"Companion?" Mr. Pike repeated in rhetorical amazement. Then, with a disbelieving shake of his head, he fell silent.
"I didn't think bounty hunters took trains," Clara Higgins commented out of nowhere a few minutes later, her thoughts obviously having returned to their previous topic of conversation. It was the sort of remark which that had caused Delilah to label her naive, but perhaps it was simply that Clara had managed to retain a childlike innocence that had long ago been lost to Delilah. "I thought you had to be able to track, like you can on horseback."
Pike smiled with a touch of condescension and explained. "We change with the times, ma'am. No sense in ridin' for days when we can just load our horses into the stock car and take the train to the area where the wanted man was seen. It saves time.” Then he grimaced and shifted meaningfully. "Though I have to say that a saddle is a mite more comfortable than these benches."
Acknowledging his last statement with only a distracted little smile, Clara Higgins nodded and said, "I can see that it would save time. How interesting."
"And is your home in Butte, ma'am?" Pike directed his question to Clara.
She shook her head. "Helena, actually. I've just been visiting my parents. I expect my husband, John, will be waiting at the station in Butte for me though. He said he had business there, so planned to meet me and we'd continue on together. He's a lawyer in Helena, you know."
Delilah listened to the conversation drone on without paying any particular attention as her thoughts returned once again to Towers and the impressive bounty being offered for his capture. Although vaguely aware that Pike began casting repeated glances in her direction as he regaled Clara with tales of his daring and dangerous efforts to bring the West's most vicious criminals to justice, Delilah ignored his interest.
One thousand dollars!
She surreptitiously studied the poster that Pike had left lying across his knee. Samson Towers was described as a big man in both height and figure, being over six feet tall with a solid muscular build. He had a drooping mustache, his eyes were dark, probably either black or dark brown, and, according to the description, he had no distinguishing marks or scars.
One thousand dollars! That kind of money would save Eve and Tom's ranch, and give Delilah herself a good stake for the future. If only there was a way she could take advantage of it.
Her father had been a bounty hunter. In fact, Garrett Sinclair had been among the best of the breed. Nothing like Joseph Pike who, in Delilah's considered opinion, was much too loquacious to be good at his work. Although she had to admit that, thus far, she didn't think that Mr. Pike was one of the men that her father would have accused of giving the occupation a bad name. Her father had always claimed there were far too many bounty hunters of that ilk—men as brutal as those they hunted—and he had carefully shielded his family from contact with such persons.
But despite her secondary knowledge of the profession, Delilah just couldn't think of a way to track down a murderer, capture him, and return him to justice—on her own—in order to collect the reward. So, finally, she faced the fact that there was no sense dreaming about if only and forcefully returned her thoughts to her original plan.
She'd simply have to pray that her luck changed. If she'd been less depressed, and if the railroad hadn't begun warning passengers against members of her profession, she might have attempted to change her fortunes en route. She'd found that men often had a more pragmatic view toward financial losses incurred over a friendly game of cards during an otherwise monotonous journey. But instinct had told her that now was not the time for gaming, and her instincts had rarely failed her. Part of that feeling no doubt stemmed from the fact that many of the passengers were men heading north to work on the railroad that was being constructed north of Helena. Small ranchers and farmers seeking work after a disastrous winter would have decidedly empty pockets.
At that moment the train began to labor as the grade changed. "Sounds like we're gettin' closer to Butte," Pike commented.
Delilah looked out the window to see if she could catch a glimpse of the town. They were travelling through a breath-stealing mountain pass. Enormous granite cliffs bordered bottomless chasms. Wispy clouds settled on stone ledges to watch the passage of the tiny humans who thought they could tame this vast, wild land. And sunlight gilded the snowy peaks with gold. But Butte City was not yet in sight.
