by Eden Carson
“Isn’t one of these rooms free - one next door to my missus? We just got married, dontcha know?” Smith grinned at the conductor and lowered his voice, but Ruth was still able to hear his next comment. “I need to keep an eye on this young thing. There’s riffraff and such on these trains.”
Ruth quickly shut the door, carefully locking it as the conductor had shown her.
Smith’s eyes narrowed. That uppity bitch could use a lesson in manners, he thought resentfully. She thought she was better than him, just because she caught herself a rich husband. Just wait until she learned the lay of the land. He wasn’t likely to get a piece of her, not if the boss had his way. But he wouldn’t put it past Masterson to gift her to a few of his high and mighty friends, to seal a deal or two.
Just as the conductor was turning away to welcome new passengers onboard, Smith grasped his skinny arm. Smith placed ten dollars – in silver – into the conductors hand and asked, “How about you pretend to drop that key to the missus’ room? She’s a bit skittish and I don’t want to be waking up the neighbors if she won’t let me in.”
Smith could read the doubt in the conductor’s eye. He had the same uppity manners as that bitch in there, thinking a man like Smith wasn’t good enough for the likes of her. Smith pulled out the marriage license and waived it under the nose of the conductor. “We’re official, dontcha know. Married the damn girl, I did. Good and proper in front of Judge Wiley of Kansas City, just yesterday.”
Smith placed another silver dollar into the conductor’s sweaty palm and waived the marriage license under his pointed nose.
As he felt a key slide into his waiting hand, Smith couldn’t help grinning. He watched the conductor hurry down the corridor, glancing once at the door to Ruth’s compartment.
Smith tucked the key safely in his pants pocket, next to his growing hard-on. He tossed his bag into his own compartment and went in search of a drink. He’d wait until everyone was asleep before teaching the new Mrs. Masterson all about what Jasper Smith did and did not like in a whore.
Chapter 9
Ruth finally gave in to the demands of her shaking legs and sat on the edge of the bed, once she heard two pair of footsteps fade away down the corridor. She was breathing too quickly and forced herself to take several slow, deep breaths. Ruth Jameson would not faint, she swore to herself.
She was tired of being intimidated, and refused to be helpless on top of it. Her Aunt Kate’s overbearing manner was one of the reasons she’d considered this arranged marriage. She’d desperately wanted out of her aunt’s household and the misery plain on every gaunt face in Virginia. Ruth had convinced herself that this unseen man would be her way out.
But now she’d gone from intimidated to afraid. She might be a daydreamer, but she wasn’t a blind fool, and knew that if Smith got the chance, he’d hurt her if she didn’t cooperate. And if her husband would hire Smith, she didn’t think he’d be the understanding sort if his new bride cried rape.
He might even blame her.
Ruth had seen it happen often enough during the War. One of her school mates growing up had been attacked and raped by two deserters – her friend had barely been fourteen, but had taken the blame nonetheless. Most folks felt sorry for her, but not enough to marry her afterwards. And these were the people who’d known the girl all her life. What hope could Ruth have that a man she’d never even met would take her word over a man who’d been trusted to transport the new bride?
Ruth unzipped her duffle and pulled out her small sewing kit and Papa’s gun. She quickly got to work on her two spare dresses. No matter what she wore, Ruth wanted a way to carry her only sense of safety close at hand.
Chapter 10
Bear Standish shook his oversized head in amazement as he spotted his partner once again begin a nightly ritual of cleaning and polishing his gun. Bear watched as Joshua Halper carefully un-wrapped his tools and laid them out methodically, left to right, in the precise order he would need them.
That revolver might just be the shiniest thing in Indian Territory, Bear thought. “Halper, if you washed your backside as often as you washed that damn pistol, you might get yourself a pretty whore for free the next time we pass through Wichita.”
Halper didn’t so much as glance in Bear’s direction as he calmly replied, “Your mama was real accommodating the last time we passed through, and she didn’t stop to ask me to wash anything special.”
