Slocum #422 (17 page)

Slocum saw the small rack with glasses and a fancy painted porcelain pitcher. He poured a glass and brought it back. Marlene was awake and looking frightened. She stared up at him and started to speak, but Sarah Jane cut her off.

“John saved us, Marlene. He saved us.”

“But ­I—” The blonde took the glass and clutched it in both hands, still spilling a fair amount as she drank.

“I'll thank him for you, Marlene. You rest up from your ordeal.”

“This has gone too far,” Marlene said, shaking her head. She took another sip of the water to wet her whistle. “We've got to tell ­him—”

“This has been such a shock to your system. I'll deal with it for you.” Sarah Jane pushed Slocum toward the rear of the car and said in a low voice, “Poor thing is overcome by the kidnap attempt.”

“He tried to kidnap you, not her,” Slocum said.

“I drew his attention away from her. That was a mistake, I know, but I kept him from harming her. From Miss Burlison.”

“That was mighty brave of you,” Slocum said, looking from the ­dark-­haired woman to where Marlene clung to the now empty glass as if her life depended on it. “You decoyed him away?”

“Why, yes, that's what I did.”

“A kidnapper ought to know who he's sent to snatch.”

“The heat, everything is so confused,” Sarah Jane said. “Let's not worry our heads about it. I'll go look after her. You ride with the engineer. Marlene is distraught enough and shouldn't engage in conversation for a while.”

Slocum let her herd him forward and push him out of the car. He made his way back to the engine cab.

“What went on back there? I heard a shot and thought I saw Hanks jump from the train.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Slocum said. “I just lightened the load a mite.” The engineer could nurse the train along to the depot. Slocum would do all the worrying about Marlene Burlison and how close a kidnapper had come to successfully spiriting her away.

“Don't be silly. It's safe, John.” Sarah Jane clung to his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. “This is an S&P town.”

“That ­conductor—­Hanks—­got hired on here, deadheaded to Yuma, and then tried to kidnap Marlene. It wasn't chance. Her pa's enemies sent him. I'd bet money on that.”

Sarah Jane stirred uneasily and clung more tenaciously to him. The day was cooler than previous ones because of clouds scudding in from over the Pelonsilla Mountains to the southwest, but any chance of rain cooling the stifling heat even more was slim. Slocum moved away enough to let air circulate between him and the girl.

“Mr. Burlison has enemies everywhere.”

“That's why he hired me to look after Marlene.” Slocum looked around uneasily. Being so far from the Pullman car, where Marlene took a siesta during the afternoon heat, reminded him how he had almost failed her.

That worry festered into something more he couldn't quite figure out. Since pulling into Deming, Sarah Jane had done all she could to keep him away from the woman he had been hired to protect. Mad Tom worked to fix the boiler on the Yuma Bullet, but it had been a day already and might be another before repairs were completed for the final run across New Mexico and down the western border of Texas following the newly completed S&P tracks.

“You're doing a fine job of it. She couldn't be happier. And safer.”

“When we got to the depot, there were only two other engines here. Now there are eight. The Yuma Bullet has held up traffic going west.”

“I heard a train coming from the west last night. The Colorado River bridge must be fixed.”

“I didn't hear anything.” He tensed. Any train coming from the direction of Yuma might bring a posse with it. And the one out in the desert where the prospector had fought off the lawmen from Deming had plenty of time to reach a depot with a telegraph.

He wished he hadn't stashed the gold in the engine. When Tom and his fireman had gotten to serious work on the locomotive boiler, he had removed a steel plate in the tender's wall and stuffed the three sacks of coins in a recess. With the plate bolted back into place, the entire train had to be dismantled to find it. Still, getting caught with the stolen money meant a noose for him. If the Deming marshal bothered to inquire, San Dismas would reply that he was wanted there, too.

The sooner he got to San Antonio and lit out across the Texas prairie on horseback, the safer he would be.

“I need some things for the trip,” Sarah Jane said.

“Send one of the depot employees,” he said, not wanting to leave Marlene unguarded. More than that, he had a ­gut-­wrenching fear he would be recognized. Staying in the rail yard was the best thing he could do to avoid the town marshal.

“Oh, John, you can be so ignorant. These are things for Marlene, and I have to pick them out. She
needs
them for the trip.”

“She can wait until San Antonio.”

“Now, now,” Sarah Jane said sternly. “You will accompany me into town to buy what ­I—­we—­need.”

“I need to talk to the engineer. Wait here.” Slocum saw a flare of defiance that died quickly.

“Hurry, John. You don't want me to get bored and wander off on my own. What would Marlene say if you let me go unescorted into such a dingy frontier town as this?”

