The Union Belle

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Thinking of settin’ up there, Shep?”

  “It’ll be the next construction town,” Yancy nodded. “Cheyenne will be quiet enough in a few weeks. Go on and take the bed.”

  “Why, I reckon I will, Shep. Much obliged.”

  Dooley went at once to the room, pulled off his boots and gunbelt and flopped down on the bed. He went to sleep almost at once, and for three hours did not move. He awakened almost as suddenly as he had dropped off, realizing that he was hungry. Rising from the bed, he moved out of the room without putting on his boots and made his way into the main room of the club. It was empty, but he saw a faint light coming from a crack toward the rear of the room. He moved toward it, stopping when he heard a faint sound.

  Carefully he pushed the door open. A woman sat at the table, her head on her arms, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. Dooley at once tried to retreat, but the door squeaked, and the woman jumped up and faced him, giving a small frightened cry.

  “Aw, now don’t be scared, Miss,” Dooley said hurriedly. He saw that she was the waitress who worked for Lola.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. Tears streaked her pale cheeks. Her large brown eyes matched the mass of hair that fell around her shoulders.

  “Jest ol’ Dooley Young, Miss. Shep let me have his bed for the night while he went to Benton.”

  “Oh.” The girl relaxed and turned away from him. She stood there so long that he didn’t realize at first that she was crying again. He stood by helplessly, finally moving closer to touch her on the shoulder.

  “Miss—if there’s anything I can do—?”

  He was taken off guard when she suddenly turned and leaned against him. Her shoulders shook as great sobs racked her body. He held her gently, saying nothing, thinking, I’d like to perforate the sucker who brought this on!

  Finally she grew still, and then drew away. “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I guess everything just caught up with me.”

  “Sure,” he nodded, and tried a small smile. “I guess most of us would like to cry, but like my Uncle Seedy used to say, ‘I’m too big to cry and it hurts too much to laugh.’ ”

  She gave him a strange look, and then a glimmer of a smile showed on her tear-streaked face. “That’s the way I feel, I guess.”

  She turned to go, but he said quickly, “Say, would you mind helping me fix some sort of a snack—maybe some eggs? I been on the trail for a week, and I woke up starving to death.”

  “Well—I suppose so.”

  He pulled a high stool up next to the bar and began telling her stories as she pulled a pan from a shelf and proceeded to fry him half a dozen eggs. Dooley Young was an entertaining man, and she wound up having a cup of coffee with him as he ate. Her face seemed to soften as she smiled at his tale of a ring-sided gouger he had shot in the hills, and he noted that the hardness he had seen earlier was gone.

  Finally he was finished, and she said, “I’ve got to go now.”

  “Thanks for the supper . . .” He paused and said, “I don’t know your name.”

  “Maureen,” she said, then turned to go.

  He reached out to pat her arm as she passed, and she whirled to face him, pulling herself into a defensive posture.

  Dooley blinked, and said immediately, “Just wanted to say, Maureen, that I’m sorry for whatever it was made you cry. If I can do anything—?”

  She looked closely at him, then shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. The smile had disappeared and he read misery in her eyes. “There’s nothing you can do, Mr. Dooley.”

  When she left, he stared at the door, his cheerful expression gone. He wondered again who had driven her to such a point as he left the kitchen.

  ****

  Mark was roused out of a sound sleep by a loud knocking on the door. He slid his hand under the pillow, pulled the .44 out, and left the bed to stand to the right side of the door. “Who is it?”

  “Reed.”

  Mark tossed the gun on the bed, turned the key, and stepped back to let his boss in. As usual, Reed wasted no words. “Get your pants on, Mark. We’ve got to be at Fort Sanders quick as we can get there. Meet me at the station; I’m running a special just to get us there.”

  Mark scrambled into his clothes, slipped on his gunbelt and left the hotel. When he got to the office he found Reed waiting for him, standing beside a huffing engine pulling only one passenger car. The two men got on, and at once the wheels began to spin, leaving Cheyenne at a break-neck speed.

