Golden Spike

by Robert Lee Murphy

“Well, now, we don’t need none. I’ve me knife.”

  “What about me?”

  “Use yer fingers.”

  Paddy stabbed a steak from the skillet with the tip of his knife, dropping it onto the tin plate, then he added some potato pieces he scraped over the edge of the skillet.

  Jenny stood by the fire and watched him sidle to the table where he sat in the farthest chair, keeping the table between himself and her.

  He sliced off a chunk of steak with the sharp knife, transferring the meat to his mouth with the point of the blade.

  Jenny sneered at the sight of the rotten teeth with which he dragged the food off the knife. She remained beside the fireplace and watched him eat. She ground her teeth together. Her cheeks felt warm, and not from the fire. She imagined flames leaping from the top of her head.

  “Ain’t ye eating?” Grease ran down his jowls.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Ye best eat. Sure, and it’s going to be a long, cold night. Ye’ll need something inside ye to keep ye warm.”

  Paddy belched and sat back in the chair. “Now, pour me a cup of coffee, lass.”

  Humph! Lass! He had some gall calling her lass. She used her skirt to protect her hands from the hot handle of the pot and poured coffee into one of the tin cups. She carried the cup to the table and slammed it down, splashing dark liquid onto the wooden surface.

  As much as she hated to admit it, Paddy was right. She would need energy to see her through the night. She squatted by the fireplace, picked up the remaining antelope steak with her fingers, and bit into the meat. Hmm. The steak had cooked up tender, and she had no difficulty chewing it. She was pleased with herself for having done a nice job of preparing the meat over an open fire. She wondered if General Dodge and his guests were enjoying antelope steaks tonight that Homer would have prepared in the special railcar’s elaborate kitchen.

  “Yer a right good cook, to me own way of thinking,” Paddy said. “Sure, and that hit the spot. If yer not going to finish that steak, darlin’, I’ll be happy to.”

  Humph! Darling! She’d had enough. She threw the skillet at Paddy. He ducked and the iron utensil clanked against the logs of the wall behind him.

  Paddy jumped to his feet, drawing his revolver. “Try that again, lass, and I’ll be shooting ye.”

  “You wouldn’t dare. Shoot me and you won’t have anything to trade for the ransom.”

  “Sure, and I wouldn’t be killing ye. Jest putting a hole in yer leg.”

  “I don’t believe you, you slovenly pig.”

  Blam!

  A bullet slammed into the floor at her feet, splattering her dress with dirt. Her head ached from the concussive noise. She forced a yawn and a swallow to clear the ringing from her ears. A cloud of white smoke drifted from the end of the barrel of the pistol. The acrid smell of gunpowder ruined the leftover aroma of the antelope steak.

  Jenny looked at the hole in the floor, then stared at Paddy.

  The sneer on his face wrinkled the scar that ran down his left cheek.

  He might shoot her. She’d best be careful around this madman.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Gentlemen,” General Dodge said, “quiet, please. We can’t all talk at once.”

  Around the large dining table in the center of the railcar, a group of men chattered about how to rescue Jenny McNabb. Dodge sat at the head of the table, while Alistair McNabb sat to his right, his chin resting on the palm of his remaining hand. Sean Corcoran occupied the next seat, staring straight ahead. To Dodge’s left sat the two Casement brothers. At the foot of the table Lieutenant Moretti fidgeted with his mustache, twisting the ends to sharp points. Will stood behind the lieutenant, leaning against a sideboard. In one corner of the car, behind Dodge and near the exit door to the rear platform, squatted Lone Eagle.

  Homer clinked cooking utensils in the adjacent kitchen where he worked to prepare supper for the gathering.

  “I know it has been frustrating,” Dodge said. “The wait for something to happen can be more trying than the event itself. I learned that during the war.”

  Will wanted to speak, but each time something came to his mind he closed his mouth and decided to remain silent. The older men had more experience than he, and they should be able to develop a plan. But so far, nothing had resulted from their deliberations other than to take a wait-and-see attitude. The adrenaline pumping through Will’s body kept him on edge.

