Betina Krahn

by The Soft Touch

  Bear heard raised voices and hurried out onto the platform of the car.

  “There’s a flood,” Halt panted out, steadying himself on the railing. “Th’ roadbed—all flooded! Ye got to come, lad!”

  In a heartbeat, Bear was grabbing his hat off the rack by the door and bounding down the steps. He saddled a horse from the picket line at the edge of the camp, then he and Halt mounted and rode off down the middle of the roadbed. Over two gradual rises and around a set of buttes that formed the edge of a ridge of hills, they glimpsed a river in the distance … one that hadn’t been there that morning.

  Halt led him up onto an outcropping of rock. The scene below caused Bear to shut his eyes and draw a sharp breath. It was nothing short of a calamity. A muddy stream of water gushed along a broad depression that had been barely perceptible before the afternoon’s storm. There was water everywhere … including inside a tent that had been left behind when Halt, Ellsworth, and the workers scrambled for higher ground.

  Bear stared at the swirling brown water, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “Dammit, rivers don’t just happen. Where did all this water come from?”

  “Everywhere,” Halt said, watching the water rolling over two days’ worth of track bed work. “After the storm, we saw a trickle gather an’ turn into a small, fast-movin’ stream. Then th’ stream widened an’ before we knew it … it was rushin’ down the roadbed, tearin’ up jack.”

  There was a good bit more than just two days of bed work at stake here. From this vantage point, it was plain that the surveyed roadbed in the area followed the flow of the water with uncanny accuracy … almost as if it had been … planned. Bear felt his whole body go weak for a moment. How could Johnson have been so—

  A wave of insight broke over him. This was no accident. And it was probably no accident that Johnson, their surveyor and engineer, had run off just as they reached construction of this section of the roadbed. The conclusion was inescapable. Johnson knew.

  “We grabbed th’ tools, wagons, mules, an’ horses, struck what tents we could, an’ headed for high ground.” Halt pointed to the bedraggled men and jumble of equipment sprawled over a rocky hillside, across the way. “Had to be sure th’ men an’ tools were accounted for before I could come for ye.”

  Bear nodded and, with a grim set to his jaw, turned his horse and headed down the rocky slope to ford the river. Nigel Ellsworth met them waving a half-rolled map as they made their way up the other rise.

  “There’s no mention of it here at all!” he declared furiously, pointing at the lines representing the survey of the surrounding land. “Not a word—not a hint. It’s worse than poor judgment—it’s outright fraudulence!”

  “All right.” Bear swung down and reached for the map, bracing himself for bad news. “How bad is it?”

  “It’s a dry riverbed—the signs were all there, but I—” Ellsworth looked down and reddened with chagrin. “I’m not used to— I mean, usually the survey has already been done—and back East we’d never run into anything quite so—I just accepted the survey and assumed everything was as represented in the charts. He couldn’t have missed this.” Ellsworth blushed. “I can’t believe I did.”

  “Damnation.” Bear exhaled a chest full of frustration as he looked out over the rushing water. “So what do we do about it?”

  Ellsworth came to stand beside him, grimacing at the way the water was pouring by. “Actually, the water is down a bit … better than it was an hour ago. I think it will drain off quick enough. But it’s washed out a fair amount of our roadbed.” He looked miserable to have to report: “And it will happen again, every time it storms like this.”

  The truth was so weighty that for a minute it prevented coherent thought. Bear scrambled for solutions. “What about a bridge?”

  Ellsworth glanced from Bear to Halt and back again. “It’s usually dry, but it’s still a riverbed. Loose base. Sand and particulates. Not stable without pilings … and still likely to be weakened by flooding. The only real solution is to move the track.”

  Bear rubbed his hands down his face, dreading the answer to his next question. “To where?”

  Ellsworth looked around, consulted the map, and scrambled up the slope to fetch his transit and telescope. After a few minutes of sightings and some scribbled calculations, he pointed to a ridge of rock across the way that formed a plateau leading south and east, to the foothills of the Highwood Mountains.

