Throw the Devil Off the Train

by Stephen Bly

  Zane led the way toward the waiting carriage.

  Edward Longtire strolled beside her. “But you slapped him, then kissed his cheek.”

  “Yes, of course I did, Eddie. It’s the same way I’d train my dog. Punishment, then reward. Don’t you do it that way?”

  “Eh, well, I suppose so.” He held the carriage door open for her. “I never thought about training men the way one trains dogs.”

  Catherine turned on the carriage step, a foot above the men. “Why, little girls learn that when we’re six.”

  ~~ CHAPTER TEN ~~

  The gray headed man tugged at the knot in his crisp black silk tie. “I really feel quite awkward imposing on you like this.”

  Catherine surveyed the three well-dressed men who filled the compartment. They sat stiff as if waiting for bad news from a doctor. “Cyrus, I told you it is quite alright. You men are very pleasant company and I’m sure Matthew and Chet don’t mind sitting up with the porter for one night.”

  Edward Longtire tapped on his knee. “My word, I think it strange that a compartment we had Mr. Zane purchase in Omaha was no longer available in Ogden. It’s a blemish on the Central Pacific, that’s for sure. Crocker and Hopkins will catch my wrath when we attend that Nob Hill gala in San Francisco.”

  Bertram Woolsey brushed at his thick, straight mustache. “The conductor could have been a little more helpful. It made it seem like some secret negotiations were going on in that compartment.”

  “Calling it a matter of ‘life or death’ is quite dramatic.” Cyrus Daily flipped a spec of lint off his polished black boots. “You’d think there was some deposed Russian princess in the next compartment. You haven’t got a glimpse of who took it?”

  “I haven’t seen anyone,” Catherine said. “It does seem strange. I hope you men don’t mind staring at this same old dress all night long.”

  “On the contrary, it is your presence that will make the overnight trip bearable,” Longtire said.

  Daily cleared his throat. “The organdy dress you purchased in Ogden is beautiful as well.”

  “I have you men to thank for that. Normally, I don’t buy a dress that costs seventy-five dollars, but your insistence seemed to shame Mattsey into buying it for me.”

  “Nonsense,” Longtire insisted. “A man who quibbles over a few more dollars for a dress that makes his wife happy, well, he hasn’t learned much from his marriage.”

  “Eddie, how long have you and Pearline been married?”

  “Thirty-seven years next Spring. Smartest thing I ever did.”

  “The fact that her daddy owned a wholesale hardware business didn’t hurt, did it?” Woolsey chided.

  “Let me tell you about that. The day before we married, Pearline’s father took me aside. He said, ‘Longtire, I need to be honest with you. The business is going through a rough time. The decline after the Mexican war has left us without much operating capital. We could have reverses, and I want you to be aware of that.’ I told him I wanted to marry his daughter if I had to grow potatoes in New England rocks.”

  Catherine clapped her gloved hands. “Good for you.”

  Longtire assumed the voice of one addressing a convention of young businessmen. “With some smart decisions and lots of long days, we turned it around. Her daddy died during the war, but by then we had prospering business.”

  Catherine wanted to stretch the stiffness from her arms, but felt awkward doing so. “And now you want to invest some of that prosperity in western mining?”

  “Yes, but to tell you the truth, I’m a little more apprehensive than these other chaps. I suppose I have some romantic notion of ‘seeing the elephant’ and cashing in on western treasures. But I know so little about mining. It’s quite an adventure for a hardware man.”

  “That’s where you have to trust us, Edward,” Daily said.

  “I know, I know. I’ve been through this before. But I feel like a ten-year-old looking at algebra for the first time.” He searched her eyes. “Catelynn, just for the sake of a nervous old man from New York, could you reassure me that your husband is a knowledgeable and reputable mining expert?”

  She avoided his glance by staring at the fading Utah sun.

  Reputable? He’s a liar, cheat, swindler, wife beater, black-mailer and a disgrace to God’s creative power. But . . . .

  “My word, Edward, you don’t ask a wife such a question,” Daily huffed. “Of course she will tell you he is. She loves the man. As far as a person’s honesty and business acumen, we will have to judge that for ourselves.”

