CHAPTER THREE
Dalton opened his eyes to a multitude of objects scattered around on the floor in front of his face. He ignored the searing pain in his head and blinked several times to clear his vision. The sounds of people crying and begging for help resonated through the air.
What happened?
He remembered signing his tab, then a loud screech ripping the air. He’d been thrown backward, where he’d struck his head against the hat rack. After which, everything went black.
He rolled to his knees. When he shook his head to clear away the cobwebs, a round of nausea almost made him retch. Somewhere a woman screamed, followed by the whimpering cries of a child. He needed to get to his feet. People were hurt and needed help.
The money car! Are we being robbed?
Grasping the dining car’s nearest tabletop, he pulled himself up, then gave his legs a second to firm.
It was then he felt blood trickle down the back of his neck. Reaching up, he found a small gash. He extracted his handkerchief, folded it over, and pressed it to the back of his head.
Shattered dishes littered the area. Overturned chairs cluttered the aisle. It was a good thing the tables had been bolted to the floor.
He lent an arm to a porter who was lying in the passageway. “You all right?”
The man nodded as he stood.
“What happened?” Dalton asked.
“Don’t know.” The porter clenched his eyes shut for a second, then gripped his forehead. “Go, help who you can.” He nudged some plates out of his way with his boot.
The passengers who were conscious began to stir. They climbed to their feet, moaning and crying. The porter raised his arm over his head and pointed toward the exit. “That way ladies and gentlemen. Make your way out of the car and help others as you go if you’re able.”
Urgency filled Dalton. He needed to get to the money car, check on Evan and Pat, but he couldn’t turn a blind eye on so many who needed assistance. He stuffed his bloodstained handkerchief back into his pocket and clutched the door handle. About to jerk it open, he paused at the sound of a whimper.
Barely visible, and wedged in between a toppled chair and the wall, was a boy, maybe six years old. Blood ran down the side of his face from an angry-looking cut just above his temple.
Dalton dropped to a knee. “Here ya go, little tyke.” He noted the child’s frightened eyes as he uncovered him and gathered him into his arms. Standing, he set him atop a table, and with a knife he always carried, cut a long strip from the edge of the tablecloth. Cutting another square, he folded it up and pressed it against the wound.
The boy cried out.
“Now’s not the time for tears—I need your help. Be a good boy and hold this for me.”
He picked up the child’s hand and showed him how to hold the bandage he’d folded and placed on his head. With nimble fingers, Dalton wound the other cloth strip around the boy’s small head several times, then tied it off.
“There. That should stop the bleeding.”
He glanced around for the child’s parents. “Where’s your ma and pa? Do you see them anywhere?”
The child shook his head.
“Fine then, you just sit still. I’m sure there’ll be someone along soon to help you find them.”
A shot rang out, then another. Dalton jerked up. Outlaws? Had they stopped the train?
When he turned to go, the child grasped his hand. “T-take me, t-too,” he said through a voice clogged with fear and tears.
“It’s too dangerous,” Dalton said firmly.
“I’m scared.”
Aww, hell.
He scooped up the bedraggled child, ignored a wave of dizziness, and jerked open the door. People behind him crowded his back in their hurry to disembark.
Soot and smoke filled the afternoon air, but there was no sign of fire. The townsfolk nearest must have somehow gotten word of the accident because a handful were already hurrying to and from the train, carrying injured passengers and Union Pacific employees. Dalton handed the boy to the first woman who ran forward. “Take him.”
“Is he your son?”
“No. Couldn’t find his parents.”
Several more shots rang out.
She flinched but he pressed the boy into her arms anyway.
Now free, Dalton sprinted toward the back of the train, alarmed for the large treasury he’d been commissioned to safeguard, and the lives of the other guards. He weaved in and out of people sitting on the grass and the scattered luggage that had been tossed off the train. Adding to the confusion, several wild-eyed steers darted around him and ran off.
What was going on? Should he have been at the money car already? Guilt made him race faster. Was the money already gone?
