“Hello, Winslow,” Cherry said. “Been in Omaha?”
“For a month.” The train was slowing down now, and all around him men were scraping their boots along the floor as they got to their feet. They laughed and cursed, shoving one another with animal-like good humor, but even as they filed by Winslow he did not take his attention from the two men. “Guess things will pick up in Cheyenne now,” he said idly.
Valance studied him, weighing the words as if looking for some hidden meaning, then nodded, “Always that way. Main Street is packed now. New places will have to move to the edge of town.”
Jamie Lord came by shouting, “Cheyenne! Everybody out for Cheyenne!”
Mark nodded, shifted his grip on the suitcase in his hand, and turned to leave. “I’ll see you later, Cherry.”
Goldman glared at him, then said to Valance, “Real friendly, ain’t he now?” The hazel eyes of the gunman were half-closed, and his thin lips turned upward in a sour grin as he watched Winslow step down and move through the crowd. “Always good to know exactly what you’re up against. That’s your man, Cherry. As long as he’s around, we’re out of business.”
Cherry didn’t answer. He drew on the long thin cigar, expelled the smoke, then nodded briefly. “Let’s get off this thing. I’m sick of it.”
Goldman rose and followed Valance down the aisle, but after they stepped down, he pressed the matter. “Cherry, wake up! It ain’t like you to let a man whip you like Winslow did in Julesburg last summer. All the others are waitin’ to see what you’ll do. And so far, all you’ve done is smile and be polite.” Goldman’s wire-thin frame showed as the wind molded his shirt to his body, and he touched his gun in a habitual gesture. Winslow disappeared down the street and Goldman shook his head. “He’s in our way, Cherry, and you don’t seem to know it.”
Goldman’s words grated on Valance, and he said irritably, “Shut up, Lou, will you? You think I don’t know about Winslow? We’ve had to handle others—but this one is another breed of cat. We’ll take care of him, but it’ll have to be done right. If we miss, we’ll have him right on our back, and I don’t fancy having an Indian like him jumping at me.”
Mark glanced back to see the two men watching him. After he had run Valance out of Julesburg the two had seldom met, but it was just a matter of time before another collision occurred. But he was not a man who worried about the future, so he filed thoughts of Valance away and looked around at Main Street, noting that every square foot of space was taken, and several side streets had branched off east and west. It was a roughly-built town, made of canvas and unpainted wood for the most part, and an edge of half-suppressed violence that ran just beneath the surface.
As Winslow passed by Valance’s Wagonwheel saloon, the big tent seemed to breathe as the breeze caused the canvas to lift and fall, then he turned off Main Street toward the Union Pacific’s offices. He walked quickly, pausing slightly when he passed a freshly painted wooden structure with an ornate sign swinging on wrought iron chains in front. The Union Belle’s clean and inviting exterior contrasted sharply with its surroundings.
He had an impulse to turn and enter the front door, but instead he picked up his pace and made his way down the street. It was a hesitation that was unlike him, and he examined it. He had been in the place more than once during the past months, but had never felt comfortable. Lola was polite, and he liked the quietness of the place—yet something in the way she looked at him was troublesome. He shrugged off the irritation, then moved toward the low, flat buildings that housed UP’s offices.
Materials were stacked high alongside the buildings, ready to be shuffled to the end of track. Mark entered the larger of the three buildings and was greeted by a short, heavy man who grinned at the sight of him. “Well, lookee here at what’s blowed in!” He came over and shook hands with Mark. “Glad to see you.”
“How’ve you been, Josh?” Mark asked. He put his suitcase down and smiled at the smaller man. Joshua Long had a red moon-face and a pair of bright blue eyes. His job was to move the supplies to end of track, and he lifted his voice, “General—Winslow’s back!”
A door swung open to Mark’s right and Jack Casement came out, in a hurry, as usual. He was a wiry man, small like a terrier. Little as he was, he was always willing to fight it out with any of the thousands working under him. He had a full rust-colored beard and a pair of bristling eyebrows. “What’s doing in Omaha?” he asked abruptly.
