Friends and Enemies (24 page)

The report of a carbine sounded. An explosion near Robert's head peppered his face with shreds of granite. Wiping his eyes on his now dirty suit coat sleeve, he saw the boots of two men sprint toward the wagon.

Robert's first shot ripped into the heel of the man wearing gal-leg spurs with big Mexican rowels. As the man staggered and clutched the wagon, Robert squeezed the trigger at the other man's dirty brown boot.

There was a scream.

Then a curse.

“Shorty, I got shot in the foot!” he bellowed. He clenched the wagon as the first man shot back at Robert. He rolled behind the steel wheel of the railroad car.

“Drive, Shorty . . . drive . . . drive!” Dunny shouted, and the farm wagon lurched forward toward the trees.

Shorty and Dunny? Again? Every time I let one loose, they come back to haunt.

Robert rolled out from under the train car. He fired two shots in the rocks in front of the team of horses. The big sorrel geldings reared, then jerked the lead line out of the driver's hand and galloped straight at a slope of boulders.

Robert stood, pointing his gun at the back of the wagon. He hesitated to shoot again as he studied the large, bulky object in back.
The girls' trunk? All of this was to steal the girls' wardrobe trunk and a half-million dollars of worthless money?

Who knew there was money in there? It's just an ordinary trunk, with the girls' scribbling on the outside. Who would know?

Besides the people the twins told . . . which was probably every man, woman, boy, girl, dog, and cat in Deadwood.

Robert jogged after the runaway wagon, then watched as the panicked horse spun to the left instead of running into the rock field. The wagon tipped on its side, propelling both wounded passengers and the large trunk onto the boulders. The trunk burst open and the money sprayed across the granite like confetti at a New Year's party. But the horses continued to drag the wagon for another hundred feet.

Neither man was moving when Robert reached the rocks.

Robert spun around when he heard a roaring shout from the passengers. They now sprinted out of both cars of the train clamoring over the rocks and boulders, snatching up the money.

Robert dragged one of the unconscious men off the rocks as the engineer and fireman reached him.

“What happened, Mr. Fortune?” the conductor asked.

“They blew the door off the baggage car in order to steal a trunk full of worthless money.”

The engineer ran his finger through his sooty gray hair. “What are we going to do now?”

“Put your telegraph operator on that pole line and have him signal Rapid City. Find out if they want us to go forward, back up to Deadwood, or just wait. Tell them we have two of the culprits, and nothing of value was lost.”

“What will we do with them?”

“Let's tie them up before they come to and stuff a rag in their boots so they won't bleed to death.” Robert stared at several dozen people scampering and tripping over boulders and rocks. “They'll break every bone in their bodies for worthless pieces of paper.”

“Help me!” Above the shouts of the crowd Robert heard a man scream. “Help me!”

“Is that coming from the railroad car?” he asked the conductor.

“I thought everyone had debarked!” the conductor mumbled.

Robert sprinted back to the car. The man with the patent leather shoes and diamond tie tack lay sprawled across the backseat, across from where Robert had sat.

He held his bleeding forehead.

Robert yanked out a handkerchief and pressed it against the man's forehead. The conductor followed him into the car.

“I've been robbed,” he said.

Robert leaned back and surveyed the man's black silk tie. “They didn't get your diamond tie tack.”

“That's a phony. They went right for my case.”

“What case?”

“My diamond case.”

“You were carrying a case of diamonds?”

“I'm a representative for Royal Dutch Diamonds. My display case contains gemstones worth over $10,000.”

“And you didn't put it in the baggage car safe?”

“They blew up the baggage car.”

“But not the safe.” Robert glanced at the conductor. “Go find some linen to bandage his head.” Then he turned back to the injured man.

“I notified the railroad in Deadwood that I'd be carrying diamonds.”

“You did? I'm the railroad inspector and my office heard nothing of this. Who took your diamonds?”

“The dark-haired woman with the boys. We chatted on the train a few days ago. Now she's robbed me. After she shot at you through the window, she came back and robbed me.”

“Woman? The one who fainted?”

“She seemed to recover well. She had a pearl-handle sneak gun. It's what she creased my forehead with. She shot at you, then ran back here. I thought she was going to try to shoot you out the window, so I grabbed her arm. She must have clobbered me, because when I woke up everyone was scurrying off the train toward those boulders. That's when I noticed my case was gone.”

“Where did you keep it?”

“Handcuffed to my wrist.”

“She unlocked your cuffs?”

“Apparently she got my key.”

“Where did you keep the key?”

“In my right boot.”

