“I want to see him,” she demanded in her lowest, most authoritative voice. For more than once she was glad to be clad in trousers and a suit coat, knowing full well that no one would have given her the time of day had she swept into the office in a gown and curls.
“He’s still out cold,” the sheriff declared. “He was probably drunk when this all started.”
“He was not drunk! I’d just had dinner with the man. Send for a doctor.”
“I ain’t wastin’ the doc’s time,” the man replied. “Men have been sleepin’ it off in this jail since it was put together. He’s just one more.”
“He’ll no doubt come around,” the ill-tempered ruffian who’d prompted the fight declared.
“I find your treatment of this man intolerable,” Jordana raved. Then reaching into her satchel, she produced paper and pencil. “I’d like to write about this for the newspaper back east. Could I please have your names?”
The sheriff paled considerably. “You’re that newspaperman I’ve heard about? The one writing the stories about the West and the railroad?”
“That’d be me,” Jordana said with a bit of a drawl to her voice. “I find it fascinating to report on the people of the West. Yourselves included. That a man can simply be walking down the street, minding his own business, and have a sheriff’s deputy pick a fight with him—well, that’s newsworthy in my book. Especially when the man ends up jailed for defending himself. I think it rather fits the eastern thoughts of the uncivilized West. Perhaps it can serve as a warning to others when considering North Platte as a place to settle down and raise a family.”
“Now just wait a minute, mister,” the deputy said, stepping forward. He had the same ugly scowl on his face that Jordana had seen him use on Rich.
“I sure hope you don’t plan to hit me like you hit him. I’m afraid our size difference would put me at a great disadvantage,” Jordana stated, cowering back just a bit for effect.
The man stopped short. “I wasn’t plannin’ on hittin’ anyone. O’Brian hit me first.”
“Well, you did insult him and start the entire matter,” Jordana replied. Glancing down, she jotted notes. “Now could I have your name?”
“The name is Patrick Worth. Not that it means anything to you. But it means a good deal to that man in the cell,” the deputy declared.
“Look,” the sheriff interjected, “we don’t want trouble.”
Jordana nodded. “Neither did we. That man in there is my friend, and I intend to let the world know of his treatment.”
“Don’t go getting all uppity.” With a curse, the sheriff tossed the keys at the deputy. “Worth, go wake him up. I don’t care if you have to pour half the Platte River on him. Just get him on his feet.”
Grumbling, the deputy did as he was told, and Jordana put her paper and pencil away. “I appreciate your help, Sheriff.”
“I intend to get to the bottom of this,” the man replied. “And not just for fear of it turning up in your story.”
Jordana smiled to herself but said nothing more. In the other room she could hear Rich moan and then shout at his treatment.
“Leave me alone, Worth!”
“Bring him in here,” the sheriff called out.
Jordana braced herself for Rich’s appearance. His eye had already been blackening when Worth had thrown him over his shoulder and hauled him into jail. No doubt he would look even worse now.
Staggering somewhat, Rich appeared in front of Worth. He was dripping wet from where Worth had obviously poured a bucket of water over him. His face, bruised and blackened, caused Jordana to wince. His right eye was nearly swollen shut. He glanced only briefly at Jordana, and she thought he looked rather regretful to find her there.
“Now I want to know what this is all about,” the sheriff demanded.
“Ask him,” Rich muttered.
The deputy shrugged. “It’s personal.”
“Well, it just got unpersonal,” the sheriff replied. “After all, it was my jail that you chose to park his carcass in. Now I want to know what’s going on.”
Both Rich and the man called Worth seemed to squirm uncomfortably. Something was desperately wrong between the two, and she recalled the cryptic words that had passed between them. The man had accused Rich of murdering his wife. Jordana didn’t even know that Rich had ever been married, much less widowed. Then again, maybe that wasn’t what the man was implying at all. Perhaps Rich had somehow been responsible for killing Worth’s wife. Maybe while still with the army, Rich had accidentally killed Mrs. Worth.
The standoff was most uncomfortable, and finally Worth, seeing that his employer meant business, growled and moved across the room, as if he wanted to put some distance between himself and his adversary. “He used to be married to my sister. It’s just a family dispute.”
The sheriff nodded. “I don’t know what caused this ruckus between the two of you, but I don’t have the time for this. If it’s family trouble, keep it outside of my jail. Pat, you get on back to your business. And you two”—the sheriff jerked his head at Rich and Jordana as he took his seat at a well-weathered desk—“get out of here, and see to it you stay out of trouble. I’d suggest, O’Brian, that you keep clear of my deputy.”
Rich looked at the sheriff and then at Jordana. “It won’t be a problem unless he makes it one.” The anger in his voice was still evident.
Jordana grabbed her luggage and followed Rich out into the street, struggling to shift her things to one shoulder while scrambling to keep up. For a block or more they were silent, but when they neared the hotel where Jordana had told Charlie Crocker she would be staying, she forced Rich to stop.
“I wired ahead to have a room waiting for me here,” she said. “Why don’t you come inside? We can sit in the lobby and you can tell me what’s going on.” It was more a suggestion than a question.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rich said without even looking at her.