“It looks good, General. Your brother Dan’s got stuff piled up so high that Omaha looks like a freight dump. Ferries are working twenty-four hours a day. He says you can get eighty cars of material a day.”
“Not enough!” Casement snapped. He was a dowdy, scrappy man, and he gave a discontented shake of his head. “We’ll need at least a hundred—and even that won’t be enough.”
“Oh, come on, General!” Josh Long argued. “This is the year we whip the daylights out of Central!”
Casement paced up and down the floor, unable to keep still. “Mark, Reed wants to see you. Get on over to the hotel.”
“What’s on his mind, General?”
“Nothing to grin about,” Casement scowled. “Get going, and tell him that he’s got to get more material if he wants that track laid.”
Mark picked up his suitcase, nodded, and left to make his way back to Main Street, where he entered the Strand Hotel and asked for Reed. “Room 210, Mr. Winslow,” the clerk said. “You want a room for yourself?”
“Not sure yet, Ed,” Mark said. “I’ll let you know.” He moved down the short hallway, and as he passed the door to the saloon, he heard his name called, and turned to find Jeff Driver and Dooley Young coming toward him.
“Well, look what the cat drug in, Jeff!” Dooley said loudly. His smile was hidden behind his huge moustache, but he slapped Mark on the shoulder. “Finally got tired of loafin’ and come to help me and Jeff do the work, I see.”
Mark grinned. “Hello, Dooley—Jeff. You two look rested up.”
“Not much doin’ for a fact, Mark,” Driver said.
“Well, come on up with me to see Reed. I’ve got an idea our resting days are about to come to an end.” He led the way up the stairs, found the door, and rapped on it. “Sam? It’s Mark.”
“Come on in,” Reed said, getting up from the small desk.
He was a smallish man, with a close-cropped beard. “Just get in?”
“Yes. Casement said you wanted to see me. I found these two sopping up whiskey downstairs.”
“Aw, Captain, that’s not so!” Dooley shook his head. “I was jest watching Jeff to see that he didn’t drink too much.”
Reed grinned at the pair, then turned serious. “Well, I’ve got bad news. Our schedule’s been wrecked, Mark. The plan for ’68 was to locate to Salt Lake and lay steel as far as the Wasatch range. But two days ago I got a wire from General Dodge. He’s dropping his work in Congress and he’ll be here within a week.”
The three men suddenly looked hard at Reed. Driver had started to light a cigarette, and paused with the match burning. General Dodge was law to all of them.
Reed walked to the window, looked down, then came back to say drily, “Well, the order now is to make our location lines final all the way to Salt Lake in thirty days, and to Humboldt Wells, two hundred twenty miles west of the lake, in another sixty days. Also, we’ve got to cover the whole line with men regardless of the cost, and get into Salt Lake with steel as fast as possible. It makes no difference where the snow catches us this year, you understand? We have to keep on.”
“Five hundred miles of steel and no stops?” Mark asked, shock in his face. “That’s a tall order, Sam!”
“What’s it all about, Reed?” Driver asked. He lit his cigarette and drew in the smoke. “What’s the big hurry?”
Reed shrugged his shoulders, then moved his cigar around in his mouth. “Under the first plan, the Central was to build from Frisco east to the California line and the Union was to build west from Omaha and meet th
em there. We all knew that Huntington and Crocker and Stanford would never stop at the California line. Now they’ve persuaded the Secretary of the Interior that the Central is a sounder line than the Union, so it should get the lion’s share.” He puffed on the cigar, adding in a grudging voice, “They’ve done a great job. Put the Sierras behind and they’ve got all the level stretches of Nevada in front.”
“And we haven’t even reached our heavy work in the Wasatch chain,” Mark muttered.
“Which we’ll hit in the dead of winter,” Reed nodded glumly. “And now Central’s sprung a surprise. It intends to beat us into Salt Lake. If it succeeds it will block us out of our only logical terminal and dictate what the Union will have in through traffic. We’re whipped, Mark,” he added.
Mark was thinking hard. “Yes, if they can do it. If we lose, our whole financial structure folds up. There’s no revenue to be had out of a road running nine hundred miles across a desert without a terminal.”