In fact, it was a good while yet before the train blew its whistle to announce its arrival in the town. When it did, Delilah looked out the window to see mammoth clouds of smoke rising into the blue sky from the smelters in the surrounding hills. Delilah had been told that mining was the lifeblood of the prosperous town, but hadn't realized how that would translate into actuality until she saw the billowing clouds. She frowned slightly, not quite certain how she felt about the smoke. It seemed a bit like a blemish, tarnishing the beauty of the landscape. Yet the mines obviously benefited a great many people, for she'd heard estimates which had placed the population of Butte City well into the thousands, perhaps more than ten thousand.
The train whistled again, shortly thereafter adding the discordance of squealing brakes to the general clamor. The noise woke Sarah Higgins with a start and she began to wail her fright.
"Hush, darling. Mama's here. It's all right," Clara comforted her child.
Delilah studied the station. It didn't look that different from stations all over the West, for they were all fairly new. This station, belonging to the Utah and Northern Railroad—the first to enter Montana—was painted white with green trim.
Fully a third of the town seemed to have turned out to witness the arrival of the 11:25, for the platform was crowded with people of every description. Delilah knew there would be no one to meet her, however, for when she'd telegraphed to advise Eve of her impending arrival, she'd asked only that Eve have one of the ranch hands meet her in Red Rock. The reply which had arrived two days later had said merely: Wes Powell will meet you and escort you to the Devil's Fork Ranch. The terseness of the response made it seem unlikely to have come from Eve. It had probably been answered by a hand who'd been in town for supplies and had been given the telegram.
The train whistled again, drawing Delilah from her musings. It was time to prepare to disembark. Delilah closed the carpetbag at her feet and watched as Poopsy immediately poked her small head through the carefully sized hole Delilah had cut into the side of the bag. The dog's black eyes glistened with excitement and the air of expectation she sensed around her.
Eager to be on her way and being more impatient than cautious, Delilah rose with Mr. Pike and a score of other passengers who began collecting their belongings before the train had come to a full stop. When the locomotive finally did jerk to a halt with a vicious snap, there was a chorus of delicate voices gasping, "Oh, my!" as feminine hips were bruised. These cries were echoed by a few more earthy profanities—and apologies for the profanities—from men who lost their footing. Delilah, thankfully, emerged unscathed.
Since Mr. Pike graciously offered to aid Mrs. Higgins with her luggage, allowing her to carry her tired and fractious daughter until they could find her husband, Delilah's own offer of assistance was politely declined. So, carpetbag—and Poopsy—in hand, she began to work her way through the tumultuous crowd and out onto the platform.
Children ran and squealed in the open grassy area next to the station, adding to the cacophony of the hissing train and the shouting adults. Aware of Poopsy's pressing problem, Delilah headed for the grassy area without delay. Upon removing the dog from the carpetbag, Delilah slipped a leash on her and then stood watching the crowd while the furball did her business. Although the babel continued unabated all around her, Delilah was scarcely aware of it as she contemplated the next leg of her journey.
She hoped she would be able to procure a stagecoach, though she'd been warned that, in wild Montana, there were none of the established Wells-Fargo routes to which she'd grown accustomed. Failing a stagecoach, she would attempt to hire someo
ne to take her to Red Rock, or, as a last resort, she would buy a horse and strike out on her own, shipping her trunk separately.
The last option held little appeal. Not only did she have little relish for a solitary trek through unfamiliar Montana territory, but it would destroy her plan to arrive in Red Rock with a modicum of refinement—something she viewed as critical. If her half-baked plan to help Eve were to succeed, it was requisite that she be viewed as a perfect lady. Which she was, of course—with the exception of her fondness for a good game of chance. And her unseemly independence. And her proficiency in shooting firearms. Delilah had discovered early on that ladies were trusted. And trust prompted moneyed gentlemen to empty their pockets more readily.
A quarter of an hour later, having maneuvered her way through the thinning crowd, Delilah approached the station master. He was a rotund man whose thinning grey hair formed a halo around a shiny bald pate. "Excuse me, sir," Delilah called his attention from the papers he was perusing. "Can you tell me if there is a stage going to Red Rock?"