  Reed sat down and glanced moodily out the window before saying, “Grant’s going to be at Fort Sanders. There’s going to be a showdown tonight between Durant and Dodge. If

  Durant has his way, Dodge will be out—and that’ll mean the Central Pacific will win all the marbles.”

  Mark stared at Reed. “I didn’t know Durant was strong enough to challenge Dodge head on.”

  “He’s feeling pretty secure. Ames hasn’t been able to find any money back in Boston. He’s mortgaged his plant to the hilt, but that’s not enough. So Durant figures he can call the shots. He’s got some money lined up, and he’ll use that as a lever.”

  The thought of the Union Pacific going under had not occurred to Mark. “Why am I coming?” he asked.

  “Dodge said to bring you.”

  The two men talked about the company’s problems until the train pulled in at Fort Sanders, where Hayden waited to meet them. His face was flushed, and he said quickly, “Better get down to headquarters. Grant got here an hour ago and they’re due to start pretty soon.”

  The three men got in the wagon, and Hayden filled them in on the events, but it was apparent that nothing had happened yet. “Everything depends on Grant,” Reed murmured.

  They pulled up in front of the headquarters house of General Gibbon and saw that the participants were standing stiffly in front of the house, posing for a picture. The group broke up and moved inside the house as Mark and the others strode toward the building. Dodge motioned to the three men and led them inside where Mark found a side window to stand beside.

  Dodge stood with his back to one wall, his temper evident in his speech and the tension on his face. Grant, Sherman and Sheridan sat down, expressionless. Durant, Mark saw at once, was already half-angry, his small fingers plucking at his Vandyke beard.

  Dodge said, “I want to make my position very clear.”

  They all looked at him carefully, especially Grant and his two generals. It was obvious to Mark that there was a rapport between the men, for Dodge had been a commander for Grant during the war. Men grow to either trust or hate one another in that setting, and it was clear in the way Grant gave Dodge his full attention that he trusted him.

  “When I laid out the lines for the road, I did so with the government commissioners in mind. I wanted what they wanted—a line that would be sound, built for traffic and not for subsidy. As long as I am in charge, that is the way it will be. I will not have private contractors agitating for changes that make profit for them.” He turned then and looked directly at Durant, biting his words off. “I will not have Durant sending his own set of engineers out to set aside my orders.”

  “I think I must remind you, General Dodge, that the investors are paying for this project,” Durant snapped. “And since they’re spending the money, they are entitled to any changes which will bring in more revenue.”

  Dodge’s eyes grew flinty. “The Credit Mobilier contracts are tainted, Durant. You and your ‘investors’ are feathering your own nest at the expense of a sound line.”

  Durant shrugged his thin shoulders. “Still, private money is building this road. It’s a gamble. We may all lose everything. And I want to remind you that this money is a loan that we must repay to the government. It’s not a gift, as you seem to think, General. The Credit Mobilier is under a terrible strain—if it collapses there won’t be a transcontinental road.”

  The air was thick with antagonism and distrust. Grant looked at Dodge, then at Durant, finally asking, “What abou
t that, Dodge?”

  Dodge said, “I want the private investors protected. Sherman Ames is one of them, and he’s played fair because he wants the road built right. I tell you now, I cannot have either private contractors or financial interests dictating the layout of the line. I can’t fight the battles back East. As long as I’m chief engineer, neither Durant nor any other man will interfere. If the changes Durant has made stand, I’ll quit.”

  A silence built up, and everyone watched Grant. He had no real authority with the Union Pacific, but all knew he would be the next president. Two years earlier, Grant had given Dodge a furlough from the army to become the Union’s chief engineer. He sat there quietly for a long time, then said, “The government expects this railroad to be finished. The government expects the railroad company to meet its obligations. And the government also expects General Dodge to remain with the road as its chief engineer until it is finished.”

  Durant got the message. Color came into his pale face, but he was a clever man and would not display his anger here. He made a quick change. “I withdraw my objections. We all want General Dodge to stay with the road.”

