“Why, you bastard, I’m going to gut you like a fish!” the man shouted. He bent down to retrieve his knife, and Hawke shot again. This time, his bullet hit the knife and sent it sliding down the alley.
“This is the last time I am going to ask you,” Hawke said. “Leave the woman alone.”
The man glared hatred at Hawke, who pulled the hammer back and pointed the gun between the man’s eyes.
“I just nicked you the first time,” he said. “If you don’t go away and leave this woman alone, I’m going to kill you,” he said coldly.
The man turned and started up the alley, walking at first, then breaking into a run.
Hawke looked at the woman. “Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked.
“Are you crazy?” the woman replied angrily. “Now you’ve made him really mad.” She turned and yelled at the retreating man. “Johnny! Johnny, wait! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
Hawke watched in surprise as she chased after him. Shaking his head in disbelief, he left the alley and returned to the Palmer House Hotel for his last night in Chicago. Tomorrow he would take the train back West.
Hawke sat in the waiting room of Chicago’s Union Station, reading the Chicago Tribune. His attention was particularly drawn to one article.
SPECIAL TO THE TRIBUNE:
Green River, in the Territory of Wyoming, could well be called one of the wonders of the world. Its growth has been rapid. But a brief time ago, there was not a house here. Now the houses can be numbered by hundreds, and its inhabitants by thousands, although there is a large floating population, which undoubtedly will grow much larger as news of the recent gold strike reaches the greater public.
There is a great deal of excitement in regard to the Sweetwater mines, about ninety miles north of here. We are constantly receiving fabulous news concerning their richness. Already a gold rush is underway, and more treasure hunters are expected.
Plans have recently been announced for the building of the Sweetwater Railroad. The railroad, when completed, will run from Green River to the goldfields in the Sweetwater Mountains.
The Sweetwater mines are said to be confined to gold-bearing leads, and those who go to that country in search of mines will find that, by obtaining possession of good leads and thoroughly developing them, they will realize a ready demand and good prices for their endeavor. Fortunes will be made in that country, as they have been made in others.
The building of the Sweetwater Railroad will ensure that provisions and equipment can be delivered promptly and at low costs. No doubt exists that in another year Sweetwater will be one of the most extensive mining districts in the United States.
More than a dozen trains were backed into the car shed of the Union Pacific depot. The engines were maintaining their steam, and as a result the sounds of venting pressures echoed and reechoed throughout the station. In addition, at any given time there was at least one train departing and one arriving, the rolling sounds of steel wheels on steel tracks adding to the din.
The cavernous shed smelled of smoke and steam-wilted clothing. Arriving and departing passengers hurried along the extended narrow boarding platforms between the trains. Vendors were peddling their wares: everything from amazing apple peelers to aromatic lunches in boxes.
Hawke walked along the platform behind the trains, examining the paper in his hand and comparing it with the large numbers that were mounted on poles at the head of each track. He was looking for track number seven, and had just located it when a baggage handler came by, pulling a large cart filled with luggage.
“Make way! Make way, sir! Make way!” the baggage handler was saying over and over.
Hawke stepped aside to let him pass.
“Careful, baggage handler, don’t let that top bag fall,” an attractive woman called. She was holding onto the arm of a man who was nattily dressed, including a silk cravat and a diamond stickpin.
“Don’ you worry none, Mrs. Dupree. I ain’t goin’ to let nothin’ fall.”
“Libby, will you quit worrying and let the man do his job? I’m sure he knows what he is doing.”
“Oh, but Jay, I’ve got a bottle of very expensive perfume in that bag. It would be awful if it got broken, to say nothing of spreading the fragrance on all the clothes.”
“It seems to me like having your clothes doctored with perfume would eliminate you having to put it on,” Dupree said with a chuckle.
“Some of your clothes are in that bag,” the woman replied. “I know you are somewhat the dandy, but do you really want to smell like a Parisian fancy woman?”
Dupree laughed out loud, then raised his hand and called toward the baggage handler, “Careful with those bags.”
Libby laughed as well, then took his arm with both hands.
As they passed Hawke, Dupree saw him studying the paper in his hand.
“Are you looking for the transcontinental train?” Dupree asked. “Because if you are, you’re at the right place.”
“Yes, thank you, I do appear to be,” Hawke said, folding the paper and putting it into his inside jacket pocket.
“I’m Jay Dupree, sir. This beautiful young lady is Libby St. Cyr.”
“St. Cyr?” Hawke looked toward the baggage handler, who was well down the length of the train by now.
Dupree, noticing the expression on Hawke’s face and his glance toward the baggage handler, chuckled.
“Miss St. Cyr is my employee. If people draw the wrong assumption about us, I have found that it is better to let them think as they will. And you are?”
“Mason Hawke.”
“Well, Mr. Hawke, would you care to walk with us as we board the train?”
“I would be glad to,” Hawke said.
As they walked along the length of the train, Hawke could see, through the windows, those passengers who were already in the cars. They sat in their seats, reading newspapers or carrying on conversations, a world apart from the hustle and bustle outside the train.
“Where are you headed, Mr. Hawke?” Dupree asked.