He barely heard. He called to Mad Tom and asked, “How long before the boiler's fixed up?”

“Another hour, maybe two. We got to hook up four passenger cars, a mail car, and a caboose.”

“What? Why? Burlison said this was an express intended to get his daughter to San Antonio as fast as possible.”

“The traffic in both directions done got screwed up with the bridge goin' down the way it did. With the Yuma Bullet pluggin' up traffic, too, well, we were as responsible fer the bottleneck as anything. The dispatcher's workin' hisself into a dither tryin' to get all caught up.”

“A train came in last night?”

“Early mornin', actually. It's already steamin' on down into Texas. I tried to convince the dispatcher to couple on Miss Burlison's car, but her pa said no. He's burnin' up the telegraph wires with instructions. He trusts me and the Yuma Bullet to get her home safe 'n' sound, not some other walleyed, drunk son-of-a-bitch engineer.”

“I'm going into town.”

“You escortin' her?”

“We'll be back before you pull out.”

“Won'­t—­can'­t—­leave without you and her. 'Specially her. But don't go dallyin' none.” A loud crash made Tom turn and shake his head. “What's with you buzzards? You all born stupid and with ten thumbs?” He went to help lift a large curved plate into place.

Slocum saw that this was the final piece. Once it was riveted on, the Yuma Bullet need only build up steam and pull out. Already the additional cars were being attached.

Sarah Jane tapped her foot impatiently when he got back to her.

“Took you long enough,” she said. “Now, the first place I want to go is the dress shop on the plaza. The last time we were through, they took measurements and should have a dress ready.”

She chattered on as Slocum walked beside her, looking about suspiciously. She jerked him to a halt in front of a bookstore.

“Oh, I must see if they have anything new to read. I finished that Mark Twain book.”

Slocum started to say he would wait outside, in spite of the heat, when he saw someone down the street that made him reach for his ­six-­shooter. The first thing he had done after arriving in Deming had been to take his Colt Navy to a gunsmith, have it repaired, oiled, and loaded with fresh rounds. His foresight paid off now.

“What's wrong?”

“The prospector,” Slocum said. “The one from the ghost town. That's him. He must have been on the train that arrived this morning.”

“Are you sure?” Sarah Jane squinted. “I can't be certain, but then I never got a good look at him.”

“We're going back ­and—”

“We're doing no such thing. I am going to peruse the new titles, then we will pick up the dresses.”

“Look at your books. I'll do the rest of your errands.”

Sarah Jane looked amused. “You? Going to a ladies' dress store?”

“Or we go back.”

She sniffed, stood on tiptoe, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before bustling into the bookstore. Slocum wasted no time going after the prospector. The man was as tenacious as the bounty hunter had been, but with better reason. All that gold could convince a man to circle the world and then some.

Slocum crossed the plaza and sought the man, but when he reached the general store where he had spotted the prospector, he had disappeared. Slocum stepped into the cool interior and looked around. The clerk dozed behind the counter. The prospector hadn't come in here. Slocum backed out and wondered if the man had gone into a ­saloon—­or had seen him and now became the hunter.

One place the prospector wouldn't go was the marshal's office down a street leading off the far side of the plaza. Slocum eliminated possibilities one by one and came up empty. He went to the dress store, stared at the two dresses in the window, using the plate glass reflection to watch the street behind him. Mistaking another man for the prospector was a possibility, but Slocum doubted that had happened. The best he could hope for was the man not sighting his quarry.

“Can I help you, sir? You seem quite taken by the window mannequins. If you are looking for some companionship, there are other places in town you can go.”

“Sorry, ma'am,” he said, touching the brim of his Stetson to the clerk. “I was sent to pick up a dress.”

“For your wife?”

“For Marlene Burlison. Or her maid, I suppose. Sarah Jane Mulligan.”

“Oh, Miss Burlison! I had expected her days ago. Step inside. I'll fetch the dresses.”

Slocum felt uneasy inside the shop and even more so when the clerk returned with three large boxes.

“If there is anything more to tailor, have Miss Burlison drop by.”

Slocum touched his coat pocket. He had replaced the dirty, ripped finery provided by Morgan Burlison with more durable clothing from the rail yard crew's supplies. Not taking even one gold coin from his stash now came back to haunt him.

“I don't have the money to pay for these.”

“Oh, these are for Miss Burlison. I'll put them on her bill and send it to her father. I'm sure Mr. Burlison will pay promptly. He has in the past when Miss Burlison lacked funds.”

“Thanks, ma'am,” Slocum said. “It would be a problem to fetch the money since we're pulling out in a few minutes.”

“Then you must hurry. I do hope Miss Burlison will let me know if these suit her. She is such a good customer and always stops in whenever she is traveling this way.”

