Ike gripped the creosote-soaked tie and pulled hard. When it gave just an inch, he reversed direction. Wood creaked as it began to splinter. A final pull toward him broke off the railroad tie about a third of the way up from the ground. It crashed to the warehouse floor.
“That’s a start.” The daughter held up her still-manacled wrists. Sturdy locks fastened the chains.
Ike tugged on the chain. The woman resisted at first, then let him reel her in closer. He positioned the lock on the splintery top of the tie, still sunk into the floor. With a quick lift and a powerful downward smash, he used the broken-off wood as a mallet. The lock shattered into a half-dozen pieces. She placed her other chained wrist on the crude anvil. Ike had to pound a bit more to break this lock, but he didn’t mind. The woman rubbed up against him like an affectionate feline to position the chains and lock.
He started to tell her how good she smelled. A trace of lilac lingered in her hair. Then he bit back the compliment. Her only likely response would be to remind him how awful he smelled.
“Next.” He reared back and let her mother sashay over into position. Both women knew how to keep his attention, but then they made their living playing out roles in front of crowded rooms filled with cowboys off the ranch.
Two quick blows broke the locks on her chains. She rubbed her wrists, then saw him watching. She held out her hands and wiggled her fingers just a little.
“Would you like to get the circulation flowing in my hands again? You can massage my wrists.”
“Mama, please,” her daughter snapped. “We’re still in a serious situation.”
“You’re right, Lily.” She graced Ike with a wink and then slipped out of the alcove.
He followed. Both women tried to move a ten-foot-tall roll of canvas.
“Don’t just stand there, help us,” Lily said. She wrapped her slender arms around the thick column and tried to lift it. Ike had no idea what it weighed, but it was far more than the women could handle. It was bulky enough that he had no chance of moving it by himself, either.
“What is that thing?” He rested his hand on the rough canvas.
“It is our cyclorama,” the mother said. “It’s a vital part of our act. Leaving behind our costumes will be a great loss, but the scenery behind us as we act is what sets us apart from all the other performers.”
“I’d disagree with that,” Ike said softly, not expecting them to overhear.
“What do you mean by that?” Lily snapped at him, her balled hands on her hips and green eyes flashing angrily.
“Oh, Lily, he meant our beauty is second to none, and we hardly need such scenery. Isn’t that right, sir?”
“Yeah, that,” Ike said.
“You’re wrong, of course. We need the set. The cyclorama allows us to change costumes as the scenery unfurls behind us. It is quite spectacular.”
“Like you,” Ike got out.
“Are you smitten or besotted? No, don’t tell me. Just help me!” Lily tried once more to move the cyclorama.
He started to help, then froze. Loud voices came from the direction where he had entered the warehouse. Before he had a chance to tell the women to run, four men slithered around the stacked freight and spotted them.
For an instant, they all stood stock-still, staring at one another. Then the four freight handlers let out a shout and rushed forward.
CHAPTER THREE
Who’re you?” The man closest to Ike roared when he divined the answer for himself. “Get ’em, boys!”
The four men lumbered forward. In a footrace, Ike was sure he could outleg all of them. They were bulky men, muscled from moving freight around. There wasn’t any call for them to be quick. That didn’t save Ike and the women, though. They were boxed in by crates and the semicircle of railroad men coming for them.
“Push,” Ike grated out. He stepped behind the ten-foot-tall roll of canvas scenery. Braced against the crates, he put his back into shoving as hard as he could. The cyclorama wobbled about. When Lily joined the effort, the column teetered about, then came crashing down.
The cyclorama knocked two of their attackers to the ground. A third tried to catch the upper end and regretted it. The falling weight proved too much for him. The roll slid through his hands and smashed down on his foot. The fourth man paused to take in the woes befalling his partners. Ike stepped up, judged distances and unloaded a roundhouse punch to the gut that lifted the man off his feet. Gasping and clutching his belly, the warehouse worker doubled over. He sounded like a set of wheezing fireplace bellows as he fought for wind.
“Run,” Ike said.
“Our property!” Lily’s mother tried to pick up a carpetbag. Ike knocked it from her hands, grabbed her elbow and half dragged her away. “But our costumes,” she protested. “The scenery!”
“Run, Mama, run! They’ll kill us if you don’t.”
“Or sell you to Mexican slavers,” Ike added. What worried Lily had no effect on her mother. She moaned about their lost luggage but trailed behind as her daughter matched Ike’s long stride out of the warehouse.
He closed his eyes for a moment and let the Texas sun burn his face. It was a humid day, but the air blew hot from a half-dozen moving engines in the yard and evaporated the sweat. Shouts from behind brought him out of his momentary enjoyment of freedom.
Ike patted his waistband where he had tucked the six-shooter taken off the dead man in the freight car. He sagged in despair. Marshal Granger had it now, but having it to wave around might have bought them passage away from the trains even if Ike had no intention of actually firing. The bustle of the rail yard passed them by—or most of it did.
“They’re getting out from under the cyclorama, Mama,” Lily warned. “Don’t go back. Don’t!”
“We can’t possibly keep running from them and expect to escape. There’s too many of them.” Lily’s mother kept looking over her shoulder. Every time she did, she slowed just a little more.
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Ike said. “How are you at jumping onto a freight train?” Two nearby engines built speed, both hooked to long lines of boxcars. The farther one already had built too much speed to jump aboard, but the closer one held promise.
“We can’t leave our belongings,” Lily protested.
“Good luck,” Ike said. He touched the brim of his hat politely, then dashed for the train. One freight car rattled along with its door half-open.
“You can’t abandon us! Come back here!”
Ike heard Lily’s aggrieved voice. He felt bad about leaving them, but staying to help put his own life in jeopardy. From what they’d said, their lives weren’t in danger like his. The owner of the Grand Palace—Zachary, they’d said—held a grudge about them stealing from him. From what Ike had seen of the two women, they’d charm him into letting them work off whatever amount they’d stolen. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, but they were worth more alive than dead.
He stole a final look at Lily. She was worth more alive to about everyone.
He had no idea what he had gotten mixed up in. One of the railroad detectives had shot Gregorio. The only reason Ike saw for that was the roundhouse engineer wanting to tell the other dead man something important. From the viciousness shown by Kinchloe and the other cinder bulls, it would put a noose around their necks. Or maybe it had some importance to their boss. Ike tried to remember his name, but it eluded him.