Throw the Devil Off the Train

by Stephen Bly

  Catherine clutched the conductor’s arm. “Tell them that Latiger and the others threatened some of your passengers. They got angry and tossed them off the train before you could intervene and establish proper procedure.”

  “Well said,” the man with the conductor stated. “You have a lawyer’s mind.”

  “She has gotten close to lawyers from time to time,” Hillyard said.

  “Perhaps that will satisfy my superiors. I don’t know why things like this happen on my train.” The conductor turned to the man behind him. “This is Judge Clarke. He wanted to meet you.”

  The conductor scooted to the front of the train, leaving the stout man with drooping gray mustache and black suit. “Amanda Sue told me all about how you hid her, disarmed the villains and saved her.” The Judge reached out his hand. “I cannot thank you enough. It is couples like you that make me proud to be a judge.”

  “Actually, we’re not a . . . .”

  A swift kick in the shin silenced Hillyard.

  “Is she your . . . eh, daughter?” Catherine asked.

  The man stood tall. “Yes, and I’m not offended by the question. I married quite late in life. I assure you, her mother is considerably younger than I.”

  “Were they going to hold her for a ransom?” Hillyard asked.

  The judge looped his thumps in his vest pockets. “And more. I believe it has to do with a man I sent to prison last year. We didn’t get far enough along to hear the demands.”

  Catherine tried to study the judge’s eyes, but couldn’t read them in the dim shadows. “Perhaps you need more protection?”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” He rubbed his clean shaven chin. “Fortunately, an ex-Pinkerton man from New York is on board. He offered me his services for the remainder of the trip.”

  “Judge, if it were me,” Hillyard added, “I’d sneak off this train at the next decent stop and switch to a different one. Someone knows you’re here.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll talk it over with this Pinkerton fellow.”

  “Don’t.” Hillyard was gruff, blunt.

  “You don’t suspect . . . .”

  “Why not? You could at least send a telegram at the next stop and verify his credentials.”

  “You are a cautious man, Mr. . . . eh . . . .”

  “Race Hillyard.”

  “Hillyard. Where have I heard that name before? Is your family into timber?”

  “No.”

  “Glass?”

  “I’m afraid I’m the last of my family. All I want to do is get to California.”

  The judge reached for some gold coins in his vest pocket and stuck out his hand. “Think of these as a thank you from a very grateful father.”

  “There’s nothing heroic about doin’ the right thing, Judge. Keep the money to buy something special for Amanda Sue. She might have some nightmares over this.”

  “Amanda Sue is spoiled quite enough as it is. But she is already having day-dreams about it.”

  “Oh, dear,” Catherine added. “I trust they aren’t too bad.”

  “She told me when she grows up she’s going to marry a gunman, just like the Texican who saved her life.”

  Catherine laughed. “My . . . the nightmares are worse than I imagined.”

  The judge wiped sweat from his bushy, gray eyebrows. “At least grant me the honor treating you to supper soon. I’m sure Amanda would enjoy the visit, too.”

  Hillyard shook his outstretched hand. “Judge, if we stop any place long enough to eat a decent meal, we’ll take you up on it.”

  “Actually, I brought my own cook with me. I was thinking of us eating in my car.”

  “Amanda Sue said you had a private car,” Hillyard replied.

  “I’m sure that sounds quite snobbish.”

  “Snobbery is not limited to a particular class,” Catherine said. “We’ll be happy to join you.”

  As the train rattled west through the night, black air raced around them as if late for an important meeting. Catherine leaned against Race’s shoulder. “I wonder what else this train holds that we don’t know about?”

  “You can check it out when you get to your Pullman compartment.”

  Catherine tried to brush a smudge off her blue-gray sleeve, but only lengthened it. “I’m beginning to question that decision. But I will never admit it to you, Race Hillyard.”

  Hillyard pulled off his worn suit coat and slipped it over her shoulders. “I don’t know. Having you in a safe Pullman compartment might be best. Don’t you think your Phillip would want you to have the best?”