Bear’s slightly buggy green eyes blinked slowly several times before understanding dawned. “You lousy bastard, I’ll –”
Before Bear could lunge in Halper’s direction, he had the shiniest pistol in the West pointed directly between his eyes. Bear didn’t have to look up into Halper’s eyes to know the man was willing. If Frank Masterson had hired him, then he was willing and more than able.
“Calma-te, my friends. We have work tomorrow and you will wake the others,” the Mexican nodded absently in the direction of the other gunmen sleeping haphazardly around their small fire.
“Shut your ugly trap,” Bear ordered. “It ain’t your mama he’s insulting.”
“Señor Bear, my own madre is a whore - the best and richest one in the Puebla. So she would be happy to take care of Señor Halper, if his gold was as shiny as his pistol.”
Bear’s posture visibly relaxed, as his energy transferred into confusion over whether or not his beloved mother had been insulted once again - or redeemed.
Halper silently un-cocked his pistol and resumed his nightly cleaning ritual.
Since both men had relaxed, Bear naturally followed suit. He was hungry again and wanted that last bit of rabbit before turning in for the night. As he chewed the tough and slightly charred foot, Bear tried to unravel Boss Masterson’s instructions.
He still didn’t understand why the Boss Man wanted them to kill some of the passengers on purpose, when they could likely as not scare them into handing over their money, without so much as a foul word thrown in their direction. The train passengers would be mostly from back east, and scared stiff of Indians and outlaws. They all had big dreams of striking it rich or owning their own land, and no one wanted to get killed before they even stepped one foot off the train.
Bear scratched his scraggly hair and decided he’d better ask again, just to make sure. He knew he got confused sometimes, and didn’t want to be the only one they hanged for murder, if he could get the same money just from knocking a few heads together. “So how come the Boss Man wants dead passengers anyway? I don’t understand why we need to kill anyone if they hand over their money quiet like. I got enough posters on me already in Texas. Don’t need one for murder here too.”
Halper tipped his hat back so the big ox could get a proper look into his eyes. “Just do as you’re told, Bear. Masterson didn’t hire you to think.”
Truth was, Halper hadn’t quite figured out Masterson’s scheme yet either. He didn’t mind the killing – he was already wanted for several hanging offenses. They could only hang him once, and the money was good. Better than good.
And that was even more puzzling. Halper wasn’t one to question good fortune, as sometimes folks just got lucky. But he did question why all of a sudden he was getting lucky after the crap of a life he’d been handed. He didn’t trust it.
Masterson was hiding something for sure, he thought, as he pushed a cleaning rag into the barrel of his favorite Colt. Halper knew to the dollar what a robbery like this could bring just counting the passenger’s carrying money and jewelry. And according to his numbers, Masterson was splitting it all evenly. A snake like Masterson would sell his own mother and Halper’s too to earn a lazy dollar. So why was he offering them all a fair share upfront? Halper figured there was something extra on this train. But if this bunch didn’t know to look for it, and Masterson wasn’t here to get it himself, how was the boss going to profit?
Halper gave his revolver one last swipe with a polishing cloth before holstering it. He wasn’t likely to figure it out before sunrise, so he might a
s well get some sleep and hope he spotted a clue tomorrow.
“Bear, since you’re still eating, you can take first watch. Wake me up in three hours and I’ll spell you.” Halper didn’t wait for a response, knowing he’d be obeyed by the lumbering ox.
Chapter 11
“Are they asleep?” Mike mouthed the words in the barest of whispers to his long-time partner as he gestured in the direction of the five U.S. Marshals packed in tight around the cold fire pit.
A nod was Jackson’s only response, as he scanned the open desert in full moonlight. He had scouted their campsite himself, then briskly ordered a cold camp as they settled in for the night. The map he’d retrieved from the dead scout had been short on details.
Jackson couldn’t be certain he had identified the correct location for the next ambush of the Union Pacific. So they’d arrived early and settled on the highest ground they could find – the crest of a hill about half a mile from the train tracks. He now had a clear view of the tracks for a mile in either direction, and could already hear the engine of an oncoming train.