“Right!” Reed nodded. “The government will listen to the road that gets to the lake first. That’s why we’ve got to get to Salt Lake first regardless of cost—regardless of anything. And we’ve got other troubles. The Indians are sore and they’re going to hit us.”
“Yeah, shore as a cat’s got climbing gear!” Dooley broke in. “And I been hearin’ about troublemakers in the construction gangs.”
“Guess we know who put ’em there,” Driver said. “And the gamblers have already made their boast they intend to take control of the end-of-track town this year. Valance is gone, but he’ll be back to ramrod the thing.”
“Came in on the train with me,” Mark nodded. He moved restlessly around the room. “Sam, what’s first on your list for me to do?”
Reed said, “See if you can find out what the Indians will do. You’ll have to go to Fort Sanders and talk to Black Horse. Maybe he’ll help us some. Get back here as quick as you can.”
“All right.” Winslow turned and started for the door. The three men left the room, and Mark said, “I’m hungry. See you two later.”
“Nope,” Dooley said promptly.
Mark stared at him. “What do you mean—’no’?”
“I mean no,” Dooley said. He gave Driver a sharp look, saying, “He ain’t heard yet.”
“Heard what?” Mark said shortly.
Driver said quietly, “General Dodge took a trip last year to Julesburg—before you cleaned it up. He didn’t like what he saw, so he told Reed that the railroad’s going to back up its authority in all end-of-track towns this year. Reed sent word out to all the joints that you’re the man to clean ’em up if they don’t mind their manners.”
Mark stared at him. “How do you know all this?”
“Why, they made the mistake of lettin’ Shep Yancy in on it,” Driver grinned. “I guess they figured since he’d been a bouncer for Cherry he was all right. But Shep and Lola don’t need the town wide open to run their place, so he passed the word.”
“Who’d he tell?”
“Why, he told Lola,” Jeff said. “And she told me.”
Mark studied Driver’s dark face with a new interest. “I didn’t know you and Lola were that close, Jeff.”
Driver shrugged his shoulders, saying, “Well, I spend a lot of time at her place.”
Dooley broke in quickly, “At the meeting, the gamblers decided to put you down if you interfered with them like you did at Julesburg. Which is why Reed told me and Jeff to baby-sit you this year.”
Winslow looked down at Young and grinned suddenly. “You had any baby-sittin’ experience, Dooley?”
“Aw, Captain, I’m an expert,” the little rider grinned. “You ain’t forgot how many of us Youngs they was back in Virginia, have you?”
“I never did know exactly how many there were,” Mark said gravely. “Every time I rode by the house, kids were pouring out every door and every window.”
“Shorely! Ma and Pa took the scripture serious where it says to replenish the earth! Why, we had every kind of baby at the same time.”
“How many kinds are there besides boy babies and girl babies?” Driver inquired.
“Why, you ignorant Yankee!” Dooley exclaimed. “There’s arm babies and lap babies. And then there’s knee babies and after them there’s porch babies. After which comes a yard child, and then a set-along child.”
“A set-along child?” Driver asked curiously. “What’s that?”
Dooley stared at him and explained condescendingly, “A set-along child is a baby that stays put on a quilt at the end of a row of cotton. I thought everybody knowed that!”
Driver and Mark both laughed, but then Mark said, “Well, I guess the kind of baby-sittin’ you’ll be doing will be a little different. I hope you got rested up while I was in Omaha, because from what Sam Reed says, I don’t guess any of us is going to do much sitting until we hit Salt Lake.” He turned and left the room, the two men on his heels. “I’ll check in and then we’ll get some supper.”
“Best food is at Lola’s place,” Driver said as they walked down the stairs. “Her and Shep got a Chinaman who can cook like nothing you ever seen.”
Mark hesitated, then nodded. “Let me get a room and we’ll give it a try.” He got a room, put his gear inside, and then the three of them walked outside into the gathering darkness of the windy night. The boardwalk drummed with loud feet and the racket of bands playing and barkers calling out, “Come over here and give us a bet!” burst out of the saloons. They could hear the ringing of a switch engine’s bell from the depot, and a blast of the steam whistle split the night air from time to time.
