by Eden Carson
“He’s right, Ma’am. It’s a bit wild still, but no different than San Francisco. Or so I hear. I know some good, honest folk there who would help you get on your feet while you decide what to do. I can put in a good word, so you wouldn’t be alone in town.”
Ruth fought the urge to tear up at this kindness from two strangers. “That’s very generous of you, Marshal, but I had something else in mind. I want to go with you.”
At Jackson’s look of shock, she hurried to speak over any protest.
“I just mean as far as the next railroad stop. If I can get to the next stop north of the ruined tracks, I’m sure I could use my ticket to continue on to San Francisco.” Ruth gazed imploringly at both men.
“That’s out of the question,” Jackson replied curtly. “It’s too dangerous. We’re about to follow the remains of the group which almost killed you less than an hour ago. We’ll be riding hard and fast in the other direction.” Jackson turned his back on Ruth, dismissing the request out of hand. He wouldn’t put any civilian at such risk, much less a woman.
“I won’t slow you down. I’ve been riding since I was six years old. I used to ride thoroughbreds with my neighbors - before the War, that is.” She boldly placed her hand on Jackson’s sleeve, hoping he’d weaken at the direct request for help from a woman.
Even though chivalry had taken a beating during the War, Ruth knew in her heart it wasn’t dead in a man like Jackson, who had already risked his life to save her and the other passengers.
“Please, I beg of you, this is my entire future at risk,” Ruth implored. “I can’t go back. After I’ve come so far to escape the War and the death and ruin of my home, I just can’t end my journey here. I have a new life waiting for me, but it won’t wait forever.”
“I’m very sorry, Ma’am,” Jackson apologized. “Truly I am. I wasn’t raised to ignore a lady in distress. But my daddy would beat me senseless if I ever agreed to take a woman into harm’s way - especially when there are sensible alternatives.”
Old Mike nodded his grizzled head in agreement. “He’s right, Ma’am. As much as we’d like to help you out, the open trail is no place for a lady. Even if we don’t catch up with them outlaws before reaching your stop, we can’t just leave you alone at the next train depot. There wouldn’t be but one living soul there full-time and he’s not fit company for anyone, much less a female. You take my word on that.”
Jackson continued right where Mike left off. “And what happens if the outlaws double back on us? You could find yourself in the middle of a shootout.”
“I’ve already survived one today. And let me remind you both, you might be wounded or even dead if I hadn’t covered your back.” Ruth’s chin jutted out in pure stubbornness but she couldn’t prevent her eyes from tearing up either, as much as her pride demanded it.
Jackson’s look softened. He stepped toward the woman, who had likely saved some lives that day, and handed her his bandana. “Don’t cry. You’ll be fine. You are one of the toughest human beings I’ve ever had the privilege to meet, man or woman. If you survived this experience, you can accomplish anything. Don’t forget that.”
He pulled a small piece of paper out of his saddlebag and wrote down the name of a couple he knew and trusted in Kansas City. He handed it to Ruth. “Take this and go directly from the train station to this address. Don’t go alone – get someone from the railroad to walk you there. Give John and Martha this letter and they’ll help you, with whatever you decide. Good luck to you, Ma’am.”
Old Mike tipped his hat in farewell. “Find your happiness, Miss. It’s out there, for anyone with the courage to follow it, no matter how many twists and turns the path might take.”
With that, Jackson and Mike rode off at a hard canter, leaving Ruth, once again, alone in the world.
As Ruth watched their silhouettes get smaller and nearly fade in the cloud of dust churned up by their horses, she had an idea. She had the idea that these two rough gentlemen gave excellent advice, and she was just desperate enough to follow it.
Her mind made up, Ruth raced toward the back of the train. Luckily for her, all the passengers and remaining Marshals were up at the engine, examining the damage done to the tracks. She hurried to the back, until she found the car she was looking for. She struggled to slide the huge door open wide enough to fit through it.
The car she entered smelled of hay and horses and heat. She nearly gagged. She quickly located Jasper Smith’s horse and hoped the gelding was nicer than its owner. There was no time to calm a cantankerous mount. Her luck held as she led the Paint toward the door. The horse hesitated for a moment at the unfamiliar jump to the ground, but Ruth’s calming voice persuaded him to follow her into the unknown.
Ruth felt under her skirt for her newly acquired pistol. She hesitated for just a moment, reminding herself that horse theft was a hanging offense. Then she clamped a shaking hand over her mouth, before a hysterical laugh could escape.
I’ve already murdered a man in the eyes of the law. And they can only hang me once.
Finding her new pistol secure, she mounted in a flurry of skirts. “There, there boy – It’s okay. I promise I’m going to be a much nicer rider than your last. And since I don’t know your name, I’ll call you Caboose. Hopefully, you’ll help me follow Marshal Jackson without him knowing. I’m convinced you’ve had experience sneaking up on people, considering your last owner. We just need to know the right direction is all, so I don’t get lost. So stick with me, all right boy? I’ve been having the most rotten luck with males lately, so let’s hope you can turn that around.”
Ruth kicked Caboose into a gallop, hoping to close some distance between herself and the hunters before nightfall.
