“Heck, Smoke, why do we even have to go?” Pearlie teased. “Just tell Seven to take him up there.”
Smoke laughed. “I don’t doubt but that he could do it.”
“Is this your favorite Seven? I know he is number three.”
“Oh, I don’t know that he is my favorite,” Smoke replied. “They have all had their own unique personality, and I’ve been really close to every one of them. But I do think this Seven may be the smartest of all of them. I can talk to him like a person, and I swear he can follow the conversation.”
“He’s one fine horse, all right,” Pearlie agreed.
Chicago, Illinois
It was nine o’clock in the evening when the train from St. Louis carrying Sally and Cal rolled into the Central Depot located in the middle of Chicago. They would change trains for the last time before continuing on to New York.
Leaving the train, they walked up a long concrete walkway that separated the tracks, as well as the trains already sitting in the station. As they walked by a sitting train, Cal glanced into the window and saw a very beautiful young woman. They made eye contact, and she smiled shyly, but held his gaze as long as she could.
“Ships in the night,” Sally said.
“Ma’am?” Cal replied.
Sally chuckled. “I saw you and the young lady exchange long glances. It was a sweet moment, but poignant as well, for that train will be going to Atlanta, and we’re going on to New York . . . like ships passing in the night. It’s from a poem by Longfellow.”
Sally recited the poem.
“Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.”
“Wow. You know what?” Cal said. “I think I actually understand that. It means that the girl I looked at on the train and I will never see each other again, doesn’t it?”
Sally chuckled “Very astute, Cal.”
Inside the depot they found a curious mix of architectural styles with several restaurants and spacious waiting rooms.
“I wish we could stay here long enough for me to see Chicago,” Cal said. “I’ve heard about it a lot, and I would really like to see it.”
“Maybe we can see it on the way back home,” Sally suggested. “Now, we have to get to New York in time for the play, but on the way back home, there will be no time constraints imposed upon us.”
As they waited for the train, Cal saw a copy of the New York Evening World and bought it to read.
WILLIAM DOOLIN FREED TODAY
William Doolin, one-time member of the Irish Assembly, a gang of ruffians who ply their trade in the Bridgetown section of the city, has been released. Sometimes using the alias Brockway, he served six years for armed robbery. He has been cautioned not to return to his old pursuits, but he seems most likely to do so.
“Cal,” Sally said, returning to the bench where he was seated, reading the newspaper. “The Hummer will depart on track nine at six o’clock tomorrow morning. We’ll be in New York by two o’clock the following day.” She smiled broadly. “Are you getting excited?”
“A little, I guess,” Cal said.
“Do you think you can rest on the benches here in the waiting room? If we got a hotel room it would be at least an hour and a half before we got in bed, and I would be so frightened that we would miss the train, that I would want us up by three o’clock in the morning. We would wind up with no more than four hours in the hotel.”
“This will be fine, Miz Sally.” Cal laughed. “Maybe you’re forgettin’ how many times I’ve had to throw my blanket out on the ground, sometimes in the snow, even. I don’t think we’ll be getting any snow in here.”
Sally laughed. “It isn’t very likely.”
* * *
Cal wasn’t sure what awakened him, but he woke in the middle of the night and lay there with his eyes open, staring at the vaulted ceiling far above. The room was illuminated by dozens of hanging chandeliers, as well of scores of sconce lanterns attached either to the wall or to the many supporting columns. He lifted his head to check on Sally, and that’s when he saw a man reaching carefully, ever so carefully, for Sally’s purse that lay between her and the seat back.
The man was startled midreach by the clicking sound of a hammer being pulled back and a cylinder rotating to bring a bullet in alignment, both with the barrel and the firing pin. The would-be purse snatcher looked in the direction from which the sound had come.
“Yeah, you heard right,” Cal said, smiling broadly over the .44 Colt he was holding, pointed directly at the intruder. “That was the sound of me cocking the pistol. And if you don’t pull your hand away from that purse, the next and last sound you hear will be when I pull the trigger and blow your head half off.” He spoke the words calmly and with a cool detachment that frightened the thief, even more than if the words had been spit out in anger.
“Go away,” Cal said. “Stay away.”
“Y-yes sir!” the would-be thief said, making a hasty departure.
“Cal?” Sally mumbled in a sleepy voice. “Is everything all right? I thought I heard you talking.”
“Yes, ma’am, everything is just fine,” Cal said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
New York City
Even though the Irish Assembly was no more, Ian Gallagher was still very active, controlling all the action in the Bay Ridge neighborhood of Brooklyn. Prostitution, gambling, and protection all came under his purview, and nobody dared to begin operating without his permission and without giving him his cut.
At the moment, Gallagher was ensconced at “his” table in the back of Paddy’s Pub, playing the game of Brandubh with Paddy Boyle, who owned the pub. Reaching down to the board, he moved one of his pieces.
“That’s the third time you’ve made that same move, Gallagher,” Boyle said. “Repetitive moves mean you lose.”
“I haven’t made the move yet, Paddy, I was just studyin’ where to move next,” Gallagher replied, returning the piece to its original position.
