The Union Belle

by Gilbert, Morris

  Ray had taken enough liquor to dull the fine edge of his mind, but he realized as the talk went on that there was more than idle curiosity to the man’s interest in the progress of the Union. Ray thought suddenly, He’s too sharp to waste his time on the Union. I’ve got something he wants. He knew the type well, and was on his guard. Wallford was smooth and had the manners of the East, but something in his thin features and the glitter of his eyes warned Hayden that underneath his manner lay a carnivore.

  “You know a lot about the railroad business, Jason,” he said idly. “More than most people.”

  “Yes, I do,” came the answer instantly. “As a matter of fact, I have an interest in several lines—one in Texas and another in Rhode Island.”

  “And another in the Central Pacific?” Ray shot the question at him suddenly, and was pleased to see a break in the smooth countenance of the man.

  Wallford’s thin lips turned upward in a smile, and he nodded. “You’re too clever for me, Ray.”

  “I doubt that. You’ve managed to pry quite a bit of information out of me about the Union.”

  “Most of the things you spoke of are general knowledge,” Wallford shrugged. “But I confess that I was pumping you.” He put the cigar to his lips, puffed it slowly, then asked, “No offense, I hope?”

  “Certainly not.” Ray shook his head, and then he smiled and added, “But if Sam Reed finds out I’ve been playing cards with one of Central’s spies, I’ll be selling shoes for a living.”

  “No problem there,” Wallford shook his head in a positive motion. “Nobody here knows I’m with the Central.” He studied the younger man carefully, then said, “You’re a pretty knowing fellow, Ray. It takes a clever man to get a secret out of me.”

  The compliment pleased Hayden. He took a drink, then grinned. “When I tell Reed you’re here, Jason, you won’t be much use as a spy, will you?”

  “No, I won’t.” Wallford considered Hayden, then said in a muted tone, “But that’s only if you tell who I am.”

  “You think I won’t?”

  “I don’t know,” Wallford said, holding his steady gaze on Hayden. “I don’t know you well enough to know what you’ll do. You may be one of those men who are blindly faithful to the company they work for.”

  A trace of irritation in his tone, Ray replied, “I think I’m as loyal as the next man, Wallford.”

  “Why, to tell you the truth, Ray,” Wallford mused, “I’m not a great admirer of loyalty—at least not to a company.” He put out a forefinger and began to draw circles in the damp tabletop, deep in thought. Finally he looked up and grinned, “To my mind, there’s only one true object of loyalty—and that’s myself.”

  Ray was of the same opinion, and so were most other men he knew, but he had never heard it stated so bluntly. It was customary to talk about loyalty, but he had long ago learned that when the pinch came every man looked first to his own skin. He stared at Wallford and asked evenly, “Are you trying to buy me?”

  “Certainly,” Wallford nodded. There was no trace of shame in his face, and he laughed at the expression on Ray’s face. “Are you really so shocked at that, Hayden?” he jibed. “Surely this isn’t the first time you’ve bumped into the rough under-side of the business world?”

  The easy manner of Wallford disarmed Ray, and he shook his head. “No, it’s not the first time, but—”

  “The only difference is that I don’t bother to disguise what I want. I want to be rich. And I will be.” He examined the end of his cigar, then trained his dark eyes on Ray. “I’m a very selfish man, Hayden. No nobility in me. I want to live in fine houses, have the best to eat and the best to wear. I want to have men saying ‘Yes, sir’ to me, and I want power.” He smiled and spread his hands wide. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?”

  Hayden stared at him, fascinated by the man, but suspicious. For once in his life he was sure that another human being shared the selfishness that formed the core of his own philosophy, but he quickly recovered by saying, “All very eloquent, Jason, but I still intend to let my employers know about you.”

  “That’s as it must be, of course,” Wallford nodded. “A man must look out for himself.” He got to his feet leisurely, put out his hand and smiled. “I’ve enjoyed your company, Ray. I don’t like many people, but I do like smart people—and I think you’re smart.” He picked up his hat, put it in place, then shrugged. “Telling Reed about me will change nothing. I’ll move on, but someone will take my place. And even if they don’t, you know the slim chance the Union’s got of beating the Central. The Central’s tunneled through the mountains and has got nothing but flat country ahead. And I heard you say earlier that the Union will hit the worst grading of all in the dead of winter. There’s no way you can lay track through those mountains in ten feet of snow, Ray, and everybody knows it.”