Robert looked down at the man who wore one boot.
She knew which boot to take off.
“When you came to, did you see what direction she was going?”

He pointed to the west. “I saw her and the boys running through those whitewood trees.”

The conductor brought back a roll of linen gauze.

“Take care of this man. I'm going after the woman who robbed him.”

“But you're on foot!”

“So's she . . . and she has two small boys with her.”

Robert shoved more bullets in his revolver as he stalked toward the grove of trees.
I can't believe I let her get away with that. I was too preoccupied with the Moraine business . . . and the Irish thing . . . and, Lord, I know . . . with her good looks. Then the blast. It was all a decoy. But it worked. This is the very thing I warned Stillman and Guthrie about, and I fall for it. Guthrie almost came on this trip. What would he have done? No worse than the boss, I surmise.

The sharp heel prints of a woman's boot were easy to spot. The shade of the trees ensured that the soil beneath them would hold the impression of each step.

In the cover of the trees, Robert followed the prints, one soft step after another. He crept over two tree-covered ridges and waded a shallow creek before he heard voices. Robert dropped to his knees and crawled behind a large stump.

“What do we do now, Mama?”

“Wait for Daddy,” the woman replied.

What was this about being a widow? A ruse, I suppose. But what kind of man sends his wife and kids to rob a train? Surely she can't be married to one of those two that got foot-shot. She's much too classy for them. Besides, she saw what happened to them. She's waiting for someone else.

“What if someone tries to follow us?” a young boy quizzed. “What do we do then, Mama?”

If I wait, maybe I can catch the father as well.

“We'll shoot 'em.”

What a lovely family.

“I don't have any gun,” the littlest one complained.

“I'll shoot them,” the woman promised.

Lying on his stomach, Robert inched his way over the ridge. The woman and two boys crouched in a small grove of short aspens near a dirt road.

It seemed like a half hour, but his watch showed only ten minutes until a buckboard pulled by two wide white horses rumbled down the road. Robert trained the sight of his gun on the driver, whose hat was pulled low.

The lady and the two boys ran out and waved.

“Daddy!” the oldest one shouted.

The man at the reins reached down to assist them up. His hat continued to shield his face from Robert's stare.
Lift your head up, mister. Let me get a good look.

“As you figured, they bumbled the hold-up and wrecked the wagon,” she reported, then held up a small black leather case. “But I got these!”

“Fortune didn't get shot, did he?” The man kept his head down, but at the sound of the familiar voice, Robert slumped back into the pine needles.

No . . . no . . . no!

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jamie Sue jumped when the telephone rang. Dropping her crocheting on the sofa, she scurried into the kitchen.
If I'm ever mending when that thing rings, I'll sew my fingers together.

“I need to speak to Fortune!” The shouting voice was almost too high for a man, too low for a woman.

“This is Mrs. Robert Fortune,” Jamie Sue replied.

“Are you the wife?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“This is Raxton. I need to speak to Robert Fortune.”

“Mr. Raxton, I'm sorry, but my husband is not here.”

“Miss Raxton!”

Jamie Sue pulled back the receiver and stared at it.
Oh, dear . . .
“Excuse me, the, eh, telephone is a little scratchy. May I be of some help to you?”

“I doubt it. Fortune said if we wanted to come to Deadwood, he'd line up some backers for our mine.”

“Yes?”

“Well, we're here!”

“In Deadwood?”

“There ain't telephones out at the mine. At least, not until that other Fortune, the one with gray hair and dancin' eyes, strings one out to us.”

“That's Sammy. He should be in town. Would you like to speak to him?”

“Yep. Put him on.”

“He's not here . . . this is . . .”

“How many telephones you Fortunes got?”

“Samuel owns the telephone exchange,” Jamie Sue explained. “Just ring the operator and ask for number 1 or number 10.”

“Where's Robert at?”

“He's on a train to Rapid City and won't be back until late tomorrow.”

“What's he doin' there?”

“Miss Raxton, that's his job. He works for the railroad.”

“He said he'd meet us here. What are we going to do?”

“Where are you?”

“At the train depot. We need a place to stay.”

“Why don't you register at a hotel? Is money a problem?”

“We've got enough gold to buy us a hotel, I reckon. But they won't let us register. They claim we're too dirty. Ain't that somethin'?”

Jamie Sue shifted the receiver to the other ear.
I've never heard of any hotel refusing gold-paying customers.
“Well, you will want to clean up to meet with financial backers.”

“How can we clean up if a hotel won't have us? All the bath houses are for men. We ain't goin' into one of them.”

“Miss Raxton, would you just wait at the depot? I'll make some arrangements for you.”