If Boyle had been playing anyone else, he would have insisted that the game had just been forfeited to him. But this wasn’t anyone else. This was Ian Gallagher, and people didn’t argue with Ian Gallagher. That is, not if they wanted to stay alive.
“All right. I was just warnin’ you in case you did decide to make that move.”
“Mr. Gallagher? Is Mr. Gallagher in here?” The questioner was a young boy wearing a cap sporting the words WESTERN UNION.
“I’m back here, boy,” Gallagher called out.
“I have a telegram for you, sir.” The boy hurried back to the table and presented the telegram. “The telegrapher said there wasn’t no name on who sent it.” He waited for the expected tip.
“All right, you’ve delivered the telegram ’n told me there wasn’t no name, so what is it that you’re waiting on?” Gallagher asked the boy as he tore open the envelope.
“Most usually whenever someone gets a telegram, what they do is give the one what brung it to ’em a tip, sir.”
“You get paid by Western Union, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And they pay you to deliver telegrams?”
“Yes sir, but—”
“There ain’t no buts,” Gallagher said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “So be gone with you, now.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy replied, intimidated by the gruff voice of someone the boy knew was not to be crossed.
MRS KIRBY JENSEN ARRIVING GRAND CENTRAL DEPOT ON BOARD TRANSCONTINENTAL TRAIN HUMMER TWO PM THIS DAY STOP ARRANGE FOR HER TO BE YOUR GUEST UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE STOP YOU WILL BE WELL COMPENSATED FOR HER STAY WITH YOU STOP
Gallagher folded the telegram over and stuck it in his pocket.
“Now, that don’t make any sense at all. There ain’t no name on the telegram.” Doolin, recently released from prison, had be
en kibitzing the game. “The boy said there wouldn’t be a name. Do you know who sent it?”
“Yeah,” Gallagher replied without giving any further information.
“Anythin’ serious?” Boyle asked.
“No, nothing serious. It’s my move, I believe.”
“Aye,” Boyle said, overlooking the disqualifying move Gallagher had made just before the arrival of the telegram. “It’s your move, that’s for sure and certain.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Gallagher and Brockway were meeting with Kelly and O’Leary, two of the men in his gang, for that is truly what men who worked with him could be called.
“What do we do with her when we snatch her?” Kelly asked.
“Hold her until someone pays us to let her go,” Gallagher said.
“How will we recognize who she is?”
“You know she won’t be coming here without baggage,” Gallagher said. “We’ve got people in the depot. When she claims her baggage, we’ll know who she is.”
On board the Hummer
Six days and five trains after leaving the Big Rock Depot, the transcontinental train called the Hummer rolled into New York. From the moment the train crossed the Hudson River, Cal had been glued to the window, beholding sights like nothing he had ever seen before. Then the train stopped.
“Why did we stop?” he asked.
“We’ve reached Grand Central Depot,” Sally answered.
“Where? I don’t see a depot.”
Sally chuckled. “You will. Just wait.”
The train began backing up and Cal, who was more confused now than he had been before, studied the sights outside. He saw that they were backing toward a huge, sprawling, five-story building. Projecting out from the building was a network of tracks, most of which were occupied by trains. He continued to watch as they backed into the station, and a moment later, saw that they were slipping in between two trains that were already in place. This train and the one closest to it were separated by a long, narrow, brick path. He realized then, that they had also passed under an overhead roof of some sort. He stared at the windows of the adjacent train, realizing he couldn’t possibly see again the young woman he had seen in the train window in Chicago, but thinking it might be nice to have another ‘ships that pass in the night’ moment . . . but no such moment occurred.
“All right, folks. This is Grand Central Depot,” the conductor said, coming through the car. “Please watch your step as you leave the train.”
Cal followed Sally and the other passengers through the aisle of the car, then down the steps, and onto the brick platform. Other trains were arriving and departing, and the roof high overhead seemed to capture the sounds. Chugging engines, vented steam, rolling wheels, clattering connectors, squeaking brakes, clanging bells, and hundreds of voices cast the cacophonous clamor back down.
“I’m sure it’ll be a few minutes before we’ll be able to claim our luggage, so we may as well get something to eat,” Sally said once they stepped into the depot.
“Yes, ma’am,” Cal replied with a broad smile. “You know me, Miss Sally. I’m always ready to eat.”
* * *
Gallagher and Brockway were waiting in the baggage claim area of the depot. Gallagher was leaning up against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. A few minutes earlier he had given Guido Sarducci a five-dollar bill, and all Sarducci had to do was identify the luggage belonging to Mrs. Kirby Jensen.
“It’s that piece there,” Sarducci told Gallagher as he pointed to a large, maroon leather case.
“Set it aside from the other pieces of luggage so I can see who comes for it,” Gallagher ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
Gallagher watched as men and women came to claim their luggage, but the maroon piece Sarducci had pointed out remained unclaimed until an attractive woman and a man considerably younger step up to the open window.
“Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Jensen. I have your luggage right here,” Sarducci said, speaking loudly enough for Gallagher to hear the exchange.