  “Given the track we’ve already laid and our general direction, I’d say that was our best route.”

  Bear looked to Halt, who nodded, then gave Ellsworth a nod of approval. “As soon as it dries up enough to move the wagons and equipment, well take stock of the damage and get started. Dammit—this is going to put us even further behind.”

  While Bear and Halt rallied the men to begin packing up and made an inventory of what had been damaged or lost, Ellsworth found a flat rock and spread out his maps. He pored over the various maps rendering the local terrain … until he came to one that caused his eyes to widen in horror. Checking his transit and position against the darkening evening sky, he confirmed the worst … and then took it to Bear and Halt.

  “What do you mean, we don’t own it? We bought plenty of right-of-way.”

  “Not over there, you didn’t.” Ellsworth pointed to the distant outcroppings, then produced the plat map of the area to prove his point.

  “Heaven help us,” Halt said, staggering back and plopping down hard on a rock. “All that money … all that time …” He buried his head in his hands.

  “The owner—who was it that sold us this parcel?” Bear asked.

  “That’d be a fellow named A. J. Hickman,” Ellsworth said, reading from the tiny print along the side.

  “We have to have a talk with Mr. Hickman. But for now, we need to find out who owns that ridge and the land beyond,” Bear declared, pointing to the engineer’s makeshift desk. “Check your maps … see if it’s listed.”

  Bear hadn’t returned from the forward camp yet and wasn’t there to object the next morning when Diamond ordered Robbie into the wagon and set off for Great Falls with the reins in her own hands. It was early and as the sky brightened and streaked with color, she laid out for Robbie her plans for the morning. They would visit several eateries, sample the fare and find a sound cook—then take the fellow aside and make him an offer of employment.

  But her plan ran aground time after time. She was ordered out of kitchens, or withdrew with her hand over her nose and the specter of spoiled food clinging to her senses. Of the dozen smaller eateries in town, she found none that held the promise of a decent cook. By noon, she headed once more for the Lonesome Dove Restaurant. There, at least, they could find some decent food to purge away the vile impressions they had collected all morning.

  As it happened, they found a great deal more.

  Owner Silky Sutherland was exiting just as they entered. She brightened and greeted them loudly, then ushered them inside. When they were seated and had ordered, Diamond decided to be straightforward about her problem … businesswoman to businesswoman.

  “Perhaps you could help us, Miss Sutherland.” At the older woman’s warning frown, she amended: “Silky. Our cook was injured—has a broken leg—and we’re desperate. I’ve got to find another cook or the men will start to leave.” She lowered her voice. “Bear needs every man he’s got if he’s going to make Billings by snowfall. You wouldn’t happen to know where I might find a cook used to doing stew by the barrel and potatoes by the hundredweight?”

  Silky thought for a minute and grew serious as she reflected on Diamond’s question. “They’re in trouble—Finnegan an’ McQuaid—ain’t they?” she said.

  “They’re under the gun,” Diamond admitted. “If they don’t get the track laid, they don’t get their land grants. I don’t know all the ins and outs, but that Lionel Beecher has filed a protest with the land office in Washington.” She frowned. “Actually, I know a few people in Washington … I’ve
been thinking that I should telegraph some of them to check into the situation.”

  “There won’t be no livin’ with Bear McQuaid if you do,” Silky said with a husky laugh. “That is the cussedest, most independent man I ever known. He once spent an entire winter outdoors in a tent—because he didn’t have money for both a room and a string of horses he intended to buy and trade—an’ he wouldn’t take charity from nobody.” She shook her head. “Not even me.”

  The food arrived, and as they ate, she turned Silky’s words over. Clearly, this independent streak wasn’t a recent thing with him. It went way back. Just how far back? she wondered. And what could have made him—

  “Tell you what, Diamond Lady … I think I’ve got a cook for ye.”

  “You do?” Diamond sat up, feeling instantly lighter. “Where is he?”