“They already said we have to wait outside. I reckon we are a little rank.”

“Miss Raxton, how many rooms will you be needing?”

“Two . . . Augusta and me can bunk together. Then we'll need one for Puddin.”

“Who?”

“Our crew boss, Oscar Puddin. Byron, I mean Mr. Chambers, already has a room at the Merchant's Hotel, but he's up at Lead talkin' to some men about our mine. He won't be back until tonight.”

“I'll make some telephone calls and then come down to the depot. I will see you shortly,” Jamie Sue said.

“I'll be the one with the dirty brown dress and the trapdoor rifle.”

“And I'll be wearing a straw hat with a yellow ribbon.”

Jamie Sue sauntered into the entry and began tying on her hat in front of the mirror.
I'll call Abby . . . Rebekah . . . Dacee June . . . perhaps the March sisters can take the children . . . Abby will find the clothing, Rebekah the . . . and I'll . . . Lord, this is what I'm meant to do. To help others. They need me and for the first time in my life, I have a team to help me. I like that. I like that a lot.

Patricia and Veronica reached the front door at the exact same moment and argued over who should enter first. While Veronica danced in the doorway, tongue-chewing Patricia shoved past her.

“Mama,” Patricia began, “can Veronica and I go with Little Frank and the boys down to watch the horses run laps?”

“You are not going to a horse race.”

“Please, Mama,” Veronica pleaded. “This is just warm-up laps. The race isn't until Sunday. Everyone is going.”

Jamie Sue picked some lint off Patricia's navy blue dress. “Everyone?”

“Little Frank, Quintin, Fern, Sarah, Jimmy, Hank . . .”

Jamie Sue raised her eyebrows. “Rebekah is letting Hank go off Forest Hill without her supervision?”

“Yes, Amber is going up to get him,” Veronica explained.

Patricia ran her tongue all the way around her lips, then puckered them. “That's not all who will be there.”

“Shhh!” Veronica said.

“And just who else is going to be there?” Jamie Sue reached over and straightened the lace collar on Veronica's navy blue dress.

“Tricia,” Veronica fumed. “Why did you have to . . .”

Patricia bit her lip. “Eachan and . . .”

Jamie Sue gently lifted Patricia's chin until their eyes met. “The Moraines will let Eachan be seen in public with that many Fortunes?”

“Mrs. Moraine said he could go places with us but not come over to our house,” Patricia announced.

“Well, that is an improvement.”

Veronica stood in one place, rocking back and forth on the toes of her black lace-up boots. “And Curly Mac will be there too.”

Jamie Sue stared into the entry hall mirror and adjusted her hat. “Curly Mac is in Deadwood?”

“His aunt sold her saloon in Central City,” Veronica reported.

Jamie Sue stepped to the open doorway.
I don't think I'll need a wrap. The clouds are very scattered.

“She's buying a saloon in Montana City,” Veronica continued. “But they are going to live at the Merchant's Hotel for a few weeks.”

Jamie Sue turned back and stood between the girls. “And just how did you learn all of this?”

“He told me . . .”

Jamie Sue crossed her arms and could feel a tightness in her neck. “But you two were just supposed to take the mince cookies to Grandpa Brazos.”

“But Mama, Deadwood is a small town. Sometimes we see people on the street and we don't want to shun them,” Veronica explained.

“Please, please . . .” Patricia chimed in.

“Yes, well . . . go on. But this is your test. If you get into trouble over this outing, it will be a long time before I'll let you do it again.”

Patricia grinned. “Thank you, Mama.”

“Exactly what would you consider getting into trouble?” Veronica mumbled.

Patricia grabbed her arm and dragged her out the door.

The four-car train was one hour and thirty-two minutes late getting into Rapid City. Robert rode in the open-door baggage car with two wounded prisoners, a busted trunk, and two-thirds of the original currency.

The sheriff, two deputies, various railroad officials, and Stillman Taite met him as he debarked.

“You look like you was drug behind the train all the way from Deadwood,” Taite called out.

Robert tried brushing off his ripped wool trousers. “Stillman, get us two sturdy horses and a little grub. We have thieves to catch, and they have a head start. We'll take the afternoon train back as far as we can.”

“Your telegraph said it was Guthrie Holter. I can't hardly believe it.”

“The lady stole the diamonds, and he drove the wagon. No mistaking that part.”

“What direction is Guthrie headin'?”

“Back along the telegraph road,” Robert reported.

“Toward Deadwood?”

“At least, to start with.”

“You didn't try to stop them?”

