Big Win

by Tony Masero

  Joe sorted the notes and set aside a pile, ‘Look here, Justine. Where I’m going it might get pretty rough, perhaps we should part company here. They won’t be looking for you. You take this money and head out, it should be enough to get you set and on your way.’

  She sat up and folded her arms around her knees and looked at him, ‘That’s sweet of you, Joe. But to tell the truth I’m not one to bother too much over cash money. Long as I’ve got enough to make my way I’m happy.’

  ‘Will you take this?’ he asked, offering her the cash.

  Slowly, she shook her head negatively, her features unmoving. ‘I think I’ll tag along for a while, if you’ll have me.’

  Joe’s heart leapt a beat despite his doubts. The road they were following was going to be a hard one but the prospect of having this beautiful creature alongside would certainly make the difficult trials seem easier.

  ‘I’d like it a lot,’ he said. ‘But I don’t like the idea one bit of putting you in harm’s way.’

  ‘My choice,’ she said. ‘As long as you make me a promise.’

  ‘Sure, what’s that?’

  ‘If I decide to leave, you won’t argue or give me grief. I need to know that.’

  ‘Of course, you have my word.’

  ‘Good. Then get over here and give me a kiss.’

  Joe didn’t need more encouragement, leaving the money lying in a heap he scurried across the dying cook fire in a single bound and took Justine in his arms.

  It was another hour and a half before they were on the road again.

  During their lovemaking, a gentle breeze had lifted the pile of cash and scattered it down the hillside. It had taken them a twenty laughing minutes to gather up all the fluttering bills again.

  They slept that night in the woods alongside the river both wrapped in each other’s embrace and not giving a single thought to either the money, Monty Dupree or Soapy Smith.

  The next day though brought them surprises and back down to earth again.

  They had reached the river crossing town of Alamosa to find it in a festive mood. Alamosa was a new town set up by the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad Company intending it to be a center for construction and repair of its narrow gauge track line running through southwest Colorado and New Mexico. It was a fast growing place and whilst there were many tents in place for the rail work crews, whole buildings were being loaded on flat cars and brought in by train to be erected almost overnight. The entire place looked like a building site overtaken by eager men swarming like ants over the various constructions.

  Flags were everywhere and colorful bunting crisscrossed the Main Street. It seemed to Joe and Justine as they approached that people were busy in every alleyway and side street and that the whole place was alive with feverish activity.

  At sight of them a small boy started up with a cry and ran ahead into the town waving his hat and screaming, ‘They’re here! They’re coming!’

  Joe looked over his shoulder, thinking that some important personage was on the road behind but the trail was empty and it was only the two of them that made their way into town.

  As they approached a smiling crowd quickly grew, waving and calling greeting. They ran up alongside, shaking Joe’s hand and slapping his leg affectionately as he looked on in bemusement.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ he asked Justine desperately.

  She shrugged, knowing no more than he.

  The pull of the crowd dragged Joe’s pony into the packed Main Street leaving Justine somewhere in the rear. The massed working men of the railroads cheered enthusiastically as Joe was carried from his horse on the shoulders of the crowd and delivered to an important looking man standing on the porch of the newly built hotel.

  ‘Welcome, sir. Most welcome,’ said the man, a robust bearded gent with a broad smiling face. ‘As representative of the railroad is does me great honor to be the first to give you greeting.’

  Joe was in a whirl and he protested loudly, ‘I think you’ve got the wrong fellow here.’

  But a band had struck up and his words were lost in the general mayhem.

  The bearded man ushered him inside the hotel lobby and introduced himself, ‘Captain Linus Fairweather, sir. Most welcome, most welcome. We are so gratified to have you here.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Joe. ‘But there must be some mistake.’

  ‘Mistake! No, no, You are Mister Joseph, are you not?’

  ‘Yes,’ Joe faltered. ‘I am, but what is this all about?’

  Others were crowding into the room and officials, businessmen and town dignitaries pressed forward to take Joe’s hand.

