Bride's Flight from Virginia City, Montana

by Murray Pura

  There was nothing Zeph could do. Pinning on his badge would not stop them. If he made his way back to the baggage car to get the gun, he was pretty sure the car would be locked. And even if he got the conductor or one of his assistants to open it up and found his father’s Remington, what good would that do when the cartridges that made it a threat to be reckoned with were rusting in the snow and mud on a road that ran north out of Iron Springs?

  Charlotte read his face. “What’s wrong?”

  Zeph had stopped chewing his gum. “Too many strangers.”

  She glanced out the windows across the aisle. “Those two men on horseback?”

  “They just sit and watch the train.”

  “No harm in that.”

  “They showed up the same time a man who looks like a gunslinger got into the car. He’s sitting just ahead of us, and he’s dressed to kill.”

  Charlotte looked over her shoulder and back at him. “They wouldn’t do anything now.”

  “Why not?”

  “The law in Cheyenne. They’d be caught.”

  “Char,” he said in a low voice, “they’d gun down the law as quick as they’d gun down us.”

  They were silent a few moments. Cheyenne was taking bites of the bar of chocolate and sketching on a pad of paper. Zeph watched her scribbles turn into mountains and horses and buffalo. She was very good. He looked up at Charlotte.

  “Even if we had a picture,” he said softly, “and it was posted in every town and village and railroad crossing, it would make no difference. Raber would come for us anyway. Out of revenge.”

  The whistle blew. The car shuddered. The train began to move.

  Zeph kept his eyes on the cowboys and on the man in black. The cowboys kept staring but made no attempt to follow the train. The man in black shifted his weight and pulled his hat down over his face and went to sleep. The train picked up speed.

  Charlotte gave him a look that said, “You see? You’re getting all worked up over nothing.”

  Zeph shook his head. “It can happen anytime,” he whispered, “day or night, when we’re asleep or awake. The man in black can make his play for us whenever he wants, and there’s nothing I can do to protect you.”

  “Unless the plan works,” she said quietly.

  “If the plan works. If we even get to the only place in Nebraska where the plan has any chance of working at all.”

  “How long?” “I’m not sure.” “How long, Z?”

  Zeph shrugged. “We’ll be out of Wyoming Territory in no time. There’ll be some night travel. It won’t be long. Well before noon tomorrow it’ll be all over. One way or another.”

  “May I borrow your brother’s Bible?”

  Zeph handed it over.

  “I’m going to mark a place with this leather bookmark I have. Ricky brought it home from Denver. I’m tucking it in right here. Now tomorrow, when this is all over, I want you to take this Bible out of your pocket, open it to where I’ve placed the bookmark, and read the passage out loud to us. But I don’t want you looking at it before that, promise?”

  “I swear.”

  She gave it back to him, and he slipped it into one of his outer pockets. Then he narrowed his eyes and looked her over from bonnet to boots.

  “What on earth are you doing?” she asked.

  “It’s not the same dress.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It’s a lighter shade of gray.”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you do that?”

  “I changed at the last meal stop before Cheyenne. Glad you’ve finally noticed.” “It’s very pretty.”

  “Really? It’s supposed to be very plain.” “I’d like to know whatever would look plain on you. You’d make rags look like silk.”

  Charlotte smiled. “Why, that’s quite a compliment, Mister Wyoming. I’m glad the gentleman rancher has returned. I thought I’d lost him.”

  Zeph looked at the children. Cheyenne had put aside her drawings and nodded off, and Cody had his head on his hand and his arm propped on the window ledge, snoring quietly into the glass. Zeph leaned over toward Charlotte.

  “If they stop the train tomorrow,” he said, “go with the kids back to the baggage car. I’ll make sure it’s open. Hide there. They may not think to check it or have the time. All right?”

  “I’m not leaving you, Z.”

  “You will. For the children’s sake. All right?”

  Charlotte looked sadly out the window at the fields of snow and grass. “All right.”

  Zeph slid down in his seat and closed his eyes.

