Throw the Devil Off the Train

by Stephen Bly

  “This is the most I’ve heard of blackmail and this farce. I don’t know what’s going on, but I wish I did.”

  “This might be the time to put an end to the entire mining scam,” the sheriff said. “I’ll go arrest Zane.”

  “You can’t,” Catherine protested. “He possesses damaging evidence against my family, and he’ll reveal it, if apprehended.”

  “There’s another reason to wait,” the judge added. “At this point, he is just trying to deceive the investors. If we wait and have him arrested after the papers are signed, he would be guilty of mining fraud. That’s a serious crime in Nevada.”

  Hillyard hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Catherine, where does Zane keep this evidence he has against you?”

  “In his suit coat pocket.”

  “He has some letters or papers?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Sheriff,” Hillyard rubbed his chin, pointed to the lawman. “You can wait all you want to arrest Zane, but I’d like to pull Catherine out of the fire first. If she suppresses this blackmail and goes to Carson City, then it will look like she impersonated her sister in order to swindle the men. She could get caught up in the arrest with Zane. A Nevada jury wouldn’t think kindly to her, would they, Judge?”

  “I’m afraid not.” He pulled off his gold frame spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But what is the alternative?”

  “Give me a chance to relieve Zane of the blackmail evidence.”

  “You aren’t going to shoot him, are you?” the sheriff pressed.

  “Nope. But I request you and your deputies stay away. There’s going to be a fist fight at the train station and I don’t want anyone stopping me.”

  “How do you know you’ll prevail?” the judge asked.

  “I don’t have to win the fight, just recover the documents. But don’t interfere.”

  Catherine tugged at his sleeve. “Race, you don’t have to do this for me.”

  “I know you are in a hurry to get to your Phillip. And besides, mining swindlers bring out the fury in me. It will make me feel better to put one conniving charlatan in his place.”

  “Just how are you going to provoke this fight?” she asked.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Can I watch?” Amanda Sue called out.

  The judge grabbed the girl’s shoulder. “We will stay right here out of sight.”

  “Hillyard, this goes against my judgment,” the sheriff huffed. “I’ll not let this turn into a riot.”

  “Arrest me. Shoot me. I don’t care what you do, once Catherine gets her letters.”

  “Or something like letters,” she replied.

  Race nudged her to the freight room door. “Hurry out. They will be searching for you. Stall for several minutes at the carriages.”

  Matthew Zane stalked towards her. “Catelynn, this is incredibly rude. I hunted all over. We almost had to send for the sheriff to find you. You knew we were leaving. Where have you been? I insist on knowing.”

  She cast a smile at the well dressed investors. “I had to go to the privy, if you must be so demanding. I believe that is a woman’s right. And I feel quite embarrassed that you forced me to say that. I trust you gentlemen will excuse my blunt admission.”

  “Oh, yes,” Zane stammered. “But, you should have told me.”

  “Let the matter drop, Zane. You’ve discomfited Mrs. Zane quite enough,” Daily insisted.

  Zane waved his arms at the men huddled around him. “Then let’s load up, I think five can ride in one buggy, four in the other. Catelynn, if you . . . .”

  She clutched her handbag. “I’m not getting in a carriage until you introduce me to these three well turned-out gentlemen. I feel like the queen of the ball amidst such handsome men.”

  “I’m S. A. Worthington.” The shortest man removed his silk top hat and reveal a bald head. “Perhaps you’ve heard of the Worthingtons of Philadelphia?”

  “Indeed, several women at Gloria Fordlam’s Salon have mentioned you in rather, shall I say, intriguing ways.”

  Worthington coughed as if trying to pale his blush. “That would be my brother, Hartford, I’m sure.”

  “I’m M. Jenkins Hall and live a quite ordinary life, so I’m sure you’ve heard nothing of me.”

  “Jenkie just sits in his Washington Square brownstone counting money,” Cyrus Daily chided.

  “Yes, yes,” Zane motioned to the carriage. “And this is Greenleaf Fryberg of the Pittsburg Frybergs. You know, steel and coal? Now, we really must . . . .”

  Race Hillyard pushed Zane so hard, he stumbled into Chet Pinehurst.