  “It can be done,” Ray insisted.

  “And if it is done, will it make you rich?” Wallford demanded with an edge to his voice. “No, you’ll get a salary and the big boys will get the cream.” He moved toward the door, but when he got there, he turned and nodded. “If you decide to inform Reed of my mission, Ray, I suppose this will be our last meeting. If you don’t—we’ll need to have some more conversations. Forgive my blunt manner, but if you come with us, you won’t be just an errand boy. I can see already that you’re going to have trouble being loyal to your employers.” He laughed and strolled out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Ray sat there for fifteen minutes, going over the conversation. “I’ve got to tell Reed at once,” he said—yet he didn’t get up. When the barkeep came in to clean the table, he rose and left the Wagonwheel. But when he got to the office and found Reed poring over survey maps, he said only, “Sorry to be late, Sam.” All afternoon he worked with Reed, and more than once he almost blurted out the truth about Wallford, yet he did not. When he left the office at five, he went to his room and sat staring down at Main Street for two hours, revving up for the night. But he heard little of the raucous noise, for in his head he kept hearing Wallford: “I want to be rich. I want to be powerful.” Finally he rose and began to shave, but before he was finished, he stared at himself in the mirror, finally slamming the washstand so hard the pitcher rattled. “Well, by heaven, I want the same thing!” Saying it seemed to free him, and he immediately calmed down and finished shaving.

  ****

  Although it was almost five o’clock in the afternoon, Cheyenne still sweltered under the full force of the blistering summer sun. The force of the dry heat surprised Moira as she stepped out of the relative coolness of the hotel. She blinked, then moved out into the merciless glare, wondering again why she had not fled to the comforts of Boston weeks ago. She was a city woman, accustomed to ease and culture, and as she made her way along the crowded boardwalk, resentment rose up in her at the sight of the crude street.

  The population had soared, and now the town was so crowded it was erupted with dissonance. She saw soldiers, gamblers, peaceful Indians, and a number of Mexicans. As she stepped through the ankle-deep dust to cross the street, a painted woman in a fancy dress gave her an impudent look. The saloon woman wore a dainty little derringer at her waist, and her lips curled up into a smile when a man strode over to take her arm.

  Moira watched as they disappeared into one of the saloons, and thought of the article in the crude newspaper she had read earlier:

  In Cheyenne there are men who would murder a fellow human for five dollars. Nay, there are men who have already done it, and who stalk abroad in daylight unwhipped of justice. Not a day passes but a dead body is found somewhere in the vicinity with pockets rifled of their contents. But the people generally are strangely indifferent.

  Her thoughts disturbed her, and she shook them off, turning down the side street that led to the UP offices. As she drew closer, the activity increased, and she had to pick her way past huge dumps of steel and ties. A train steamed in, saturating the air with the screech of brakes
and the hiss of released steam. She stood to watch as a carload of tracklaying materials was muscled from a sidetrack by sweating, red-faced laborers, then picked up by the engine. Even as it disappeared from the yard, the workers loaded the next flatcar with steel, fishplates and ties.

  The dust settled on her face, and she dabbed at it with her handkerchief as she pushed her way through the door under the large UNION PACIFIC sign. The air inside remained hot, but it was a relief to be out of the blaze of the afternoon sun.

  “Why—Miss Ames, I’m surprised to see you out in this heat.” Josh Long left his desk and came over to greet here. His round face was flushed, and he mopped it with a soggy red handkerchief, adding, “I guess you want to see your father?”

  “Is he in, Josh?”

  “Sure is. He’s been talking with Mark Winslow—but I know he’d want you to go on in.”

  “Thank you, Josh.” Moira moved across the office, passing through the door without knocking. “Hello, Father,” she said, seeing the two men leaning over a desk, peering at a map.

