Read A Rocky Mountain Christmas Online
Authors: William W. Johnstone
A Rocky Mountain Christmas (9 page)
“Here,” Proxmire fussed. “Get away from my prisoner.”
“I was just passing on a greeting from a mutual friend,” Parker replied.
“You have no business with my prisoner. I’m going to ask you again, sir, to move away.”
Parker held his hands out. “Whatever you say, Deputy. I’m not one to cause trouble.” He turned away and went over to join his partners.
Jenny continued to watch the four men for the next few minutes. She was sure the man who’d spoken to Santelli had exchanged some sort of signal with him. She wondered if she should mention it to Deputy Proxmire. After a moment’s consideration, she decided not to say anything about it. There was no law against exchanging glances, and though Jenny was of a suspicious nature, she convinced herself there was nothing significant about the way the men had looked at each other.
An overweight well-dressed man, a woman, and a child came into the depot then. The man pointed to one of the long wooden bench seats. “Millie, you and Becky wait there for me. I’ll get the tickets.”
“All right.” The woman hustled the little girl to the bench.
“Mama, I still don’t feel good.”
“I know, dear. There’s room on the seat, and you can lie down and put your head in my lap.”
“What about when we get on the train?”
“I’m sure there will be room enough on the train, too, for you to lie down.”
“Senator Daniels! Senator Daniels, I’m with the
Pueblo Chieftain
. Will you stand for an interview, sir?” a young man asked the girl’s father as he started toward the ticket counter.
Pueblo Chieftain
. Will you stand for an interview, sir?” a young man asked the girl’s father as he started toward the ticket counter.
“Certainly, my good man, as soon as I secure the tickets for our travel.”
So,
Jenny thought,
that’s Senator Daniels.
She looked over toward the senator, remembering the article she had just read about him. If he was going to give a speech in Red Cliff, they would be on the same train.
Jenny thought,
that’s Senator Daniels.
She looked over toward the senator, remembering the article she had just read about him. If he was going to give a speech in Red Cliff, they would be on the same train.
At that moment the depot began to shake and rumble as a train came into the station.
“Is that our train?” Santelli asked.
Proxmire shook his head. “No, that’s the southbound. We’ll be on the Red Cliff Special, going west.”
C
HAPTER
T
EN
HAPTER
T
EN
Matt was on the train pulling into the Pueblo Station. He would leave that train and board the one going toward Red Cliff. Big Rock was on that line, being the first stop on the other side of the Mosquito Range of mountains. He was anxious to get to nearby Sugarloaf Ranch, where he planned to enjoy Christmas with his friends.
“Pueblo!” the conductor called, coming through the cars. “This stop is Pueblo. This is where you’re getting off, isn’t it, Mr. Jensen?”
“Yes, it is.”
The conductor reached out to shake Matt’s hand. “Well, sir, let me tell you it has been a real privilege having you aboard. I can’t wait until I tell my son. He has read all about you. Oh, and I thank you for the autograph.”
“It’s quite all right,” Matt said. “Tell your son I said hello.”
“I’ll do that, Mr. Jensen. Yes, sir, I will certainly do that.” He continued on through the cars calling out the stop. “Pueblo! This stop is Pueblo!”
Matt had been a little embarrassed at being asked for his autograph. He was always self-conscious about being connected with the literary work of Prentiss Ingram.
“It’s hardly literature,” Sally had said once, scoffing at the books Ingram had written, not only about Matt, but about Smoke and Falcon MacAllister, as well as books about and plays starring Buffalo Bill Cody.
Matt looked out the window as the train drew close to the Arkansas River, then passed several houses, the windows gleaming gold from the inside electric lights. Like Denver, Pueblo had been electrified. Maybe he was old-fashioned, but he preferred the soft, golden glow of gas lanterns to the harsh white of the electric lights.
Matt saw a buckboard, a young boy on the seat beside the driver. In the back of the buckboard was a freshly cut evergreen tree, no doubt soon to be sprouting tinsel and Christmas ornaments.
That turned his thoughts to Christmas with Smoke and Sally, and Matt realized it had been a long time since he had seen his friend. He was looking forward to seeing him again and renewing his acquaintance with Duff MacAllister. It was fitting they would be meeting at Christmas as he had first met him five years ago, during Christmas of 1888, when he helped Duff and Smoke deliver a herd of Abner cattle from Wyoming to Texas.
