by E. E. Burke
KATE’S OUTLAW
By
E.E. Burke
The heart is the most vulnerable captive…
Chapter 1
August 10, 1870, Territory of the Five Civilized Tribes
"The Indians call it a smoking dragon.” Kate’s father gestured to a framed image of a locomotive hanging in his private railcar.
She leaned forward in her chair for a better look. The woodcut print, commissioned somewhat prematurely to celebrate the completion of the Missouri, Kansas and Texas line, featured an eight-wheel, diamond-stack engine of the type her father had purchased for his railroad.
Two months back, “the Katy” had won what pundits deemed an unwinnable race against their rival. Yet here they sat on tracks ending sixteen miles inside Indian Territory, three hundred miles from the intended terminus in Texas, without land grants and amidst unfriendly natives.
"Smoking dragon, eh?" Henry Stevens smoothed his hand over his beard as if to hide a smile. He unfolded himself from where he sat beside her and moved to his boss’ side to admire the artwork. "I can see how savages unfamiliar with the railroad might mistake a steam engine for a mythical beast.”
"A beast that will devour them if they continue to stand in our way,” her father boomed.
Kate rolled her eyes. Not a very ladylike response, but she was tired of his chest beating. He had been on the warpath ever since he’d arrived to check on the construction progress, or lack thereof.
"We don't have to put up with the Indians’ stalling and ridiculous demonstrations. We’ll arm the workers, conceal cannons in the freight cars—"
“Cannons?” She interrupted her father’s tirade. “Do you want to start a war?”
Gripping the bolstered chair arm, she jerked to her feet. “These savages, as you call them, are the most civil of the Five Civilized Tribes. The Cherokee leaders are educated men. We won't get anywhere by threatening them. We need to negotiate."
Henry threw a wry smile over his shoulder. "We wouldn't have to negotiate if the Army backed us.”
She restrained the urge to roll her eyes a second time. That “the Army” was Henry's answer to their problem was further proof of why she should be in charge. And if she were a man, she would be. Her gender she couldn’t change. However, she might change her father’s low opinion of her by helping his railroad succeed. That is, if he’d listen to her.
"The Army won't move one peg over the border without explicit orders. It's unlikely they'll invade."
"Invade?" Henry barked a laugh. He gestured to a map pinned to the opposite wall. "We're on our land. Kate. We won it, fair and square."
"It isn't our land yet." She crossed to an open window and gazed out at a sea of switch grass scorched by the afternoon sun. Their intended route followed the Neosho River, a kind of dividing line between rugged foothills and vast prairie. To a young woman who’d grown up in a city, this wild, untamed land seemed foreign. Oddly enough, it suited her personality much better than stodgy parlors and glittering ballrooms.
Even the air felt different. There were none of the ocean breezes that bathed the shores of her family’s summer home. Out here, the winds blew hot—although no hotter than the air these two men were spewing. All they did was growl and grumble about how to intimidate their new neighbors. Construction would never get moving again if they didn't learn they couldn't walk over everybody.
She turned and propped her hands on her hips. "Need I remind you the land won't be ours unless the courts uphold the government's right to give it to us. Until then, it belongs to the Cherokee—and we're trespassing."
Henry rolled up his shirtsleeves. He’d already shed his coat when the temperature in the car soared to new heights. "Now you sound like an Indian agent.”
“I'm merely pointing out that continuing to claim we own the land isn't going to get us anywhere." She turned to her father, who’d returned to his chair behind the desk. He defied the weather in a three-piece suit with his vest buttoned.
"What do you think our chances are of getting those land grants?"
"About the same as getting you to return to New York.”
The barb sank deep into Kate's heart. Her father might as well come out and say he had no use for her. In fact, everything she did seemed to annoy him. She was too plain, too blunt, too opinionated, why even her hair was too bold. Whenever he looked at her, he saw an ugly duckling that had never transformed into a graceful swan.
Still, she couldn’t allow his disregard to drive her away. She finally had a perfect opportunity to show him she was as capable as any man, more so in this situation because she understood the fine art of negotiating. She folded her arms over her chest. "If you're basing your odds on my departure, then I would say your chances are nil."
He shook his head, reproachfully. "I'm holding out hope, provided the Indians don't prove to be as stubborn as you are."
Stubborn, was she? Need she remind him she’d invested her money in this railroad and was heir to whatever was left of it after they got the blasted thing built? She had a right to have a say in how it was run and had some good ideas, too. "Persistence is one of the more useful traits I inherited from you."
"And it's an admirable trait." Henry said, leaping into his self-appointed role as arbitrator. "And so is prudence. You know how dangerous it is out here. Until now, we’ve had the Army to protect us. As you pointed out, we can't count on that moving forward."
He yielded to her while remaining firmly in her father's camp. Perhaps she’d underestimated his talent for shrewd diplomacy. "What’s your point, Henry?"
"My point is, this isn't a safe place for a woman. Even one as brave as you." In two long strides, he was next to her and taking her arm as if he were going to lead her somewhere. Perhaps back to her seat.