  Lord, went the words through his head, I’m not the kind of praying man Jude is, but You’ve got to help us out, You’ve got to bring things together, or we’re not going to make it. Have mercy on us. Have mercy on the kids. May Your holy angels defeat the angel of death. In the name of Jesus.

  He felt the slightest bit better and the slightest bit calmer. Sleep began shutting him down. He heard the rustle of Charlotte’s dress and caught a whiff of her perfume. Part of him thought of the man in black, but the larger part thought of Nebraska and the morning and Seraphim Raber. Then his mind was filled only with the rhythm of the train and the click-click-click of the iron wheels as they ran over the rails, taking them closer to the east and closer to Nebraska and closer to the day which the Lord had made, a day on which they might live or they might die.

  Chapter 14

  When it happened, it happened so quickly Zeph barely had time to take it in. That night they had turned their seats into beds and pulled another bed open above their heads. Cody had taken that one, Cheyenne was with Charlotte, Zeph slept on the outside close to the aisle. They had not set up the partition people often used for privacy because Zeph wanted to hear and see everything that was going on.

  Something made him stir. He glanced out a window and saw a sign that said ALKALI roll past. Light was beginning to flood the east, and he wondered about a breakfast stop and why they hadn’t pulled into the small town. Then he remembered the names Alkali, O’Fallons, and Maxwell. He sat up, fully awake, and looked for the man in black. Too many partitions were in the way. For all he knew, the man had changed seats to get even closer to them.

  “Charlotte!” he whispered urgently. “Mmm,” she mumbled. “Charlotte! Wake up! We’re here!”

  “Where?”

  The car shook and squealed and slammed to a stop. People were thrown out of their beds and into the aisle. Partitions collapsed. A woman screamed, and several men began to shout for the conductor.

  Charlotte was awake now, her hair in disarray, looking, Zeph could not help but notice, warm and childlike and wonderful; but when someone yelled, “There’s men on horseback in masks; the train’s being robbed,” he thrust her sheepskin jacket at her and said, “Get the kids to the baggage car.”

  Shots were fired outside the window. Cody came sprawling out of his bed above them. Zeph put Cody’s jacket over the boy’s thin shoulders. “Go with your mother and sister to the baggage car behind us. It’s two cars farther on. You lead the way. Go now.”

  “No!” Cody pushed away from Zeph with all the strength a burst of anger can give a twelve-year-old boy. “They killed my mother. They killed my father. I’m going to fight.”

  “Cody, you have to get to the baggage car.”

  “I’m not hiding anymore, and I’m not running. I will face them.”

  Zeph saw the blaze in the boy’s eyes. He meant it. But Zeph didn’t have time to argue this through. There were two more gunshots. He gripped Cody’s shoulders.

  “Who is going to protect Miss Spence? Who is going to protect Cheyenne? If they are in the baggage car and we are both here, who will save them if the gang breaks into their car first?”

  The boy hesitated.

  “Take them to safety,” Zeph urged. “Fight for them.” “All right,” Cody said.

  Charlotte was on her feet, holding a sleepy Cheyenne by the hand, her face and eyes a strange mixture of fear, anger,
and defiance. “I am not happy about leaving you,” she said to Zeph.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  She looked at him in the half-light as the sun began to slip over the rim of the prairie. People cried and shrieked all around them.

  Cody seized her hand and led her and Cheyenne to the door. Then he turned.

  “Is the baggage door open?” Cody asked.

  “Yes,” Zeph said. There was another gunshot. “I got a steward to open it for me last night after you’d all fallen asleep. Then I jimmied it, so he couldn’t lock it back up again. I saw some saddle blankets in there. Maybe get under a bunch of them. Hurry now.”

  “Z!”

  Charlotte’s eyes were like twin fires in the dawn light coming through the windows. “There’s no man like you, mister. No man ever.”

  And she was gone.

  Zeph spun around and looked for the man in black. He was sitting in the same seat, cool as ice, while pandemonium reigned left and right of him. The pretty young woman, her face flushed, suddenly asked, “What do we do? Where do we go?”