  She pulled the coat tight. It reeked of dust, gun powder, sweat and leather. Catelynn used to say that’s the smell of ‘man’.

  “I believe you are right about that. But the judge and Amanda Sue weren’t any safer in his private car than we are back here. At least we have the soon-to-be legendary, Race Hillyard.”

  He laughed. “Sometimes, Miss Catherine, you make my heart happy.”

  “And other times?”

  “I tempted to throw you off the train.”

  The prairie sprinted by them. “Please wait until we slow down. I know I can be difficult. My poor parents had to put up with two of us.”

  “I am sure you two were the delights of their lives.”

  “Race, I hope so. I do wish . . . .” She brushed her eyes.

  “I know . . . I know . . . we were robbed of our families.”

  “You have a mother.”

  “Who refuses to write to me. And you a sister.”

  “Whom I don’t speak to.”

  When the train hit the bend, she grabbed his arm.

  “Shall we go back inside?” he offered.

  “The cool air feels good out here, now that I have a jacket.”

  “Don’t you think your reputation might be hampered, standing out on this platform for such a long time with the likes of Race Hillyard?”

  Catherine poked him in the ribs.

  No fat . . . just muscle.

  “Listen, Hillyard, like it or not, we are linked already in everyone’s mind in that train car. I’m sure the gossip is flying around about us even as we speak.”

  “Then let’s head back.”

  She blocked his way. “Are you afraid of the dark?”

  “I’m afraid of the things I think about in the dark.” He held the door open for her.

  A faint, dim glow greeted them as they re-entered the car. Passengers coughed and snored as the train car shook and rattled to a steady rhythm.

  “They all went back to sleep,” she whispered.

  “So much for juicy gossip.”

  “I didn’t say anything about ‘juicy’ gossip. Just what were those thoughts you had in the dark, Mr. Hillyard?”

  “Ah . . . now we’re getting back to our proper roles.”

  “You mean question and accuse?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Maybe we should try to get some rest, too.”

  He pointed to the seat facing each other that had been vacated by the outlaws. “You want to get that sleeping rig for these seats? I’ll take the bench behind Francine and you can have this all to yourself.”

  “Are you kicking me out?”

  He collapsed on the padded seat and slid to the window. “I’m too tired to do anything else. If there is any more trouble, I expect you to take care of it.”

  She slipped in beside him. “Give me a gun. I’ll take the first watch . . . isn’t that what you say? Then I’ll wake you later, and I’ll get some sleep.”

  “If you shoot someone, do it quietly.”

  Her bare fingers felt dry, chapped. “Did you reload both revolvers?”

  “Yep.”

  “Will you promise to pick up the story and tell me about the armory business later?”

  “Yeah . . . .“

  “Is it related to why you are going to California?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you really going to sleep now?”

&nb
sp; “I hope so.”

  [white space]

  Catherine watched his steady breathing.

  I have no idea why I’m learning so much about Race. I will get off the train in Sacramento and fall into Phillip’s arms and marital bliss. Race is so abrupt. Almost harsh. And yet, I think I know him as well as anyone. But there is so much more hidden deep.

  Someone in the back of the car sneezed. She peered around. The six teen girls sprawled on each other’s shoulders. The wild man with the long matted hair waved his handcuffed hands at her and grinned. She spun back around.

  Race doesn’t seem to get anxious about anything. It must rub off some. I can’t imagine going through all that and not being terrified to inaction. What a strange trip this is. All I wanted to do is get a Pullman compartment and ride in solitude until we get to Sacramento. Yet, there hasn’t been a peaceful mile. What are you telling me, Lord?

  The clatter of rails softened as the train reached a straightaway and regained full speed. She thought she heard a faint shout, but now it seemed so distant it didn’t matter. Her chin slumped to her chest. She felt like she floated on the crest of a cool breeze.