  ‘I see you are surprised, sir,’ said Fairweather. ‘Word came to us in advance of your travels. General Winfield Hancock’s own representative warned us of your coming. Forgive the state of our hurried preparations, if we had more time things would have been arranged better. But we are on the rough frontier here and I hope you will understand.’

  ‘General Hancock?’ Joe asked suspiciously. ‘The fellow who’s standing for president?’

  ‘The same, the very same, of course,’ grinned Fairweather in jocular fashion. ‘’The Superb’ we called him during the war, hero of Gettysburg, Thunderbolt of the Army of the Potomac. What a man. We are all strong Democrats here and have had enough of Republican skullduggery. The General will see us straight; there never was a truer or braver soldier and more upright man. And you, his son, are amongst us. It is indeed an honor.’

  ‘His son!’ Joe bleated. ‘I ain’t no General’s son.’

  The smile waivered on Fairweather’s face at the stark confession, ‘Surely you are, Joseph Alberplas Hancock. Mister Dupree himself told us so.’

  Joe’s face dropped as understanding sunk in. ‘Might that be a fellow called Monty Dupree?’ he asked.

  ‘Certainly, Mister Montague Dupree, a fine fellow and most sensible of the high esteem that we hold the General in. He advised of your coming and told how you would take a train ride on our new track. The first by the son of our soon-to-be president.’

  ‘No, no, sir. I’m afraid you’ve been deceived. Dupree is no more than a conman and thief and I am on his trail to recoup what he has stolen. He has told you all this so I shall be waylaid and the chase delayed.’

  ‘Good Lord!’ cried Fairweather, completely taken aback. ‘You are not the General’s son?’

  ‘No, sir, I’m just plain Joe Alberplas and no relation whatsoever to the General.’

  ‘Hellfire!’ gasped Fairweather. ‘Do you hear that, gentlemen?’ he asked the gathering. ‘We’ve been duped. It’s all a pack of lies. Oh, my God! What shall we tell them outside, there’ll be a riot.’

  As the townsmen huddled in a group discussing the dilemma, Joe figured that Dupree had set it up in case he was followed. Using his adept acting skills he had posed as a Washington diplomat clearing the way for the so-called General’s son. It was all a ruse to hold up pursuit in case Joe escaped the clutches of his bodyguards and continued to follow him.

  Damn him! Thought Joe, fellow had so much brass he had even used his own name. But at least it proved to Joe that they were on the right trail. Dupree had passed this way.

  Fairweather went outside to address the crowd and advise them of the duplicity. He went unheard as the waiting crowd roared him down, only wanting to see the General’s son and Fairweather gave up in despair and retreated back inside the hotel lobby again.

  ‘It’s no use,’ he cried. ‘They won’t listen. Look, Mister Alberplas, could you perhaps just step outside a minute. Give them a wave or something, I fear if you don’t there will be merry hell. Violence and possibly even damage to property. These are tough fellows on the train crews, they will not abide the fact of such a shallow trick without some kind of serious protest.’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ protested Joe.

  ‘Oh, do, please do. There is nothing else for it, you’ll be feted, have no fear. Support for the General is strong. They will love you, I assure.’ />
  ‘No, no,’ said Joe, shaking his head.

  ‘Just a wave, won’t take a moment,’ pleaded Fairweather.

  ‘Best do it, son,’ said an obvious crew boss, a weather-beaten man in a bowler hat who stood languidly watching from the sidelines. ‘They don’t give a damn who the hell you are. Just want an excuse to get drunk and take a day off work. You deny them that and they’ll set this town alight.’

  Joe looked at the crew boss and cursed Dupree inwardly knowing full well the man would be laughing himself fit to bust if he could witness his handiwork.

  ‘Go along,’ urged the collected band of town dignitaries. ‘Do it for all our sakes.’

  Fairweather ushered Joe slowly out and a great roar of approval greeted his appearance. Tentatively, Joe raised his hand in greeting and this received another bellow.

  ‘Speech!’ came the cry and was spread from mouth to mouth. ‘Give us a speech!’

  Joe turned to slip back inside but Fairweather barred his way and with a fixed grin on his face nodded encouragement.

  ‘I can’t give no goddamned speech,’ Joe spat at him viciously.