Jordana maneuvered around to stand directly in front of her friend. “Rich, this doesn’t make any sense. The man is your brother-in-law and obviously there is some trouble between you. Why not just tell me about it, and maybe together we can come to some positive conclusion.”
“No!” he said between clenched teeth. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Jordana asked angrily.
At this, Rich finally met her gaze. “Will you just let it be?”
She knew it was probably not a good time to goad him, but at the same time she was hurt that he’d never shared this part of himself with her. He had been married and never mentioned it? And now, even more troublesome were Worth’s accusations about Rich killing his wife. How could Rich claim to be her friend and still keep such important matters from her?
“Don’t I have a right to know what’s going on?” She tried to keep the hurt from her tone but not very successfully.
“No, you don’t,” he replied flatly. “It has nothing to do with you.” His swollen eye narrowed even more, and the fixed, steely expression did nothing to mask the pain he so clearly felt.
“Maybe it should have something to do with me,” Jordana replied. She felt certain that it would be better if they got this out here and now. Perhaps if Rich could talk about the problem, he would be able to free himself of the obviously painful memories. “We’ve been friends for a long time now. Don’t you trust me?” she asked softly.
“It isn’t a matter of trust, Jordana,” he said, barely remembering to drop his voice as he spoke her name. “It’s a matter of privacy. I’m not ready to share this with you, so please, stay out of it.”
Jordana could not keep from feeling wounded by his words. Shifting her things once again, she pushed past him. “Fine. I have a reservation here. I’m going to get my room and then I’ll be about my work. Don’t bother to follow me. I’m not ready to share this part of my life with you, so all bets are off.”
“You’re being childish,” he said, taking hold of her arm.
Stepping up to the front desk, Jordana arranged for a room and quickly hastened to find some sanctuary in its privacy. The room was nothing to boast about. It held little more than a narrow iron bed and washstand and mirror, but it was a place where Jordana could strip away the facade of being Joe Baldwin and allow herself to rethink the day’s events.
Why am I so angry? she wondered as she dropped her luggage on the floor and gave her hat an angry toss onto the bed. Stalking back and forth at the end of the bed, she pounded her fists against her legs. I won’t give in to this. I won’t feel anything more for him than friendship. It isn’t prudent and it certainly doesn’t fit with my current task.
Taking off her outer coat, she hung it on a peg on the back of the door. Dust scattered onto the floor, and seeing how dirty she’d become, Jordana began to pound and shake the coat in a fury of emotion.
“If he doesn’t want to share it with me,” she muttered, “then let him sit in his silence.” She coughed slightly, realizing the mess she’d stirred up.
Going to the window, she pulled up the heavy green shade and raised the window. Sticking her head out for a breath of fresh air, she gazed out onto the street. Soon it would be dark and she’d already been warned that the nightlife of North Platte was not for the weak willed. On the train, the man riding next to her spoke of how he wouldn’t wish North Platte on his worst enemy. He spoke of the horrors he’d endured there and how ruthless the people were. Suddenly she found herself wishing that Rich were taking up residence in the room next to hers. At least then she’d know where to find him. Now, however, she had no idea where he might have gone.
A light knock on the door, followed by the announcement of a message, sent Jordana in a rush to learn the contents. Perhaps Rich felt bad for the way he’d treated her and wanted to apologize. Perhaps not.
“I’m Joe Baldwin,” she said as she met the curious gaze of a young woman.
“I have a telegram for you, Mr. Baldwin. We’re real sorry for not giving it to you when you first came. A man brought it before you registered. My ma had it in the back room, so my pa, the one who signed you in, he didn’t know nothin’ about it.”
Jordana nodded. “That’s all right. I understand.” She handed the girl a coin from her vest pocket and took the telegram. “Thank you,” she murmured and closed the door on the girl’s continued open stare.
Jordana scanned the contents of the letter and smiled. It was from Charlie in a strange cryptic code they had worked out some time before. It was agreed that messages would only come when absolutely necessary, and apparently Charlie had deemed this matter to be of utmost importance. Apparently Leland Stanford was overnighting in North Platte after a meeting back east with Collis Huntington. Charlie referred to him as Mr. Addison, a family friend, while Huntington was simply called Mr. H. Jordana was to meet Stanford at a nearby boardinghouse at exactly five o’clock.
Jordana hoped she’d recognize the man, because for certain, he wouldn’t recognize her. They had met before, but Jordana had been introduced as the sister-in-law of Kiernan O’Connor. She wondered if he would find her costume change too much of an assault on his sense of propriety. Then, too, she wondered if Stanford might be trying to conceal his appearance. He was quite well-known in certain circles. If the UP folks spotted him in town, they might very well accuse him of spying. Still, as the governor of California, he had business that entailed more than the Central Pacific and could perhaps convince them that his dealings back east had nothing at all to do with UP and CP developments.
Glancing at the pocket watch she kept, Jordana realized there was little time to reach Stanford by the suggested hour. Hurriedly, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror over the washbasin and decided it would have to do. She looked the part of the road-weary traveler, to be sure.
