by Joe Slade
His warm breath seemed to tickle her ear and Maggie flinched at his close proximity.
‘Don’t turn around,’ he said as she started to move. ‘He can’t know I’ve spoken to you. Listen, there’s a man on this train who means to harm us both—damn!’
She felt the seat shift as he got to his feet. Her corset pinched as she turned despite his warning, her fingers tightening around the Schofield concealed in the velvet reticule on her lap. Of average height, blonde, wearing a grey suit and clasping a Derringer in his hand, she didn’t know the man but he looked familiar. He was peering along the carriage but at what she couldn’t see.
He leaned in close behind her as if looking for something on the seat. ‘If anything happens to me, find Archie,’ he whispered. ‘Tell him not to trust his instincts. Your life depends on it.’
With a glance behind him, he lurched into the aisle, tripping over Doc’s foot. As he fell, he grabbed for the carriage door, swung it open and then he was gone.
‘Shut that door!’ Doc grumbled, looking up from his book. ‘Damn fool. Nothing that way except freight.’
A heavy-set man wearing a tight fitting shirt and canvas pants pushed past, knocking the book from Doc’s hand. He paused long enough to narrow his eyes towards Maggie before he stepped out onto the platform. This time the door banged shut behind him.
‘I think someone’s in trouble,’ Maggie said.
Doc shrugged. ‘The next man that falls over me will be.’
He went back to reading, apparently having not overheard the conversation. It didn’t surprise Maggie. Doc was very focused when it came to his medical books and the man in the grey suit had seemed eager not to draw attention.
Sitting in the seat opposite, Leo grabbed her hand, holding it tightly. She wasn’t sure if it was for his peace of mind or hers, but she doubted it had anything to do with what had just happened. For him, having spent his first fifteen years in the relative isolation of Shaw’s Creek Crossing, the trip was an adventure bigger than anything he could have imagined. As he pressed his face against the glass, his dark amber eyes seemed as big as saucers and still he strained to see more.
Rick slept through it all. Whether it was boredom or the monotonous chug of the engine that lulled him, she wasn’t sure, but he had spent most of the journey north dozing. With his hat pulled over his face and his arms folded across his chest, he seemed indifferent to his surroundings.
Maggie smoothed the skirt of her blue travelling dress then tightened her grip on the Schofield and leaned her shoulder against the window. She ran her tongue over her lips, wishing she had a drink to steady her nerves. There was no denying that the nearer she got to Flamstead, the more they started to jangle. She started to doubt herself. The train was noisy and the stranger had been whispering. She had probably misheard him and it was possible she had seen him board the train and that’s why he looked familiar. As for the second man, his reaction to her scarred appearance wasn’t unusual.
The train slowed as they climbed higher into the mountains. At times, it seemed that the locomotive would lose traction, sending the passengers plummeting to their deaths. Still they chugged on, moving on through a forest-choked valley bathed in summer sunshine. Maggie pressed her face up closer against the window and wondered, not for the first time, whether she was making a mistake coming back. After all, when Archie Cavanaugh had come looking for her, her first instinct had been to deny her identity. She had no reason not to. Frank had told her that her father had refused to pay a ransom for her and for seven years that’s what she had believed. Then Archie Cavanaugh had shown up and told her a different story.
She was deep in thought when she glimpsed movement outside. For a second it looked like an arm thrown wide of the carriage platform then snatched back. She looked around her but no one else seemed to be paying attention.
‘Did you see that?’ she asked.
Leo shook his head. He was facing the wrong way to see anything except the approaching landscape. Doc adjusted his grip on the book and carried on reading. She looked again but there was nothing there.
‘I think I’m seeing things,’ she said, dismissing it.
Maggie closed her eyes to rest and think before they arrived at their destination but, without the distraction of the view, she noticed the noise around her more. In particular, there was an annoying banging sound as though something had come loose and was smacking against the carriage. She nudged Rick’s foot with her toe.
He pushed back his hat and looked at her through half-open eyes. ‘Are we there?’