Slocum wrestled the large cardboard boxes about, trying to keep his gun hand free and realizing that wasn't going to happen. He returned to the bookstore just as Sarah Jane came out with a small bundle of books neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

“Oh, my dresses! I must look at them!”

“On the train. You can show them to Miss Burlison on the train.”

“Why, yes, of course. I hope you were not too embarrassed to be my errand boy, John.”

He barely heard as he steered her back toward the depot.

“All aboard!” Mad Tom waved an oily rag and got an angry stare from a man dressed as a conductor.

The man went directly to the engineer and began arguing with him. From the tone of the argument, it was ­good-­natured on Tom's part and irritation on the conductor's.

“He usurped the conductor's prerogative,” Sarah Jane said.

“Reckon so,” Slocum said, not sure what she meant. “You should get your surp on board and tend to Miss Burlison if we're pulling out.”

“Why, John, I'm flattered that you noticed I have a lovely ‘surp.'” With a swish of her bustle, she went to the lead car, waggled her ass again just for him, and then vanished inside with the boxes.

Slocum climbed up into the cab. Tom worked his levers and the fireman stoked furiously to build a head of steam in the boiler.

“You git Miss Burlison all settled down?”

“She's taking a nap,” Slocum said. He hadn't checked to be sure she was aboard, but Sarah Jane would have let him know if her mistress wasn't in the Pullman.

Tom looked at him strangely, shrugged, then tugged on the chain to loose an earsplitting whistle. He leaned out to check the cars as the train began moving. He ducked back, gave more steam to the pistons, and the Yuma Bullet rolled from the yard, hit the switches, and rattled onto the tracks, heading into Texas.

“Never thought we'd get this far,” Slocum admitted. He let the air rush past, evaporating the sweat on his face and body. Even the occasional burning cinder didn't keep him from feeling a sense of accomplishment.

“Been a labor of Hercules,” Tom said. “Reckon you'll be sad to see it over.”

Slocum thought of the money hidden away and how the train sped southward faster than any horse could gallop. The posses were behind him unless a lawman had telegraphed ahead. That seemed less a possibility with every passing minute.

“I should go back and be certain Miss Burlison is all settled down,” he said.

“You surely do call it by strange names.” Tom laughed, gave another long whistle, and settled down to watch the tracks ahead.

Slocum made his way to the Pullman car, noticing how the Yuma Bullet strained more now because of the extra cars. He opened the door from the platform and ducked inside. Marlene sat on a sofa, needlework in her lap. When she looked over and saw him, her face lit up like the sun coming from behind a cloud.

“How do you like it?”

Slocum had to pull his attention from Marlene to Sarah Jane, who pirouetted about so her skirts flared outward. She wore a red dress with a plunging neckline that any dance hall girl would find daring. With a quick movement, she stopped her spin and faced him. She raised her arms to allow him to fully admire the dress.

“Is that one I brought back for Miss Burlison?”

“Why, uh, yes, it is, John,” Sarah Jane said quickly. “She's letting me try it on. I think it is positively stunning, don't you agree?”

Slocum looked at Marlene, who averted her eyes.

“That's mighty generous of you, Miss Burlison, letting your servant try on your duds.”

Marlene only nodded.

“I will wear this today and pretend I am attending a grand ball hosted by the crowned heads of Europe,” Sarah Jane said, preening in front of the mirror.

Slocum looked past her, out the rear door window. His hand flew to his ­six-­shooter.

“John, what's wrong?” Marlene looked up at his sudden move.

“I saw someone I knew.”

“The bounty hunter?” Her voice was barely a whisper audible over the rattle of the wheels against the track.

“Don't expect to see him again,” Slocum said in a voice equally low.

“Whatever are you two whispering about?” Sarah Jane came toward them.

Slocum moved fast and turned around, putting his back to the door to protect her if the prospector opened fire. As quietly as he had spoken to Marlene, he said to Sarah Jane, “The prospector's here.”

“So he
was
in Deming? He followed you on the morning train?”

“That looks to be so,” Slocum said. “I'll see that he doesn't bother us.”

“Wait.” Sarah Jane clutched his arm. “Can I help?”

Slocum thought about how messy it might be if a gunfight broke out. Walking up to the man and shooting him down didn't appeal to him, and he doubted the prospector would go quietly with a gun shoved in his ribs. Any man who had come this far and dared so much would fight to the death. Whether he had been part of the gang robbing the bank and had ­double-­crossed his partners or had simply seen the gang bury the loot and sought to steal what had already been stolen didn't matter. He had shot it out with Slocum and a ­posse—­or maybe the bank robbers. Determination kept him striving to find his lost gold, and only death would stop him.