He huffed slightly, puffing out his cheeks. "No, ma'am. Mr. Waters runs a stage to Virginia City, but the only transport for Red Rock other than horse back is Mr. Didsworth's freight wagon. He takes on passengers readily enough though."
"And when is Mr. Didsworth leaving?"
The station master frowned and looked thoughtful. "Let's see. He made his last run. . . must be three days ago at least. He should be going tomorrow. Let me check.” He turned away and entered an office to his right. Delilah observed him through the open doorway as he removed a clipboard from a nail on the wall and began checking entries.
"Yes, ma'am," he said as he stepped back through the doorway. "Mr. Didsworth is making his next run tomorrow. Would you like to send a boy around to let Ronnie know you'll be wanting a ride?"
"Yes, please," Delilah said with a nod, and resigned herself to spending the night in Butte.
She made arrangements for herself and her trunk to be delivered by hansom cab to the accommodations the station master recommended for a lone lady such as herself, and minutes later she and Poopsy were on their way to Caledonia House.
* * *
It was seven the next morning, on the dot, when Mr. Ronald Didsworth pulled his wagon and four-horse team to a halt at 148 Arizona Street. Delilah, who had been asked to be ready and waiting, stepped from the boarding house laden with her reticule, her parasol, Poopsy in her carpet bag, and a small bag containing a roast beef sandwich and an apple which had been provided by her hostess. Thanks to an accommodating male tenant, her trunk rested on the stoop.
"Good morning, sir," Delilah called as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake anyone in the neighborhood who might have had the fortune to sleep past sunrise.
"Ma'am," Mr. Didsworth tipped a battered old felt hat of indeterminate color. He was a tall, thin string bean of a man with friendly pale blue eyes, stringy dark blonde hair and rotting teeth. After carefully wrapping the reins around the wagon brake, he descended and approached. "That your trunk?"
Delilah nodded. "Yes."
Didsworth looked back toward the wagon. "Tyler, come on down out of that box and make yourself useful," he called loudly, completely unmindful of Delilah's previous attempt at consideration for the neighbors. "And make sure you got room in the back there to slide in the lady's trunk."
"Yessir, pa.” A tow-headed boy of about thirteen years popped up in the wagon like a jack-in-the-box. After hastily sliding a couple of objects around, he vaulted over the side to approach Delilah and his father. Without any verbal communication, the boy grasped one handle while his father grasped the other, and they carried the small trunk to the wagon while Delilah followed.
"Thank you Mr. Didsworth.” She looked toward the boy with a smile, "And. . . Tyler wasn't it?"
"Yes'm."
The trunk secured, Didsworth turned toward her and tipped his hat again. "Yer welcome, ma'am.” He stuck out a calloused hand. "Ronnie Didsworth, ma'am. And you'd be Mrs. Sterne."
"I am," Delilah acknowledged as she gripped his hand lightly in her black-gloved fingers. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, sir."
Didsworth nodded and offered her a smile that showed far too many discolored and broken teeth. "Likewise, ma'am. And now we best be gettin' on. Daylight's a'wastin'."
A moment later, Didsworth helped her up onto the buckboard seat, settled Poopsy comfortably at her feet and then seated himself at her side before setting the team in motion. As they travelled the still-vacant streets, Delilah couldn't help feeling there was something missing. Of a sudden, she realized what it was. "There are almost no trees here!" she exclaimed. The busy streets must have prevented her from making the observation the previous day.
"No, ma'am," Ronnie agreed laconically. "Not many. They don't grow good on Butte hill."
Delilah stared around her. It seemed as though the entire enormous mound on which the town had been constructed had been denuded. Many of the homes and buildings they passed were quite beautiful, however, and some compensated for the lack of greenery with window boxes containing colorful blooms of every description. Still, one would think that someone should have planted some shade trees.
"How far is it to Red Rock, Mr. Didsworth?"
"Bout twenty miles, ma'am. Give or take. Takin' a bit of time for lunch and to rest the horses we should be there round about two or three this afternoon."