‘Will you check that door behind you? I think it might be coming open.’
He shrugged and reached around, tugged the handle but the door was firmly in place.
‘Do you hear that banging?’ she asked.
He listened. ‘It’s probably nothing, just a branch or something caught somewhere.’
Maggie leaned forward, a sick feeling washing over her as she pointed at the gap between door and floor. ‘If it’s nothing, why does that look like blood?’
A rush of cooler air flooded the carriage as Rick pulled open the door. The man who had spoken to her earlier, fell inside. His bruised and swollen face was contorted with pain. His shirt and suit were blood-soaked around a knife that protruded from his belly.
‘Check if there’s anyone else out there,’ Maggie urged.
Rick pulled his .45 and stepped around the man. Cautiously, he peered out. ‘There’s no one there.’
Suddenly, a woman screeched and the whole carriage came alive as word spread and the other passengers crowded towards the drama unfolding at the back of the train.
‘We need a doctor,’ someone shouted.
‘I am a doctor,’ Doc announced. ‘Keep back and give me some room.’
Down on his knees, he examined the wound with his usual, quiet efficiency. From what Maggie could see, there seemed little doubt that the man was dying. No one could lose that much blood and survive. That he had somehow managed to stay on the platform and cling to life at all was a miracle. Even now he was struggling to say something as blood flecked his lips.
She eased between the seats and dropped to her knees beside him, taking his blood-slicked hand as he fumbled for hers.
‘Don’t…Tell Archie...’ Each word was an effort and he spluttered as blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. ‘Don’t trust…’
Maggie leaned in towards him but whatever he had wanted to pass on with his last breath was lost as the engine whistle sounded a shrill blast.
Chapter Three
They left the Ponderosa pines and chokeberries behind and entered an area of Aspen and Engelmann Spruce. As Flamstead Junction approached, snow-capped mountain vistas stood in stark contrast to the greenery that swept between giant boulders littering scree slopes below. Maggie hardly saw any of it and, thirty minutes after the man’s death, the engine ground to a stop against the buffers at the edge of town and the law was summoned.
Sheriff Anderson and a couple of deputies arrived ten minutes later. A stoop shouldered, grey eyed, grey haired man in his late forties, the lawman carried twin colts in matching fancy black tooled holsters, and a battered double-barreled Greener. Maggie’s first impression was he looked more like an outlaw than a peacekeeper but, whatever his credentials were, he made it clear he wouldn’t stand for any nonsense from the detained passengers as he ordered his men to secure the carriage.
He pulled back the edge of the blanket that had been thrown over the corpse. Chewing on his bottom lip, he listened attentively as Doc gave an account of the victim’s injuries.
‘Sam Pickering,’ he said in a gritty voice, as much to himself as to anyone around him, then louder, ‘Did anyone see what happened?’
The consensus along the packed carriage was that no one had, although one man said he thought the victim had stopped and talked to Maggie. The sheriff’s flinty eyes narrowed as he turned his attention on her. She had the urge to shake herself, like a dog with fleas, bu
t instead she gave her account, only leaving out what the man in the grey suit had said to her.
‘Had you ever seen him before, Mrs. Simpkins?’
She shook her head, not bothering to correct his assumption. She didn’t know why, just that something about the lawman made her uneasy. It could have been his bold appraisal of her, noticeable because few people she met could look her in the eye for long. Or maybe it was just a feeling that she might somehow implicate herself if he knew who she was.
‘What about the other man? Did you see him come back through?’ the sheriff asked. ‘Or anyone else go out?’
‘No,’ Maggie said decisively.
‘What about you?’ Anderson asked, turning his attention to Rick. So far his view of him had been limited to the back of his head. ‘You said you had a look outside. Did you see anything?’
Rick turned around to answer him, faltering as they recognized each other.
‘Rick,’ the sheriff said, his mood seeming to lighten. ‘Glad to see you’re not dead.’
