Friends and Enemies Read online

  Patricia giggled and bounced her way down the sidewalk in front of her mother. “Eachan thought my name was Patricia Veronica. Isn’t that funny?”

  “I’m surprised he spoke to you, what with you not wearing the rose dress.”

  Patricia pulled off her straw hat and twirled it around by the chin ribbon. “Mother! He didn’t care what dress I was wearing.”

  “Now that’s a good lesson to learn, isn’t it?”

  Both ladies paused and waited for a gust of dirt to blow past them. Jamie Sue shaded her eyes. “Is that a pig crossing the street?”

  “Either that or it’s a fat, hairless pink dog with an ugly face,” Patricia giggled.

  “Someone obviously left a gate open.”

  “Aunt Dacee June and Uncle Carty had a pig named Clarence.”

  “We ate Clarence last Christmas. Remember?”

  “Oh yeah,” Patricia gagged, then resumed the trek. There was a dance in her step. “I can’t wait to tell ’Nica.”

  As they approached the dress shop, Veronica rushed out the door, her satin dress swishing. “Guess who I just saw in the street?”

  Patricia glanced up at her mother, then back at her sister. “A pig?” she gulped.

  “No … it was Curly Mac!”

  “Who?” Jamie Sue probed.

  “You remember … the boy on the train with the blond hair who was in the carriage with the woman with the dance hall dress?” Veronica danced on one foot and then the other. “He was in a buckboard with a man who looked a hundred and fifty years old.”

  “Did you talk to him?” Patricia asked.

  “The old man?”

  “No, Curly Mac.”

  “He just said ‘Hi, Veronica Patricia …’ Isn’t that funny? He thought my name was Veronica Patricia?”

  “Sounds like Eachan …” Patricia mumbled.

  Veronica scooted over until the twins’ arms were touching. “What do you mean by that?”

  Patricia put her hat back on her head and began tying the ribbon under her chin. “Nothing.”

  “Tricia Fortune, did you see Eachan Moraine?”

  Her nose turned high, Patricia batted her eyelashes. “Sort of.”

  Veronica grabbed her sister’s hand. “What do you mean, sort of?”

  Patricia burst out giggling. “I talked with him behind the potato bin at Morgan’s for over ten minutes.”

  “You did not!”

  Patricia spun around toward her mother. “I did too. Didn’t I, Mama?”

  “I believe you did.” Jamie glanced across the street at the bakery as she smelled fresh-baked bread.

  “That isn’t fair!” Veronica pouted. “I had on the rose dress and everything!”

  “You got Curly Mac to wave at you. I didn’t even get to see him.”

  Veronica dropped her chin. “He was probably waving at Amber. She was standing next to me.”

  A young barefoot boy in coveralls ran up the boardwalk. “Have you seen Romeo?” he panted.

  “Who?”

  “My pet pig, Romeo. Has he come this way?”

  “He crossed the street toward the bank,” Patricia explained.

  “If he went down to the Piedmont Saloon again, he’s in real trouble,” the little boy added.

  The boy sprinted down the street.

  “Eh, come on girls … let’s go see what Aunt Abby has for us.”

  “Where is Amber?” Patricia asked.

  “I’m up here!”

  Jamie Sue and daughters shaded their eyes and looked up at the second-story window of the brick building. The girl leaning out had the shape of a twenty-year-old, but her face was definitely sixteen. “I’ve got to clean this apartment before mother rents it out again. ’Nica and Tricia, do you want to help me? Then we all can go horseback riding up to Central City.”

  “To see Curly Mac? Oh, Mother, may we?” Patricia pleaded.

  “Yes, go help Amber. I need to talk to Abby. But Veronica can’t go horseback riding in that rose satin dress.”

  Veronica tugged at her mother’s arm. “Oh, Mother! I have to go! Please!”

  Jamie Sue patted her hand. “Not in that dress.”

  “I wish I had never worn this dress!” Veronica announced.

  “Well, I believe this has been a very educational afternoon.”

  “But … but … it’s not fair! Everything is against me today!” Veronica moaned.