  “Just sit tight,” Zeph heard the man say in a deep voice. “Give them your diamonds and pearls, and they won’t take anything more.”

  Zeph clenched his fists. Sure, easy for him to say; it was his buddies that were going to board the train and shove their gun barrels into innocent people’s faces. Maybe I should try and take him from behind. He took a few steps forward and then looked out the windows on both sides of the train. Men with flour sacks for masks were riding up and down the line. There were four or five of them, and every few moments another one of them would fire into the air with a pistol or rifle.

  Some children had begun crying. He saw the family that was bound for Florida huddled in tears at the front of the car. Zeph looked in vain on both sides of the railway for any sign of troopers from Fort Laramie. It looked like they were going to have to bluff their way out of this one. Lord, the baggage car has to work. Help us.

  He saw a tall man ride up to their car and swing down from the saddle. He wore a long white duster that was covered in dirt and grime. The door at the front of the car banged open. The woman who couldn’t make up her mind between Liverpool and Sacramento shrieked. The outlaw had a flour sack with two ragged holes cut in it for his eyes and a third for his mouth. A short-barreled pistol was in his left hand. In a voice like stones dropping in a bucket he said, “I’m lookin’ for a man goes by the name Zephaniah Parker. Any of you folks know if he’s in this car?”

  No one spoke, but the sobbing and crying carried on.

  “How ‘bout Charlotte Spence?”

  Again, no one spoke up.

  The man dug a small bag out of one of the pockets of his duster.

  “Gold nuggets,” he said. “It’s yours if you point either of ‘em out to me. And then I won’t have to kill no one, neither.”

  Zeph was sure a number of people would have jumped at the chance if only they knew who he was. One thing he couldn’t figure out was why the man in black and the outlaw hadn’t acknowledged each other, but he figured that when the time was right they’d hitch up and make their play. They were probably waiting to see if they could flush their prey first.

  “There’s two kids traveling with ‘em. The man and woman abducted ‘em. You’d be doing us all a favor if you pointed the kids out to me. I got to get ‘em back to their rightful parents.”

  Who would buy that story? thought Zeph.

  “The kids’ names are Cody and Cheyenne Wyoming.”

  Fear ran through Zeph. How could the outlaw know that? The answer came quick as a peal of thunder—Raber’s accomplice in Iron Springs.

  To Zeph’s dismay, the heavy man in the white suit and gold paisley vest, who’d introduced himself as Henry Chase, stood up, body shaking, and pointed a finger at him.

  “There!” he squeaked in a high voice. “That’s him! He goes by the name Fremont Wyoming! But he calls his children Cheyenne and Cody! He told them to hide in one of the other cars!”

  “Is that a fact?”

  The outlaw moved toward Zeph. “Well, Mister Parker, I got a bone to pick with you. Riding the Bozeman night and day ain’t no Presbyterian picnic. Injuns killed my best horse. I’ve already taken a great dislike to you. So here’s how it’s gonna play out. I got questions; you got answers. The sooner you give me the kids the easier your pain’s gonna be—”

  A black leg shot out, and the outlaw tripped and fell on his face in the aisle. He was a tough one, though. Zeph watched him twist like a snake and come up with his gun ready to fire. A black hand grabbed the outlaw’s gun, so the hammer wouldn’t go down, and clamped onto his wrist at the same time. The outlaw yelped. His gun fell to the floor. Another black hand swung at his head with a pistol butt. Thunk. It sounded to Zeph like a hammer hitting a stump. The outlaw lay still.

  The man in black quickly put handcuffs on the unconscious gunman. Zeph heard him mutter, “One for the hangman,” and then he stood up, tall, dark, and dangerous. He gave Henry Chase, quivering in his white suit, a piercing glance—“I want to have a word with you”—and came toward Zeph. Suddenly he smiled and touched the brim of his hat.

  “Mister Parker, I am Marshal Michael James Austen. Your brother Matt thought I might find you on the train to Omaha, Nebraska.”

  Chapter 15

  The marshal shook Zeph’s hand. Zeph was still trying to take it all in.