Chapter 15
Frank Masterson closed the distance between himself and the gossipy telegraph operator before the unsuspecting man could even think to turn and run. The young man’s eyes nearly popped out of his head in fright as the barrel chested Masterson grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and slammed his bony frame into the wall.
“What train?” Masterson asked between clenched teeth.
“I b-b-beg your pardon?” Dangling as he was two inches above the floorboards, Milo the clerk could barely catch his breath to stutter out the question.
“Which train, damn it. You just got finished saying that the Union Pacific was robbed, and I need to know which train.” Masterson shook the stuttering idiot roughly when the man didn’t respond.
“Okay, Okay, I’ll tell you what I know,” the clerk gulped. “I just passed on a message for the local Sheriff that the train heading toward Denver was robbed and some folks were killed.”
“Any women die?” Masterson demanded.
“It didn’t say,” squeaked Milo.
“Who sent the message?” Masterson asked.
“The message was from Marshal Abel Wyman. He’s been working for the railroad ever since that robbery last month where those folks got killed. Railroad doesn’t like dead passengers – bad for business.”
“Did they catch the men who did it?” Masterson was furious that he’d have to interrupt his plans to go fetch his new wife. Either she had gotten on the wrong damn train or the fools he hired had bungled everything.
Milo gasped for air as the huge man tightened his grip and cut off the clerk’s air even more. “Please, please mister. I’ll tell you everything. Here. See for yourself. The telegram is in my pocket. I was just taking it over to the sheriff when you walked in.” The clerk choked out the broken sentences despite the crushing grip around his neck.
Masterson pulled the scrap of paper out of the man’s pocket and offhandedly dropped the man to the floor, as he needed both hands to unfold the telegram. Masterson quickly read the little info it provided:
Train to Denver robbed near Ft Lyon. Seven dead. Three robbers, two passengers, Engineer, one Marshal. Eight wounded. Tracks damaged. Six robbers escaped. Marshals in pursuit.
Masterson crumpled up the paper and tossed it
aside before storming off to the stable to fetch his horse.
He was furious he had to interrupt his plans to go look for Ruth. But it wouldn’t do for his future place in society to be seen abandoning his new wife just when she needed him the most. He’d best put on a civilized show and ride to her rescue, he thought. Make her feel safe.
Then he’d drop her off at his ranch and see what could be done about tracking down the fools he’d hired. Assuming, of course, they survived the lawmen.
His men had numbers on their side, but they’d had that same advantage during the robbery. Masterson didn’t count the tenderfoots from back East that always swelled the passenger lists. They were next to useless in a fight, so he couldn’t figure out how his men had lost the upper hand. But he was damned sure gonna find out and get his fair share of the loot, too.
The telegram didn’t mention what had been stolen. Masterson just assumed they’d gotten away with something. And God help them if they didn’t, he swore. Even though they’d managed to hurt a few passengers, like he’d ordered, he had costs to cover and more land to buy.
Chapter 16
Ruth huddled closer to Caboose, not minding the scent of trail-weary horse nearly as much as the lack of heat the minute she stepped away from the Paint. Her newly acquired mount was a bit more particular, apparently, as he head butted her away for the second time in as many minutes.
“Hey, watch it mister!” Ruth whispered at the ornery animal. “I might not be as mean as Jasper Smith, but I’m still standing between you and every kernel of grain in those saddlebags.” Ruth yanked the saddlebags down and shoved the horse’s head away with as much force as she could manage, though the effort exhausted her.
Her father always taught her to keep the upper hand with horses. Ruth grinned, recalling that her mother would say the same about men – with a wink, and always within hearing of Papa. He’d laugh every time, and claim to be in full agreement, at least where his daughter was concerned.
Ruth rationed out a handful of grain, feeding Caboose a few morsels at a time. Forcing an animal to hand feed was another thing she learned from her father. Remembering him on this cold, lonely night almost brought her to tears.
Caboose licked her palm clear of every last grain and nickered for more. The sound brought Ruth out of her nostalgia. She had no time for it now, and certainly no energy to waste on tears, Ruth admonished. She’d had more years on her own than she cared to remember and she’d get through this one just the same, she promised herself.
Ruth brushed away her tears and started gathering leaves for a bed. She wasn’t sure they’d provide enough insulation from the near freezing ground to allow her to sleep, but she had to try. She needed sleep desperately, having gotten little the night before – especially after Jasper Smith’s midnight visit.
Ruth spread out the canvas tarp she’d found strapped to Caboose’s saddle, thanking her Maker that at least she’d stay dry. She sat down cross-legged, with her back to a large spruce, and opened up Smith’s saddlebags. She’d had no time to rummage through his belongings when she saddled Caboose and headed out after Jackson. She counted herself lucky that Smith had left a few items tied to the saddle. In her rush to find Jackson’s trail, she’d grabbed the saddle and some grain in the livestock car and headed out.
Sadly, Ruth noted as she emptied out the last of the contents, her luck didn’t hold out to include food for her. She wondered how long she’d have to do without.