  “Quite right, Cyrus,” Longtire concluded. “Let me apologize, Mrs. Zane.”

  “It is understandable, Eddie.” She sucked in a deep breath, letting the words swimming in her head line up in sentences. “From my limited knowledge, many quite honest, sincere and intelligent mining investments don’t return the dividends hoped for. I know nothing of this present situation . . . eh, other than what I mentioned to you in New York this Spring. But in my opinion, mining speculation is always a rather risky venture.”

  Daily grinned. “High risks. Higher rewards.”

  “I do hope this turns out well for all of you. Many of the ones I talk to have come home empty handed. But the more prosperous are still out here getting rich, or so Mattsey tells me.”

  “I’m hoping we don’t spend the night talking about mining claims.” The tone of Woolsey took a St. Nicklaus type sound. “How dreadfully boring for Catelynn. Say, did you and Matthew get to the Kentucky Derby this year?”

  Any subject but Zane’s integrity will be just fine.

  “Not this year. How was it?”

  Cyrus Daily crossed his arms. “I don’t think we should talk about it.”

  “Oh, it was delightful,” Woolsey beamed.

  Catherine covered her smile with her hand. “I believe you two backed different horses.”

  “It was a foul,” Daily growled.

  “Nonsense.” Woolsey shook his head. “That’s horse racing.”

  Catherine held her palms together but clapped her fingers. “Oh, my, a controversy. How exciting.”

  “My money was on Kimball, of course. He was the favorite,” Daily announced.

  “And I took a chance on Fonso,” Woolsey said.

  She studied Woolsey’s putty-like face. “Fonso? That’s an unusual name.”

  “And a wonderful champion. He’s a handsome chestnut colt sired by King Alfonso out of Weatherwitch. Well, you see, the track was dry and dusty.” His lips and square jaw seemed expressionless, but his dark green eyes sparkled with zeal.

  Daily held his hands several feet apart. “Five inches deep in dust.”

  Woolsey leaned forward, as if discussing the battle at Gettysburg. “Fonso broke to the lead and, naturally, kicked a lot of dust up for those behind.”

  “It was unfair,” Daily seemed stiff, professorial in his assessment. “The others couldn’t see their positions for most of the race.”

  Woolsey waved his hands high as if announcing the birth of his first son. “Fonso broke across the finish line, a full length ahead of Kimball.”

  Daily pushed the arm out of his way. “The other owners protested the race, but to no avail. The mint juleps had already soused the judges, no doubt. Such a shame. A travesty of justice.”

  Woolsey leaned back in the seat like a man who just finished off the last piece of fresh peach pie. “Now, that is the portrait of a sour loser.”

  “Did you two have a little side wager with each other?” Catherine asked.

  “Yes. And I still have that five dollar gold coin in my top desk drawer at home.”

  She laughed. “You bet a whole five dollars?”

  “It’s not the amount. I don’t like to lose.” Woolsy patted his vest pocket as if indicating the location of his wallet. “Not at horse races and not at mining. But I must admit, I got a good tip about Fonso.”

  “You did?” Daily’s deep-set eyes widened. “You never told me.”

  “You’d
be even more perturbed if I mentioned who gave me the tip,” Woolsey said. “The very same man who sold you the plans for concrete ships.”

  “Concrete ships?” she asked. “But wouldn’t they sink?”

  “Lucky Kynwal? You believed a tip from that wild, unscrupulous Welshman? I wouldn’t believe him if he gave me directions to the men’s room.”

  Woolsey leaned his head back and rubbed his neck. “None other. He always seems to know where to put his money. Catelynn, he’s the only one I’ve met who made money speculating about diamond mining in the west.”

  She could feel her eyes widen, but tried not to show surprise in her voice. “Diamonds? I understood there were no diamonds in the West.”

  “So far, none have been discovered, but that doesn’t keep people from seeking them. Anyway, Kynwal did quite well,” Woolsey reported.

  Catherine tugged at an earring. “Where is he now? Did he build one of those fancy houses in San Francisco that I’ve read about?”