  The men straightened in their chairs, and Ames said, “Too hot for you to be out, Moira. This sun will cook you red as a lobster.”

  “I can’t stay in that room all the time,” she said, then turned her eyes on Winslow. “Hello, Mark.” There was a flare of interest in her eyes when she smiled at him. She was accustomed to men paying her much attention, and his distant manner piqued her. “You’ve been quite a stranger lately.”

  “Blame my boss,” Mark shrugged. “He’s about to run all the tallow off me.”

  Ames shifted his huge bulk, shook his heavy head slowly, saying, “You’re going to have worse, Mark.” He touched the map with a heavy forefinger. “Things aren’t improving. Durant has gone crazy, I think. Look . . .” He traced his finger along a spidery line and anger touched his plump mouth. “He’s gone behind our backs and changed most of the lines we agreed on. Claims he laid out new lines to save money.”

  “I guess we know what’ll happen to any money Durant saves,” Winslow remarked. “He’s made a fortune already on the UP.”

  “You’re right there—and everybody knows it.”

  “Wait and see what Dodge does to him, Mr. Ames,” Mark said. “He’ll nail his hide to the wall.”

  “Maybe, but Durant is clever,” Ames said heavily.

  Moira said, “You’re more worried about this than I’ve ever seen you, Dad.” She had not noticed before how much weight he had lost, but now his expensive suit hung on him loosely. The dark circles under his eyes and lines fatigue had etched into his broad face made her somewhat nervous. “Is it really so bad?”

  Ames shrugged. “I haven’t said much to you or your mother, Moira, but I’ve mortgaged the shop to the hilt. Can’t get another penny from the bankers on it. If the UP loses out to Central, we’ll be out on the street.”

  A shiver ran through Moira, for she had accepted her opulent and extravagant way of life with little thought. Now fear rose up in her, but she covered it quickly. “You’ll do it, Father,” she smiled and took his arm. “What you need is something to eat. Let’s go get supper.”

  “Isn’t Ray supposed to be in later?”

  “Not until seven.” She took his arm, then gave Mark a warm smile. “Come along. I want to hear about Ray’s misspent life when you two were younger.”

  She brushed aside his protests, and the three of them left the office and made their way to Cheyenne’s main street. Ames, accustomed to making decisions, announced, “We can get a private room at the Union Belle,” he said. “I need a little peace and quiet—and the food’s good.”

  Moira gave Mark a quick look, started to remark that he would have another chance to see his Mexican lovely—but suppressed the comment before it was spoken. Instead, she chatted with the two as they made their way down the still-empty street. The whiskey-seeking Irish laborers wouldn’t make their appearance for another two hours. The three of them went inside and Mark spotted Driver sitting at a back table, talking to Lola. He looked up and briefly acknowledged the newcomers, then returned his attention to Lola, whose back was to them. Shep Yancy moved away from the bar to meet them. “Good to see you, folks. You like a private room?”

  Ames nodded, and Yancy called out, “Maureen—” The waitress appeared at once and led them to the short hall, then opened a door to a small room containing a round table and eight chairs.

  They sat down, and Maureen asked, “Would you like to have something to drink before your meal?”

  “None for me.” Ames never drank, but he said, “You two have something if you like.” Mark asked for a beer and Moira ordered a glass of wine. After the girl had brought their drinks and taken their order, she left.

  “Now,” Moira said with a glint of humor in her green eyes, “I want to hear the truth about you and Ray when you were chasing women during your wild days at West Point.”

  “You’d be bored to tears,” Mark smiled. “We worked ourselves to death and there wasn’t much time for ladies.” He sat there idly, his legs outstretched and his tall frame relaxed. He had the knack of going slack when circumstances permitted, and he did so now.

  Moira was a clever woman, and soon she led him into reminiscing about his days at the Point, and the father and daughter listened with amusement as he recounted some of the escapades he had been involved in.

  Maureen brought the meal—pork roast, new potatoes, gravy, fresh bread, and a green salad. They ate slowly, Ames putting his food away absently, his sober face relaxing as he smiled at Mark’s stories. Winslow’s company affected her father as she’d hoped, and after the main course, they lingered over fresh peach pie and coffee.