  Patricia scooted beside her sister. “’Nica, if you can’t go riding, then I won’t go either.”

  Veronica slipped her arm around her sister’s waist. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

  Patricia chewed on her lower lip. “Sure, that’s what twin sisters are for.”

  “In that case, dear sister, how would you like to trade dresses?” Veronica asked.

  “You mean I’d wear the rose one?”

  “Yes, then I could wear yours and go horseback riding with Amber.”

  Robert Fortune sat on the right-hand backseat of the railroad car. Taite and Holter lounged on the bench seat facing him, their backs to the passengers. Unrolled maps were sprawled across their knees.

  Fortune tapped the map with his finger. “Ninety-nine out of a hundred runs will be routine. The toughest thing we’ll face is staying awake and alert. I won’t tolerate sleeping on the job. I consider it grounds for dismissal. So make sure you get plenty of rest before you come on duty. I’m not telling you what to do with your time off, but hurrahing the night away isn’t going to work for this job.”

  Guthrie Holter leaned forward, his elbow on his knee. “You reckon the most trouble will come from folks on the inside … or those jumping the train from the outside?”

  Robert looked up the aisle at the crowded passenger car. Muted conversations bounced in rhythm to the rumble of the train. “No telling. We should prepare for both. I’ve marked key areas on the map where someone might try to board the train. I want us to assume something will happen at every point.”

  “Especially when we’re haulin’ payrolls or gold,” Taite added.

  Holter lowered his voice. “Are we going to know about the rich shipments?”

  “I told the railroad supervisor not to inform us unless he thought it absolutely necessary.”

  “So we never know when the big shipments are on board? Isn’t that a little dangerous?” Stillman Taite probed.

  Fortune studied the man’s narrow eyes. Why are you so concerned? “It’s a safety precaution. If we don’t know when the shipment is valuable, we’ll have to protect every train like it was special. I don’t want us to relax just because the cargo is less valuable.”

  “And if we don’t know the shipment, we can’t be the thieves,” Holter’s declaration turned into a sly grin.

  “You think we’re the type to rob a train?” Taite huffed.

  “Still, here’s a basic rule in the business,” Fortune explained. “Assume every person on this train is capable of robbing it. It’s a basic theological position.”

  “Theological?”

  “It’s called the doctrine of the sinfulness of man. Anyone is capable of anything.”

  “Even you?”

  “Even me,” Fortune added. “Evil should never, ever surprise you. Righteousness is the big surprise.”

  Stillman Taite glanced back over his shoulders. “Should we be studying the passengers?”

  “Yes, but do it discreetly. I’d just as soon no one knows who we are when we ride the train. Keep your badge on the inside of your coat, a newspaper or book in your hand. Wander down through the cars and pick out any likely looking sneak thieves or train robbers, then keep an eye on them. Like I said … most times it’s going to be just a train ride.”

  Holter looked straight at Fortune. “Speakin’ of passengers, did you spot that gordo hombre in the second row with the dirty red bandanna?”

  Fortune continued to study the map on his lap. “The one with the .44 half-cocked in his holster?”

  “What?” Taite spun around to lo
ok toward the front of the train.

  “Don’t stare,” Robert cautioned.

  “He has a bulge in his boot top. I reckon it’s either a sneak gun or a Bowie knife,” Holter added.

  “You saw all of that when we boarded?” Taite pressed.

  “I spied him on the platform back in Rapid City. He was at the Yellow Dog Cafe this morning braggin’ about how he was goin’ up to Deadwood to get rich. He don’t exactly look like he works for a livin’. I thought maybe he was a gambler, but his fingernails was too dirty. Never did know a gambler that had dirty fingernails.”

  “Looks like he’s headin’ this way, boys.” Robert leaned back and tugged his hat low across his forehead.

  “There ain’t no empty seats, except that one behind us,” Taite said.