  “Last I heard he went down to Argentina to raise more race horses. He claims they raise a tougher, faster horse down there. He wants to train them and bring them back as three-year-olds to run in the states. Knowing Kynwal, he’ll probably make a killing.”

  If Race Hillyard finds him, there will be a killing. I’m not sure if I should tell him this . . . but I must. I know I must get word to him.

  She surveyed all three men, then stared out at the black western night. “I trust you won’t think of me as being ungracious. But I’m worn out. I think I’ll just close my eyes and try to sleep. Please go ahead and visit.”

  “We’ll try not to rattle on about mining details,” Longtire said.

  “Actually, a boring subject might put me to sleep.”

  “If you want a tedious subject,” Daily chuckled. “I’ll tell you about Bertram’s wardrobe.”

  Woolsey rose and retrieved his top hat. “This is where I get up and go smoke a cigar.”

  Minutes faded to hours. Darkness to dawn. Even when the train parked at a siding or station, Catherine could feel the sway of the car and the clatter of the rails. Her throat dried. The silk dress felt course on her arms. The air stifled as if living in a box. Her only consolation: twelve hours closer to Phillip.

  The train station at Reno was newer than the one at Ogden, but also smaller and crowded. Several people lined up at the telegraph office.

  “Catelynn, dear . . . please hurry.” Zane’s voice crashed like a command, not a request.

  Catherine turned to see him and a half-dozen other men, most in top hats and cutaway coats clustered next to two black leather carriages.

  She shaded the sun from her eyes with her hand. “Just a minute. You knew I needed to send a telegram.”

  When a thin lady in navy surge dress swished out of the small room, Catherine stepped up to the desk. “I want to send a message to Phillip Draper in Sacramento. Actually, he’s from Paradise Springs, but he’s meeting me in Sacramento. Just say, ‘Phillip, I’ve been delayed in Nevada. Will be there by tomorrow evening. Catherine.”

  She glanced at the filed messages behind the desk. “I’m expecting a telegram from my sister in New York. Do you have one for Catherine Goodwin?”

  He sorted through both the C and the G files. “Nope.”

  If she’s at Cape Cod with little Marie, she couldn’t receive my telegram. I find it difficult to believe that story of Zane’s. Or, she could be just ignoring me. Dear Jesus, how I would like to hear how she is doing.

  “Thank you. I’ll check later when we get back from Carson City. It’s rather important to me.”

  “Mrs. Zane,” Cyrus Daily bubbled. “I was sent to fetch you.”

  The telegraph clerk scratched the back of his neck. “Mrs. Matthew Zane?”

  She turned back to the counter. “Yes?”

  “I do have a telegram here for your husband.” He handed her the beige paper.

  She took the telegram and nodded. “Thank you.”

  He pointed toward the telegraph key. “I’ll be looking for the one from your sister, Catelynn.”

  Daily coughed. “My word, this lady is Catelynn.”

  The clerk hesitated. “But, I thought . . . .”

  “Don’t be concerned.” Catherine waved the telegram like a Spanish fan. “Lots of people get us confused. We’re identical twins.”

  She slipped her arm into Daily’s as they exited the office.

  “I trust you took care of your business,” he said.

  “Indeed, Cyrus.” Catherine folded the telegram and slipped it up her sleeve. Edward Longtire greeted them.

  “Are we ready to go down to Carson City?” she asked.

  “We are now waiting for Montigue Hall,” he said. “He wandered off. Something about purchasing a revolver. His first trip west, also. It will just be a moment.”

  She glanced around the station and spied Race Hillyard helping Francine and children off the coach.

  I must tell Race about Lucky Kynwal.

  Zane’s back was turned to her. She lowered her voice as she spoke to Longtire and Daily. “I’ll be right back. I need to speak to a couple of friends. I’ll be right over there.”

  The big lady beamed as she approached. “Catherine, my, how beautiful you look. Pullman car riding agrees with you.”

  She hugged Francine. “Thank you, but I really want to be back with all of you in coach. It’s a difficult situation to explain. I need to speak to Race for a moment.”