The Wagonwheel was jammed, Mark noted as they passed. “Cherry’s making lots of money,” he commented as they moved by it.
“Like always,” Jeff shrugged. “The track hands work like slaves all week and just can’t wait to get to town and put it in Cherry Valance’s pocket.”
“Total depravity,” Dooley said. “Man is a poor lost sinner headed straight for the pit. And that there’s good, sound Footwashin’ Baptist doctrine in case you two heathens don’t recognize it.”
“You a Baptist, Dooley?” Driver asked in amusement.
“Why, I was a feeler,” Dooley stated solemnly.
“You was a what?” Driver demanded.
“A feeler.” As they reached the door of the Union Belle, Dooley explained, “At the baptizin’s in the creek, somebody’s likely to get washed away if they step in a deep hole. So a feeler is the one who goes out and feels around to be sure there ain’t none.” He sighed deeply and shook his head. “I swear, Jeff Driver, you’re as dull as a widder woman’s axe!”
They entered the brightly lit room, and as always Mark was struck with how different it was from the other joints in Cheyenne. There was a hum of voices and the sound of laughter from a group of men playing cards at the rear, but none of the ear-shattering noise that filled the other places. Cigar smoke floated on the air, but the aroma of meat cooking was the prevailing scent, and Mark quickly announced, “I’m starved.”
“Come on,” Jeff said. “Let’s grab that table by the kitchen.” He led the way and the three of them sat down. At once a young woman with a quiet face came to stand beside them. “Hello, Maureen,” Jeff said. “What’s good tonight?”
The girl was no more than twenty, and although she wore a blue dress that left her shoulders bare, it scarcely resembled the flashy, low-cut gowns of most saloon girls. “Chen Song made a wonderful beef roast, with new potatoes and green beans.”
“Sounds fine.” Jeff looked at the other two and they agreed. “Bring us three orders. After she left with their order, Jeff leaned back in his chair. “This place is doing great.”
Mark looked up to see the bulky form of Yancy coming across the floor. He stopped and looked down at them. “Hello, Winslow. Didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Just got back today,” Mark said. He looked around at the busy room, saying, “Looks like you and Lola are running a good business.”
“You look great, Shep,” he said.
“Shore do,” Dooley nodded. “If you drop dead we won’t have to do a thing to you.”
“I don’t guess you have any trouble in here,” Mark smiled, looking around the room at the placid scene.
“Oh, once in a while a rough one comes in,” Yancy shrugged. “But they don’t stay long.” He laughed and his big face broke into wrinkles. “I try to look like a big shot, but I still feel like a bouncer,” he admitted cheerfully. He moved a step closer and lowered his voice, “You get the word about what Cherry and his friends got in store for you?”
“I heard. Thanks for the warning.”
“Aw, it was Lola who told Driver,” Yancy said.
Mark looked around the room. “I don’t see her, Shep.”
“She usually comes in about this time for supper. I’ll tell her you fellows are here.”
He moved away and Dooley observed, “He ain’t as big as a mule—but then, he ain’t a heck of a lot smaller, either. I reckon he’s all right.”
The meal arrived, and as they ate Mark listened while his two companions talked—mostly about the war. They carried on a constant debate over the battles, and since both of them had gone through most of it, they had strong opinions. Mark always kept out of the arguments, and neither Young nor Driver ever lost their tempers. They were arguing about the Battle of Gettysburg when Mark saw Lola come into the room.
She looked across and caught his eyes. “Hello, Mark,” she said, coming over to their table. “Shep told me you were here.”
The three men got up, and Mark said, “Hello, Lola. Please, sit down and have something to eat with us.”
“I’ll just have pie and coffee,” she said, and the four of them sat down. “You’ve been gone a long time,” she said. “What have you been doing?”
“Just chores,” he answered. Her presence did something to him, and he was annoyed at himself. She was wearing a white dress with puffy sleeves, fitted at the waist and bodice. Her olive-colored skin glowed under the tint of the chandeliers, and her black hair was wound around her head like a shining ebony coronet. Mark was so enthralled with Lola’s beauty, he hardly noticed the pie the rest of the group was savoring.
The Union Belle Page 19