The Railroad War (6 page)

For the first three miles after the stagecoach left the supply depot, rails had been laid roughly parallel to the road. At the point where the completed trackage ended, a half-dozen handcars were lined up, and beyond them, crews were at work setting rails. The clang of sledgehammers driving spikes into the tie-plates that held the rails firmly on the crossties filled the air as the stage rolled past the work gangs. At the points where rail lengths butted together, other gangs worked on their knees, installing fishplates to hold the joints tight.

After the rails ended, there was still another mile where pick-and-shovel crews were placing ties in gravel ballast and leveling them in line with stakes driven earlier by surveyors. When the stage passed the last of the tie-laying gangs, there was nothing but graded roadbed for several miles, with ties lying beside the grade, waiting for the crews to reach them.

“I'd say we've seen the last of the South Sierra Railway for a while,” Ki commented as he looked at the wide swath the grading crews had cut across the rising terrain. “The south pass into Hidden Valley isn't too far ahead, is it, Bobby?”

“Only about another mile and a half,” Bobby replied. “Mr. Abel's ranch starts just a little bit this side of the pass.”

“A cattle ranch?” Jessie asked.

“Oh, sure, Miss Jessie. There's four more in the south end of the valley, too.”

“Is there enough range and water in the valley to support five ranches?”

“Well, they ain't anywheres near as big as yours, but all of ‘em raise cattle.”

“Longhorns? Or mixed breeds?”

“Herefords, mostly. I worked on Mr. Abel's ranch during roundup. I guess maybe that's what I want to do when I grow up, is be a cowboy.”

“If you do, and you ever need a job, there'll always be a place for you on the Circle Star,” Jessie told him.

“I'd sure like that,” Bobby said. “Mr. Wright and all the rest of ‘em were real nice to me while I was there.”

Ahead, the road curved sharply up a gentle rise, and shelving rock formations began to show, their sharp edges outlined in crisp detail by the westering sun. The dark strip of turned dirt that marked the railroad right-of-way ended abruptly at the beginning of the curve. The stagecoach slowed, and the shouts of the driver grew louder and came more often as he geed the team up the increasingly steep grade.

At the top of the incline the driver pulled up and called, “I got to stop here and breathe the team, if you wanta get out and stretch your legs a minute or so.”

Ki swung out of the coach and lowered the stirrup-step for Jessie. She had just stepped to the ground when a man's voice behind them said politely, “Would you folks mind turning around so I can get a good look at you?”

Jessie and Ki turned to face the speaker. He was a tall, suntanned man, dressed in rancher's cords. A rifle was cradled in his elbow and Ki noticed that though the weapon was held with apparent casualness, the man had his right hand wrapped aroung the stock's throat and his finger was positioned to slide quickly to the trigger. Behind them, Bobby spoke from the open door of the stagecoach.

“It's all right, Clegg,” the youth said. “This is Miss Starbuck and Ki. You don't need to worry about them, they've come to help Grandpa.”

“Bobby Tinker!” the man with the rifle exclaimed. “Dog-gone you, boy! Don't you know the Captain's been fretting ever since you left? What got into you, anyhow?”

Jessie spoke quickly. “That's a long story, Mr. Clegg. Perhaps you'd better wait and let Captain Tinker tell you the details after he's talked with Bobby.”

“Clegg's my first name, Miss Starbuck. Clegg Sanford. I'm Blaine Abel's ranch foreman, and I guess like everybody else in the cattle business, I've heard about you and your daddy.”

“My father's dead, Mr. Sanford. And this is Ki, who—well, Ki helps me whenever I need help.”

Sanford nodded to Ki, who returned the salutation. Then he said to Jessie, “I'd feel better if you'd just call me Clegg, Miss Starbuck. And I'm sorry about your daddy. I know the Captain will be too.”

“Father's been dead for some time, Clegg,” Jessie replied. “I was surprised when Bobby told me that Captain Tinker hadn't gotten word of his death.”

“We're sorta tucked away in a corner here in Hidden Valley, Miss Starbuck. It takes a long time for news to get to us.”

Ki said, “I've been wondering why you met the stage with a rifle, Clegg. Has the railroad crowd been stirring up trouble?”