  “Holter, you lean back and pull your hat down like you’re sleeping. See if you can pick up any conversations. Taite, lean forward and study this map. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Similar to a jack-o-lantern, the man’s big round head was defined by chin whiskers and round mouth. His eyes were framed by dark bags, his lips puffy. He meandered down the center aisle very slowly, as if measuring each passenger. Finally, he plopped down next to a thin man with a black silk suit in the row behind Holter and Taite. Robert Fortune couldn’t hear the mumbled conversation but could tell by the thin man’s expression that he was not in favor of whatever the other man was demanding. The thin man stood as if to leave, but the other man blocked his way and shoved him back into the seat.

  Guthrie Holter leaned way over the map, then whispered, “He’s trying to force this Englishman to buy some worthless mining stock.”

  “I’ll confront him,” Robert replied softly. “You two back me up. But don’t reveal yourselves until needed.”

  Fortune swung out into the aisle, took three steps, then spun around near the man with the dirty bandanna.

  “What’s you name, mister?” Robert demanded.

  “What in Hades’s name difference is it to you?” the man growled, resting his hand on his revolver.

  Robert leaned his hand on the back of the leather seat and kept his voice low. “I want to know what to put on my report.” He could smell stale whiskey and dried sweat.

  The man rubbed his chin. “What report?”

  Robert stood straight and glanced around at the other passengers. No one was looking their way. “I’m the train inspector. It’s my job to file a report on sneak thieves, troublemakers, and solicitors who disturb the passengers.”

  The man attempted to dismiss Fortune with a flip of his hand. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong, so go torment someone else.”

  Fortune glanced over at the thin man with black silk tie. His face was pale. “Did this ol’ boy try to force you to buy worthless mining stock?”

  The Englishman straightened his tie and sat with a stiff back. “He most certainly did. My word, he said he’d shoot me in the … eh, intestines if I didn’t purchase five hundred dollars worth of stock.”

  “He ain’t telling the truth,” the other man protested. “You cain’t trust them foreigners. I was merely offering him a deal where he could double his investment in six months. But if this is the thanks I get, I withdraw the offer.”

  “What’s your name?” Fortune demanded again.

  The man folded his thick arms. “I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’.”

  Fortune pointed toward the handbills posted in the front of the coach. “There’s a sign up there that says ‘Absolutely no solicitation.’ We will not have guests of the Elkhorn pestered by hucksters and drummers. I’ll have to ask you to step to the back of the car.”

  “You ain’t goin’ to get me to do nothin’ …” The man jerked his revolver out of the holster.

  Fortune clenched the man’s ear and twisted it sharply with one hand as he plucked the gun away from the yelping man with the other.

  All conversation in the coach ceased. People turned to gawk.

  “My word,” the Englishman gasped as he scooted against the window, “I’ve heard of twitching horses but never seen it done on a man.”

  Robert kept his back to the passengers. He slid the man’s revolver into his coat pocket. “Sometimes there’s not a wide distinction between man and beast,” he added. “We’ve got a few things to discuss on the platform between the cars, one of which is your name.” He motioned with his hand. “Step back there, please.”

  “Well, let a man pull up his socks before I go trampin’ around.” The man leaned over and reached for his boots.

  Taite and Holter both shoved revolvers into the back of the man’s head.

  “You ain’t goin’ for that sneak gun are you?” Holter demanded.

  The man sat straight up, his hands in the air. “My name’s Oscar Puddin!” he shouted. “Who are them two?”

  “My deputies,” Robert explained. “Take out the sneak gun and lay it on the floor, Mr. Puddin. Take it real slow because my deputies are new on the job and they are counting on getting to shoot someone today. I’d rather you didn’t give them the opportunity.”

  Puddin worked up a full sweat by the time he removed the .32 caliber snub-nosed revolver from his boot and laid it on the floor.

  “Folks, I’m the railroad inspector,” Robert told the staring passengers. “This old boy was trying to extort some money. We just won’t let that happen on this train. Did he get money from any of you?”

  Everyone sat motionless.

  “Go on about your business. My deputies and I have this under control. The Elkhorn is the safest railroad in the West. We take care of our folks. Go back to your visits and enjoy the trip.” He turned back to Puddin. “Now, if you’ll just step out the back door.”

