by Lou Bradshaw
Rummaging through the piles of baggage, I pulled out my duffle and bedroll. It didn’t take but a few seconds to get my Winchester and a box of cartridges. I loaded the rifle and checked my six-gun. I was ready.
“You know how to use that big old horse pistol?” I asked.
“Well…. I know how it works, and I’ve shot it a couple of times… but…”
There was that ‘but’ again, so I told him, “You just stay back behind something and don’t pull that trigger till you see me dead on the floor. Then you’re on your own.”
I untied Dog and took a place near the half closed door. Poking my head out I could see the end of the cut about a quarter mile up ahead. I was as ready as I was ever gonna be, so I waited hoping the mail clerk was just a bit of a worrier. But if he had reason to worry, then I would worry a little with him.
If those yayhoos hit maybe one out of a hundred trains, what on earth made me think they would hit this one. But then again, what would give me reason to think they wouldn’t…. I jacked a cartridge into the chamber.
All the doors were on the right side of the train, so this was where they would be waiting… if they were waiting. Looking out again we were getting closer, but we had lost at least half our speed. The clerk said it would level off just past the cut, and we’d pick up speed quickly, but how quickly is fast enough.
The baggage car was the second car back from the tender, and that’s the one they would be ready to hit. If they could stop the train, they would shake down the passengers, but if there was a lot of resistance, they’d want what was in the mail and any express boxes they could toss out the door and jump.
I watched as the locomotive came out of the shadows and into the sunlight. I was waiting for it, and then I heard three sharp blasts from the train whistle and then three more. I got ready for it.
Two riders jumped out from the right heading for the engine. I could see a few puffs of smoke from the cab. So the train crew was armed and fighting back. As we broke into the sunlight two riders were right beside me. I emptied the first saddle and the second one dropped back out of my view. I figured he’d be back, I was ready for him.
But I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was because the next thing I knew something came flying at me from the top of the door. Two big dirty boots hit me in the chest knocking me back into a pile of baggage. When I looked up the dark bulk of a man was landing on the floor with a thump. My rifle was gone for the moment and I was trying to get my six-gun out from under someone’s portmanteau. I could see him reaching for his gun and I knew I was gonna take lead if I didn’t hurry.
Then I saw another figure coming from somewhere off to my left at the other end of the car. Dog hit the man just as his hand was coming up, and they both disappeared from the open doorway. Shoving that bag away, I had gun in hand and cocked when I reached the door. Looking back, I saw a man come out of the brush and take two wild shots at a running shadow in the brush. “Thanks old pal.” I mumbled.
There was no time for more than that because there were others out there and we were just starting to gain speed. Looking forward I could see two riders harassing those in the cab. One man was reaching for the hand rail on the side of the tender. I looked around and quickly found my rifle.
Just as that man had the hand rail in a firm grip and was leaving the saddle, I broke his shoulder with a .44 slug. He stood there in mid air somewhere between saddle and a hand rail he couldn’t hold. He just sort of leaned back and watched himself lose his grip. His other hand was reaching for the hand rail, but he was moving away from it. His left foot was the last to lose contact with the tender.
He bounced when he hit the ground and bounced again, and then he started rolling. The hapless train robber was still rolling when the baggage care passed him. His partner turned in the saddle and took a shot in my direction without much luck. About that time, someone in the locomotive cab opened up on him with a scattergun. The last I saw of him, he was veering off and slumping against his horse’s neck.
There were still others coming, so we weren’t in the clear yet. That’s when I heard a thump on the roof. Well, they fooled me once, but they wouldn’t get a second chance at it. I waited for another lighter thump, which would mean a foot step. I heard it and I emptied my Colt in the area where the sound had come from.
The next sound I heard was a scream and some mighty fine cussin’. Then there was another thump and some involuntary yells. I heard more yelling as something fell between the cars. I didn’t hear any more. We’d broken the raid. They had quit.
The mail clerk crawled out of his hidie hole and said, “By God, Mister Cain… you whooped them… They never been stopped before. They always got away with something, but all they got this time was a bunch of pain…. Wait till I tell Uncle Albert what you done.”
“Uncle Albert?”
“Yeah, he’d the Regional Superintendant of this stretch of rail… he may even give you a reward.”
“I ain’t interested in rewards, but I’d sure like to go back and get my dog. Can Uncle Albert stop the train?”
“He sure could… if he was here. But without him the only ones who can stop it are the conductor and the engineer… I’ll go get the conductor, Mister Feldon.”
Chapter 3
The clerk came back about ten minutes later with the conductor in tow. He thanked me over and over and asked what he could do for me.
“Well sir, I lost my dog in that fracas. He went out the door and took some hombre with him. I might add, that hombre was fixin’ load me down with lead at the time. If it’s any way possible, I’d like you to stop the train and let me get my horse to go look for him… I’ll catch the next train coming through.”
He frowned and scrooched up his face a might then he said, “I’m just plum sorry Mister Cain, but I can’t stop the train unless it’s broken down or can’t go because the rails are tore up…or the like.”