  Then he grabbed Catherine, bent her back until she collapsed in his arms and crushed his lips into hers.

  This is how he provokes a fight? Oh, my, on a scale of one to five, this is a definite ten. Why here? Why now? Enjoy it, dear Catherine, it might be the best you ever . . . .

  “Hit me hard in the jaw,” Race whispered.

  “But . . . .”

  “Shove me away and do it.”

  When she thrust him away, Catherine staggered back more than he did. Her clenched right fist exploded into his chin and his head spun to the right.

  I believe I just broke every bone in my hand. I will be maimed for life, Race Hillyard.

  Catherine clutched her throbbing hand and fought back the tears.

  Matthew Zane’s revolver pointed at Race Hillyard’s head.

  “You have assaulted my wife for the last time,” he shouted.

  More than just the potential investors began to gather.

  “Good grief, Zane, don’t kill the man or we’ll never get this deal done,” Longtire complained.

  “Go get the sheriff,” Zane screamed.

  “No need for that. Let’s settle it right here, man-to-man,” Hillyard snarled. “But no guns.”

  He unhooked his holster and let his gun drop to the wooden platform. Zane kept his cocked revolver pointed at Hillyard.

  “If you want to defend her honor, you’d better pull off your coat.” Hillyard yanked his off and tossed it on top of his holstered revolver. He began to roll up his sleeves. “You going to defend her or not? Shooting an unarmed man defends no one. It’s murder and there are plenty of witnesses.”

  “Put the gun down, Zane. I’ll go the sheriff,” Longtire said.

  “You can’t let a man do that to your wife,” a portly man in a dirty sleeveless shirt shouted from the street. “Put down the Colt and roll up your sleeves.”

  “We got a fight here, boys,” someone else shouted.

  Zane glared as he handed his gun to Pinehurst.

  “And the sneak gun in your coat pocket,” Hillyard said.

  Zane slipped a small rosewood and brass Whitneyville .32 caliber revolver out of his coat and handed it over.

  “I don’t trust what else you’re hiding in those pockets.” Hillyard waved a fist at him. “Take off your coat and roll up your sleeves. Let’s settle this like men, not sneakthieves and cowards.”

  “I got a dollar on the tall one . . . any takers?” someone shouted.

  “My word, is there really going to be a fight?” Worthington remarked.

  “I wish my Mary was here,” a man wearing a dirty white canvass apron called out. “She loves a good fight.

  “Clobber him with his coat on. I’ve got to get back to the barber shop in five minutes.”

  Zane slipped off his suit coat and also tossed it to Pinehurst. He left on his red vest and held up his fists. “Hillyard, this is . . . .”

  Race’s right hand cross slammed into Zane’s jaw and staggered him to his knees. Several dozen bystanders crowded closer. Shouts in the street summoned others. The investors huddled to the side.

  Hillyard waited for him to stand, but Zane rammed the top of his head into his chin. He bit his tongue and blood trickled from Hillyard’s lips. When he tried to wipe his mouth, Zane pounded three hard jabs into his left ear. He ducked the fourth jab.

  A left-han
ded punch caused Zane to reel back. A second left rocked him to his heels. A right uppercut dropped him like a tree in a forest. He rolled to his stomach and tried to rise to his hands and knees.

  Race glanced over at Catherine. She shoved her way closer to Pinehurst.

  Zane tackled him with a hard right to the stomach. Both men slammed into the rough wood deck of the train platform.

  The shouts of strangers and the rapid movement of the fight made it difficult for Catherine to reach Pinehurst. She had to slide past a man holding a small goat and Bertram, holding his top hat.

  She tugged at Zane’s coat. “I’ll hold that,” she shouted.

  The crowd groaned. She looked back. Race Hillyard took a knee in the chin. More blood flowed from his mouth.

  “I’ll keep it,” Pinehurst insisted.

  “It belongs to my husband. I should hold it.” Catherine clutched the smooth wool sleeve.

  “My word,” Woolsey shouted. “Give the lady her husband’s coat.”

  Pinehurst reached into the inside pocket and yanked out a stiff piece of paper. “I’ll keep this.”

