Jack’s eyes lit up. “Well, maybe you’d be more comfortable riding back there with the stink.” He turned to Mobley. “Did you get all passenger seats or can we let Edson ride back with the animals?”
Mobley saw his opening in the game. “Well dang me, Edson. If I’d known you were partial to horse puckey and yellow water straw, I would’ve booked you a special place in the back and saved us all some money on the ticket. Jack, would you take this ticket back and see if we can still exchange it for Edson?”
“No you don’t. Give me that ticket.” Edson reached out and snatched the ticket from Mobley’s hand. “Dang, a man tries to be helpful, and look what he gets, rode hard and put up wet.”
Mobley laughed and turned toward the passenger car. They handed their tickets to the conductor, a short red headed man, who sneered at their clothes and backed away as if they stank. Mobley sniffed his jacket to make sure, gave the man a glare, and then stepped aboard. The passenger car was next to last in order from the steam belching engine. Ahead was a baggage car and a tender. Behind, an open slat stable car had taken on a variety of animals for the trip, including their own.
Stopping at the door, Mobley looked down the narrow passageway. It was an old immigrant car. A number of years before, Mobley had read Robert Louis Stevenson’s description of the immigrant car he’d taken to California on the Union Pacific. Stevenson had talked of it as essentially a long narrow box, like a flat roofed Noah’s Ark with a stove and convenience, one at either end, a passage down the middle and transverse benches on either hand. The benches were described as too short to comfortably accommodate any but a small child.
The man had been right. For a tall man, they were impossible. Mobley felt his anger rise. These cars should not be in regular passenger service. They were designed for poor immigrants and Chinese workers who would accept being crammed in like cattle and who knew better than to complain lest they be black-listed and lost their passage.
As Mobley led the way down the narrow aisle, he saw the car was approximately three quarters full. He selected two benches separated on each side by empty ones, so he could push the ones they were to sit on backwards a little and extend their leg room. In order to accomplish this, it would be necessary to detach the benches from the four bolts holding them to the floor. After placing his saddle bags and rain gear in a corner, Mobley handed his rifle to Jack and motioned for Edson to do the same.
“What’re you doing, Mobley?” Jack asked.
“It’s called self help. I’m gonna get us some more leg room. These benches will have us looking like a trio of splay-legged hound dogs squattin’ for a dump. I, for one, don’t intend to ride like that all the way to Austin. My legs would be so bent it’d take half a year to unkink ‘em.”
Edson looked nervously around. “I don’t think the conductor will like that very much.”
“Yeah,” Jack added. “We don’t need to start this trip off with a fight.”
“Nonsense! I have no intention of allowing this railroad to ruin my tailbone, cramp my knees, or otherwise fool with my health. We’re entitled to decent accommodation and we’re going to have it. Here, Edson, help me lift these two benches off’n their nails.”
Edson shrugged and bent to help. They reached under one of the benches and with a mighty grunt, managed to lift the wooden structure free of its attachments. They did the same to another facing it and moved the two benches two to three feet farther apart. Several of the other passengers began to murmur among themselves. Three other tall gentlemen got up to see what was happening. A pretty little girl, maybe five years old, giggled to her mother. “Look mommy, they’re breaking up the chairs.”
The child’s mother turned in her seat. Mobley looked up at that moment and stared. A shock tingled through his body as her flashing eyes locked with his own. He felt his mouth drop open. She smiled, held the gaze for a second longer than proper, and then turned away. She was not wildly beautiful, but had a creamy white complexion, rosy brown, almost auburn hair and eyes that seemed to glow, iridescent, shimmering first emerald, blue, and then turquoise.
Mobley looked nervously around. Had anyone noticed his reaction to the woman? Jack was examining the damage they had done to the bench. Edson had a thin smile, a smirk almost, on his face. He’d read the situation perfectly. Dagnabit!
Embarrassed, Mobley stood up straight and coughed. “There, these seats look a bunch better now, huh?”