  “Homer?” Dodge called.

  The black man appeared in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen.

  “Homer, you said O’Hannigan shouted to you that he would send instructions.”

  “Yas, suh. That’s what he said.”

  “Well,” Dodge said, “I believe the best course of action is to wait for those instructions.”

  Will leaned away from the sideboard and stepped closer to the table. “General,” he said, “with Lone Eagle’s help, I can track him.”

  “As I recall,” Dodge said, “Homer also mentioned O’Hannigan’s threat to kill Miss McNabb if anyone did that. Is that right, Homer?”

  “Yas, suh. He said that.”

  Will leaned against the sideboard once more. A movement outside the windows of the railcar caught his attention. A riderless horse walked past.

  “Look!” Will pointed out the windows. “That’s Jenny’s scarf tied to the saddle of that horse.”

  The men seated at the table pushed back and all of them crowded to the row of windows.

  “That’s one of the horses that was missing from the corral,” Moretti said. “See the brand? It’s one of our cavalry mounts.”

  Will was the first one out the front door of the coach. He jumped from the platform to the ground, almost losing his balance when he landed. Regaining his footing, he walked quickly after the horse, careful not to spook the animal into running.

  “Whoa, boy. Whoa.” Will reached for the bridle, the ends of which were tied together and looped over the horse’s neck, but the animal shied away.

  “Easy, fellow,” Will said. “Easy.”

  Will increased his pace and lunged for the dangling bridle. He grabbed it this time and held on, pulling the horse’s head to one side. Digging his boot heels into the dirt, he brought the horse to a halt.

  He patted the horse’s neck. “Easy, now.” As soon as he had the horse under control, he untied the scarf from the saddle ring. The material flopped open and a piece of paper dropped out. The slight breeze blew the paper under the horse. Will ran around the animal and stepped on the paper with his boot. He reached down and picked up a railroad waybill addressed to Mortimer Kavanagh. He turned it over. Pencil scribbling covered the back of the bill.

  A few minutes later, the men gathered again around the dining table in the railcar.

  “All right, gentlemen,” Dodge said, “let me read this aloud so you can all hear the message.” Dodge adjusted his spectacles and held the paper out in front of him.

  $5,000 for Jenny McNabb. Paper money only. Braddock brings to Sawmill Canyon midday tomorrow. Only Braddock comes or she dies.

  “Sounds like he means business,” Dodge said. “From what we know of him, he has nothing to lose if he kills her. Sorry to be so blunt, Alistair.”

  “Best to speak the truth, General,” McNabb said.

  “Now, where can we raise that kind of money?” Dodge laid the waybill on the table in front of him.

  Alistair McNabb reached over and picked it up. He read the note again, then sighed. “Wells Fargo doesn’t keep that kind of cash here,” he said. “The company would probably advance me the money, but it would have to come from Salt Lake City. I can’t get the money here in time to meet his deadline.”

  “Union Pacific could also advance the money,” Dodge said, “But, like you, I don’t have funds in that amount with me, nor does the station manager here have it. There isn’t a lot of cash around, since the workers haven’t been paid for weeks. I can have money wired from New York, but then I’d have to
find a bank someplace to convert the wire to cash.”

  “I wish we could help,” said General Jack Casement, “but Doc Durant hasn’t paid our invoices for the last three months, and we’re out of cash.”

  “How about some of the local merchants?” Dodge asked.

  “I don’t think they have that kind of money, either,” Dan Casement said. “Benjamin Abrams has been letting folks rack up credit at his store, so I’m sure he hasn’t taken in much cash lately.”

  Will drove one fist into the palm of his other hand. “There is one man who has that much money. I’d bet on it!”

  “Who’s that, Will?” asked his uncle.

  “Mort Kavanagh.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Jenny shivered uncontrollably. She wore only her calico dress, and it had a tear at knee level and a rip down one sleeve. She’d never been this cold. She lay in front of the cabin’s fireplace huddled in a fetal position. With her feet tied together and her hands bound behind her back, Jenny had struggled during the earlier hours of the evening to feed wood onto the fire. When the effort of maneuvering the firewood behind her back became too strenuous and she’d grown too weary, she’d given up trying to keep the fire burning. She must have drifted in and out of sleep, but she wasn’t sure.