  [white space]

  “Some nights seem like years.”

  At the sound of Hillyard’s voice, Catherine shot up. “What do you mean?”

  “A man closes his eyes, listens to the clank of the rails and feels the sway of the car, then sleeps. In a little while you open your eyes, miles have passed by unnoticed. People live out there. There are ranches, homesteads, mines and a gully full of teepees. People work and play and argue and we’ve just chunked by them, perhaps never to come this way again.”

  “Very philosophical, Mr. Hillyard.”

  “Just looking at myself. I go through life like a train. I ignore anything that’s to one side or another, and run over anything in my way.”

  She leaned against the back of the seat and closed her pale blue eyes. “And you claim that’s not philosophical?”

  “Robert was the philosopher,” Race insisted.

  “He read the classics? Aristotle, Socrates . . . Plato?”

  “And the contemporaries . . . Kant, Rousseau and Dr. Samuel Davidson.”

  “I’ve never heard of Davidson.”

  “Good. Robert claimed he was locked into his intellect and never relied on reason, common sense, nor the Holy Ghost for his writings.”

  “I would like to meet Robert some day. I like him already.”

  “I paled in his shadow,” Hillyard looked away from her. “In some ways the smartest man I’ve ever been around.”

  “You’re using past tense. Is he . . .”

  Hillyard jammed his thumb and forefinger in the corner of his eyes, as if to block the tears. “He died a couple months ago.”

  “Oh, dear Jesus. I’m so sorry, Race. I had no right to stir up your sorrow. Please accept my apology.”

  “I haven’t been able to mention his name since his death. It’s time to get beyond that.”

  “I will ask no more questions.” She studied the dust and dirt on the cuffs of his jacket. “Would you like your coat back?”

  “Sometime before Sacramento.”

  “I’ll listen to whatever you want to talk about.”

  “Anything? Okay, the dog’s name is Gibraltar.” The words shot out like a poke in the rib.

  “What dog?’

  “The Mormon’s.”

  “What Mormon?”

  “The one with beard, fat squatty dog and six daughters.”

  “They are his daughters? But they are so close in . . .”

  “They don’t have the same mamma, I reckon. Anyway, the dog’s name is Gibraltar. I knew you’d want to know.”

  Catherine glanced over her shoulder, the girls still slept on each other’s shoulders. “Yes, eh . . . thank you. I was curious about the girls. It was very brave of them to try to distract the kidnappers. What else do you know about our companions?”

  “The miners will get off at Cheyenne and head to the Black Hills.”

  “But isn’t that Sioux land that is off limits?”

  “It was, but there’s gold up there. They’ve found a way to sneak in.”

  “And the man in irons?”

  “Being returned to New Mexico, where he slaughtered four Mexican merchants for a wagon full of guitars.”

  “Guitars?”

  “He came across them down on the border and assumed they were bringing in some rich Spanish treasures. They were smuggling guitars instead. He was scheduled to be hung in Socorro, but escaped.”

  “I’m amazed at your power of observation. How did you discern all of this?”

  “That last part I read in the Omaha newspaper before we left.”

  Catherine envisioned their meeting on the train platform. “I was a little busy in Omaha.”

  A smile cracked across his tanned, leathery face. “I’d say you were.”

  “That just might be your first big smile, Mr. Hillyard.”

  “It was a comedy to behold.”

  She raised her hands to her gritty cheeks. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather inter that scene in the past.”

  “Not that it wasn’t a fine kiss, mind you. But, some things are better left buried. Some things . . . but not all things.” Race gazed straight ahead and lowered his voice. “Robert liked to take the train to San Francisco . . . on the express in a Pullman compartment. About a year ago we got a letter from Mr. Charles Crocker in San Francisco.”

  “Doesn’t he own this railroad?”

  “He and some others. He had heard of our armory and wanted to talk to us about opening one in California. So Robert came out to discuss the matter.”