  “First off, it ain’t a he,” Silky said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “And she’s sittin’ right here.” When Diamond looked dismayed, she chuckled. “I ain’t always been an elegant lady o’ luxury.” She fluffed her bright purple organdy dress and red and white feather boa. “My ma was a helluva boardin’-house cook … I learned from the best there was. I cooked my way west, until I landed here”—she grinned—“and found me a few profitable sidelines.”

  Diamond had a hard time hiding her skepticism, but Silky didn’t seem to take it personally.

  “It’s been a while since I rattled a few pots … but I’m game.” Her kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed cannily. “Halt Finnegan’ll be around some, won’t he?”

  Silky saw Halt Finnegan a bit sooner than she expected.

  As Diamond, Robbie, and Silky were heading for the dry-goods store to place an order for the things Silky would need, they met Halt and Bear hurrying into the land office. The pair looked as though they’d been dragged across half of Montana and collected a good bit of the territory’s top-soil along the way.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, looking Bear over with dismay. “I thought you rode out to check on some water at the forward camp.”

  “It was more than just some water,” Bear said grimly. “That sidewinder Johnson routed us through a dry riverbed. The damn thing’s flooded out. We have to move the track. And to do that, we have to buy another piece of land.” He jerked his head toward the land-office door.

  Lionel Beecher stood at the window of the Sweetwater Saloon, next door to the land office, smoking a cheroot and watching Bear McQuaid, his snooty wife, and the others enter the land office. The sight of McQuaid’s mud-spattered clothes and boots, coming on the heels of a powerful storm, led him to conclude that McQuaid had just discovered the creative change of routing he had arranged for the Montana Central and Mountain. Engineer Johnson had been prone both to drink and to gamble and was not especially gifted with foresight or intestinal fortitude. It wasn’t difficult, really. A bit of liquor, a few losses in a poker game—and a convenient way to cancel the debt …

  “You’re good, Beecher,” he said smugly, watching for Bear to emerge and ride south … straight into a stone wall. “Too damned good to be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. Gould owes you plenty for this one.”

  TWENTY

  Danvers, jim danvers was the name that kept drumming in Bear’s head as he and Halt rode south and east, headed for the farmstead of the man who owned the strip of rocky buttes that would provide solid footing for the Montana Central and Mountain. Diamond had wanted to come with him, but he declared that getting the kitchen working again was just as important as buying a bit of right-of-way, and she had reluctantly agreed.

  No one had been more surprised at the identity of their new cook than Bear was. But Silky never did the expected … always had a few aces up her sleeve. He was a bit unsettled, however, by the thought of her and Diamond getting chummy. He had enough trouble dealing with Diamond now; he sure as hell didn’t need Silky giving her pointers!

  The Danvers farmstead was typical of those constructed by settlers in this part of the high plains. Most of the buildings were wooden, none of them painted, and some of the earlier outbuildings still rested on foundations of cut sod. The house, at the center of the farmstead, had a front porch and not far from the house was a fenced vegetable garden filled with surprisingly lush rows of green. Danvers obviously had a wife. As they approached, children ran out to greet them—four of them—all of whom looked to be twelve years of age or younger. Then a man stepped out onto the porch with a shotgun cradled in his arm and called the children back, ordering them to get into the house.

  “Danvers?” Bear said, reining up some distance away. “I’m Barton McQuaid and this is my partner Halt Finnegan. We’re with the Montana Central and Mountain railroad, and we’ve come to—”

  “Don’t care why yer here,” Danvers broke in. “Jus’ turn them horses around and head back where ye come from.”

  “We’ve come to speak with you about buying some land … the buttes over on your southwest range.”

  “Ain’t for sale.” He put his hand on the trigger of the shotgun and swung it around so they could see both barrels. “Now git.”

  “I don’t think you understand … we need that piece of land. It’s mostly rock, no good for wheat or running cattle on. We’d be willing to make you a good price. Cash money.”

  “Jim … please …” came a woman’s voice from inside the open door.

  “Stay inside, Luanna,” Danvers snapped, then he brandished the weapon and stalked to the edge of the porch, where he made a stand. “I told ye … my land ain’t for sale—at no price. Now get outta here, an’ leave me an’ mine out of it.”