The train rolled into the station and rattled and rumbled to a halt. It was almost eight o’clock in the evening. Matt helped a young woman get her grip down from the overhead rack, then reached up for his suitcase. Carrying his coat, he followed the young woman through the car and down onto the depot platform. Immediately, he was hit by a blast of cold air. Shivering, he hurried across the brick platform and into the inviting warmth of the station as the train’s overheated journals and bearings popped in the cold air.
Inside, he saw two men talking, or rather, one man talking while the other man was busy recording their conversation in a small notepad. Matt wondered what was so special about the man that everything he said had to be recorded. Then, he heard the man with the small, narrow notepad ask a question and he knew what it was.
“Senator Daniels, are you aware of the claim being made by the coal mine owners that paying in company script is the most efficient way to run their businesses?”
“I know it is what they say. But consider the miner, how he sweats and toils beneath the earth to mine coal, only to see that his remuneration is in paper that is worthless to spend anywhere except in a company store.”
“Which provides all the necessities for living,” another reporter said. “Food, furniture, clothing. What more does someone need?”
“In my opinion, that is nothing more than a form of slavery,” Senator Daniels answered.
“But, according to the mine owners, this actually helps the miners’ families as it prevents the miners from spending money on whiskey or gambling it away.”
“Of course slave owners could justify their actions as being best for the Negro,” Senator Daniels replied. “But we all know they weren’t. Besides, who are the mine owners to make such decisions for someone else? No, sir, it is wrong. Wrong, I say, and I intend to fight against it, and I intend to fight with every ounce of my being.”
“There are some who say you have no real interest in your bill, other than as a way to generate publicity for yourself,” the reporter suggested.
“To what end, sir?” Daniels replied, obviously irritated by the question.
“Why, so you could run for governor during the next election. What about that, Senator? Do you have aspirations to run for governor? Or perhaps even a higher office?”
Senator Daniels reached up to stroke his muttonchop whiskers before he responded. “Right now, I just want to be a very good state senator. But I have chosen politics as my profession, and anyone who enters into any profession would want to reach the top, would they not?”
“So you do want to be governor?”
“No, no, I didn’t say that. And you can quote me on that.”
The reporter looked at him in confusion. “I can quote you on what, Senator?”
“You can quote me on saying I didn’t say that.” With that rather convoluted comment, Senator Daniels left the reporter scratching his head as he walked over to join his wife and their nine-year-old daughter.
“How is Becky? Is she doing any better?”
“No, Jarred, I don’t think she is doing well at all,” Millie replied. “Maybe we should stay here and find a doctor for her.”
“Nonsense. Do you really want to spend Christmas in Pueblo? You know how important it is that I be in Red Cliff for that dinner. Besides, I’ve no doubt the doctors there are just as skilled as the doctors here in Pueblo.”
“Is the dinner more important than the health of our daughter?”
“Of course not,” Senator Daniels replied. “But I don’t think it is any more than a childhood malady of some sort, and I’m sure she will be over it soon enough.”
Parker saw Matt come into the depot, and leaned over to speak to Compton. “Do you know who that fella is?”
“No, I can’t say as I do.”
“His name is Jensen. Matt Jensen.”
“Damn! You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve seen him before.”
“You think he might be goin’ on the same train we are?”
“It looks likely that he is.”
“So, what do we do?”
“If he is in the same car as Santelli and the deputy, we ain’t goin’ to do nothin’.”
“You mean we ain’t goin’ to get Santelli free?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“If we don’t get Santelli away from the deputy, we won’t get paid.”
“Is your life worth five hundred dollars? ’Cause if we go up against Jensen, we’re likely to get ourselves kilt.”
“Hell, there’s just one of him.”
“Yeah, but he’s carryin’ a gun with six bullets,” Parker pointed out.
“So, what do we do now?” Compton asked.
“We wait and see. If he goes to a different car from Santelli, then we’ll do just what we planned to do.”
Matt checked the schedule board and saw that he had at least half an hour remaining until the westbound train was due. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, but he didn’t think he would have time to order a regular dinner. So, stepping up to the depot lunch counter, he ordered a piece of apple pie and a cup of coffee.
As he ate, he looked round the waiting room of the depot, appraising as best he could the people who would be his fellow travelers.
The first ones he checked were the senator and his family. The little girl didn’t look well and Matt was struck by the expression of concern on the mother’s face. He saw considerably less concern reflected in the face of the young girl’s father.
Matt noticed the two men in handcuffs and shackles, and was surprised to see one of them was Michael Santelli. He wondered why there was an attractive young woman sitting with them, then he saw the banner and could tell by her demeanor it was directed at her.