Edson nodded. “They sure do. Still a tad narrow, though. I wonder why they make them like that? Dang, you’d have to be a midget to get more’n half your butt to stay on ‘em.
The last train I was on, we rode in a similar car. It was up by Ft. Smith. The conductor rented extra boards for people to stretch across the seats and cushions for when they wanted to sleep. Two bitty little people could sleep that way, but not me. Maybe we could prevail on the conductor to rent us a few so we could widen things up.”
Jack nudged Mobley. “We won’t have long to wait. Here he comes, and he doesn’t look to be in a good mood.”
The red-headed conductor, a smallish man wearing a dark, black or navy blue uniform and an official looking pill box cap, was clearly not happy. He stomped down the aisle, fury rising in his eyes. Edson and Jack stiffened in preparation for the onslaught. They were not fast enough. The man whipped a short billy club from his belt and wailed into them with practiced jabs and backhands.
Edson took the first blow to his stomach, Jack the second to the side of his head. Mobley stumbled backward and caught himself on the bench, barely dodging a wicked blow aimed for the back side of his head. He managed to pull his pistol as a third vicious swing whistled past his ear. He spun around, tried to face his attacker, who was now a dervish of activity. A wild round-house right from Edson left the wiry man vulnerable to a kick from Jack who could do nothing else from the floor. Mobley seized the opportunity to strike before the man could regain his balance. He grasped his pistol butt-first and stunned the man to his knees. Jack grabbed the billy as Edson struggled to force the man flat in the aisle.
The conductor spluttered and snarled as he reached for a small pistol under his official conductor’s jacket. “Get off this train, you hillbilly scum. Do you think you can just come here and start tearing my train apart? Damn you, I’ll have you all arrested and hung.”
Edson grabbed the man’s hand and twisted the gun away.
Mobley felt his lips curl, his jaw muscles flex. “So,” he said coldly, “you admit the miserable condition of this train is your responsibility?”
“Of course it’s my responsibility. I’m the Conductor, and by God, I’ll not have a flock of two-bit hillbilly egg-suckers straight out of hell breaking it all up.”
Mobley stood up straight, his head no more than an inch from the ceiling. He shoved his pistol back in his waist belt, and pulled down on his buckskin shirt. “You are under arrest, sir. Boys, tie this man up so’s he can’t hurt anybody else.”
“What? What the hell?” the conductor yelled as Jack joined Edson in holding him down. He continued to sputter and cuss as Jack removed the man’s belt and suspenders and used them to secure his arms behind his back. Finally, each taking one of his arms, the two marshals picked the man up and placed him squarely on one of the narrow benches.
The conductor promptly slid off onto the floor. He looked up, more angry than before and began to scream. “By God, who do you think you are? I’ll have you drawn and quartered when we get to Austin. You can’t take over my train like this.”
Jack grabbed a handful of the conductor’s red hair and pulled his head back. “What’s your name, mister?”
“It’s right there on my jacket, you illiterate ….” The man stopped in mid-sentence as Jack stabbed the end of the small billy club into his mouth.
“Do you want to eat this, mister, or do I shove it where the sun doesn’t shine?”
“Urrarghh,” the man gurgled.
“Mr. Cotton Armstrong,” Mobley said as he read the fanc
y embroidered name off of the man’s jacket. “You’ve run off at the mouth long enough. Now you’re going to answer for your dereliction of duty. Jack, take that billy out of Conductor Armstrong’s mouth and call the court to order.”
Jack stepped back from the conductor and slowly walked down the aisle glaring at the other passengers. “Ladies and gentlemen, this fine man here in the sweet smelling buckskin jacket is none other than Mobley F. Meadows, United States Circuit Court Judge for all of the Western District of Texas. He has decided a trial is in order to address the wrongs this conductor has inflicted upon you good citizens.
I am United States Deputy Marshal Jack Anthony Lopes. That fine looking man over there is Deputy Marshal Edson Rabb. I’m going to call the court to order and until the Judge declares court to be adjourned, you will all remain absolutely silent. If you do not, you will find yourselves walking to Austin. If anyone uses profanity during the trial, they will be held in contempt of court. You don’t want to know the penalty you will suffer for that breach.”