‘It’s been close a few times,’ Rick said, cordially. ‘In answer to your question, no, I didn’t see anything. I’d been asleep and Maggie asked me to check the door. That’s when we saw the blood and the rest is as she and the doctor told you. I didn’t see anyone else.’
The sheriff massaged his chin thoughtfully. ‘Well, I suppose you’re free to go then,’ he said, signaling his intention to the waiting deputies. ‘It’s good to see you again, Rick.’
‘You too, Ben.’
He held out his hand and they shook on it like old friends. It seemed there was more to say but the exchange lapsed in to an awkward silence. Rick fell in behind Maggie as she shuffled along the carriage and joined the throng trying to escape the gruesome scene.
‘How do you know the sheriff?’ Maggie asked as they filed on to the platform.
‘He saved my life.’
Sheriff Anderson sent his deputies back to the jailhouse and carried on to the telegraph office. There he sent two wires: one to the marshal in Flitwick and the other to Brownsville, Montana. Twenty years as a lawman had taught him to rely on his gut instinct and right now his gut was telling him Doctor Simpkins and his wife knew more about Sam Pickering’s death than they were letting on. Mrs. Simpkins, in particular, piqued his interest. She was a little too confident for a woman, in his opinion, especially one that looked the way she did.
And then there was Rick Talbot. After he had disappeared a year ago, Anderson suspected he was face down in a shallow grave somewhere, but now here he was, wearing a tied-down gun and handling himself like he wouldn’t be afraid to use it.
Anderson waited for the messages to be sent, gave instructions that he wanted the replies the minute they arrived then stepped outside. He took a minute to survey the bustling main street while he lit a cigarette. The weekend was bringing a lot of miners out of the hills and Flamstead Junction was looking even busier than usual. He had a feeling it was going to be a long few days. Sighing, he started towards the west side of town where he shared a little house with his wife. Maybe after a good meal and a few hours of sleep his mood would improve, but he doubted it.
Maggie held on to her hat and Doc’s arm as they worked their way through the agitated crowd waiting to board the train. When they passed the engine, she got her first proper look at the town. It had grown five-fold since her abduction, most noticeably with the disappearance of tents and the building of dozens of wooden false front commercial buildings that now lined a thriving main street. Many of them bore the Stanford name, and prominent amongst them was the Stanford Grand hotel, which was everything the name suggested. Painted in lavish yellow and white, it towered impressively above its rivals.
‘It looks like your family owns most of the town,’ Doc commented as they passed on by.
They took three rooms in a smaller hotel at the north end Main with Rick and Leo sharing. Maggie was stripped down to her underwear resting on the bed with the curtains shut, listening to the steady patter of rain when a knock sounded at the door.
‘Who is it?’ she called, expecting it to be one of her friends.
‘Archie Cavanaugh.’
Inwardly, she groaned. She had been hoping to have a look around town and ask a few questions about her father before she decided whether to seek out the detective. Quickly, she slipped back into her navy travelling dress. Gun in hand, she opened the door a crack and peered out. The man in the damp grey suit, the ends of his blonde hair soaking the collar, was indeed Cavanaugh. She invited him in, leaving the door ajar behind him.
‘How did you know we were here?’ she asked, going to stand by the window and placing the Schofield on the washstand.
‘When I heard Sam Pickering was dead, the man who was killed on the train, I knew you’d be close.’
‘I didn’t kill him,’ she said defensively.
‘That’s not what I was inferring. Sam worked for me. He would only have been on that train because you were. And by the way, this is the fourth hotel I’ve visited looking for you. It was a good idea using the doctor’s name and not your own. The fewer people who know you’re here the better.’
‘After what happened to Mr. Pickering, I thought it would be best. He tried to warn me I was in danger although he didn’t say from whom. Until you told me he was your man, I thought it might be you.’
‘Me? Why?’
His surprise seemed genuine.
‘Because of what he said before he died.’
‘You spoke to him? The sheriff said—’
‘I didn’t know if I could trust that badge-toter. For what it’s worth, Pickering said you shouldn’t trust your instincts. He also said, “Don’t. Tell Archie. Don’t trust”.’