“You can drop the ‘Mister.’ Most folks just call me Hawke. And I’m not headed anywhere in particular. I’m just going to be on the train.”
Libby looked at him in surprise. “You are going to be taking a trip to the Far West, but you’ve no idea where?”
“It isn’t the destination, it’s the trip,” Hawke replied.
“I don’t understand.”
“If you come into the palace car at any time during the trip, you will understand,” Hawke said. “I’m a pianist, and the Union Pacific Railroad has hired me to play the piano on this train.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Libby said, smiling and clapping her hands in delight. “Well, I’m sure we will be stopping in to hear you play from time to time.”
“Have you heard about the gold strike in the Wyoming Territory?” Dupree asked.
“Yes, I was just reading about it in the local paper.”
“I believe some enterprising people are going to make a lot of money,” Dupree said. “And I intend to get my share.”
Hawke shook his head. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Mr. Dupree, you don’t have the looks of a gold hunter.”
Dupree laughed. “It depends on where you are looking for the gold,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My…associates and I plan to open a social club there. I think men who have been working hard in the hills, prospecting for gold, would appreciate a place to come for a few drinks, the companionship of an attractive woman, and some relaxation.”
Dupree stopped, then checked the paper in his hand. “Ah, here we are, my dear. Our accommodations are in this car.”
A beautiful young blond-haired woman stuck her head out the window of the car, joined a few seconds later by a second, this one a redhead, just as pretty as the first.
“Jay, Libby, where have you been? Lulu and I have been on the car for just hours, waiting for you,” the blonde said.
Dupree laughed
. “I doubt that you have been here hours, Sue. The train itself hasn’t been here that long.”
“Sue is right,” Lulu said. “It has been a long time. What kept you two?”
“Someone had to take care of the luggage,” Libby replied.
“These two ladies will be traveling with us as well,” Dupree said. “Sue, Lulu, meet Mr. Hawke.”
Both girls flashed broad smiles and stuck their hands out.
“Pleased to meet you,” they said at the same time.
“Like Libby, they are my associates.”
“Yes, I see. And I think I understand the nature of your business now,” Hawke said.
“Surely, Mr. Hawke, you aren’t a prude?” Libby asked. “An urbane gentleman like you?”
Hawke laughed. “I’ve been called a lot of things, Miss St. Cyr. I’m quite sure I’ve never been called a prude.”
“I wouldn’t think so. You don’t have that look about you,” Libby said.
“Have a pleasant journey,” Hawke said, touching the brim of his hat as Dupree and Libby stepped up into their car.
“Thank you, and the same to you, sir. We’ll see each other frequently, I’m sure,” Dupree replied.
Hawke continued until he reached the car he had been told to board. A porter was standing in the car door.
“Beg your pardon, sir, but this here be the crew car,” the porter said.
“My name is Mason Hawke, and I believe this is the car I’m supposed to be on. I’ve signed on to play the piano on this trip.”
“Oh, now that will be fine,” the porter said. “On these long trips, the passengers do enjoy the music.”
“I expect the conductor will be wanting to talk to me after a while. When he’s not too busy, perhaps you could tell him where I am.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll do that. And welcome aboard.”
“Thank you.”
Hawke settled in a seat near a window, put his long legs forward, folded his arms across his chest, then pulled his hat down over his eyes. Within a few moments he was sound asleep.
Chapter 10
THE ANGRY BUZZ OF BULLETS COULD BE HEARD even above the rattle of musketry, the heavy thump of cannon fire, and the explosive burst of artillery rounds. Men were screaming, some in defiance, some in fear, and many in agony.
By now the blood was pooling in the rocks and boulders of Devil’s Den, but still the fighting continued. Mason Hawke had taken shelter in those rocks, and from his position was engaged in long distance shooting, killing Yankee soldiers from five hundred to a thousand yards away. He shot until the hexagon barrel of his Sharps breechloader was so hot that he could no longer touch it, so he took off his shirt to use as a pad to allow him to hold the rifle and continue his killing. He lost count of how many men he had killed, but knew that one of his victims was a brigadier general.
Around him, sixty-five of his fellow soldiers had already fallen victim to the Yankee Sharpshooters under the command of Colonel Hiram Berdan.
“This ain’t never going to stop!” a private next to him shouted in horror. “We’re just goin’ to keep on a’killin’ each other till ever’ last one of us is dead.”
Hawke turned to answer him, to assure him that this battle, like all the others they had been in, would end. But before he could say a word, a minié ball slammed into the private’s head. The man’s blood, brains, and tiny fragments of bone splinters sprayed into Hawke’s face.
Hawke didn’t even bother to wipe off the detritus as he selected his next target.
“Hawke, we’ve got to get out of here!” one of the others shouted.
“Hawke!”
“Hawke!”
“Mr. Hawke!”
“Mr. Hawke?”
The sound of gunfire faded away, replaced by the sound of a train in motion.
“Mr. Hawke?”