Kate removed her arm from his grasp and stayed put. Her suitor was quick with the compliments, but he made no effort to champion her ideas. His excuse? He couldn't afford to antagonize his boss. Things would be different, he argued, once they were married. She wasn’t so sure. "Mrs. McGrady is living at the worksite and you don’t have an issue with that.”
“I could care less where she lives as long as she doesn't become a distraction for the rest of the crew. And she's the foreman’s wife, so she's his problem.”
"I am not someone's problem. I can take care of myself."
Her father huffed. "You nearly got yourself blown up in New Chicago."
Kate’s face heated at the reminder of the disaster when a protesting farm widow had strapped dynamite around her chest. “That wasn’t my fault. The woman was mentally deranged.”
Her father shrugged. “Does it matter whose fault it was? The explosion stopped construction for a week.”
Did he care that his daughter had been spared by the grace of God and a brave friend? If her own sire thought so little of her, was it any wonder few men found much to recommend her, save an attractive inheritance? Kate put on a wry smile to hide the hurt. "Rest assured, I won't suggest dynamite as a bargaining tool."
"I should hope not. Whiskey works much better," Henry cracked.
The muscles in her neck tensed, drawing her shoulders upward. She could put up with Henry’s arrogance, but she had a hard time stomaching his questionable principles. "Why is it when we are faced with an obstacle you opt for the most expedient solution, no matter that it might cost more in the long run. Like those inexpensive rails that will have to be replaced."
Henry bristled. "Those inexpensive rails enabled us to win this race."
“Kate.” The way her father growled her name made it clear he was losing patience.
She lifted her hands in surrender. Berating his Chief
of Operations for past offenses wouldn’t help her cause. "Yes, we won the race. But serving whiskey to the Tribal Council won’t get us to Texas. We’ll draw the ire of federal agents, and make the Cherokee leaders more suspicious."
Henry sank into the chair nearest the desk and stretched out his long legs. He laced his fingers over his chest, looking unconcerned. "Honestly, Kate. Who's going to care if we throw a party?"
Perdition. Why was she wasting breath on the aggravating man? Her father was the one she had to influence. Levi Parsons was a wealthy man, but he’d sunk everything into the Katy. If it faltered, he’d be made a pauper and a laughingstock. She knew they could succeed without having to sacrifice integrity, but it would take a different way of doing things. If he’d give her a chance, she could show him how.
Kate approached the desk as he continued to sort through papers. It was now or never. "Father, I’ve lobbied for the suffrage movement, I understand politics. And I've been reading up on treaties governing Indian lands. Allow me to meet with the Tribal Council and broker an agreement."
Her father picked up an official-looking document and scowled. "Where do you suppose a bunch of savages get the money to hire Washington lawyers? I thought they were land-poor."
She wrestled for control of her temper. Either he sparred with her or ignored her, anything to avoid taking her seriously. "There must be an anonymous donor supporting their cause. But we can't wait for the courts to decide. We must negotiate—"
"Precisely." Her father slapped the paper on the desk. "We can't wait. We're bleeding money every day we sit here."
"Which is why we must negotiate. I feel certain we could reach an acceptable compromise if you would—"
"Come to the party tonight." Henry cajoled with a friendly wave.
That was the second time he’d interrupted a conversation with her father. She made it clear with a look she was seriously annoyed.
He went on as if he hadn’t noticed. "You can talk to the members of the Tribal Council there. They prefer to negotiate in social settings."
So she could talk to them at a party but not across the bargaining table? "There’s nothing wrong with being social, so long as we are negotiating in good faith."
"Of course.” Henry spread his hands as if he was in total agreement with her.
Well, two could play that game. She flashed a smile. "I’m glad we see eye to eye, Henry. With Father’s permission, I’ll arrange a follow-up meeting with the Tribal Council during tonight's event.
Her father leaned back in his chair and stroked a chest length gray beard thoughtfully.
Kate hid crossed fingers in her skirt as she met his cerulean gaze, another trait they shared, along with a head for business. Something he hadn’t yet acknowledged.
"Women don't negotiate treaties," he started.
Her stomach dropped to her feet. "It's not a treaty, Father. It's a business agreement."
"Women don't negotiate business agreements."
Kate’s fingers curled into fists, still hidden by her skirt. She’d turned a small trust from her grandmother into a tidy fortune, which was more than most men could claim, and then invested the bulk into the railroad. "They do if they have ownership in the business.”
"You don't own this business.”
Wasn't she his heir? Or did he plan to leave everything to Henry? "But I’ve made a large investment, and I wish to play a vital role."
An awkward silence filled the sweltering car.
Kate’s scalp grew damp. She glanced over at Henry, who was studying his nails. Now he was silent, when she could use his support.
Her father stood and braced his fingers on the desk, wearing an expression that would've done a rock proud. "Mary Katherine, your only role is to support Mr. Stevens. And while you're at it, I expect you to stay out of trouble. If you cost me any more time or money, I swear I will personally box you up and ship you out on the next train bound for New York."
###
Uk-tena crouched on metal rails with its nose pointed south, directly at the heart of the Tsa-la-gi Nation. Tonight, it didn’t hiss or spew smoke, as usual, but lay silent as a predator anticipating a kill.