“Not any more'n usual.”

“That could mean almost anything,” Jessie said.

“Well, it means we've had some water holes salted and some steers shot at night. But it's been little piddling stuff, so far. Then, when they got the grade up to the pass a few days ago, Blaine figured they might try some kinda tricks, like setting off a charge of dynamite to open it up.”

Ki nodded. “So you're guarding it. I hope you've got enough men to keep someone on duty day and night.”

“Oh, Blaine's worked things out with the other ranchers. We take turns, and the work gets done, and nobody's put out much.”

“From what you've said, I get the idea the ranchers aren't anxious to have a railroad through the valley,” Jessie said.

“We'd
like
to have a railroad. It'd save driving steers to the Southern Pacific shipping pens up north when we take ‘em to market,” Clegg replied. “But not this railroad. They started out acting like crooks, and that gave us a pretty good idea how they'd act if they got in.”

Before Jessie could ask Clegg any more questions, the stage driver called, “Horses are rested now. Better get moving, if we're going to make it the rest of the way before dark.”

Hidden Valley, as Jessie viewed it from the stagecoach in the late afternoon sunlight, was as different from her beloved Circle Star as any place could be. The valley might have been on another planet, an older and more settled world than the one on which the ranch was located. The only feature common to the two areas was that both were virtually treeless. In all other ways, Hidden Valley contrasted sharply with the endlessly sprawling, bare and unpeopled expanse of the vast southwest Texas prairie. Still, Jessie found herself drawn to the isolated pocket of green that nestled between the mountains.

For the first two or three miles, lush pastures stretched from the road on both sides. Late as the summer was, the grass in the fields was still green, and came midway up the stumpy legs of the whitefaced Hereford steers that grazed in small herds on the unfenced land. Only two of the ranch houses were visible from the road, but Bobby pointed out the locations of those that were nestled in valleys or behind low rises of the ground.

Gradually the pastures gave way to farms, where there were neat dwellings and oversized barns spaced widely apart, with fenced crop rows stretching away from them in neatly spaced lines. Most of the farm crops had been harvested, but men were working in some of the fields visible from the stagecoach. Between the bare acres where the harvest had been made and the fields freshly plowed, a few fields still showed green squares of rectangles of unpicked vegetables not yet ready to go to market.

Twilight was approaching and the sky had turned a deep, clear blue by the time the stage stopped in the town, which bore the same name as that of the valley. The driver pulled the team to a creaking halt in front of the livery stable. For a moment after they alighted, Jessie, Ki, and Bobby stood by the coach, adjusting to the lack of motion after the swaying of the top-heavy vehicle. Then, while waiting for the driver to get their luggage from the boot, they stepped out into the road to look at the town.

There were no houses near the livery stable; it was isolated by an expanse of corrals and barns from the nearest dwellings. A hundred yards or so beyond the corral, the unpaved road became a street, and the town began. Ki took the two heavy bags, and Bobby carried Jessie's second piece of baggage, a light portmanteau.

They started up the street, passing two or three houses on either side, all of them well back from the road, and reached the beginning of a board sidewalk. The first buildings beyond the few set-back houses were an unusually large sprawling structure that rambled back from the sidewalk and just beyond it a tall, square frame building of two and a half stories.

As they got closer, they could see at the eaves of the high house a sign that said ROOMS. Above the narrow veranda of the first structure, an even larger sign extending to the street read SALOON. On the saloon's narrow veranda, a half-dozen men lounged on benches.

“Grandpa's house is a little ways off,” Bobby told his companions. “We've got to go through town, to the other side of the courthouse square.” They were approaching the saloon, and the boy added, “We can cross to the other side of the street if you don't want to walk in front of the saloon, Miss Jessie.”

“Why, I don't mind one bit walking past the saloon, Bobby,” Jessie smiled. “But you know where we're going. Ki and I don‘t, so you lead the way and we'll just follow you.”

After Jessie's reassurance, Bobby chose not to cross the street. The wooden sidewalk was far too narrow to allow them to walk three abreast, and was really not wide enough for two, so Bobby led the way, a half-step ahead of Jessie, and Ki kept a step behind. As they neared the saloon, two of the half-dozen men who were on the shallow veranda moved close to the edge and eyed the walking trio. Both of the men had on Montana-creased hats, and wore neckerchiefs at the throats of their checked gingham shirts, and duck jeans tucked into high-heeled boots. Both had on pistol belts. Their attention was focused on Jessie, and she kept her eyes straight ahead, ignoring their stares.