  The meeting ended abruptly, and the participants headed for the special train that was to take Grant and his party on their way. Before leaving, Dodge called Reed, Winslow, and Hayden to one side. “The soldier vote insures that Grant will be our next president. But in the meantime, President Johnson hates us. We’re out of money, and I don’t know if Sherman Ames can raise any more.”

  “What are our orders, General?” Reed asked.

  “Keep laying steel! We’ll beat the Central if I have to lay the ties with my own hands. Mark, you take care of any trouble. I don’t want any holdups. Put a tight lid on the construction towns, and if the workers get out of hand, pound them into the ground.”

  “All right, General Dodge,” Mark nodded, his face serious. “You can count on it.”

  Dodge and Reed moved away, and Mark said, “Ray, you understand what this all means?”

  “I think we all do,” Hayden nodded. “Durant will cut our throat if he can.”

  “No doubt.” They walked back to Ray’s wagon to wait for Reed.

  Hayden asked idly, “You see much of Moira while I was back East?”

  An impulse to tell Ray about his walk to the church with Moira rose in Mark, but he knew his friend would never understand. After all, he didn’t understand it himself. He nodded, saying only, “We had supper a couple of times.”

  “Good thing I’m not jealous,” Ray said evenly. “I remember how we used to try to steal each other’s women.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  Hayden studied Mark, then let it go. He knew what he would have done had the cases been reversed, and he had been alone with Mark’s girl. It never occurred to him that any man would miss a chance with a beautiful woman out of loyalty to a friend. He had built himself a little system years ago, and it said, “Take what you can get—no matter what.” Now as Reed returned and climbed into the wagon, he thought, I’ve got to have more money from Jason—and I need to persuade Moira to marry me right away. It was significant that the two matters foremost in his mind were of equal importance.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  End of Track

  “What’s wrong with you, Lola?” Shep asked. “You’ve been mooning around for days. You feelin’ poorly?”

  The two were taking a break from the books they had been going over that early Monday morning.

  “No, Shep. I feel all right.” She took a sip of coffee, leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  He studied her face, then said suddenly, “I know what’s wrong with you. Maybe you ain’t noticed it, but every Sunday you get this way. You go to hear your dad preach, then for two, three days after, you go creeping around like a sick cat.” A look of concern washed across his broad face, and he asked anxiously, “You reckon maybe you’re tryin’ to come down with a case of religion?”

  Lola opened her eyes and gave him a slight smile. “No, I don’t think that’s it, Shep. Most of the time I don’t understand what my father’s talking about when he preaches. Maybe I’m just dreading all the trouble it’s going to take to move from this place.”

  “Aw, it won’t be so bad, Lola. I already got us a place rented at Benton, and this time we’ve got lots of help to fix it up.” Cheyenne was in its last days as a construction point; within a week Casement would move his site to Benton, which would fill up just as Cheyenne and Julesburg had. Then it too would dry up when the wave of workers moved with the end of track toward Utah.

  A thought struck her, and she said, “Someday, Shep, the railroad will be finished. There won’t be any more towns like this one or Benton. What will we do then?”

  Yancy was not a man of great forethought, and a look of surprise came to his eyes. “Why, I never think that far ahead, Lola. I guess we’ll open a saloon someplace, like this one.”

  The thought displeased her, and she shook her head. “There’s got to be more to life than running a saloon, hasn’t there?”

  “Man has to do something, Lola—and a woman, too. What’s the difference between running a saloon and running a general store?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Shep!” Lola rose and began to pace around the room, agitation in her face. “Maybe none—but when I look ahead and think of doing this for the next forty years, it scares me.”

  Yancy nodded as if something had been confirmed. “It’s what I thought, Lola—you’ve been listening to your dad. All preachers think about is getting a robe and a crown—going to the glory land. But most of us are more interested in the here and now than we are in settin’ around on a cloud plucking at a harp some time way off.”

  Lola stopped her pacing, came over and put her hand on his thick shoulder. She had grown genuinely fond of the big man over the weeks they had worked together. He was rough and had often led an evil life, but he had let none of that come into their relationship. Now she smiled down at him and said, “Maybe you’re right, Shep. After all, I’m a lot better off than I was at the cantina back home. Lots of clothes and money—more than I ever thought. I’m even my own boss. Not many women can say that.” She shrugged her shoulders, lifted her chin and said, “Let’s get the bookwork done. I want to go out for some fresh air today.”