  ‘If you don’t heads will roll,’ bleated Fairweather.

  Taking a deep breath, Joe turned to face the gathering again. He saw Justine watching him from amidst the crowd, a half-smile playing on her lips. She nodded at him.

  Joe stepped forward and raised a restraining hand and the crowd went silent.

  ‘Friends,’ he said weakly, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Justine’s face.

  ‘Speak up, Mister Hancock, we can’t hear you,’ came a cry from the crowd.

  ‘That’s ‘cos I’m damned dry,’ Joe hollered back belligerently, which was greeted by collective laughter.

  ‘Step down here, sir, and we’ll by you one,’ was the answer from the crowd.

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Joe. ‘Look here, I’ve had a fine day and I want to thank you all for your turnout. It sure is the best and I’m convinced all you fellows are working hard and making the most of things. This day,’ he said, looking hard at Justine again. ‘Has been the best of my life. I never saw such a thing of beauty like I saw this day. Came on me like a visitation from heaven. Pure in the morning sunlight and blessed by waters from the ever-flowing font. Lord, it was truly a miracle. Came into my life so sweetly, I declare I thought I heard angels singing, it was a thing we all got to appreciate, I’m sure you’ll agree.’

  ‘You talking about the railroad, Mister Hancock?’ asked a confused voice from the crowd. ‘Or we saying a prayer here.’

  Joe gathered himself and swallowed, remembering what he was about. ‘You hear that train whistle blow, ain’t it just like a choir of harp-bearing cherubs singing in praise?’ he asked and the crowd clapped. ‘That old train pumps steam as if they were heavenly clouds, don’t it?’ The crowd cheered. ‘And when those tracks shine in the sunlight, don’t they lead the long way to righteousness?’ The crowd went wild; six guns were fired into the air and hats thrown high.

  Joe was taking his lead from the Episcopalian minister back in Strayways, touching on one of his half-remembered sermons and his mix of religious endeavor and practical symbolism seemed to be having the right effect amongst the railway men.

  ‘We’re all on the same road here,’ cried Joe, getting into the swing of it. ‘All heading for the same glorious goal. Don’t take nothing but keeping a straight line and following the signs. You can stop on the way at any station you like, you can take a side track if you so feel the need but the passenger who arrives at his destination is the one who stays on the train. Ain’t that right?’

  The crowd roared agreement, even if most of them had no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘You buy your ticket and takes what comes, that’s a fact of life,’ said Joe. ‘But without you boys and all your works why, nobody would get anywhere. You all are the backbone of this nation. Thank you and God bless you.’

  Followed by a barrage of cheerful noise, the band took the cue and started playing and Joe turned on his heel and quickly scurried inside. He made it inside the door and collapsed back against the lobby wall, sweat pouring from his forehead.

  ‘Well,’ said the bowler hatted crew boss, heading out the door and offering a rotten-toothed grin as he went. ‘That sure surprised the hell out of me; I reckon you should stand for office, boy. Eloquent ain’t the word for it.’

  Justine brushed past him as he left and pushed her way inside.

  ‘Joe,’ she said, taking his arm and looking at him with glazed eyes. ‘That was the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.’

  He did a double take and asked doubtfully, ‘You joshing me?’

  ‘Course I am, you fool,’ she chuckled. ‘Don’t ever get in no pulpit, will you?’

  ‘Find me a back door, will you? We’ve got to get out of here.’

  ‘I took the ponies around back. Come on.’

  As they headed for a rear door just visible beside the welcome counter, four riders were coming into town from the northwest.

  Nine

  Fetch rode in the lead, followed by his three chosen gunmen with Rusthead plodding sluggishly in the rear. The men Fetch had hired, were three drifters he had struck up acquaintance with in Crede and they were not men you would want to meet on a dark night alone in the prairie.

  Calford Logan was an expressionless, stone-faced man who stared out with cold gray eyes from under a floppy, wide-brimmed hat. Of average height with white streaks running through his beard and hair, he wore an accouterment of weapons that immediately marked him out as a professional in the killing stakes. A cross-drawer Colt, in a button down cavalry holster. A shoulder rig with a .44 Schofield. A Winchester and shotgun, one on each side of his saddle and a knife-carrying ammunition belt that crossed his chest.