One of the pair, a big man who towered half a head over his companion, nudged the other and said loudly, “Well, would you look there, Slip! Seems we got a new family come to town!”

“Yep, sure seems like,” the man addressed as Slip replied. “I tell you, Jug, I wouldn't give much for the runt in front and the skinny fellow behind, but the one in between, I'd take home myself!”

Jessie gave no indication that she heard the exchange. The men were obviously drunk, and Jessie had learned that to pay any attention to drunken rowdies only encouraged them. For his part, Ki had long since learned to ignore such jibes. The man named Jug was not to be discouraged by being ignored, however.

“I might not let you take her, Slip,” he said. “I think I could do better for her than you could.”

“Well, either one of us'd be a step up from either of the two that's walking with her,” Slip commented.

“Now that's the truth,” Jug guffawed. “Well, I'll tell you what, Slip. I'll toss you for her.”

“Yeah, you're right, Jug. You or me, either one, could chew him up and spit him out and never know we'd did it.”

Jessie had seen Bobby's back stiffen when the big man made his first remark. They had reached the corner of the veranda now, and Jessie put her hand on Bobby's shoulder, hoping the boy would understand her gesture as a warning to pass on by without appearing to notice the rowdies.

Jug said to his companion, “You know, now I see her closer, I got a good mind to see if she'd like to have a real man for a change. That little piddling fellow that acts like her husband sure don't look to be man enough for a woman like her.”

Bobby, Jessie, and Ki were in front of the men now. Slip pointed at Ki and said, “Well, by God! Look at him, Jug! He's a damn chink!”

“Now she's way too good-lookin' to be wasted on a piece of yellow-skin trash,” Jug replied. “Let's just see if she don't feel the same way.”

Giving a hitch to his pistol belt, Jug stepped off the veranda to the sidewalk. He pushed Bobby into the street and planted himself in front of Jessie. Her head barely reached the big man's shoulder. She looked at him with cold eyes, and for a moment the drunken rowdy hesitated.

On the veranda, Slip guffawed, “What's wrong, Jug? Cat got your tongue? Or is your belly yellow, too?”

His companion's words gave Jug the impetus he needed. He extended his hand, reaching for Jessie's shoulder, and began, “Look here, little lady, you—”

Jessie had not attained Ki's skill in hand-to-hand combat, but her work with him had given her more than enough ability to handle a clumsy hulk like Jug. He was not prepared for the quickness with which Jessie acted. Her hands darted forward with the speed and accuracy of striking snakes. With her left hand she grasped Jug's hamlike hand, her strong fingers digging into the base of his thumb, her thumb pressing hard on the back of his hand to spread his palm. At the same time she wrapped her fingers around Jug's wrist, yanked his arm forward, then twisted his wrist down while she shoved his elbow into his bulging belly.

When he saw that his companion was in trouble, Slip stepped off the veranda, his right hand moving by habit to the butt of his holstered revolver. At Jug's first movement, Ki had dropped the suitcase he was carrying. Now he slid his left forearm into the crook of Slip's elbow, and locked his right hand around the wrist of the hoodlum's bent arm. Ki twisted Slip's wrist to bring the rowdy's hand palm-upward, then, using his own muscular forearm as a lever, he snapped the wrist down. Ki's quick, expert pressure dislocated the man's elbow. With the gargled scream of a wounded animal, Slip went to his knees, cradling his elbow in his left hand. Ki slid the thug's revolver from its holster and tossed the weapon onto the shed roof that extended above the veranda.

Jug grunted with surprise as Jessie's fingertips bit into the senstive muscles bunched in the base of his thumb. The yipping turned into a yowl of pain as she pulled his forearm down, gaining leverage by pushing harder on the elbow pressing into his midsection. He tried to pull away, but his biceps were useless with his arm locked in the downward twist, and when he tried to wrest free, the tortured nerves in his hand sent shooting pains up his arm and shoulder.