‘Mmm. I agree, that sounds bad for me but I assure you I—’
He staggered, falling against the nightstand as the door banged open.
Maggie grabbed the Schofield, pulling back the hammer and taking aim in one smooth move. Just as quickly, she lowered it.
‘What the hell, Doc? I could have shot you.’
‘I heard voices.’ He turned his attention to Cavanaugh. ‘What are you doing here?’
Cavanaugh picked himself up. ‘I came to tell Miss Stanford that I’ve made arrangements for her to see her father tonight.’
‘We only just got into town. Why tonight?’ Doc asked.
‘Because his wife will be out of the house and most of the servants have the night off.’
‘Why not just go in the morning?’ Maggie asked.
‘Because you can’t just walk in there and tell them who you are and…’ He seemed loath to go on. ‘I’m not sure your father will last the night.’ He turned to Doc. ‘I’d like you to come too, Doctor.’
‘That goes without saying, but why especially?’
He looked sick to his stomach. ‘Because I don’t think George Stanford is dying of natural causes.’
Chapter Four
Maggie changed into dark pants and blue shirt and grabbed her felt hat with the colored braid around the crown. It had belonged to the first man she had killed, Walt McLean, and along with Frank’s Schofield holstered at her waist, it served as a harsh reminder of the horrors men could inflict. Although Archie had refused to say anything more about his suspicions, it didn’t take a sharp mind like Doc’s to know they were heading in to trouble.
It was after midnight by the time the three of them left the hotel. Rain laden clouds obscured a pale moon and allowed them to travel in relative obscurity. A five-minute walk and a short climb up a steep hill, brought them to the Stanford house.
‘This is all new,’ Maggie commented when they reached the iron gates set into a high stone wall.
‘The town has grown with the arrival of the railroad,’ Archie said, leading them through. ‘Not all the passengers it brings are honest citizens.’
They kept to the long stone path that led to the front of the house, veering off when they reached a high trellis overgrown with roses. A narrow pathwa
y led around to the back entrance where Archie knocked twice then twice again. A light showed at the window and a young dark haired woman wearing a pale blue dress and a neat white apron opened the door. She looked the newcomers over before ushering them inside.
‘This is my fiancé Emma,’ Archie said by way of introduction. ‘She’s been looking after your father.’
‘Quickly,’ Emma whispered. ‘And be quiet. We’re not alone.’
By the glow of a low-lit lamp, she led them through the kitchen, along a hallway and up a narrow flight of stairs that emerged onto a wide wood-paneled landing with several doors off. Time had blurred her memory of the place but now Maggie felt as if she had never left.
‘He’s in there,’ Emma said, pointing straight ahead to Maggie’s old room. ‘He’s awake but he’s very weak. He knows you’re coming.’ She took Maggie’s hand and urged her forward.
Maggie pushed open the door, hesitating on the threshold as her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness beyond. Even then she didn’t go in. As she willed herself to move, she realized fear had rooted her feet.
‘Emma?’ a weak voice croaked.
She felt Doc’s hand on her back, offering support, stopping her as she tried to back away.
‘Emma, is that you?’ the voice asked again.
‘No,’ Maggie said. ‘It’s Carlotta de Silva.’
Doc did a double take. Carlotta de Silva? Who the hell was Carlotta de Silva and what kind of game was Maggie playing?
‘Carlotta de—’ the disembodied voice seemed to choke on the name. ‘Margaret?’
‘Yes, Father.’
Maggie seemed to fly across the room, her usual restraint gone in an instant. If he hadn’t noticed the way she turned her face so that her father wouldn’t see her disfigurement, Doc would have questioned his own eyes.
Archie pulled the door shut with a gentle click. ‘I knew I was right.’
‘Care to explain?’ Doc asked.
‘Carlotta de Silva? That was the name she used when she put on performances for him as a child. She wanted to be a great actress. It was their secret.’ He put his arm around Emma and pulled her in close. ‘Didn’t I tell you it was her?’