“A bullet could've hit the boys, and there was no way I'd catch a buckboard on foot. I figured it best if they didn't know I spotted them.”

Taite rubbed his chin. “Yeah, that was probably best.”

“We'll find that out soon enough.”

It was two hectic hours before the afternoon northbound pulled out. Robert sent Taite to ride the passenger car. He rode with the horses in a flatcar pulled behind the caboose. He sat on the floor of the car with his back toward the engine and watched the disappearing scenery behind the train.

Lord, maybe I'm not the best one for this job. If I'd been doin' a better job, maybe I could have seen this happening. I hired a brawler in the train yard. And I hired wrong. I thought I knew the man. I instantly decided about him, and I was wrong.

All this talk about being separated from a wife and boys . . . he was suckerin' me all along. . . . He wrote that note to Moraine on my stationery. He figured I'd either get shot or delayed. It would have been easier if he was on the train. Moraine, at least, was an open and honest enemy. Better to have honest enemies than deceptive friends.

The most suspicious person in the railroad car was the one flirting with me. Lord, I'm ashamed I was so easy a target. I'll capture Holter, then resign. The railroad needs a better man for the job. I can always sell bolts for Todd or install telephone lines for Sammy.

A man who can't tell friends from enemies shouldn't be put in a responsible job. Maybe army life isolated me too much. I suspected Stillman Taite but hired him anyway. I trusted Guthrie . . .

Lord, I don't know if I'm more disgusted with Guthrie Holter . . . or me. But I'll catch him. And he'll face a just punishment.

And the woman too . . . I'll . . .

The Cokesburg siding was water and wood only. There was no building. No platform. And no loading ramp.

Robert and Stillman mounted the horses while they were still loaded on the flatcar.

“We going to jump them off the side?” Stillman asked.

Robert pointed to the opposite direction. “Let's try the uphill side.”

“If we run them toward the back maybe we could leap over to that embankment. It wouldn't be any worse than jumpin' a crick.”

“You're an optimistic cuss, Taite. Let's do it.”

Stillman Taite stood in the stirrups, then shoved his hat back so that one lone tuft of hair lapped down across his forehead. “‘Course, if we slip down between the flatcar and that embankment, the horse will kick us to death.”

“Then I suggest we don't slip!” Robert sunk his silver rowels into the flanks of the black horse. At the same time he slapped Taite's chestnut with his hat. Both startled horses bolted in terror toward the back of the flatcar, their hooves thundering panic on the rough wooden floor of the car. As if a team pulling a carriage of fear, they turned in unison and leaped for the embankment.

Robert thrust his full weight on the balls of his feet. As he rode the stirrups, his knees flexed, his head leaned over the horse's neck.

Taite's chestnut staggered, but Fortune's mount didn't. They let both horses run the “scared-to-death” out of them. When they finally reined up at least nine hundred yards from the track, Stillman Taite yanked off his round bowler and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“Mr. Fortune, remind me never to do that again.”

Robert could feel his white shirt soaked with perspiration. “I trust that's the last stupid thing I do today.”

Taite slipped off his horse and began to tighten the cinch. “Where do we go from here?”

“We follow that telegraph road.”

“How can we follow tracks on a road?”

“I have a clue.”

“Oh?”

“When they pulled out, I went down and looked at the tracks. One of the right wheels was repaired by three carriage bolts.”

“That would be a bumpy ride if you was in a hurry.”

Robert yanked the latigo tight on the Texas saddle, then remounted. “I figure if they head northeast, they don't have to be in a hurry.”

“Why northeast? There's nothin' up there.”

“Precisely.”

Robert rode on the east side of the telegraph road, Taite on the right. They had ridden at a medium walk for an hour and a half when Robert shouted, “Here it is!”

“Is that a road?”

“It's a wagon track with three round-top carriage bolts sticking through the rim.”

“He must have a four-hour head start. He could be in Wyomin' by now.”

“Why leave the cover of the Black Hills and wander out on the prairie? Those boys will get tired. They'll spend the night in the hills for sure,” Robert asserted.

“You think they'll head for Myersville or Diamond City or one of those other gold camps?”

“If I was them, I'd just hole up in one of those limestone caves. Todd says there's dozens of them up here.”

Taite fingered his thick handlebar mustache. “It will be hard to find them then.”

Robert spurred the horse into a trot. “But not many of them will be accessible to a wagon,” he called back.

The sun slipped down to the west. The ponderosa pine shadows now blended into night shadows. Robert and Stillman continued to scour every coulee and draw wide enough to drive a wagon through.

“Boss, I can't see ground clear. We should stop,” Taite insisted.