Now that she had a moment to sit and think, she’d be lucky not to lose Jackson’s trail entirely. Or even worse, be discovered close enough to the site of the train robbery that they could force her to turn back. Ruth didn’t kid herself to think she had the skill to follow a man like Jackson if he didn’t want to be followed. She knew she had only managed to remain undetected so far because the men were consumed with tracking those ahead of them, rather than someone unexpected behind them.
Ruth huddled closer into her makeshift bed and did her best to picture the loving faces of her parents, long dead, as she drifted into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 17
Jackson watched in silence as his dwindling hopes of capturing the outlaws kicked him straight in the gut. That was a distinctly female figure huddled against the cold and wind. He had seen a lot of foolishness in his years – men throwing lives away over shiny gold rocks. Men losing their women and dying broken hearted over a dried up piece of land not fit for burial, much less supporting a farm. But never in all his days had he so much as heard of a woman setting off after near strangers into a land so vast a native son could get lost in a decent downpour.
And all for some no good sailor she’d never even met!
Jackson had heard things were bad in the South after four long years of war, followed quickly by famine and carpet baggers. But for a woman to travel alone across the entire length of the country was the most foolish thing he’d ever heard of. He shook his head as he watched over her sleeping figure through his spyglass, still torn between frustration and admiration.
The corner of his mouth turned up in the slightest of smiles at her gumption. He also couldn’t recall knowing or even hearing of any woman with the guts to take such a chance, no matter the reason. And although he hadn’t known her long, after seeing her face down two armed outlaws and keep her head about her, Jackson knew this woman was no foolish miss who didn’t realize what danger she was in. No, this was a woman who took that first step after him, knowing full well the odds she’d be facing.
If he’d been ten years younger, he might envy Miss Ruth’s unknown sailor. She was no quitter, that was for sure.
But being well past his twenties, and still alive to prove his hard-earned wisdom, Jackson’s good sense shook that foolish thought aside. He had more important things to worry about – like how he and Mike were going to keep on the trail of the train robbers with an unplanned straggler in tow.
Jackson didn’t have any immediate answers, and he figured a night in the cold on her own would teach his uninvited guest a much-needed lesson. While gumption might impress a lonely lawman, Mother Nature wouldn’t spare a glance for Miss Ruth. He’d circle back around to his camp once more to see what Mike had in mind before coming to her rescue.
Now that Jackson had two camps to keep watch over, he didn’t figure on getting much sleep, but he’d trained himself not to need a lot. Seeing Ruth settle in for the night, Jackson slid backwards from his vantage point above her, being careful to stay upwind of her horse.
Chapter 18
Frank Masterson jerked the reins of his weary horse to an abrupt stop, cursing the fools he’d hired. The scene before him was an uncanny mixture of frazzled Easterners, wandering aimlessly through the dusty landscape, and practical Westerners, preparing to walk or ride the remaining distance to the next train stop.
As Masterson approached a group of men congregated near the engine, he could overhear the endless screeching of a redheaded female, demanding to know when the train would be leaving. The frazzled junior conductor tried to calm and reassure the woman, “Ma’am, we’re doing our best, but the tracks are damaged and the engineer is dead. As soon as these fine lawmen finish their investigation, I’m sure they’ll ride to the nearest town and send help.”
The woman nearly lost her footing at the news. “What? You mean no one’s been sent for help yet? But it’ll be dark soon. I can’t stay here alone with no protection.”
Masterson watched as a graying lawman to their immediate right stepped in to take over. The deputy led the frightened woman over to the shady side of the nearest boxcar, doing his best to assure her that her protection was the Marshal Service’s one and only concern.
With the lawman distracted, Masterson moved in. He rode up behind the young conductor, who nearly jumped out of his too-pale skin at the sound of Masterson’s horse whinnying in his ear. “What? Oh, gosh, mister, watch that there horse. He nearly ran me down.”
Masterson ignored the comment and dismounted. “I’m looking
for my wife, but can’t seem to locate her. She was traveling with my man, Jasper Smith. They rode the train together from Kansas City. Can’t find Smith, either. Are they dead?”
The junior conductor was too exhausted to notice the coldness with which Masterson asked the question. “Mister, the dead are at the back of the train.” He pointed his rangy finger back the way Masterson had just come. “No women, last I looked. If your wife got on the train, she has to be amongst the passengers. Did you look through the dining car? A lot of the women are sitting in there, ‘cause of the dust and all.”
Masterson slapped the brim of his hat against his chaps and stared the kid dead in the eye. “I already looked in the train. She’s not there. Are you sure no one got off the train earlier?”
Junior swallowed hard, nervously looking away. “I’m sure, Mister. The train didn’t make but one stop to take on more coal between here and Fort Wallace. We – the conductor and I – always count the passengers after each stop. Two times each, to make sure no greenhorns wander off or are stuck in the outhouse. We had a full count when we pulled out. I swear.”
Masterson cursed his luck as he walked his horse back toward the laid out corpses.
She had to be here, he thought.
According to the passenger manifest, Ruth and Smith had boarded this very train in Kansas City. And he needed her corpse, or at least his proxy marriage papers in hand, to claim the land he’d already begun to place in his bride’s name.
