Monte walked over and slapped Smoke on the shoulder, smiling at the men standing next to him. “Well, boys, I’ll bet it’s good to get home, ain’t it?” he asked.
“It is certainly good to get my posterior off of those torture devices the railroad calls seats,” Louis said, stretching and rubbing his butt at the same time. “I do believe they stuff those seats with rocks,” he added, wincing at the pain in his buttocks.
“Just think how bad it would’a been if we would’a had to sit in regular seats ‘stead of those padded ones in Mr. Hill’s car,” Pearlie said.
“I rather not think about that eventuality, if you don’t mind,” a grouchy Louis rejoined.
Monte’s deputy tipped his hat and said hi to the men before he walked off down the platform toward the baggage and livestock cars.
“Jim’s gonna get your hosses and luggage and all,” Monte said. “Why don’t we head on over to Louis’s place and get some good grub into you boys,” he said, hesitating before adding, “You all look like you been starved half to death up there in the North Country.”
Pearlie’s tired face broke into a wide smile. “Did I hear somebody say grub?”
Smoke nodded. “That sounds awfully good, Monte. I could use some coffee that I don’t have to chew before swallowing.” He smiled. “After riding with mountain men for a spell, any coffee that won’t float a horseshoe is considered too weak to bother with.”
“Yeah,” Cal added. “Like they said, their coffee don’t take near as much water as you think it do,” he said, doing a fair imitation of Bear Tooth’s growl.
Daniel Macklin sat on a bench at the far end of the platform, whittling on a stick and watching the men as they moved off toward the downtown area. He’d been on this same bench watching the arrival of each and every train that’d pulled into Big Rock for the past three months. His lips curled into a slow grin as he realized his job was just about over.
The fingers of Macklin’s right hand twitched as they hung just above the butt of his pistol, tied down low on his right thigh. He forced the hand to relax, deciding to wait until he’d contacted Angus MacDougal before he braced Jensen. He hoped when Angus found out Jensen was back in town that he would wire him back giving him permission to kill the son of a bitch. That would be fitting, he thought, since the men Jensen had killed had been some of his best friends.
He got slowly to his feet, dropped the sharpened stick to the ground as he leaned his shoulder against the corner of the building, and waited for Carl Jacoby to get off the train. Angus had wired him Jacoby was trailing Jensen, so Macklin figured he’d be somewhere on the same train.
Sure enough, a few minutes after Jensen and his friends had left, Macklin saw Jacoby exit a car further down the track. As Jacoby put his bag down and looked around, Macklin gave a low whistle and grinned. Jacoby was also a good friend of his, though Macklin thought he was a dumb ass for mooning over Sarah MacDougal like a hound dog in heat. Sarah would never give ordinary cowhands like them the time of day—she had been groomed since she was just a pup for finer things, men more important than country boys. Of course, that was before her brother had been killed. Who knows what was going on in her mind at this stage?
Jacoby nodded, picked up his bag, and walked toward Macklin. “Hey, Mac, how’re you doin’?” Jacoby asked.
Macklin looked down at the large pile of wood shavings from his whittling and grinned. “I’m doin’ a mite better now that you and Jensen are here,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder at Jensen’s group as they walked down the street away from the station. “I’m sick of coolin’ my heels here for the past few months waitin’ on y’all to get back from the North Country.”
“I hear that,” Jacoby said, nodding his agreement. “Come on,” he added, “show me to the nearest saloon. My mouth’s so dry I’m spittin’ cotton.”
Macklin pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you think we’d better wire ol’ Angus first and tell him everbody’s here?”
“Naw,” Jacoby said, waving his hand in dismissal of the thought. “I wired him from along the way tellin’ him when we were gonna get here. Besides, there’s some things I gotta tell you ‘fore we decide on just how to proceed with this matter, important things.”
Upon hearing that his boss and friend was back, Andre rushed from the kitchen in Longmont’s Saloon and wrapped his arms around Louis’s shoulders, giving him a quick kiss on both cheeks in the French manner.
“Thank you, Andre,” Louis said, smiling at the man who’d been both his chef and his good friend for many years. “I’m glad to see you also.”
“But Monsieur Louis,” Andre said, clucking his tongue and shaking his head as he stepped back and took a good look at Louis. “You have lost much weight on your journey. Did not those railroad men up there in Canada feed you?”
“Not nearly enough, Andre,” Pearlie piped up from the rear of the group of men.
Andre glanced up and smiled. “Ah, Monsieur Pearlie, my most ardent customer.”
“If ardent means hungry,” Pearlie said, “you sure got that right, Andre.” He took his seat at the table and stared at the chef with anticipation. “How long before we can get some lunch?”
Andre laughed. “I will get to work immediately,” he said. “I will see that fresh coffee is prepared while I fix you a lunch that will put some weight back on your bones and some strength back in your muscles.”
The men all took seats at Louis’s regular table just as the young black man who was the head waiter appeared carrying a tray with a silver coffee service and five mugs on it.
As they drank their coffee, Monte leaned back and said, “All right now, boys, tell me all about your adventures up there north of the border.”
“First, Monte,” Smoke said, “I want to know if you’ve heard from Sally.”
“Oh, dagnabit, I almost forgot,” Monte said. “I got a wire yesterday that said she’d gotten your telegram saying you were on your way home. She said her father is doing much better and she will probably be here in the next week or so.”
Smoke didn’t answer, but the smile on his face showed he was pleased at the news. Before he’d left for Canada a few months back, his wife Sally had gone back East to be with her ailing father. Smoke was glad to hear the man was better and that she’d be home soon, for he missed her terribly.
Pearlie stuck a cigarette he’d built into his mouth, leaned back as he got it going, and proceeded to give a slightly exaggerated account of the men’s adventures in the Canadian wilds over the past six months. He ended his narrative with the tale of the train robbers. “And Cal here actually got into the gunfight with us without getting wounded, if you can believe that!” Pearlie said, taking a breath and finally getting around to sampling his coffee, which was cooling by now.
Cal unconsciously reached under the table and rubbed the sore spot on his thigh where he had in fact been slightly wounded, something he’d managed to keep from his friends. It wasn’t his fault that bullets just naturally seemed to seek him out, no matter how careful he was in the gunfights. Luckily, though he was a frequent target, none of the wounds had been overly serious.
Monte laughed and slapped Cal on the back. “Well, now, that is something. Maybe your luck’s changing, Cal,” he said just as Andre appeared followed by two waiters with platters of heaping food in their hands.
Pearlie hurriedly stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed his hands together. “All right!”
Andre caught Louis and Smoke’s eyes and winked. “I am glad to see that you are so hungry, Monsieur Pearlie,” he said, nodding his head.