  She studied the fireplace. Only coals remained, and heat no longer emanated from the hearth. Her toes held no feeling. The thin, shredded stockings she wore provided no warmth. Even if she still had her shoes, it was doubtful her feet would be any warmer. She’d rubbed her wrists raw with all the twisting, and although she couldn’t see them, she knew blood covered the rope where it cut into her skin.

  When the rawhide thongs supporting the bed where Paddy slept squeaked, she turned her head and stared in his direction. He turned over on the cot and opened one eye. The early morning rays of the rising sun filtering through the oilskin covering of the single window scattered patterns of light over the blanket beneath which the Irishman lay. The sunlight hitting his face had awakened him. The shadows created by the scar on his cheek made that wound appear even uglier.

  “Aye, and a good morning to ye, lass.”

  “It is not a good morning.” Jenny gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering.

  “And why is it ye let the fire go out?” He snickered.

  “Humph.”

  Paddy threw the blanket back and swung his booted feet off the bed. He reached down and picked his hat up from the floor, settling it on his head. He drew the Bowie knife from his boot and sliced a chaw of tobacco off a twist he took from his vest pocket. He lifted the chaw to his lips and slid it off the knife into his mouth with rotten teeth.

  “How can you stand to chew that stuff . . . anytime, much less first thing in the morning?” she asked.

  “Well, now, if ye had breakfast ready, I wouldn’t have to.”

  “Breakfast? As you can see, I’m in no position to even tend the fire, much less fix breakfast.”

  Paddy returned the knife to his boot and stood. He walked over to where Jenny lay and pushed her over with a foot. He knelt behind her and untied her hands and feet. “Now, lass, fix us breakfast while I go tend to the horse and me own necessities.”

  “What about my necessities?”

  “Use the corner. That was good enough for ye yesterday.”

  He returned to the bed and dragged the iron skillet from beneath it. He’d secured it there the night before. It was the only weapon of substance Jenny would have had, and he’d removed that from her reach. He dropped the skillet with a clang onto the hearth beside her, then left the cabin.

  Jenny fumed as she set about rebuilding the fire. She told herself she wasn’t doing it because she had to fix his breakfast, but because she was so cold she needed to get some heat into the shack.

  It took a few minutes to coax the remnants of the fire back to life. The freedom to move without being tied created some warmth in her body. She dropped two antelope steaks into the skillet to fry and shoved a couple of potatoes into the coals to roast.

  She heard Paddy lead the horse down to one of the creeks, then bring it back to the cabin. He stepped inside. “Where’s the coffee?” he demanded.

  “There’s no water for making coffee, you numskull.”

  “Then ye will fetch some.” He picked up the empty pot, placed it in her hand, and shoved her toward the door.

  Oh no. She’d finally begun to get warm. Now it was out into the cold morning air. If she hurried she might not lose too much body heat.

  “Ouch.” The rocks cut into the soles of her feet, forcing her to slow down. Now the bleeding would start, again.

  At the creek’s edge she submerged the pot into the swiftly flowing stream. The force of the current tried to jerk the pot out of her hands. She tightened her grip on the handle and tried to keep her hand out of the icy water, but it splashed on her fingers anyway. Goodness that was cold! She almost wished the numbness caused by the tight rope hadn’t yet subsided.

  Stumbling back into the cabin, she dumped a handful of grounds into the pot and set it in the fire. The steaks were sizzling, and she turned them. Using a couple of sticks, she maneuvered the potatoes around to position their opposite sides against larger coals.

  Twenty minutes later, they repeated the scene from the evening before. Paddy ate his breakfast with his knife off a tin plate. He made her take her steak out of the pan with her fingers, then he took the skillet away from her and slid it under the bed.

  Jenny gnawed on the antelope steak and picked at a potato. Paddy poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table watching her in silence. After she’d drunk her own coffee, he approached the fireplace and jerked her to her feet. Once again he tied her hands, this time in front of her.