“That’s a relief,” Mike sighed, taking a seat on the cold ground. “Can’t say I trust them much to watch our backs when every word out of their mouths seems to have the sole purpose of reminding us we fought on the losing side.”
“As if we’d ever forget,” Jackson replied, crushing his third cigarette into the damp earth.
“‘Bout time we all did, I suppose,” Mike muttered.
“I’m trying,” Jackson replied after a long silence. “I’m trying real hard for my brother. If I can just make my retirement stick and make a go of the ranch, Emmett can marry and re-build the family.”
“You’re young yet,” Mike added cautiously. “There’s plenty of time to have a family. You and Emmett can raise your kids together.”
“You’re my family - you and Sue and my brother.”
“I’m honored you’d say such a thing,” Mike replied. “And I look on you the same way, God rest your mother’s soul. But a worn out trapper and a retired saloon girl ain’t no family. You’re young yet – seen too much and done too much, but you’ve still got time to build something real.”
“Are you trying to fix me up, Old Man?” Jackson grinned in genuine affection. “Sue’s been trying for years.”
“She’s right, you know. Pain’s me to say it, seeing as its Sue, but she’s right for once. I’m sure what you seen in the War must have turned your stomach something fierce. Maybe soured you on folks. But don’t forget how sweet a thing your mama was and how good a life she had before your daddy died, loving him the way she did. Don’t make that count for less than the killing you seen or done.”
Mike never heard Jackson’s response as a volley of shots pierced the night quiet, followed by the screech of brakes on metal.
Jackson scrambled to the very top of the hill while Mike turned to calm down the others. The five men had jumped to their feet the minute gunshots disturbed their sound sleep.
“Be still,” Mike ordered. “They aren’t shooting at us.”
The men hunkered down next to Jackson, following the direction of his rifle barrel.
“What’s happening?” Abel Wyman demanded curtly.
“The train’s stopping,” Jackson replied softly to the older man. “It looks like something’s blocking the tracks up ahead. Six shots fired from the front of the train.”
“How many men are down there?” Wyman asked.
“I can’t tell for sure,” Jackson replied. “I count four just this side of the engine.”
“There are two more riders at the rear of the train,” Emmett chimed in softly.
“We can take them easily,” Wyman insisted. “Let’s head out.”
“Wait,” Jackson cautioned. “There may be more on the other side. And at least one of the shots I heard came from the last sleeping car toward the middle of the train. That’s seven or more men altogether. We might be outnumbered and we’d be riding with no cover in this moonlight.”
“Well, damn it, you picked our lookout,” Wyman said. “What good is it if you can’t give me an accurate count?”
“It’s the best choice we had,” Jackson replied calmly at the insult.
As another two shots rang out, the Marshals grew restless, and Jackson heard several muttered comments.
“Let’s ride.”
“We can take these bastards.”
“Settle down,” Mike advised. “Jackson’s right. We can’t go riding in hot-footed with no cover and no plan. They’ll pick us off one-by-one or just shoot a few passengers to halt us in our tracks”.
Jackson crawled back from the edge on all fours until he was certain he wouldn’t be seen from below. As he stood, he started laying out orders. “Mike. You and Emmett ride to the far side of the train. Position yourselves to come up from the back at my signal.” Jackson turned his steady gaze to the oldest Marshal. “Wyman, you take the rest of the men and ride in closer to that clump of trees. The shouting from the passengers should muffle any noise you make. Wait there for my signal.”
“And what will you be doing, Reb?” The young New Yorker barely sprouting his first beard demanded.
Jackson approached the speaker until a mere six inches separated them. “I’m going down there. I can take out one or two of the men quietly – improve our odds and offer some protection for the passengers. When I signal, you come in hard and fast.”
Jackson stood his ground until the young man turned away to fiddle with his perfectly maintained rifle.