Before long they left Butte City, and Delilah could not help but marvel at the changeable countryside. Leaving the scarred hillsides of the mines behind, they travelled through a grassy meadow from which they startled a small herd of deer; then, along a crystal clear mountain stream in which Delilah could actually see the trout. By late-morning they entered a mountain forest so dense that it blocked out the sunlight, affording the day an unnatural twilight. At times it seemed almost as though the trees sought to reclaim the narrow trail that Didsworth dignified with the term road.
The road was deeply rutted, strewn with holes, and littered with gnarled tree roots. Delilah felt certain that at any moment her teeth would rattle out of her mouth. She'd actually bitten her tongue when the right wagon wheel had fallen into that last crater.
"Do you make this trip often, Mr. Didsworth?"
"Yep, two or three times a week depending on what needs haulin'. And, o' course that means travelin' this road four or six times.” He obviously knew precisely why she'd asked.
"Isn't there another route?"
He shook his head. "None that I know 'bout. Course most o' the people that come this way is on horseback, so I guess most of 'em don't mind the road so long as they can keep their horses from steppin' in a hole. Ain't no fancy carriages goin' to Red Rock. Even wagons are like to break down."
"I can see why."
The words were no sooner out of her mouth when one of the wheels rolled up over a huge tree root only to drop like a rock into a large hole on the other side. The drop was accompanied by another more pronounced lurch and the distressing sound of snapping wood.
"Damnation!" Didsworth exploded. He looked over his shoulder. "You okay back there boy? Anythin' fall on you?"
"No, pa. I'm right as rain."
"Ma'am?" Didsworth asked.
Delilah straightened her bonnet and took stock. "I do believe I am completely unharmed, Mr. Didsworth.” She felt a certain surprise in that.
Just as quickly as it had surfaced Didsworth's ire dissipated and, with a shake of his head, he sighed, and muttered, "Well, guess I might as well see how bad it is this time."
A moment later, Didsworth and his son stood considering the damage to the right front wheel. Removing his hat, Ronnie scratched his head then used his fingers to rake the shaggy strands of his thinning blonde hair back into place before plunking his hat back onto his head.
Tyler, observing the gravity of the expression on his father's face, carefully copied his every action, although the replacing of the hat was accomplished with a bit less finesse.
Didsworth
puffed out his cheeks, stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels as he considered the situation.
Again his son observantly mimicked his father's gestures.
Delilah almost laughed. She would have if the situation hadn't been so serious. Instead she waited solemnly for some indication concerning the seriousness of their misfortune.
None came. Didsworth pulled a worn tobacco pouch from his rear pocket and tucked a pinch inside his lip.
Unable to stand the suspense a second longer, Delilah finally gave the man a verbal prodding. "Well?"
Mr. Didsworth looked up. "Well what, ma'am?"
"Is it bad?"
He looked back at the wheel and considered. "It sure ain't good. Spokes are busted and the blamed wheel came plumb off."
"Can you repair it?"
Didsworth shook his head and spit a stream of brown tobacco juice into the underbrush. "No, ma'am. I got a spare wheel, but there ain't no way I'm gonna be able to get it on there."
"So what are we going to do?"
Didsworth considered for a moment. "Well, we'll unload the wagon a bit and then I guess we may's well have us some lunch."
"Lunch!” What did lunch have to do with being stuck out in the middle of nowhere?
Ronnie nodded as though he didn't quite understand her surprise. "Yes'm. I was about to stop for lunch anyways."
"But. . . what about the wheel? How are we going to replace it?"
"We'll need help for that, ma'am."
Delilah stifled a sigh. She'd already assumed that much! Good heavens! Couldn't the man answer a simple question? She looked skyward seeking the virtue of patience.
"And how, pray tell, are we going to get that help?" Delilah enunciated her words clearly, pursuing the matter.
Didsworth shrugged. "After lunch, I'll unhitch one o' the horses an' send Tyler on into Red Rock. He can bring somebody back."
Why in blazes hadn't the man just told her that instead of making her drag it out of him?
Beyond Betrayal Page 2