  “He’s going to kill him,” a woman screamed.

  Hillyard sat on top of Zane and pounded his chin with his fist.

  She spun back and yanked at the photo in Pinehurst’s hand. “Give me that.” The picture ripped in two.

  Pinehurst concealed his half behind his back.

  “My word, doesn’t anyone in the west know how to treat a lady?” Woolsey yanked the remnant from the startled Pinehurst’s hand and handed it to her. “So sorry, Catelynn. This behavior is appalling.”

  Pinehurst lunged for her, but Edward Longtire stuck his leg out and tripped him. His face slammed into the deck.

  Catherine slipped both pieces of the photograph into the sleeve of her dress and marched over to the fighting men.

  “This is absolutely insane,” she yelled at the top of her voice. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”

  “Let them fight, lady. I’ve got two bucks on the Texan!’

  She swung her purse into Race’s shoulder. “I said, stop it right now!”

  Hillyard wiped his bloody lips on the back of his hand and glanced up at her. He raised a bruised eyebrow.

  She nodded.

  “If the lady wants me to quit, then I will,” he hollered. Hillyard struggled to his feet, collapsed on a nail keg next to his coat and gun. He leaned forward and fought for each breath.

  She marched over to the investors. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry for this. I’m way too upset now to travel to Carson City with you. I will stay in a hotel here overnight.”

  “I’m glad Henrietta didn’t come with me,” Daily said. “She would have fainted by now.”

  Matthew Zane wrestled to his knees, then pull something shiny from his boot.

  “He’s got a knife,” a high-pitched voice shouted.

  “Race.” she screamed.

  In that split second, Hillyard spun to his right. The six inch knife blade entered the fleshy part of the back of his arm four inches above his elbow. Blood gushed down his shirt as he yanked out the blade with a scream.

  “That ain’t fair.” The man with the baby goat kicked Zane’s hands out from under him, he crashed to the platform. He mashed a dirty boot against Zane’s neck, pinning him to the deck.

  “Get away from him.” Pinehurst shouted with waving a revolver in his good hand.

  The click of a cocked hammer and the jolt of a muzzle into the back of his head silenced him.

  “Drop it, mister. This fight is over,” the man with the badge roared.

  Pinehurst looked over his shoulder. “If you would have been doing your job, sheriff, this would have never gotten this far.”

  “Holster your gun.”

  Pinehurst released the hammer and shoved the gun back into his holster. “Tell farm boy to get his boot off of Matthew’s neck.”

  Sheriff Walker continued to wave his revolver. “Shakespeare get your foot off of that man.”

  “He don’t fight fair, sheriff.”

  “Let him up,” the sheriff demanded.

  Shakespeare stepped back to stroke the bleating goat’s head. “I don’t think much of some old boy who tries to stab an unarmed man in the back.”

  “You are under arrest for knifing this man.” He turned to Hillyard. “You goin’ to press charges.”

  Hillyard wiped his lips on his shirt and glanced up at Catherine. “Nah, I kissed his woman right in front of his nose. I reckon jealousy made him crazy. I’ll not be pressing charges this time.”

  “Get the doc to patch up that man’s arm.” The sheriff shoved his gun in his holster.

  “We aren’t through, Hillyard,” Zane barked. “I swear, next time you won’t have a woman to save you.”

  Blood trickled between his fingers as he clutched his wounded arm. “I thought she saved you.”

  Catherine fumbled in her silk dress sleeve tugged out her linen handkerchief. “Press this against your arm until the doctor arrives.”

  “Catherine, I mean,” Race stammered, “Mrs. Zane, you dropped . . . .”

  “Catelynn, are you going with us to Carson City?” Zane called out. “We have business to do and you know it.”

  Most of the bystanders wandered away from the station.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m ashamed to be seen with you.”

  “I was defending your honor,” Zane protested.

  She tried to brush the hair off her forehead, but it drooped back down across her eyes. “You have been trying to destroy my honor.”

  Hillyard yelled out. “I think you dropped a couple of pieces of paper when you reached for . . . .”