  “My brother told you I’d be on this train?” he finally got out.

  “He did. I work out of Cheyenne, and I got a telegram from him. Took me three cars, but I finally found you. Family of four. Handsome woman. He gave me a pretty good description of your face and build, though I have to say he got your clothes all wrong. Where are the others?”

  “In the baggage car.”

  “It’ll be chilly in there. Best get them out before the kids catch their death.”

  “But what about the rest of the gang?”

  The marshal looked out the windows. “They don’t know what’s going on in here. Besides, they’ll have their hands full shortly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you have a pocket watch handy, Mister Parker?” “Lost mine in a roundup last fall. Never got around to replacing it.”

  “Occupational hazard, I guess. I punched cows once.”

  He pulled a gleaming silver watch from his black vest pocket and flipped open the top. Glancing at the dial he said, “They’re five minutes late. Anytime now. Maybe wait on the kids a little bit.”

  There was a flurry of gunfire just as he finished his sentence.

  Somebody cheered. North of the tracks cavalry was pouring out of a gully and pounding down on the outlaws. Several were firing carbines as they rode. More gunfire from south of the train made him turn his head. Dozens of blue uniformed cavalrymen in brown buffalo coats were charging across the prairie at the outlaw gang from that side as well. Puffs of gun smoke erupted from their rifle and pistol barrels. A man cheered again, and soon the whole car was bursting with shouts and whistles. Zeph felt relief wash through him as if he’d just taken a large drink of cool water.

  “Folks!” called the marshal. “You’d best get yourselves down on the floor! A stray bullet may come through one of the windows!”

  When a bullet smashed one of the windows, Henry Chase almost pushed himself through the floorboards. Marshal Austen chuckled, and Zeph wondered if that hadn’t been one of the reasons he wanted everyone on the floor to begin with. As for himself, the marshal remained standing and watching the action, so Zeph stood with him.

  Horses raced back and forth, clods of frozen earth flew up into the air, smoke from the gunfire billowed and floated in the morning frost. One outlaw had been shot out of the saddle and stood with a hand clamped over his bleeding shoulder. The others had laid down a blistering fire, wounded several soldiers, and made a run for it on horseback. Gradually the shooting petered out. An officer shouted, “It’s all over, folks, all over. You can rest easy now!”


  Henry Chase slowly raised his head, like a turtle, Zeph thought. Marshal Austen had the satisfaction of glancing at Chase and seeing the grime and stains covering his white suit and gold vest. He nodded and smiled and went out the front door of the car. Turning his head, he called back to Zeph, “Now’s the time to bring your family out.” He stepped outside to speak with the officers from Fort Laramie.

  Cody was right at the door when Zeph opened it and ready to brain him with an iron bar.

  “Whoa, cowboy.” Zeph held up his hands. “I’m one of the good guys.”

  Cody’s eyes were like steel. “What happened?”

  “They shot one. Caught another. The rest of the gang ran.”

  Cody brought Charlotte and Cheyenne out from under a stack of saddles, blankets, and harness. Charlotte gripped a pitchfork in her fists. Cheyenne held a steel currycomb and had the face of a cougar.

  “I wouldn’t want to tangle with you,” he said.

  “Where are they?” asked Cheyenne. “Are they right behind you?”

  “They wounded one, the others ran, they caught two, the army has them.”

  Cody perked up. “The army?”

  “That’s right. Cavalry in blue uniforms and riding horses and blowing trumpets and everything. Go and take a look.”

  Cody flew out of the baggage car. Cheyenne ran after him, still holding the currycomb. Zeph and Charlotte had a moment alone in the dim light.

  She anxiously studied his face. “Are you all right?”

  “I am.”

  “Did any passengers get hurt?”

  “Well, maybe Henry Chase’s pride, but he’ll live.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Zeph explained how Chase had pointed him out and that the gunslinger-turned-marshal had taken great delight in watching Chase soil his white suit squirming about on the floor to avoid gunshots. Charlotte’s face brightened with anger.