Almost to his destination, another shot sounded. Dalton stumbled to a halt, his lungs hot with the effort of running. From inside the now-open cattle car, one of the porters glanced out at him, gun in hand. Several carcasses littered the floor. “Broken legs,” the man hollered, his eyes filled with grief. “Couldn’t be helped.”
The money car looked intact. There was no sign of Pat Tackly, the guard who’d been stationed on top, but that didn’t surprise him. Surely, the third guard had been pitched off the train when the engineer hit the brakes.
Dalton grasped the rail and pulled himself up on the bridge between the two cars. He banged on the door with all his might. “Evan! Evan, are you all right?”
No reply.
“Evan, can you hear me?” He pounded again. “It’s Dalton Babcock. River black, river black. Open up!”
Dalton gazed toward the roof of the train and cupped his hands. “Pat Tackly!” he hollered. “Pat Tackly! You up there?”
Most of the action was taking place ten cars forward at the passenger cars. Men ran back and forth to the wagons, carrying people by their shoulders and feet. A fleet of wagons and buggies raced down the road toward the train. Dalton turned and scanned the top of the plateau that ran the length of the tracks on the opposite side of the train. In most places, the embankment was covered in trees.
Taking hold of the steely-cold ladder attached to the car, he climbed hand over hand to the roof of the train. He heaved himself up.
From here, he had a view almost to the front of the twenty-car train. Between the black smoke that billowed into the sky and the curve of the track, he couldn’t see the first few cars, or the engine. He looked back toward the caboose. “Pat!” he hollered again through cupped hands. He scanned the terrain.
With his boot, he kicked off the hat-shaped bonnet that covered the air vent. Lying flat on the roof, he put his ear to the opening and listened. All was quiet. “Evan,” he shouted. “Evan, can you hear me?”
A surge of sadness for his fellow guard squeezed his chest. Was he dead? The money car could only be unlocked from the inside. Accessing the car now would take manpower, as well as tools—and hours to break through the steel-enforced siding. Everyone was needed elsewhere. As was he—to save Evan might mean others wouldn’t survive. And Evan might already be dead. Dalton had to keep a level head.
Certain the money was safe for a few hours at least, he jumped the short gap between the two cars and started for the passenger cars, searching both sides of the ground for the missing guard.
CHAPTER FOUR
On his third trip carrying injured passengers from the train to the wagons, Albert spotted a man running atop the cars toward the engine. He narrowed his eyes, wondering why the tall fellow was up there at a time like this.
“Albert! Over here!” Chase waved, distracting him. Chase, and Gregory Hutton still dressed in his groom’s attire, stood beside a large man who lay unconscious on the grass. Women hustled here and there, toting cups of water and clean rags. How the men had removed the fellow, who looked the size of a small horse, from the wreckage was a mystery. “We need your help.”
Joining Chase and Greg, Albert hunkered down and grasped an enormous arm and shoulder. Chase took the other and Greg
grappled with the man’s huge feet. They exchanged a doubtful look between them.
Chase glanced to the clearing where the wagons waited. “It’s not too far. One, two, three!”
A groan escaped Albert’s lips. Greg waited while he and Chase swung the giant’s upper body around so they all could walk forward at the same time, enabling the trio to navigate the uneven ground.
“Stop before I drop him!” Greg said, fumbling with the man’s legs, one worn-out boot in each hand. “I need a better grasp under his knees.”
“Hold up, I can help!” someone shouted.
The stranger from the roof of the train ran over, his shirt splattered with blood. When he bent down to take hold, Albert noticed a gash on the back of his head still oozing. The stranger took one of the man’s legs, and the foursome proceeded over the rough footing.
At the top of the rise, Thom Donovan pulled up in his wagon. “I see I’m just in time. Bring him this way.” Thom climbed over the back of his seat into the bed of the wagon and hunkered down at the tailgate, lending a hand. Albert and the new fellow climbed inside to drag him forward to make room for a few others.
Albert nodded his thanks. “We appreciate the help.”