  Slightly behind rode Paul Devian, who was the youngest. The reckless sort and a known ladies man, having a certain amount of dash about him. He was forever checking his style, tidying his oiled black hair and finicky about the state of his clothing. There was no dust on this boy, and yet despite his foppish attitude he was slick and fast with pistol and knife.

  The last of the trio was Jacob Barnes, a one-time preacher who was somewhat touched and prone to moments of religious revival. He saw himself as a grim avenger for the world’s wrongs, at least his interpretation of them. At one time he had labored as a tree hewer and still carried the long handled axe he had used in the forests of his native Appalachia tied by a loop to his saddle horn.

  It was Fetch who drew them to a halt at the town’s outskirts. One look at the scurrying crowds of people and he frowned suspiciously.

  ‘What the hell’s going on here?’ he asked nobody in particular.

  ‘Well, we won’t find out nothing sitting here,’ said Devian, boldly pushing his pony forward.

  Taking the lead, the young man accosted the first person he met.

  ‘What’s happening here?’ Devian asked.

  ‘Ain’t you heard?’ answered the excited tracklayer. ‘We got the president-to-be’s own son here in town. General Hancock’s boy, Joseph. He come special to visit, going to take a ride on our train.’

  ‘That pesky Democrat,’ sneered Devian. ‘Why, I’m a Republican myself, through and through, never could abide those lily-livered Democrats. I’m for Garfield and he’ll do it, you wait and see.’

  ‘Then you’d best ride on, stranger. There’s a lot of support here for the Hancock party.’

  ‘That so?’ said Devian, geeing his pony on and breasting the tracklayer roughly aside.

  ‘Hey!’ cried the man angrily. ‘No need for that.’

  Jacob Barnes pulled up alongside the man as the rest of the party rode in.

  ‘Best beware, brother,’ he advised gloomily. ‘I see the devil’s dark shadow sitting on your shoulder. He comes and is roaring like a lion in the brushwood.’

  One look into the boring and maniacal gleam in the lugubrious eyes and the railroad worker hurried off, thinking that per
haps the devil was a lot closer and not hiding in any undergrowth.

  The whole street was blocked of by the milling crowd who were now carrying on their celebrations around a long trestle table set up with barrels of beer by an enterprising saloonkeeper.

  ‘We ain’t getting through this lot,’ observed Cal Logan dourly.

  ‘Let’s see what we can find out, maybe Dupree’s been through here,’ reckoned Fetch.

  ‘Maybe get us a drink or two?’ piped up Rusthead hopefully.

  ‘You just keep your eye open for who we’re after,’ ordered Fetch. ‘Take our horses and tie them off, the rest of you separate and find out what you can.’

  It was Logan who overheard the conversation. With his solitary appearance he possessed the ability to fade into the background and whilst propped against the boards of the hotel he listened whilst two of the railroad officials compared notes.

  ‘You ever heard the like?’ said the first of the two. ‘Goddamned trickster fooling us all like that.’

  ‘Lucky that young fellow carried it off so well, there’d been hell to pay he hadn’t,’ said the second. ‘What’d he say his name was, Joe what?’

  ‘Alberplas I think. Nothing at all like Hancock, that Dupree man certainly had us hoodwinked.’

  ‘Wonder why he’d do a thing like that?’

  ‘Young fellow said he was a thief and charlatan, like to set us up so he’d throw others off his trail.’

  ‘Beats all, don’t it. Look at all these workers out here, going to be some drunk action come nightfall.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the first ruefully. ‘We’d best get a look-in before they drink it all dry.’

  With a chuckle his companion concurred and the two moved off in the general direction of the beer table.

  Logan made his way back through the crowd until he found Fetch and reported his findings.

  ‘So that’s the way of it,’ said Fetch thoughtfully. ‘Dupree’s behind all this.’

  The band had started playing and some of the railroad crews, already drunk, were starting to dance with each other in the street.