  “I can finish it, Lola. Why don’t you let that handsome lieutenant from Fort Sanders take you for a buggy ride? Do you good and would sure give him a thrill.”

  “Maybe I will, Shep,” she smiled as she turned to go. “I’ll be back in time to open up tonight.”

  She went to her room, changed into a simple pearl gray dress and a pair of sturdy calfskin boots. Before she left, she looked in the mirror to adjust the small hat she had donned, then picked up a parasol and left the Union Belle. It was the middle of July, but the heat of summer was modified, and as she made her way along the street she enjoyed the bright sun and the cool morning air. It would be hot later in the day, but snow lurked in the mountains that lay on the horizon, and all too soon it would fall on the land, freezing the earth and turning the grass to a shriveled brown.

  There was really so little to do in Cheyenne that after visiting the three stores that had anything a woman might want, she was perplexed as to what to do. The town picked up some momentum as the sun rose, and she heard the sound of the engines huffing over in the direction of the Union’s stockpiles. She made her way through the dusty street, drawn by the activity, and as she turned a corner, she saw Jeff Driver coming toward her on a fine gray horse. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he dismounted at once. He lifted his hat, saying, “Why, Lola—didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Hello, Jeff.” She smiled at him, confessing, “I’m stealing the day off.” A thought came to her, and she asked mischievously, “Why don’t you take me for a buggy ride?”

  He brightened up, then just as quickly grew gloomy, “Can’t do it, Lola—not today. Got to ride to the Fort on an errand for General Casement.” I
t was the first time she’d asked him to do something with her, and he flirted with the thought of getting someone else to go to Sanders—but Casement had been pretty anxious. “Say, I’ll be back by three or four this afternoon. Put that ride on hold, will you? We can go down to the river and have a late picnic. Real pretty down there when the sun goes down.”

  “All right, Jeff.”

  He grinned and said, “I’ll run on then—probably ruin my horse getting there and back.”

  Lola watched him leave at a gallop, and felt a moment of concern. He was in love with her, or almost so, and she had no feelings of that sort for him. It disturbed her to think that she might have given him false hopes, but it was too late for such thoughts now. She walked toward the loading area, and for a time stood there watching the men load the steel and ties on the flat cars.

  They were noisy, yelling at one another, and with the clanging of steel and the thumping of the ties on the cars, she was caught by surprise when a voice behind her said, “Hello, Lola.”

  She turned to see Mark with Moira Ames and Ray Hayden. Hayden asked, “What brings you down here, Lola?”

  “Oh, I was just out for some air.”

  Moira said innocently, “I suppose it does get tiresome breathing that stale smoke in a saloon all night.”

  There was nothing wrong with the remark, but Lola sensed the unkind intent in the other woman’s gaze. “That’s right, Miss Ames.”

  The whistle of the engine blew shrilly, and Mark said, “Moira wanted to see the end of track, Lola.”

  “Come along with us, Lola, if you’ve nothing else to do,” Ray suggested. “You haven’t seen it, have you?”

  “No, but—”

  “Oh, come on,” he insisted, and looked at Mark. “It’ll be all right, won’t it?”

  “Of course.” Mark nodded and added, “Come along before we get left behind.”

  Lola had apprehensions, but the thought of a boring afternoon prompted her, and she smiled, “I’d really like to see it.”

  The four of them boarded the work train, and Mark led them to some seats in a passenger car filled with the usual quota of Irishmen bound back to the grading camps. Moira and Ray sat down together, and when Lola seated herself by the window, Mark took his place beside her. Ray exhibited less cheerfulness than usual, Lola noticed. He sat idly listening as Mark pointed out some of the sights, and there was something in the way he looked at Mark that was not his customary good humor. Moira was the most animated of the four, her greenish eyes sparkling with excitement. She spoke more often to Mark than to the others, and it crossed Lola’s mind that perhaps she and Ray had had a quarrel.