morris has wound up making much more money as the manager than he ever made while he was still the owner.”
“Then, I don’t understand. Why do you think he might have enough resentment to be trying to kill you?”
“I don’t know that he does have that much resentment against me,” John replied. “But the mine is making money now, a lot more money than it was ever making while he owned it. And I suppose there is always the possibility that, deep down inside, he wishes he had never sold out.”
“But didn’t you say he had no choice? That he was going to lose the mine anyway?”
“Yes, but that requires reason,” John said. “It has been my observation that when men are involved in high-stakes business, much like in high-stakes poker, reason often becomes one of the first casualties.”
Matt smiled. “Mr. Gillespie, it is absolutely no wonder that you are successful. You are a very smart man.”
“Well thank you, Matt. Coming from you, that i
s indeed a huge compliment.”
Salt Lake City, Utah, September 3, 2 a.m.
Kelly had come to the realization that the job of getting Gillespie and his daughter killed wasn’t going to be accomplished as long as Matt Jensen was around. It was time, therefore, to stop trying to kill the Gillespies and concentrate instead on getting rid of the bodyguard.
But how was he to do that?
As he stood out on the depot platform at two o’clock in the morning, he saw a couple of sheriff’s deputies who had come down to meet the train. That gave him an idea, and he walked over to talk to them.
Matt was standing on the platform alongside the private car, keeping an eye on both the front and rear entrances. John and Mary Beth were both inside, and he was sure that, at this hour, they were asleep. He didn’t want to disturb them, but he knew that whenever the train was stopped for any length of time the danger was greater.
Two men came toward him, and he became instantly alert until he saw their badges glinting in the light of the platform lamps. He relaxed.
“Mr. Jensen?” one of them said.
“Yes, I’m Matt Jensen.”
“Would you come with us please, Mr. Jensen?”
“I’d rather not.”
Both deputies drew their pistols. Matt didn’t expect it, so he made no attempt to reply. Even now, if he had wanted to, he knew that he could draw and shoot both of them before they could react. But if they actually were officers of the law, he didn’t want to do that.
“We’re not going to ask you again,” one of the two men said.
Matt wasn’t sure what he should do. On one hand, he didn’t want to leave the train and leave John and Mary Beth unprotected. On the other hand, he didn’t want to defy the law.
“How long is this going to take?” Matt asked. “I can’t leave the train.”
“It will take as long as it takes.”
Matt sighed, then went with them. They took his gun from him, then they took him to the sheriff’s office.
“Would you please tell me what this is for?” Matt asked.
The Great Train Massacre Page 12