“Besides, I’ve got near on to a hundred and fifty passengers to worry about. If I stopped the train and those outlaws hit us again out here, we’d never get the train moving quick enough to get away from ‘em… but I tell you what, there’s a two by twice little settlement ‘bout ten miles on down the line. It’s mostly a mail drop and snatch… we never had a passenger get on or off there… I’ll signal the engineer, and he’ll do some cussin’, but it’s the least we can do. ”
I thanked him, even though I was mighty anxious about Dog. But I could understand him worrying about the passengers. I really didn’t think that bunch wanted to tackle anymore trains this day. They’d go off and lick their wounds for a spell before they tried another train. I had no doubts; there was some fire from the coaches as well.
When the train stopped at the Parched Corn station, the whole town turned out to see what was going on… all thirteen of them. That was a town starved for entertainment. There wasn’t much there, except for a general store and a few buildings in need of repair. Mostly they were made of adobe or sod. The station was a beat up old caboose with the wheels taken off. There was no telegrapher, so the conductor went inside and sent a message; I suppose to tell them about the stop and the raid.
“I told them to stop here and pick you up tomorrow about this time… I also told them you saved the train… that way they’ll be sure to stop for you. I’ll send the details at the end of my run… The Union Pacific thanks you, Mister Cain.”
By the time the train was moving again, Bud was saddled and my duffle was lashed to the back of my saddle. The eight men, three women and two little girl kids just stood there looking at us. I figure they were mostly looking at Bud because he was somewhat prettier than me.
“Folks, I gotta go on back down the line and fetch my dog. I should be back in an hour or two, and spend the night. Is there some place to get something to eat here in Parched Corn?”
One of those little girls pointed at the general store, but nobody said a word. So I said, “You know… I don’t even know where I am…. Is Parched Corn in Wyomin
g, Colorado, or Utah?” They just looked at each other and then looked back at me without saying a word. I reckoned they didn’t know either.
Since I wasn’t getting much from those folks, I figured to just go about my business and see if I could find my constant companion. That dog probably knows me better than any other living soul. He’s patiently sat and watched me whittle or stretch a hide or slice venison for jerky, and all the time I would be talking, and him just looking at me like he understood… Mostly, I think he did.
If he was still alive, we’d find each other. Dog was right smart for a critter and he figured things out in a hurry. He wouldn’t be able to track me by scent, but he knew I was on the train and the train was on the rails. So my hunch told me he would stay close to the tracks, and that’s where I intended to look.
About five miles back down the track, I saw him walking toward me right between the rails. Poor old fella, I figured he had run flat out chasing that train until he wore out. He wasn’t limping or dragging any limbs, so chances were good that he hadn’t taken any lead or broke anything coming off the train like he did.
He either saw me or picked up my scent because he perked up and started jogging toward me. When we came together he was one happy critter, and I was rather pleased myself. I climbed down and messed with him a bit, mostly I was checking him over looking for cuts and bullet holes. There was some blood on him, but it wasn’t his because I couldn’t find any hurts.
I poured some water into my hat from my canteen. It was warm and had been in there for at least a week, but he acted like it was something that had just come tumblin’ down a mountainside. I don’t reckon water spoils like milk or sarsaparilla.
When he’d drunk his fill, I let Bud finish off what was left in the hat. He’d been watered back at the station, but I hated to waste water. Then all three of us walked back to Parched Corn at a pace that suited Dog.
Back at the station, Dog found a place in the shade of the caboose and stretched out to snooze. I unsaddled the buckskin and picketed him on a little grass, then I walked over to the general store to see what could be done about some grub.
The store was poorly stocked with more farming tools than anything else. There were some canned goods and bolts of plain cloth in several colors, but nothing very fancy. I couldn’t see any coffee or tobacco. I did find some smoked meats hanging behind the counter. The storekeeper came in from the back room and seemed surprised to see me.
“Oh…” he said. “I didn’t know you were here… What can I do for ya?”
“Howdy.” I replied. “I was beginnin’ to think nobody could talk in this town… Nobody said a thing when I spoke to ‘em earlier.”
“Oh, they can talk all right, but not to strangers… You stick around a couple of years, like I have, and they’ll talk your ears off.”
“They’re all part of a religious group from Germany… They been here goin’ on twenty years…. The railroad just happened to run right through ‘em an’ kept on goin’… There was a telegrapher here for ‘bout a half a year… Last I heard he showed up in downtown Cheyenne stark nekked… babblin’ like a loony.”
That fella went on and on for a while, but I was able to get my supplies. I bought some bacon, a little flour, some canned peaches. The storekeeper said he didn’t carry any coffee because those folks didn’t drink it, but he sold me some from his personal supply. At least we ate well that evening. Dog didn’t seem too anxious to go out hunting so I shared bacon and fryin’ pan bread with him. I figured he was still a little frazzled. I was sure hoping that train didn’t forget about me the next day.
Sure enough that train came squalling to a stop, and the conductor jumped down to come get me. The brakeman came trotting up to load Bud. I started to unsaddle him, but he said he’d take care of it.
The conductor was leading me to the rear of the train. He kept looking at me funny and I asked if there was something wrong.