Mobley listened to Jack, looked down for a moment as he suppressed a smile. Jack learned fast. Before long he’d be running the whole show. Hmmm? The germ of an idea flashed through Mobley’s mind.
“O’yez, O’yez, O’yez,” Jack bellowed. “The Circuit Court of the United States of America for the Western District of Texas, the Honorable Judge Mobley F. Meadows presiding, is now in session. Everyone remain seated and come to order. Don’t move until you’re told otherwise.”
“But I’ve got to go potty,” the pretty little girl whimpered. “Aren’t these mean men going to let us use the potty?” Her mother tried desperately to shush her, placing her hand over the child’s mouth.
“No, no. That’s all right, ma’am.” Mobley felt his knees weaken. The woman’s lips were full and soft, lightly blushed. He shuffled his feet, glanced helplessly at Jack, and mumbled. “Uh, I guess we can take a little time before we start.”
After taking a deep breath, he felt his sense of confidence return. “Besides, it’s time we got this train rollin’ anyway. Edson, go down to the locomotive and tell the engineer the conductor’s busy and can’t give the signal to get moving. Tell him if he don’t, he’ll be back here with Mr. Armstrong and the fireman will be running the train.”
Mobley turned to the passengers. “If there’s anyone else who feels the call of nature, get to it. I figure we’ll be on our way in about three or four minutes.”
Several of the men and one lady made their way to the convenience room or out the back door of the coach, whichever they preferred.
Cotton Armstrong shuffled about, trying to get comfortable on the floor, and then looked up. “What is this trial business? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You’ll speak only when you are spoken to, Mr. Armstrong. Court is still in session. Deputy Jack Anthony Lopes would love nothing more than to remove all of your teeth if you speak out of turn again.”
CHAPTER 26
The train jerked into motion with a loud clank, a long blubbering screech on the horn and a cloud of smoke. Edson stepped back into the coach, a broad smile on his face. Whatever he’d told the engineer had worked, but he said nothing.
The last of the passengers returned to their seats, and Mobley decided the time had come. He walked purposefully down the aisle to the lady and her child. “May I have your name, ma’am?”
The lady smiled up at him, eyes sparkling. “My name is Lydia Sweetgrass. I am a widow, sir. This is my daughter, Gertrude. We are headed for Austin, but will eventually be returning to Waco. All of my poor departed husband’s property is here.”
Mobley dropped his head, trying to control his emotions. The lady’s voice was firm and deep, almost husky. Her long rosy hair was pulled loosely back with a clip, the remainder flowing about her shoulders in loose twists. She wore a small white brimmed straw hat embellished with daisies to compliment her perfectly tailored light yellow suit. Her eyes continued to glow and change shade as he looked, emerald now, sparkling dark green the next.
Mobley knew he was no expert on coy looks, but decided the lady was interested more in him than the proceedings about to take place. A surge of excitement rushed through his body. If any woman had ever looked at him like that before, he could not remember it. He felt warm, powerful.
“Thank you, ma’am. Now, am I correct in assuming you are not comfortable on the benches the railroad has provided?”
The lady dropped her head slightly, but maintained eye contact. “That is undeniable. I cannot imagine who would design such small seats for a passenger train. We’ll all be black and blue from sliding off on the floor before we get to Austin.”
“Not me, momma,” the little girl said, as she sat straight backed and proper on her little bench. Several other passengers murmured their assent, chuckling at Gertrude’s remark. It was clear, none of them were looking forward to the ride.
“I thought as much.” Mobley patted the girl on her fluffy blond head. He nodded to the lady, again holding her gaze for longer than was necessary to accomplish the pleasantry. Continuing on down the aisle, he spoke with another obviously uncomfortable woman. This one had been beautiful once, but was now parading the success of an east Texas farm around her waist. Cold winters and years of delectable meals cooked for skinny harvesting crews had had their inevitable effect. She carried herself straight up and visibly stiffened at Mobley’s approach.