Once the last of the men reluctantly grumbled acceptance of the plan, Jackson changed out his boots for moccasins and headed out with one last order for his men.
“Give me twenty minutes. No more.”
Chapter 12
Ruth awoke with a start. It was pitch black, as she’d dozed off close to dusk. She remained perfectly still, afraid to move, not knowing what had pulled her out of a sound sleep.
She heard the sound again, a small scraping against the door and a man’s low-voiced curse. Someone was trying to get through the locked door, she thought. Ruth saw the handle start to move and heard the distinct sound of a key sliding into the lock.
Where is the pistol?
She rolled to the ground, frantically feeling around under the bed.
Nothing.
She thought she had put it on the tiny nightstand while she worked on her sewing, but it wasn’t there now.
“God Damn it!��� a familiar voice cursed. “I should’ve got me a light from that useless conductor.”
Ruth froze when she recognized the voice of Jasper Smith. He was crawling on the floor now, searching for the stolen key in the dark.
“There you are,” he crowed.
Hearing his low cry of triumph, Ruth quickly crawled out of bed, trying not to make any noise. She knelt on the chilly floor and silently thanked God she’d decided to sleep fully dressed. She felt along the floor and into the corners of the sleeping compartment, but couldn’t find the pistol.
More cursing and scuffling as Smith tried to fit the key in the lock.
Ruth wiped the sweat out of her eyes, not understanding how she could be hot and cold at the same time. She gasped for air as the door slid slowly open.
“Well, lookey here,” he cackled. “You’re already awake and on your knees – like you was waiting for me all along.”
His rotting teeth grinned at her in the pale moonlight shining through the tiny train window.
Seeing Smith close and lock the door behind him spurred Ruth into one last frantic search for a weapon. A terrible sense of calm settled her rapid breathing as her right hand felt the cold metal of her missing pistol.
Ruth had to clear her throat twice before whispering. “Get out. You have no right to be here.”
“Now the Law don’t agree, missy. I’m your official husband now. I got papers that say so.” Smith fondly patted his jacket. “Now, you and me both know you can scream and cry all you want, and just maybe
someone will hear. But it’ll be too late. There ain’t no one in this whole train car but you and me. I made sure of it.”
He tugged at his belt and dropped his pants.
The sound of Smith’s brass buckle hitting the floor spurred Ruth into action. She clambered up off the rolling floor, yanking her gun with her. She then backed up as far as she could, squeezing her back against the tiny train window. Her hands shook only slightly as she aimed her salvation at his surprised gaze.
Smith laughed at her. Standing with his stained long-johns half undone, he sneered at her amateur grip on the pistol. “Now, I sure like ‘em feisty. Lucky for you I got me a sense of humor. You’re lucky to get me, ya know. Frank ain’t got no sense of humor and he’d ‘a backhanded you good by now for pointin’ that thing in his face. But me, I’ll just have some fun. Come here now – give it over.”
Just as Smith lunged toward her, the gun seemed to go off by itself.
He grasped her left sleeve as his knees buckled to the ground. Blood spurted slowly out of his chest, and he could only manage an incoherent gurgling as Ruth frantically tried to yank her sleeve free.
“Let me go,” she demanded as she started to shiver. “Let me go.”
The sudden stop of the train, brakes screeching and whistle blaring, knocked them both off their feet.
Ruth almost blacked out, as she slammed her head on the side of the wooden bunk. She rubbed her throbbing head in confusion as she struggled into a sitting position, free of Smith’s now lifeless grasp.
She scrambled to the opposite corner of the small compartment, trying to get as far away as possible from the still body of Jasper Smith. She grabbed her gun off the floor, pointing it at him in remembered fear.
She waited what seemed like an eternity before breathing again.
Smith wasn’t moving.
Had she killed him? Ruth wondered in shock. Had she killed a man, the daughter of the best surgeon in Huntsville? She quickly clamped a shaking hand over her mouth, trying to smother the sounds escaping her pale lips.