Hurrying downstairs while pulling on her coat, Jordana paused at the front desk only long enough to ask where she might find the Meredith Manor Boarding House.
With less than five minutes to make the journey from one end of town to the other, Jordana found her pace quickened and her determination fixed. She paid no attention to the enticing calls offering everything from gambling to drink to a comfortable bed. She felt only a pang of regret when she happened across a sign that read “Turkish Steam Baths.” At this point, she’d have loved any kind of bath, but in her state of disguise, public bathing wasn’t an option for certain.
At the wrought-iron gate of the Meredith Manor, Jordana paused for a moment to catch her breath. She could clearly make out the form of Leland Stanford as he sat smoking a cigar and enjoying the afternoon from the manor’s wraparound porch. Several men were standing not far from him, and together they appeared to be sharing casual conversation.
Jordana hoped that Stanford would understand when she introduced herself. She had no way of knowing if Charlie had mentioned her costume to Stanford. Steadying her hand, Jordana opened the gate and made her way to the porch.
“Mr. Addison?”
“I’m Addison,” Leland Stanford replied, sitting up to take note of the young man calling his name. “You must be Joe Baldwin.”
“That I am, sir.”
“Your brother is a good friend,” he said, reaching out to shake Jordana’s extended hand. “Gentlemen,” he said, getting to his feet, “I hope you’ll excuse me. I’ve a message to deliver to this young man, and I’m sure he’d like to hear about his family.”
The men murmured their understanding, and Jordana readily followed Stanford to the far end of the porch. After casually glancing around them to ensure privacy, Stanford smiled.
“Crocker told me you were going about in trousers. I just had to see it for myself.”
Jordana laughed softly. “I wasn’t sure but what you might burst out in laughter upon seeing me. Charlie did.”
Stanford nodded. “It’s just most unusual to see a young woman dressed as you are. But I must say, you play the part well.”
“Thank you. But what is it that has Charlie sending you to meet up with me?” Jordana questioned.
“Charlie’s had more trouble on the line. This time he’s had to halt along the way to play diplomat to the Shoshone Indians. Supplies have disappeared from time to time, and it seems there have been shots taken at the track builders. A couple of the Chinese were injured. Nothing serious, but enough of a problem to halt the line temporarily.”
“Why were the Shoshone at odds with the railroad?”
“Apparently,” Stanford said, lowering his voice even more, “they don’t like the Chinese, and they didn’t like Charlie tearing up the lower Truckee River.”
“Did Charlie manage to calm them down?”
Stanford smiled. “You know Charlie. He arranged a peace treaty by announcing that he was a big chief, too, and wasn’t about to stand by while his people were killed. The Shoshone chief sat down with him and together they agreed upon a treaty. Charlie told him the penalty for breaking the pact was death.”
“What arrangement did he make?” Jordana asked, wondering just how this information was pertinent to her position.
“The Shoshone will ride free in first-class cars, that is as soon as we have them up and running through that area, but they have to stop shooting at the builders and leave the supplies alone.”
“It sounds like Charlie settled the affair amicably. I guess I don’t understand what it has to do with me.”
Stanford’s brow knit together earnestly. “At one point, Charlie asked the chief to return the supplies that were missing, but the man said he’d already sold them to another group of white men.”
Jordana felt a col
d chill go down her spine. “Did Charlie ask the chief where these men could be found?”
“He tried, but the chief seemed to realize that he had said too much and pretended not to understand. They finished signing their treaty, and Charlie said the chief quickly took up his copy and disappeared with his men.”
“And Charlie thinks I might be able to find out if the Union Pacific had something to do with this?”
“They’re about the only ones who could use the supplies, unless of course they were merely destroyed. Charlie’s hopeful that evidence might be produced. If it can be proven, Huntington wants to take it before Congress and demand that the Union Pacific be forced to compensate the Central Pacific, and that they be forced to halt their line in Utah and give that over to the CP to continue building.”
“Surely he doesn’t think the Union Pacific will ever go along with that,” Jordana replied. “They’re already enraged that Charlie would dare to put men in Utah to survey, much less to actually build. They aren’t going to just walk away and let Charlie and the CP have Utah.”
“Well, if you can find the evidence we need, it just might sway Congress to see things our way. You’ll have to be quick about it, however. Now that the treaty has been signed, Charlie isn’t sure who these men will get to do their dirty work next.”
Jordana nodded. “I’ll do what I can. I suppose this takes precedence over my original assignment.”
“Yes, proceed on this immediately.”
“How will I get word to Charlie? If I send a wire, I could expose myself as a spy. The post will take longer than what Charlie will want to wait.”
“If you learn something, you’ll have to come back to where we’re building and deliver it in person. Charlie plans to be at the forefront of the activity, but he’s set up a base of supplies in Wadsworth. With the line ever closing, it’s nearly as quick for you to come to us as to work it any other way.”
Jordana nodded. “All right. If I learn anything important, I’ll take the UP to the front and hire a stage from there.”
Judith Pella, Tracie Peterson - [Ribbons West 03] Page 11