“No problem,” the stranger said. “Do you know what caused the accident?”
Albert glanced around at the confusion, wondering how they’d take care of all these people. “Boulders on the track.”
He spotted Susanna from the corner of his eye. She extracted a crying baby from the arms of a badly shaken young woman and then they proceeded up the gradual rise to the wagons.
For a brief second, their eyes met, and held. A warm glow seeped through Albert seeing her strength. How he loved her, and wanted to make her his wife. The accident today proved every day was precious. He needed to tell Susanna the truth, and soon, if he didn’t want to lose her.
“Albert, Chase, we need some help,” Jessie—Chase’s wife—called, waving her arms.
Albert slapped Greg on the back. “Come on, men, there’s work to be done.”
Two hours later, Susanna walked between her two rows of patients in the reception hall turned infirmary, checking to see if anyone needed more water. Twelve in all. She caught Brenna’s gaze from across the room where her friend had twelve patients of her own. A tremor quickened Susanna’s step. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye. The decorations that had appeared so pretty an hour ago looked out of place amid all the suffering. The cake had been pushed into a corner of the room, untouched and forgotten. Death was just a heartbeat away.
Susanna shuddered. With so many injured, the medication was stretched short. Dr. Thorn had yet to make it to the hall, having his hands full with the severely injured at his office. Susanna, along with Brenna and Mrs. Hollyhock were doing all they could to make these patients as comfortable as possible until the doctor arrived.
Julia Taylor, a young woman from the train, let out a low moan. Her arm, broken between the wrist and elbow, still needed to be set. That was bad enough, but she was still unaware her middle-aged aunt had been killed. Susanna knelt and placed her hand on the woman’s clammy forehead.
Julia whimpered and opened her eyes.
“How’re you feeling?” Susanna asked softly.
“Like I’m going to throw up.”
The girl’s badly bruised face contorted in pain. Scrapes and lacerations covered a good portion of her body. They’d stabilized her arm the best they could with a ripped sheet and two short planks, but Susanna knew the pain must be unbearable. The girl had been outside on the portico, watching for their arrival into Logan Meadows, when the engine had hit the rockslide. She’d sailed through the air and landed in an outcropping of granite.
Tears pooled in the corner of each eye, then ran down Miss Taylor’s cheeks. “How’re the rest?”
Susanna wished she could sugarcoat the truth, but Dr. Thorn had warned them all against that. They would learn everyone’s fate soon enough. “The worst off, two men and one woman, are at Dr. Thorn’s where he’s performing surgery.”
“Was anyone killed?”
“Yes, eighteen that I know of so far. Some passengers are still unaccounted for. The men are out searching as we speak.”
At the train site, the row of dead bodies lined up on a grassy bank, their sightless eyes staring up at the clouds, had given Susanna a start. When she was nine years old, her stepfather, thinking it funny, had locked her in the parlor with his brother’s corpse, prepared for a viewing the next day. She’d crept into the room in search of a misplaced book. Bare alder branches, moved by a violent storm raging outside, tapped eerily against the windowpane. When a ghostlike moaning emanated from the far side of the room, she’d dashed to the door only to find it locked. The harder she’d tried, the more terrified she’d become. The fifteen minutes it took for her mother to find her and let her out had felt like an eternity. Since then, bodies and storms always made her shiver.
Julia moaned, snapping Susanna out of her worst memory. The girl’s eyes slid to the window. “It’ll be dark soon.”
“Just rest,” Susanna said. “Everything will be all right.”
“Do you know if Aunt Biddy has been here to check on me?” Her voice, a shaky whisper, was barely audible over the moans and whimpering cries in the room.
Susanna couldn’t fathom the pain she must be in. Gabe Garrison, Chase and Jessie’s adopted son, was due back any moment with some willow bark Mrs. Hollyhock had sent him to fetch from the Red Rooster Inn. Dr. Thorn’s medications were stretched thin. The laudanum and morphine were allocated for the worst cases. Julia was in pain but wasn’t critically injured.