“Ma’am, could you give me your name, please?”
“My name is Katton Athearn, and this skinny old man with no butt next to me is my husband, Riegel. He’s the only man I know who can sit comfortably on one of these benches.”
Riegel looked up at Mobley with a limply toothless grin and two horribly bloodshot eyes, but said nothing. He looked thoroughly hung over, on the verge of being sick.
“Thank you, ma’am. Would you care to join Mrs. Lydia Sweetgrass in complaining to my court about the condition of this coach?”
I surely would. It’s about time something was done about this situation. We came down here last month and it was the same. Just horrible. Worse than riding in the back of a four horse stage coach.”
“Fine, now we have two complainants. That should be enough.”
Mobley walked back to Jack and Cotton, picked up his docket book, sat down on the narrow seat and began to write.
Fifteen minutes later, he stood up, grabbed the hand rail along the side of the roof to help maintain his balance against the sway of the train, and spoke out loudly. “I’m going to call the case of Lydia Sweetgrass and Katton Athearn versus The Houston and Texas Central Railroad and Conductor Cotton Armstrong. Mrs. Sweetgrass and Mrs. Athearn both claim the railroad has breached its contract with them to provide reasonably safe and satisfactory passage to Austin from Waco on board its train. They complain the bench seats provided were built for midgets and children, and a full grown adult Texan cannot make use of such facilities, unless of course he suffers the disadvantage of having been born with no butt.
Such failure, if true, would entitle them to a full refund of their purchase price upon arrival in Austin and the issuance of an injunction directing the railroad and Cotton Armstrong to correct the said deficiencies before any one is actually harmed by the dangerous condition of said accommodations. Is that correct, Mrs. Sweetgrass, Mrs. Athearn ?”
“Yes it is,” the two ladies chimed.
“By God, that’s right,” yelled an anonymous voice from the front of the coach.
“Yeah, we oughta string the varmint up,” yelled another. The general outburst of anger and resentment continued for about twenty seconds before Jack’s deep voice echoed throughout the length of the car. “Silence in the court.”
Cotton Armstrong looked thoroughly frightened.
“Mr. Armstrong. You are an employee of the Houston and Texas Central Railroad, are you not?”
“Yes, I am. I’m the conductor on this train. I’ve been working for the H&TCR Company for five years, even before they starte
d building this line.”
“A conductor is in charge of the train, is he not?”
“Well, the conductor is in charge of everything but the engine. The engineer is in charge of that.”
“What about these seats? Are you in charge of them?”
“Yes.”
“Where did they come from?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did they come with the train or were they added later?”
“Oh, they came with this coach.”
“Are they the same on all passenger coaches on this line?”
“No. Most of the other coaches have better seats. These are standard seats for immigrant trains built for the transcontinental route. We bought a few of them from the Central Pacific a couple of years ago.”
“Do you know why they were built like this, with such small, narrow seats?”
Cotton looked around at the passengers. His face turned white. “The Central Pacific built them so they could get more of the California and Oregon immigrants packed into a coach at one time. To make more money on each trip, I suppose. A few of them came on the market, and we picked them up for our new routes.”
“So, they were purposely designed to ignore the safety and comfort of the passengers, is that right?”
“I suppose so. But what difference does that make? We don’t promise to treat people like kings. We just promise to get them to Austin. Here, look at your ticket. It doesn’t make any promises about seats, does it?” The man was apparently getting his courage back and had decided if he was to be held responsible, he’d better put up a fight.
Mobley reached into his pocket and studied his ticket for a few moments. He reached out with one hand to steady himself as the train picked up speed and began to rock gently back and forth. “You are right, Mr. Armstrong. It does not say the passenger will be treated like a king. In fact, the ticket says nothing about accommodations. But, you do agree, do you not, that the passenger would reasonably expect to be provided with a seat and not be required to sit on the floor?”
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