  Finally Ames heaved himself up, saying, “I’m going back to the office. Want me to walk you back to the hotel, Moira?”

  “Oh, I’m sick of that room, Dad!” A slight smile flitted across her features, and she said coyly, “Mark can take care of me. He doesn’t mind having a woman on his hands—according to rumors.”

  “Rumors created by Ray Hayden,” Mark nodded. “That man is building up his faithfulness at my expense.” Then he added, “I’ll stay with her until Ray gets in.”

  “After that you’ll have to go out to Camp Six right away, Mark,” Ames said in parting. “Some sort of trouble there. Take care of it.”

  He left and Moira studied Mark thoughtfully. “What will you do about that, Mark? The trouble, I mean.”

  “Don’t know,” he shrugged. “See what it’s like when I get there. Never pays to plan too far ahead, Moira.”

  She got to her feet and he rose. “Let’s take a walk. I’m tired of being inside.”

  They left the small room and passed through the now busy bar. Jeff Driver was still sitting at a table with Lola, and Moira sinisterly drew Mark to a halt. “Why, hello, Lola,” she said in a syrupy sweet voice. “The meal was very good.”

  Lola looked up, sensing at once that the remark was superficial. She took in Moira’s tight grip on Mark’s arm, and her possessive air. “Thank you,” she said. “We’re always glad to have you.” She watched the pair leave, and when she looked back at Driver, a different expression clouded her face, one he couldn’t read.

  “Make a good-looking couple, don’t they,” he said. “Too bad she’s Hayden’s girl. I think Mark would like to court her.”

  “You think that?”

  “Just an idea.” Driver leaned back in his chair, considering her. She was wearing a black dress that matched her raven hair, with small rhinestones around the scoop neck, her only ornaments two pearl earrings and a green haircomb. She was aware of his attention, knowing that someday he would speak out, but was uncertain as to what her answer would be. She smiled pleasantly and they continued to talk, but her mind stayed with Mark and Moira.

  The object of her thoughts walked slowly down the street, shielding Moira from the swell of people beginning to flood the town. “Getting crowded,” he remarked. “Have you ever been to the old Spanish church?”

&nbs
p; “No. Is it close?”

  “Not far.” He led her off the main street, down a quieter one, following it past the business section until they reached a grove of cottonwoods that sheltered a small stone building with a cross on top. “Oldest building in Cheyenne, I think,” he said. A low stone wall ran along one side of it, and he said, “Want to sit down?”

  “Yes,” Moira nodded. She sat down, and he hesitated, then joined her. “It’s such a small church,” she remarked.

  “It was originally for the Indians.” The sound of tinny music floated to them from the saloons, and he looked toward the sound. “Guess the missionaries never thought there’d be anything like Cherry Valance’s place this close.”

  The air was cooler as the sun began to drop beneath the outlines of the town. Moira leaned back, looking at the church, then at Mark. “You’re a strange man,” she said impulsively. “Everyone talks about what a hard character you are.”

  “My job,” he shrugged.

  “What will you do when the railroad is finished?”

  “Another railroad, I suppose.” He gazed at her and asked, “What will you do, Moira?”

  She laughed suddenly and put her hand on his arm. “I may be in the poor house, if Dad is right.” She didn’t seem worried, however, and in the falling darkness she seemed to glow. Her light hair and green eyes picked up the last lights of the sun, and he was aware, not for the first time, that Moira Ames was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  Suddenly he was uncomfortably alert to the power of her beauty, and he rose to his feet. She had not missed the expression on his face, and with an impulse, got up and moved closer to him. She said nothing, but buried hungers raced through Mark, and without planning it, he reached out and put his arms around her. If she had resisted, he would have released her at once, but she lifted her face and leaned against him. When he kissed her, she responded eagerly, and Mark knew he could not hide his desire for her.

  Mark’s grip tightened around her as the passion heightened, and she put her hands around the back of his neck, wanting the moment to last forever. Then suddenly her lips slid aside, breaking the tension, and he reluctantly dropped his arms and stepped back.