“Well, no sir, Mister Cain, but you just ain’t what I was expecting. You must have some mighty powerful friends in the railroad business. They tried to get a private car for you to ride all the way to Californy in, but there weren’t none available this side of Chicago. So they put you up with the swells in the first class car. Since there ain’t no one in the car, it might as well be private… it just be you and the cook.”
“That just has to be a mistake… I don’t know anyone with that kinda medicine…All I did was stop a train from gettin’ robbed.”
“The order came from Mister Estermann himself, and he’s the big boss of the whole railroad… He said that Shadrac Cain shouldn’t have to ride in coach. Rumor along the line is that it concerns an art collection Mister Estermann has.”
It was beginning to make sense. I knew there were a number of bankers and railroad men buying the carvings I did. I just never knew who they were. So I pushed it a little.
“You suppose it would be all right if my dog rode in the car with me?”
He gave that a little thought and said, “I don’t see why not. I know some uptown ladies travel with their little lap dogs… I don’t see any difference… well not more than eighty or ninety pounds of difference.”
Within minutes of stopping, the train whistle was wailing and the big wheels were fighting for traction. The big black locomotive gave a jerk and started moving forward. I was sure that big eye of a lamp mounted on the front was looking for California.
I found a comfortable seat and stretched out. Dog found the seat across the aisle to his liking and we both dozed off.
The cook came out from somewhere back in some hidden place and asked what I would like for supper. But he had called it dinner. So I told him, “So long as I’m allowed to ride in this fancy car, I’d like bacon for breakfast and beefsteak for supper and coffee at both meals. If you got any beans or taters I’ll take them too… anyway you care to fix ‘em… and a little fruit, if you got it. My pardner there, indicating Dog, says he’ll take any kind of uncooked meat you got, but no coffee or beans for him.
That’s how the rest of the trip went. The workers changed, the conductors were replaced every day or so, even the locomotives changed, but the cook stayed on. Sometimes there were other passenger in that fancy car and sometimes it was just me, Dog, and the cook.
When I unloaded Bud from the stock car on the shores of San Francisco Bay, he was the last one out. Most of the others had only come a hundred miles or so, but that buckskin had been traveling by rail for more than a thousand miles. He was the boss of the car and he wanted all those others out of there so he could be properly welcomed to California. I had him all brushed and cleaned up, and I wasn’t going to embarrass him in those old buckskin shirts. I had my city suit on.
We came out of that car like a brass band. He was high stepping and doing a fare job of showing off. He was a true son of his ma and pa. There was enough mustang in there to make him tougher than an old pine knot, and there was enough Arab to give him a beautifully arched neck and great lines. He was a proud son of the west.
Folks stopped what they were doing just to look at him. He wasn’t as big as his daddy, but he was bigger than anything there. Making our way through the crowd with Dog trotting along beside us, we finally shed ourselves of that mass of people, horses, and rigs of every shape and description.
A half hour later, we had gained a vantage point atop one of the towns many hills, and I got a good look at the Pacific Ocean. It was a mighty wondrous thing to see, and I was sure proud to look at it. I wanted to get closer and have a better look, but I didn’t aim to go back down there among ‘em again unless I had to. I thought Denver was a big ol’ town, but San Francisco had it beat all to smithereens for crowds and tall buildings. I wanted to get down to those lapping waves, and smell the air I’d been getting little whiffs of.
I was just about to turn and force myself back down the hill, when Dog started growling. I put my hand on my pistol butt and said, “Easy, boy, I see him.”
A stout little fella came str
olling across the lawn of a mighty fine looking building. I thought it must be the California Capital Building or at least the Governor’s Mansion. He strolled on up to where I was sittin’ on my horse.
“How do, young man, a fine day to sit and look out on that magnificent body of water. I often come out here just to look upon it.”
“It sure is somethin’ all right. I ain’t never seen such a thing in my life. I just come over a thousand miles from Colorado just to take a look at it.”
“Do tell? You ride that fine animal all the way from Colorado?”
“No, sir, we came on the steam cars, but we’ll ride the trail instead of the rails when we go back.”
We talked for a few minutes and he offered me a thousand dollars for Bud, and I told him where he can buy one from the same sire and dam. He wrote down the information and took my name as a reference. Then I asked him if he worked in that building.
“No…” he said with a slight grin, There are about thirty people working there, but I live there… It’s my home.”
“Do tell?” I said, thinking I figured the Governor of California would be a bit more imposing.
I told him, I wanted to get down to the ocean and get a good look at it, but I didn’t want any part of that crowd down the hill. He told me, “Son, you just keep ridin’ west until your hat floats, and then turn south…. You can’t miss it.”
“How far does it go?” I asked.
“It goes all the way to the end of South America and all the way to China the other way. And it’s connected to other oceans and seas until it goes all around the world.”
I thanked him kindly and headed south and west. The next night I was camped at Half Moon Bay. I found a trail that headed down the coast and often went right down to the water. I’d never seen such ripping and roaring waves. Why a body would think there was a storm a raging, but the sun would be shining and the sky would be blue… it sure was something.