  “No problem. The children and I are a bit peckish. We’ll look for a grocery.”

  With Francine out of sight, Race turned to her. “They let you out on a long leash.”

  She refused to look at him, but kept watch at the movements of the men by the two carriages. “I probably deserve that cutting remark. I am here because I overhead a name that will interest you. A casual reference to a man who recently moved to South America after making a fortune in some sort of diamond mine speculation.”

  “Zane told you that?” Race said.

  “No, a man from New York mentioned a horse racing pal. The combination of South America and diamonds caught my attention.”

  “What did he say?”

  “A Welshman by the name of Lucky Kynwal made a fortune and moved to Argentina, supposedly to raise horses. He seems to have a reputation for luck, but not for honest dealings.”

  “Maybe I’ll need to go to South America.”

  “That’s all I know, but I wanted you to . . .”

  “Are you Catherine Draper?” A man with a badge had the voice more of a school principal than a favorite uncle.

  “Yes . . . and you are?”

  “Washoe County Sheriff, William Walker. I’d like you to step over here so I may speak to you.”

  Race strolled at her side. “Mind if I come along?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Race Hillyard, a friend.”

  “Hillyard?” The sheriff nodded. “Yeah, I was going to fetch you next.”

  He led them through a sliding wooden door at the west end of the station marked “Freight.”

  As her eyes adjusted to the shadows, he noticed a young blond headed girl. “Amanda Sue!” Tears welled up as she stooped and opened her arms to the smiling girl. “What a delight. I was so worried about you and your father when we found the wrecked train car. How did you get out of it?”

  The little girl clung to her neck. “We were never in it.”

  “But . . . .”

  Judge Clarke appeared from the wooden packing crates. “I’m afraid it was all my charade. We stayed on the train, but sent the car with the express. This old judge knows a thing or two about avoiding enemies. A wrecked train car can eliminate one’s enemies. At least for a while.”

  “That’s an expensive solution,” Hillyard said.

  The judge nodded at Amanda Sue. “No price it too high for some things.”

  Catherine stood to hug the judge, but he held back. “Is there a problem now? Were you still on our train?”<
br />
  “We were in the compartment next to you and those other men,” Amanda Sue blurted out. “Did you know the walls are very thin? You can hear what other people are saying?”

  I hoped that was not the case. What all did I say? What did Zane say?

  “I thought maybe I heard a little girl cry one time. It must have been you.”

  Amanda Sue clung to her. “I was pouting. I didn’t like being stuck in there all that time.”

  Catherine stood up. “What exactly did you hear, Judge? I presume that’s why you and the sheriff are here.”

  “Who are you?” the judge asked. “When you had dinner with us, you were Catherine Draper. In the compartment, you seemed to go by the name Catelynn Zane.”

  She peered at Race, then back at the judge. “It’s rather complicated. I am Catherine Goodwin. I called myself Draper, because I’m engaged to Mr. Phillip Draper of Paradise Springs, California, and will have that name by week’s end. However, I have been impersonating my identical twin sister, Catelynn.”

  “She’s the one married to Zane?” the judge asked.

  “I’m not sure they are married.”

  “From what I overheard, Zane has something that he is holding against you to make you do this.”

  Her chin dropped to her chest. “Yes, I am being blackmailed.”

  “May I ask what he has on you?” the judge pressed.

  “No, you may not. It involves my sister, Catelynn, and is delicate in nature.”

  “I can arrest him for blackmail,” the sheriff said.

  “But I would not press charges. The evidence is too damaging to be made public in a trial. I’m trying to protect my sister and her infant daughter.”

  “Daughter?” Hillyard coughed.

  “What do you know about this mining claim sale that Zane’s involved in? Through the wall, it sounded like part of the deception,” the judge asked.

  “I know absolutely nothing. I avoided learning details. But I don’t think Zane is being truthful with those men, but I have absolutely no proof. It could have something to do with apex litigation, whatever that is.”

  “It’s a four year lawsuit, that’s what it is.” The judge took Amanda Sue’s hand. “And where do you fit in this, Hillyard?”