  The man rose slowly off his seat. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “You not only harassed a passenger, but you also pulled a firearm on a railroad inspector. So you forfeit your ticket and will be put off the train.”

  “Where?”

  Fortune leaned down and glanced out the window at the rumbling hillside. “Right here looks fine.”

  “But the train’s goin’ forty miles an hour!”

  “No, it’s going twenty-four miles an hour and slows to around fifteen at the turns. All of which is something you should have taken into account before you tried to extort Mr… . eh, Mr… .”

  “Chambers. Byron Chambers.” The Englishman tipped his bowler.

  Fortune shoved his fingers into Puddin’s greasy vest and pushed him toward the back door. Holter and Taite joined him in the aisle.

  “But …” Puddin panicked. “Mr. Chambers, I apologize if I seemed a bit insistent in my salesmanship!” he called back.

  Chambers straightened his tie. “My word, uh, yes. Apology is accepted.”

  “See there, he accepted my apology.” Puddin stopped walking. “You cain’t throw me off the train now.”

  Robert shoved him toward the back door. “You still drew a gun on a railroad inspector.”

  “But I didn’t shoot no one!” he bellowed as he was shoved outside on the back platform.

  A stiff summer breeze caused Fortune to shove down his hat as he stepped beside the man. The air had a dry, dusty taste and the rattle of steel wheels on steel rails forced the men to shout. The side of the hill was littered with tree stumps and granite boulders.

  “If I let you get away with drawing a gun on us, then how many more will come along and do the same?” Fortune explained. “I think I should make an example of you, Mr. Puddin. Toss him off the train, boys.”

  “Wait … wait … I don’t want to be an example.”

  “It’s too late for that. If I don’t, Mr. Puddin, as soon as we hit Deadwood, you’ll go down to the badlands to a saloon like the Piedmont and start bragging about pullin’ a gun on the railroad inspector, and the next thing I know we’ll have every drifter and bummer in the badlands tryin’ the same thing.”

  “No sir … I won’t. I’ll … I’ll leave Deadwood as soon as I get there. I
won’t tell nobody. The fall would break my back.”

  “I reckon that would accomplish our purpose, wouldn’t it?” Holter said.

  “We can’t take a chance, Puddin.” Taite poked his double-action Smith and Wesson in the man’s ribs. “Over you go.”

  “Wait! Put me off at the water tank. There’s a water tank between here and Deadwood. It ain’t two or three miles up the tracks.”

  “You seem to know a lot about this line.”

  “I’ve been on it before.”

  “You caught me on a merciful day, Puddin. Handcuff him to the rail. He can ride back here.”

  “I’ve got to ride outside?” the man protested.

  “It’s your choice … we can toss you out in the boulders or …”

  “I’ll ride back here.”

  When they returned to the car, every eye was on them.

  “Everything’s taken care of, folks,” Robert explained. “The Elkhorn will not tolerate having its passengers beleaguered in any way. If you ever have anyone bother you with illegal, immoral, or inappropriate advances, please notify your conductor, who will relay the message to one of us.”

  Two young men in army blue instantly scooted away from a blonde young lady and sat at near attention.

  The three men returned to their seats. Once again the rumble of conversations matched the rattle of the wheels on the tracks.

  Byron Chambers turned around. “My word, I’m certainly glad you didn’t toss him on the rocks on my account.”

  “You got business in Deadwood, Mr. Chambers?” Robert asked.

  “I’m a chartered accountant for the Bank of Ottawa out of Toronto. We have an interest in the Broken Boulder Mine, and I’ve come to examine the accounts and ledgers.”

  “I’ve never heard of the Broken Boulder.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I’m here. We haven’t had a report in over six months, yet we’ve been sending systematic installments. It’s located on the east rim of Spruce Canyon.”

  “We’re going to put Mr. Puddin off the train at the water tanks,” Robert explained. “But he might hike into Deadwood anyway. If I were you, I’d stay out of the badlands. If he meets you in a dark alley, he might figure he has a score to settle.”