Hawke was fully awake now, and already this dream of the hell of Gettysburg, like many before it, was mercifully slipping from his memory. He could feel the gentle sway of the train in motion, and when he pushed his hat up and looked through the window, he saw that they were well out of the city. They were passing a farm, and on the other side of the field he saw a man walking behind a mule and plow.
“Mr. Hawke.”
The tone grew more insistent.
Hawke turned to see who was addressing him and saw a man wearing a blue uniform jacket and billed cap.
“Yes?” Hawke replied
“My name is McCutcheon, Mr. Hawke. I am the conductor. If you would come with me, I’ll show you to the palace car where you will be playing.”
“All right,” Hawke said.
“I don’t know what you have been told as to what your duties are,” the conductor said, “but let me go over my rules with you.”
“Your rules?”
“Yes, Mr. Hawke, my rules. As the conductor of this train, I am the man in charge, the captain, so to speak, of this ship. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No problem.”
“Very good. First of all, I shall expect absolute courtesy to all the passengers. Some may get a little out of hand from time to time, but if they do, I want you to remember that we are here to serve them.
“Secondly, I will require you to be present in the palace car until midnight, every night, until we have completed our journey. You will be allowed one hour off for your meals, and you may take your meals in the dining car.”
Hawke was following the conductor now, and as they passed between the cars, it was necessary to step across a gap of some two feet from the platform of one car to the platform of the next. Looking down through the gap, Hawke could see the ballast and railroad ties slipping by rapidly. Also, out here there was a breath of hot wind and the smell of smoke.
With the train in motion, there was a great deal of independent movement in the sway and roll of the individual cars, though they were connected. Because of that, it was not possible to step from one car to the next without paying attention to what you were doing. Despite the conductor’s haughty attitude, Hawke had to give him grudging respect for the ease with which he negotiated the transit from car to car.
As they passed through one of the parlor cars, Hawke saw Jay Dupree and Libby St. Cyr.
“Well, we meet again, I see,” Libby said. “Are you going to play now?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll be in to listen, shortly.”
When they stepped onto the rear platform of this car, McCutcheon held up his hand to stop Hawke.
“Another thing,” he said. “There is to be absolutely no fraternization between employees of Union Pacific and passengers.”
When Jason White entered Bailey McPherson’s office in Green River, he was carrying a large, rolled-up document.
“Miss McPherson, I have the preliminary surveys here, if you would like to see them.”
“Yes, of course I want to see them,” Bailey said. “Spread your map out here on the table.”
Jason unrolled the map, and Bailey began finding ways to hold down the corners. She put an ink bottle on one corner, a book on a second corner, and a lantern on the third. When the fourth corner attempted to roll up, she looked at Dancer.
“Ethan, put your gun on that corner,” she said.
Dancer hesitated a moment, then took his gun from the holster and put it where she directed.
“Now, show me the route,” she said to Jason.
He used his finger to trace along the drawn railroad tracks.
“We will follow the Green River northwest until we reach the conflux of the Green and the Big Sandy. We turn north along the Big Sandy until we reach the Little Sandy River. We will follow the Little Sandy almost due north until we arrive at its terminus at South Pass.”
“And the entire route is along the rivers?” Bailey asked.
“Yes. Of course, you do realize, don’t you, that by routing your railroad this way, instead of going straight to South Pass, you are increasing the length by some thirty miles. That’s alm
ost half again what a straight route would be.”
“Yes, I know that,” Bailey said.
“What will we tell the railroad commission? They will question why you aren’t going by the shortest route.”
“You don’t worry about that,” Bailey said. “Addison has already taken care of it. All you need to do now is submit the surveys for compensation. According to the Railroad Land Grant Act of 1862, we are entitled to a four-hundred-foot right of way, and ten square miles of property for every one mile of route.”
“Good Lord! That gives you a five-mile-wide swath of land from here to the Sweetwater!” Jason did some quick figuring. “That’s over a quarter of a million acres!”
“A quarter of a million acres of the best range land in the entire territory,” Bailey said. “With sweet water and green grass.”
“That’s a lot of land.”
“Yes, it is. It challenges Northumbria in size.” Bailey looked up with shining, beady eyes. “And, if I play my cards right, I’ll own Northumbria as well.”
Hawke had been on the train for two days, playing the piano in the palace car. Dupree and the three women with him—Libby, Lulu, and Sue—were his most faithful listeners. The women were young, attractive, and very flirtatious. If Hawke had had any question as to the purpose of Dupree’s social club, spending some time around these women answered it for him.
The first night out, after departing Chicago, Hawke played mostly classical music. But as the train got farther west and picked up new passengers, the demographics of his audience changed. Mechanics, farmhands, and ultimately cowboys now outnumbered the wealthy eastern businessmen by a substantial number, and their music tastes were more rural. As a result of these changing dynamics, the music was now little different from the kind of music he played in the saloons.
Just west of Cheyenne, a young cowboy in chaps and silver spurs and rowels got on the train. He had a bottle with him, and Hawke was just finishing a song as he stepped into the palace car.
Hawke’s audience applauded him, and the cowboy, though he had not heard Hawke, tucked the bottle of whiskey under his arm so he could pointedly join the applause.
Showdown at Dead End Canyon Page 10