“Hey”—the reporter looked over toward Matt—“you’re Matt Jensen, aren’t you?”
Matt took a swallow of his coffee.
“Yes, you are. You are the one who took down Michael Santelli. He’s here, you know, on his way to Red Cliff to be hanged. He’s sitting right over there, right now.” The reporter pointed toward the bench occupied by Santelli, Luke, Proxmire, and the young woman.
“Yes, I saw him.”
“You know what would be good? If I could get a picture of you with Santelli. We use the half-tone method of reproducing photographs.”
“No, thank you.”
“Is Santelli the reason you are here in Pueblo?” The reporter kept hounding.
“No, I’m just passing through Pueblo. And by the way, I didn’t take him down. He was arrested by Deputy Sheriff Ben Mason. He is a fine officer.”
“Yes, but everyone knows if you hadn’t been there, Santelli would more than likely have killed Mason. You were the hero of that event.”
“I don’t agree,” Matt said. “The fact that Mason took Santelli on, knowing that he could be killed, makes him the
real
hero.”
real
hero.”
“Yes, I guess you have a point there. But say, would you mind if I interviewed you for a story?”
At that moment a whistle sounded and a bright light illuminated the darkness outside as the beam from the great, mirrored headlamp announced the approach of another train. Everyone in the depot started getting ready to board the westbound train.
“Sorry,” Matt said as he finished his coffee. “But that’s my train.”
As the others began gathering their belongings and getting ready to board, Matt walked over to the telegraph office and wrote out a quick telegram to Smoke.
IN PUEBLO BOARDING TRAIN NINE PM STOP ARRIVE
BIG ROCK SIX AM TOMORROW STOP MATT
BIG ROCK SIX AM TOMORROW STOP MATT
Matt paid the telegrapher, then, grabbing his small case, he hurried outside to join the others in boarding the train.
Just before they boarded, Proxmire looked over at Jenny. “Now look here, Mrs. McCoy. You ain’t goin’ to jump back off the train before we get started, are you?”
“Don’t worry, Deputy. I have no intention of remaining in this town.”
“Good. Because after I get these prisoners delivered, if I come back and find you are still here, it’ll be more than just askin’ you to leave town.”
“Leave the lady alone, Deputy,” Luke said.
“Mr. Shardeen, seein’ as you’re goin’ off to jail yourself, it don’t seem to me like you’re in any position to be a’ tellin’ me anything. This here woman’s bein’ run out of town, and I’m charged to see to it that she leaves.”
At Jenny’s assurance she would stay on the train, Proxmire turned and steered his prisoners toward the train. Matt watched them shuffle to the next to last car. The four outlaws quickly followed.
From in the line behind them, Becky asked, “Mama, why are they telling that lady she has to leave town?”
“Hush, darling. I don’t know, and it is none of our business,” Millie replied.
Again, Matt saw the young woman’s cheeks flame in embarrassment and watched as she climbed into the last car. He didn’t recognize her, but at least knew he had seen her somewhere before. He just couldn’t remember when or where. Without that information, he wasn’t able to put a name to the face.
Matt and the Daniels family followed Jenny into the last car, illuminated by kerosene lanterns, three on each side, mounted on gimbals. Two coal-burning stoves—one at each end—were in the car, and the smoke was carried outside by chimneys, which passed through the roof. The stoves were well stoked and burning briskly so the car was comfortably warm, despite the brutal outside temperature.
Matt took the very last seat in the car, which was exactly where he wanted to be. From his position at the back, he could observe without being obvious. He looked at the woman the deputy had called Jenny McCoy. It was not a name he recognized, and if she was a prostitute as the sign had indicated, she was certainly unlike any prostitute he had ever seen before.
She was very attractive, but not garishly so as was the case with so many prostitutes. She was quiet and noncombative, and, even in her obvious embarrassment, there was a sense of bearing about her he would describe as regal.
Just as the train whistle blew, a man came flying out of the depot and ran up the steps of the last car. He sat down quickly in the front seat.
The train started forward then, jerking a few times until all the slack was taken from the couplings. It gradually and smoothly increased speed until it reached approximately twenty miles per hour, the speed at which it would run for as long as it was on flat ground. After a few hours, it would start on a long upgrade, and the speed would decrease sharply.
“I’m cold, Mama,” Matt heard the little girl say.
“Don’t be silly,” Senator Daniels replied. “It’s not cold in here. If anything, it is too warm.”
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