  “We will leave you here,” Zane huffed. “Chet, get them in the carriages.” He slipped on his suit coat. “I’ll wash up and return. I have an interesting photograph that might explain this situation.”

  “I agree with Mrs. Zane,” Daily blurted out. “I’m not fond of backstabbling. Not sure I want to do business with someone like that. If you won’t hesitate to stab with a knife, stabbing with a phony claim or false contract would be easy enough. Henrietta wouldn’t like it.”

  “What? We have a deal,” Zane screamed. He grabbed Daily by the shoulders. “You can’t back out now.”

  “Zane, you touch that man again, and I’ll arrest you for assault,” Sheriff Walker declared.

  Edward Longtire stepped up alongside. “You going to stab us all in the back?”

  “You too?” Zane hollered.

  “Us three,” Bertram Woolsey added. “I entered this for the fun and excitement. It isn’t fun any more. Plus I’ve had more excitement than I want. I’ll go back to my big quiet house, clip stock coupons and spend Saturdays watching my Knickerbockers play baseball.”

  Matthew Zane circled the investors. “You can’t back out now.”

  “We just did,” Worthington announced.

  “Catelynn, explain this to them,” Zane begged. “We had a deal. They don’t understand.”

  “I’ll explain it, alright.” She barged over to them.

  “Catherine,” Hillyard called out, touting papers in her direction. “Do you need these?”

  She waved him off. “I am not Matthew Zane’s wife. Nor am I the one you met this Spring. I’m Catherine Goodwin. You met my identical twin sister, Catelynn. I played along with this charade only because Zane held something on my sister and threatened to destroy her with the evidence.”

  “He blackmailed you?” Daily blurted out.

  Edward Longtire stepped closer. “And you didn’t warn us?”

  “I am sorry for that. But it was too awful and damaging. It was wrong and I pray for the Lord’s forgiveness . . . and yours.”

  “Maybe you gentlemen would like to see just what it is she is willing to lie to you to suppress.” Zane frantically searched every pocket in his coat.

  “You don’t have the picture, Zane,” she sneered. “I have it.”

  Catherine reached into her sleeve and
felt nothing but a chill roll up her arm.

  “Catherine,” Race hollered.

  She turned around and shrieked, “What is it?”

  “I have both pieces of the picture.”

  Thank you Lord, Race has it.

  Oh, no, Lord! Race has it.

  She twirled back toward the investors. “The point is, I believe Matthew Zane is a crook.”

  “Catherine, you will be sorry . . . .”

  Pinehurst grabbed his arm. “Come on, Zane. You’re going to get arrested.”

  “What about my mining deal?” Zane bellowed.

  Pinehurst shoved him past the carriages. “You can’t whip a dead horse. But you can ride a different one in the next race. I’ve got another plan or two.”

  The sheriff followed them down the street.

  After some mumbling among themselves, the cut-a-way coat crowd marched toward a hotel. Catherine continued to watch until all the men were out of sight. When she stepped back to Hillyard. He had his shirt off and a muscular man with black suit wrapped clean white linen around the arm wound.

  She looked at Hillyard. “Do you have the . . . ?”

  He motioned to his coat, which was rolled up under his arm. “Yep.”

  The doctor addressed her as if she were Race’s wife. “Leave this on him for tonight, then take it off tomorrow. I didn’t sew it up yet. I think it will heal on its own. But a little sunlight will probably take care of any possible infection, better than closing the wound.”

  “That was the most exciting fight I’ve ever seen.” Amanda Sue ran up to them as the doctor departed.

  Race put his good hand on her head. “I thought you weren’t suppose to watch?”

  “I just peeked with one eye. I cried when that mean man stabbed you.”

  “So did I,” Race admitted.

  “Does it still hurt?”

  “Like someone pressed a hot coal into my arm.”

  Amanda Sue looked down at her dusty black shoes. “I don’t think I want to be in a knife fight.”

  “That’s a good decision.” Hillyard watched the gray haired man approach. “Sorry we didn’t get them to Carson City, judge.”

  “That was rather foolish of me. I miscalculated Zane’s temper and violence,” the judge said. “As evaluator of men’s character, I failed that time. I trust the injuries were limited.”