  Bear dismounted but froze with one foot still in the stirrup at the sound of hammers clicking back behind two steel barrels. He looked at Danvers, really looked. The man was by all appearances a hardworking wheat farmer. Weathered and worn, probably aged beyond his years, with a wife and a passel of kids to raise. There wasn’t a farmer alive who couldn’t use a bit of cash money. Most went delirious at the thought of selling off a bit of untillable land to a railroad. Something wasn’t right here.

  “Get back on that horse real slow, mister. And get off’n my land.”

  As he and Halt rode back toward their railroad camp, Bear kept remembering the look in the man’s eyes … unnaturally bright … tense … fearful. Halt must have been thinking the same thing.

  “Wonder what’s got him so spooked?”

  Once the question was asked, answers weren’t hard to imagine.

  “Beecher visited the other landowners—maybe he offered Danvers more money.”

  “He didn’t even listen to our price.” Halt frowned and stared off into the distance. “Whatever it is, it ain’t got to do wi’ money. I can tell ye that much.”

  When they returned to camp, Bear headed for their train car to check on Schultz and tell Diamond that he intended to ride back out with Halt to search for alternative routes. He found her and Robbie rearranging furniture and making up the two spare Pullman beds on the office end of the car. His desk and files and bookcase had been pushed to the corner niche behind the necessary, and Schultz was ensconced on the banquette under the windows in the parlor portion.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “I’m making room for Miss Sutherland.” She continued tucking sheets as she’d seen the porters do. “She’ll be staying with us while she cooks.”

  “Staying with us? You mean in here?”

  “Would you rather I put her in the dormitories with the men?” She raised one eyebrow. “Or perhaps one of the wet canvas tents? How about a boxcar?” He looked as if he would have lain down naked on an anthill rather than say no. Smiling, she nodded to Halt as he entered. “Did you get the land?”

  “Danvers wouldn’t even listen to our offer,” Bear said grimly. “Just gave us a damned good view of his shotgun barrels and ordered us to leave. We’re heading out to do a bit of scouting. We have to find another route. There has to be a way through our right-of-way land that isn’t a dry riverbe
d.”

  Silky arrived later with two kitchen helpers and immediately took up her post in the kitchen car. Diamond found herself assigned tasks, too: setting up the serving tables and locating things in the storeroom. It was there that she spotted the huge, muddy boot tracks. Schultz kept the storeroom pristine and jealously guarded access to it. She stared at those tracks and at the sliding door that Schultz had fallen from. Something whispered that Schultz’s accident might not have been so “accidental.”

  Supper that night was simple but surprisingly tasty. Beef stew with a side of corn bread and apple cobbler. This time, with Silky’s guidance, Diamond’s coffee was right on target. Better food, the spectacle of Silky’s flamboyant style and colorful clothing—which she refused to abandon even in the heat and hazard of the kitchen—and the presence of her two female assistants seemed to improve the men’s attitude. The harmonica came out again around the campfire that evening and the men told stories that kept Robbie enthralled until Diamond hauled him off to bed. He fell asleep without even changing clothes.

  Morning came deuced early and as Diamond stretched and yawned and poured a basin of water to wash her face, she spotted Bear’s berth, undisturbed, and realized he must have stayed at the forward camp for the night. But with breakfast and dinner to prepare and serve, she had no time to think about his absence until late afternoon.

  She and Silky carried cups of coffee out to the shaded side of the train and perched on the platform steps of the Pullman car.

  “Disaster just seems to prowl the Montana Central and Mountain,” she said, mostly to herself. “It seems like Bear and Halt have had just one stroke of bad luck after another.”

  Silky smiled, watching the horizon. “Don’t believe in luck. Never have. ‘Luck’ is just what folks call it when they don’t know what really happened.”

  Diamond thought on that for a minute, then tallied their troubles on her fingers. “Engineer Johnson ran off … the tools got stolen … Schultz broke his leg … the route was mapped wrong … they have to buy more land, but the owner won’t sell …”