  “Sure, and we have a wee journey to make now. I sent a note down to Echo City yesterday with instructions for the ransom to be brought to the mouth of the canyon at midday.”

  Jenny’s breathing quickened. Would she be set free today? Maybe this ordeal would soon be over.

  “Since we only have the one horse, ye’re going to have to step lively to keep up while we head back down the canyon.”

  “You mean I have to walk?”

  “Well, sure it is that I ain’t.”

  “But I don’t have any shoes.”

  “Now, lass, like I told ye, that is something ye should have thought about yesterday when ye ran away.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Will increased his pace to keep up with his uncle, Luey, and half a dozen soldiers who were walking full speed toward the Lucky Dollar Saloon. General Dodge, Alistair McNabb, and the Casement brothers agreed that Mort Kavanagh would have the amount of money required to meet Paddy’s ransom demand. Will’s uncle volunteered to be the one to confront Kavanagh. General Dodge authorized Lieutenant Moretti to take his detachment to the saloon to ensure order. When they reached the saloon, Lieutenant Moretti sent Sergeant Winter with four troopers, all armed with carbines, around to the rear of the tented structure.

  Will’s uncle laid a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you should stay out here, Will.”

  “Why, Uncle Sean? It was my idea to have Mr. Kavanagh provide the ransom money. Besides, Jenny’s my friend. I want to be part of this.”

  “All right. Stay alert.”

  Will and his uncle passed through the swinging doors of the saloon. Luey and two other soldiers, their carbines at the ready, followed. All five of them stopped on the raised wooden floor of the false front. Patrons in the tented structure soon noticed the intrusion and turned their attention to the front of the Lucky Dollar. The tinkling piano stopped, and the noise of conversation around the gaming tables quieted.

  The back flap of the saloon lifted, and Sergeant Winter and his four soldiers entered and spread out along the back wall of the tent, their carbines at the ready. The sergeant, who was obviously familiar with the operation of the saloon, pointed at Randy Tremble.

  “Barkeep,” Sergeant Winter said, “bring that scattergun of yours out fr
om under the bar and place it in sight.”

  Randy laid a shotgun on the bar in front of him.

  “Ease your revolver out of its holster and lay it up there, too,” Winters said.

  Again, Randy followed the sergeant’s orders.

  “Now step out here into the main tent, away from the bar,”

  the sergeant added.

  The door to Kavanagh’s office swung open, and Sally Whit-worth stepped out onto the wooden floor. “Why’d you stop playing?” She directed her question across the expanse of the tented area to the piano player, who had swiveled around on the bench. “It’s not quitting time.”

  Sally swung her head around when she realized men stood on the wooden floor nearby. She faced Will and his companions. “What are you doing here, Will? What do you want, Sean Corcoran?”

  “We’re here to see Kavanagh,” Will’s uncle said. “We don’t want any trouble.”

  Sally surveyed the soldiers who had spread around the perimeter of the tent, each holding a carbine at the ready. “You need all these men with guns to talk to Mort?” she asked.

  “We might,” Will’s uncle answered. “Now, step aside.”

  Will followed his uncle through the door into Kavanagh’s office. His uncle pulled the door closed behind them.

  “Sean Corcoran,” Kavanagh said. He sat behind his desk in front of the window that provided light into his office. “Haven’t seen you in the Lucky Dollar for ages.”

  “I prefer to stay away.”

  “Well, what brings you in this time? How can I help you?”

  “Show him the note, Will.”

  Will approached the desk and handed the waybill to Kavanagh. The heavyset man looked at both sides of the paper, then read the note on the back. Will noticed his eyebrows raise and his eyes widen as he scanned the words.

  “Why do you show me this?” Kavanagh asked.

  “We have good reason to believe Paddy O’Hannigan works for you,” Will answered. “Otherwise, why would he use a waybill made out to you?”

  “Are you in on this kidnapping scheme?” Will’s uncle asked. He reached across the desk and took the waybill out of Kavanagh’s hand.