Jake crept along the dark side of the locomotive, which his people had named after a mythical serpent. Not because they believed it had special powers. Everyone knew it was just a machine. But like its namesake, the “smoking dragon” had been created as a tool of domination. Its owners were the real monsters—and they had to be stopped.
Clouds skated across the sky. Light from a full moon struck the engine’s iron skin, turning it silver. Jake crouched lower, trying to make himself small. An impossible task when he was taller than most men, including the one in front of him. He stood out when he’d rather fit in.
As he passed between two cars, he glimpsed a bonfire on the other side. Orange flames leapt above the heads of dancers, their writhing silhouettes casting eerie shadows over a patch of ground cleared for the celebration. Strains of fiddle music mixed with shouts of drunken revelry.
The railroad chief’s party had been underway since sunset and wouldn't end anytime soon. Members of the Tribal Council hadn’t attended, even though they were the honored guests, and they’d warned their people to stay away. But there were always those happy to take advantage of free liquor.
Jake and Charley weren't here to drink. They'd come to steal the payroll.
The rhythmic crunch of footsteps came from the other side of the train.
Charley halted. His black clothes and dark coloring concealed him from view, but Jake was close enough to see his cousin’s fingers curl around the handle of his revolver. The gun slithered out of the holster.
Jake’s heart kicked in his chest. If his cousin started shooting with all these armed workers around, they'd both get killed. Of course, if they were caught stealing, they'd be hung from the nearest tree.
Holding his position, he peered beneath the train. Denim-clad legs scissored past. As the footfalls faded, he released a slow breath. By Thunder, this job would be his last. After tonight, they ought to have adequate funds to defend their land from those who wanted to take it.
"There, at the end, the fanciest car," he whispered. "I wager the owner brought the payroll with him."
A moment later, he swung up onto the metal platform, taking care not to tread loudly, and eased the door open. The compartment was dark, quiet.
"I’ll cover the windows. You find a lamp.”
His cousin slipped past. Circling the room, Jake pulled down tasseled curtains, which were rolled up on brass rods. A match rasped, followed by a sulfurous smell, then a soft glow filled the compartment.
Charley lifted the lamp. Light splashed across his features, making the scar more noticeable. During the war, he'd been struck in the face with a saber and the injury pulled his mouth down in a permanent grimace. The worse scars, however, couldn’t be seen. They were the ones on his soul.
“Where do think they stashed the money?” Charley rasped.
Jake scanned the paneled room, which looked more like a fancy office than a railcar. There was a sitting area, a table spread with papers and maps, a large desk positioned in front of bookcases that were pushed up against a partial wall, and beyond that, probably sleeping quarters. Last time, the money had been in a safe, something they’d been able to easily discover. But if there was no safe…
“Maybe it’s in the desk.” He checked the drawers—locked—then ran his hands underneath, feeling for a release that might trigger a secret compartment. "Nothing. I'll bet he keeps the key on him. We'll have to pry it open."
Pulling a knife from a sheath on his belt, Jake went to work on the top drawer.
Charley flipped open the lid on a fancy cigar box and stuffed the contents inside his coat. He threw a frowning glance over his shoulder. "Hurry up. I hear something."
From outside came a scrape on the metal platform.
Jake scrambled to his feet.
"Stay there. Distract them,” Charle
y hissed. He pressed his back against the wall to the left of the door and pulled a knife from a sheath in his boot.
Growing nervous, Jake shook his head. No bloodshed. That was the deal.
The knob turned and a woman stepped inside, one with hair as bright as a sunset.
Redbird.
Recognition jolted through him. Even though he'd only seen her from afar, there was no mistaking her fiery crown. It was the same woman who’d been following the railroad for months, mostly on the arm of the chief.
Fear flickered across her face, but instead of screaming, she raised her chin and leveled a stern look. "What are you doing in here? This is a private office."
Charley eased up behind her, his eyes glittering with grim intent. Surely, he wouldn't harm a woman.
The knife flashed.
"Tsali, no!" Jake shouted.
Confusion flickered across Redbird’s face a second before Charley clapped one hand over her mouth and jerked her back against him, putting the razor-sharp blade to her throat.
She froze, her eyes huge with terror.
Jake placed his palms on the desktop, prepared to leap over and grab the knife. But he checked himself. If he startled her, she might bolt, and the glint in Charley's eyes made it clear she wouldn't get away.
"Don't hurt her," Jake continued in Tsa-la-gi.
Charley scowled and jerked his chin toward the door. "See if someone followed."
Taking care to be quiet, Jake looked outside. No one lingered by the car and the only sounds were the strains of music and drunken laughter. He shut the door.
Redbird hadn't moved a muscle. Good thing she was smart enough to keep her wits about her. Now he had to calm Charley down.
"Don't see anybody, but we can't risk staying long enough to find the money. Let's tie her up and get out of here."
Charley flicked a dark glance at the petrified woman in his arms. "She's seen us. It'll ruin our cover."
"Only if they connect us with the other theft."
"You know they will if she squawks."