Gallagher watched as first Mrs. Jensen claimed her luggage, then the young man with her.
“Cal Wood,” the young man said to Sarducci.
There had been no mention of a Cal Wood in the telegram, so Gallagher didn’t know if they were traveling together or if they just happened to arrive at the baggage claim at the same time. When he saw a redcap take both pieces, though, he realized that they must be together.
Gallagher and Brockway followed them outside, heard the Jensen woman tell the cabdriver that they wished to go to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and got into the cab behind the one that she and Cal had taken.
“Fifth Avenue Hotel,” Gallagher said.
Reaching their destination, he paid the driver, then he and Brockway followed Sally and Cal into the hotel. Brockway stayed in the lobby as Gallagher stepped up to the front desk and stood to one side as if waiting to register. His intention was to find out what room they would be staying in.
“Mrs. Jensen, yes,” the desk clerk said with a smile. “I believe I would be holding two tickets for you, for opening night of the play Bold Lady at the Rex Theater.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Enjoy the play, the clerk said. “If Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister are going to be in it, I know it will be great.”
As first Sally and then Cal signed the registration book, Gallagher’s plans changed. It no longer mattered what room she was staying in. She would be going to a play the next night. That was all the information he needed.
He turned and gave a brief nod to Brockway, and they left the hotel.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cross Trails Ranch
“Oh now, that is a fine-looking bull,” Jim Harris said as he examined Yankee Star.
Smoke and Pearlie had arrived with the bull a few minutes earlier, and he was turned out in the reinforced cattle pen that Harris had constructed just for him.
“He is a good-looking bull, and he comes from a champion sire and dam,” Smoke said.
“I’m curious. Why didn’t Sam Condon deliver the bull himself?”
“Haven’t you heard? Sam was shot last week,” Smoke said.
“No, I hadn’t heard! Was he killed?”
“No. He’s recovering now.”
“Thank God for that. What happened?”
Smoke described what had taken place at Wiregrass Ranch, ending with the fact that Sam’s son, Thad, had been abducted. “It looks like Sam is going to pull through being shot all right, but he and Sara Sue are both very worried about their son.”
“Oh, Lord, I didn’t know that was going on down in Colorado, as well,” Harris replied.
“What do you mean, going on in Colorado as well?” Smoke asked, surprised by the comment.
“We’ve had a rash of abductions around here,” Harris said. “There have been at least ten that I know of.”
“Ten children are missing?”
“No, only five of them are still missing. Four have been returned, but it cost their folks a lot of money to get them back.”
“You said you knew of ten, five still missing and four returned. What about the tenth one?”
“Oh, that was Lucy Blair.” Harris shook his head. “Sadly, she was found dead on the banks of Savery Creek.”
“How was she killed?” Pearlie asked.
“Somebody had cut her throat. Some folks say it was because she was too much for the outlaws to handle. Sixteen, she was, and a real pretty thing, too.”
“What about the sheriff?” Smoke asked.
“The sheriff’s up in Rawlins. He’s over sixty years old and has no deputies. His office is pretty much just a political position. Nobody ever really depends on him for any real law.”
“Where do you get your law support?”
“There’s a marshal in town, ’n there’s some talk of comin’ up with a way for him to be able to operate out of town. I don’t know if that’s happened yet, but I hope they can get it
done.”
* * *
After delivering the bull to Jim Harris, Smoke and Pearlie rode on into Mule Gap. This was one full day before Sara Sue was supposed to meet with someone representing the kidnappers of her son. They had come a day earlier so that it would not appear as if they were with her. The early arrival also allowed them to have a look around the town to determine whether or not any danger faced the woman when she came to keep her appointment.
The meeting was to take place in the Del Rey Hotel on the next day, but Smoke and Pearlie planned to spend this night camping out just south of town on the Pinkhampton Pike. Sara Sue would be coming in by stagecoach, the next day, and the coach would have to come by way of that road.
The two men stopped in front of Kennedy’s Saloon, looped the reins around the hitching rail, then stepped inside.
“Smoke!” a friendly voice called.
Looking toward the sound of the voice, Smoke saw Warren Kennedy. A man dressed all in black was sitting at the table with Kennedy.
“Ethan,” Kennedy called out to the bartender, “Smoke Jensen’s money is no good in my saloon. Find out what he and the gentleman with him want, then have one of the girls bring it to our table.”
“Yes, gentlemen, what will it be?” Ethan asked as Smoke and Pearlie reached the bar.
“I’ll have a beer,” Smoke said.
“And I’ll have the same,” Pearlie added.
“Who’s with you?” Kennedy asked as Smoke and Pearlie joined the two men at the table.
“This is my ranch foreman,” Smoke said. “Pearlie.”
“Pearlie . . .” Kennedy repeated, dragging it out, obviously looking for a last name.
“Pearlie,” he replied without giving a last name. That finished the inquisition.
“Pearlie, this is Warren Kennedy,” Smoke said. “Or perhaps I should say, His Honor, since Mr. Kennedy is also the mayor of Mule Gap.”
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