For the first part of the trip, there were only six people in the car: John, Claire, and Kirby, plus one other couple, and a man dressed as a clergyman, who was traveling alone. The clergyman kept staring at Claire and the baby with an obvious look of displeasure on his face. Finally he spoke.
“You are in violation of God’s law,” he said.
“I beg your pardon, Parson, did you say something?” John asked.
“I said you are sinners, both of you. Cohabitation without marriage is a sin. Whoremongers and adulterers God will judge.”
“Well, Parson, it’s none of your business, but it so happens that we are married.”
The parson shook his head. “No, that ain’t possible. God don’t hold with white men marryin’ savages.”
“Oh? Would you mind telling me where, in the Bible, it says that?”
“Ezra 10:2–3. ‘We have taken strange wives of the people of the land, yet now there is hope in Israel concerning this thing. Now therefore let us make a covenant with our God to put away all the wives, and such as are born of them,’” the parson said, sanctimoniously.
“Colossians 3:11. ‘There is no distinction between Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and freeman, but Christ is all, and in all.’” John replied
“How dare you, sir!” the parson said, pointing a long, bony finger at John. “How dare you quote scripture to a man of Gawd?”
“You call yourself a man of God. Yet ‘you love all words that devour, oh deceitful tongue.’ Psalm 52:4,” John said.
“You . . . you know your scripture, sir,” the parson said, surprised by John’s Bible acumen.
“I do.”
“Then why in Gawd’s name would you marry an Indian whore?” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Mister, and I’m not calling you parson anymore, because by your words, you have proven yourself to be unworthy of that title. So I’m telling you now to leave this car, and don’t come back in until either you, or we, leave this train. And we won’t be leaving this train for a thousand miles.”
“I will not leave this car,” the parson said, angrily. “I paid for my passage.”
“Here is ten dollars,” John said, handing the parson a bill. “Now, get out of this car and stay out.”
“You have no right to order me out.”
“Oh, it isn’t a question of whether I have the right,” John said. He smiled, but it was a taunting smile. “It’s a question of whether I am capable of grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and the seat of your pants and bodily throwing you off this train. And believe me, sir, I am. Now your choice is simple. Leave this car now, of your own accord, or I will throw you off the train.”
“You wouldn’t dare, sir!” the parson said, confidently.
“Shall we see?”
John walked over to him and grabbed him by his shirt and the seat of his pants and started moving him toward the door. “I wonder if you will bounce,” John said.
“No! No! God in heaven, man, don’t do it! Don’t do it!”
“You’ll leave of your own volition?”
“I will, I will!”
John took his hands away.
“Here’s another thing,” John said. “Don’t let me see you again. When we are in the dining car, don’t you come in. If we get off the train for a few minutes in some station, don’t you be where I can see you. Do you understand that? I don’t want to see your ugly face again, ever, anywhere.”
“You . . . you have no right . . .”
“I thought we had already discussed that,” John said. He shook his head. “I told you, I don’t care whether I have the right or not. Now, get.”
The preacher licked his lips a couple of times, then, turning, he hurried out through the front door of the car.
John looked at the other couple in the car, an older man and woman who had been watching the whole thing.
“Ma’am, sir, I’m sorry about that,” he said. “But I’ve always believed that it was the duty of a man to look after his wife and family. And that means to shield them from all hostility, whether by word or action.”
“Young man, you have nothing to apologize for,” the elderly man said. “You had every right to protect your family.”
“And your wife and baby are beautiful,” the elderly woman added.
“Thank you, I think so myself. Of course, I might be just a little prejudiced,” John said with a smile. “Would you care to join my family and me in the dining car for lunch? I would be delighted to have you as our guests.”
“Why, yes, we would be happy to. Thank you very much, young man.”
A few minutes later, John, Claire, Kirby, and the man and woman who had accepted John’s invitation were enjoying their lunch in the dining car. Their names were Mr. and Mrs. George Upton. Mr. Upton was a retired college professor from Washington University in St. Louis. They were on their way to California because, as Upton explained, he had always wanted to see what was beyond the setting sun.
“I remember as a young man, seeing so many people coming through St. Louis, bound for California,” Upton said. “That is how St. Louis acquired the name the Gateway City, you know.”
“So I’ve heard,” John replied.
“I almost joined one of the trains, but I was only fourteen at the time, and the wagon master would not let me come with them without my parents’ permission. Oh, what an adventure that would have been.”
“I have told him, many times, I am quite satisfied to be making the journey in the comfort of a Palace Car,” Mrs. Upton said.
“Are you a . . . and please don’t take offense, but my curiosity is piqued. Are you a mountain man?”
“No offense taken, Professor. I am indeed a mountain man,” John said.
“But your language, your Bible acumen, that isn’t something one would associate with a mountain man.”
“I am a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania,” John said. “But, I have taken a postgraduate course in mountaineering.”
“My word, a postgraduate course in mountaineering? Where does one find such a course?”
“In Colorado and Montana,” John said. “And I’ve had excellent professors, a man named Preacher, a man named Smoke, and a woman named Hanhepiwi.”
Claire smiled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Tau Kappa Epsilon Fraternity House
Smoke was given a position of honor at the head of the table in the dining room of the TKE house. Every member of the fraternity treated him with awe.
“Mr. Jensen, how many men have you killed?” a plebe asked.
“Booker! You are dismissed from the table!” McGrath said, angrily.
“No, please,” Smoke said, holding up his hand. “It’s a legitimate question, given the number of books that have been written about me, and many of them stressing only that part of the story. The truth is, Booker, I’m not quite sure how many men I have killed. It’s not something I’ve ever wanted to keep a tally of, as some perverted badge of honor. But I will say this. I have never killed a man who didn’t need killing.”
“But what gave you the right to determine whether he needed killing or not?” Booker asked.
It was more of a challenge than a question, and everyone sitting around the dining room table looked toward Smoke to see how he would react.
“That is another good question,” Smoke said. “For the most part, survival gave me the right to make the determination,” Smoke said. “I killed men who were trying to kill me. But there have been times when I purposely set out to hunt men down for the sole purpose of killing them.”
“There is no statute of limitations for murder,” Booker said. “Are you afraid that some zealous prosecutor might bring charges against you today?”