  “And you stayed in Texas to run the business?”

  “Yep. Well, it was quite an ambitious project. Crocker and some of his banker pals wanted to build a huge armory on the bay at a place called Benicia. They would finance it. Robert and I would come out and run it for them.”

  “Sounds like quite an opportunity.”

  “Robert turned them down.”

  “Why?”

  “He said we didn’t want to work for wages, that we’d only be interested if we could invest in the plant ourselves and work out a partnership. Like I said, he was the businessman.”

  “And philosopher. So, what did Crocker and his pals say to that?”

  “They finally went along with it. But in order for us to buy into the partnership, we would have to sell the armory in Texas to raise the capital.”

  “Ah, a drastic move.”

  “So Robert came home with a wild business plan and rose pink lipstick on his shirt collars.”

  “A lady was involved?”

  “That’s another story.”

  “You’re right . . . I will ask no questions.” Catherine scooted closer to Hillyard so she could hear his low, gravely voice.

  “Robert was all excited to sell out and move, but I refused.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “I told him I was not going to leave Texas.”

  “A certain home state loyalty, I suppose.”

  “Nope. I tried to tell him it was too risky. We had a nice set up and lots of folks employed. But he saw through all of that.”

  Catherine put her bare hand on his shoulder, then pulled it back. “I suppose that’s another story, too.”

  “Robert can be persuasive. He spent the next few months with business projections for the Texas Armory, as opposed to the one in California. He got letters from Senators and Congressmen about government contracts for Crocker, once the armory was built. He even had photographs of fine houses on Nob Hill, where we could raise our families.”

  “And you gave in?”

  “I told him we’d sell the Texas business and invest in the one in California, but I wasn’t going to leave Texas for a while. There were, uh, more important things.”

  Catherine’s eye popped open like a swing door being kicked from the backside. “I won’t even ask her name.”

 
“And I wouldn’t tell you if you did.”

  Catherine stretched her arms back straight and felt them relax. Her right hand drooped into the aisle of the coach. “Oh!” She looked down at the floor. “Well, how do you do?”

  Hillyard glanced over. “You got a friend?”

  “Mr. Gibraltar is licking my fingers.”

  “How do you know it’s Mr.?”

  “No one would name a girl dog that, would they?” She studied the animal. “He is definitely a male. I wonder what breed?”

  “Spoiled.”

  She shoed him away with a flip of her hand. “Honey, you go back to where you belong.”

  “You talkin’ to the dog . . . or me?”

  “You are not going anywhere, Mr. Hillyard. You haven’t finished your story.”

  “Where were we?”

  “You were in Texas, Robert in California . . . .”

  “He was there with all our assets. I got hit by some difficult situations, so I headed . . . .”

  Catherine grabbed his arm. “She turned you down?”

  “You promised . . . .”

  “You’re right. No questions.” She released her grip. “I’m sorry.”

  “I figured on going down to Brownsville and visit some pals from the war before I joined Robert in San Francisco. In the meantime, he tried to telegraph me, but it didn’t get through. I returned to Houston around the first of April to pack up my belongings.”

  “And Mr. Walker?”

  “Yep.” Race stretched his long legs out under the seat in front of them. “The morning after I got home, Robert arrived.”

  “What a surprise.” Catherine leaned forward to check on the sleeping Francine and children.

  “Shock is more like it.”

  “Did he have lipstick on his shirts? Sorry . . . no questions about women.” She started to pull her hand back from his shoulder.

  Hillyard placed his on top of hers. “Robert looked awful, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Like someone stuck in a mineshaft.”

  She raised her dark brown eyebrows. “I know the look.”

  “Yet he didn’t want to talk. He was so concerned about me and . . . .”

  “And what’s-her-name. But I’m not asking.”

  “Robert suggested we go out and celebrate the fact that we were together and whatever the future brought, it would be the Hillyard brothers facing it.”

  “Did you make a night of it?”