“I’m sorry, I don’t.” She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t be the one to tell her about her aunt. This young woman needed every ounce of will to stay strong.
“Where are the others? The ones who weren’t hurt?”
“They’ve been taken to the hotel and the Red Rooster Inn. Every room is filled, and the rest have been housed with the townsfolk.”
That brought a tiny smile to Julia’s pinched face.
“Would you like a sip of water?”
Her lashes swept down to rest on her cheeks, colored slightly from the trauma. “No, thank you.”
“You should try, to stave off a fever.”
Gabe stepped through the door with a cloth bag clutched in his hands. Blotches of blood marred his once-white shirt, and his stern expression made him appear older than his nineteen years.
Susanna leaned closer. “The willow bark is here. Try to rest while I make the tea.”
In the kitchen, Brenna already had several pots of water boiling on the stove. Mrs. Hollyhock straightened from the bucket she was rinsing in, a bloody rag grasped in her hands. She washed and dried her hands and reached for the willow bark.
Brenna’s forehead glistened and her beautiful rose chiffon wedding gown, stained with blood and grime, was frayed at the hem from the trips she’d made back and forth between the train and wagons. “There’s enough hot water for everyone to have a cup.”
Mrs. Hollyhock began dicing the willow strips into small pieces. They’d need to steep for a good ten minutes.
“Your poor dress, Brenna,” Susanna said, to break the heavy shroud of grief that hung in the air. Any topic was more welcome than the grim reality of what they were living through.
Brenna looked over her shoulder and smiled. “It doesn’t matter—not really.”
Susanna tried to smile back. “I know. You just looked so pretty today when you and Gregory were dancing.”
“How’s Missy Taylor?” Mrs. Hollyhock asked, stirring the water with a wooden spoon and pushing down the floaters. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an arm as misshapen as that poor girl’s. Makes my toes curl jist thinkin’ about it. And I’ve seen a lot in my many ol’ years.”
“She’s in a lot of pain,” Susanna said. “I wish we had some laudanum. At least then, she might be able to fall asleep.”
Gabe glanced over, a bo
yish vulnerability in his eyes. “Albert’s sent a telegram to Rock Springs to round up whatever supplies and medications they can spare. A courier will bring them as fast as possible, but still, that’ll take a couple of days.”
Brenna nodded. “That’s the closest large town. What if they don’t have any laudanum or morphine? What about New Meringue? It’s closer.”
“Thom’s on his way there now on a fast horse.”
Brenna touched Gabe’s arm. “Did you happen to see my children when you were out? Penny is supposed to be keeping an eye on the little ones. I’m worried because there’s so much confusion. I haven’t seen them since Win made the announcement and everyone rushed out.”
“They’ll be fine, sweetie,” Mrs. Hollyhock said, laying a shaky hand on Brenna’s arm. “Penny won’t let nothin’ happen to ’em.”
Gabe looked at Brenna over Mrs. Hollyhock’s stooped form. “Sorry, Mrs. Hutton, I didn’t.”
Susanna smiled at Brenna. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard anyone address you as Mrs. Hutton since you said your vows. It sounds nice.” She wanted to lift everyone’s mood.
A dark blush crept up Brenna’s face. “It did sound nice. I wonder where Gregory is, and what he’s doing.”
“I saw him goin’ into the doctor’s office,” Gabe said. “On my way back from the Red Rooster.”
Footsteps sounded, then Jake, the other cowhand who worked with Gabe at the Logans’ ranch, poked his head in the kitchen door. He looked around until he spotted Gabe. “We need to round up the cattle that were released from the train. I have your horse outside.”
“Go on, Gabe,” Susanna said. “Thank you for your help.”
She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders as the youth nodded and followed Jake out the door. Life could take unexpected turns in a heartbeat. She shouldn’t keep putting Albert off. “I’ll go make a quick round of the room,” she said. “Make sure everyone is . . .” What? All right? What a stupid statement. No one in that room was all right. She wiped her hands on a cloth and headed out the door.
Under a Falling Star Page 2
