“Lassiter wanted to know,” Hobbs said. “I thought for security, I’m sorry—”
“Sorry? Damn right you’re sorry!”
“I was the one who got the Pinkerton agents,” Hobbs said.
“Yes! You are the one who got the Pinkerton agents! You got the Pinkerton agents killed!”
The governor jerked a handkerchief from his pocket and slung it at Hobbs.
“Goddamn you, Chet,” he said.
64
The governor was sure enough angry and certainly distraught. He was doing his best to remain composed, but he was not doing a very good job of it. He resumed pacing but avoided looking at Hobbs. He spoke to Virgil and me as he moved.
“Even with the Pinkertons on guard, I was not so stupid to carry that amount of money in my possession,” the governor said. “Or in the freight safe with guards. God knows how many payrolls have been absconded from train safes.”
Continuing shafts of sun slanted across the room as Half Moon Junction was waking up. Outside, a skinner hawed a team of mules as they rounded the corner of the hotel and drove north up the street. After a moment more of pacing, the governor stopped in front of the snarling bobcats and turned to face Virgil and me.
“So,” he said, “what now?”
Virgil looked at me.
“Lassiter showed his hand,” I said.
“He did,” Virgil said.
“Didn’t have to.”
“No,” Virgil said, “he didn’t.”
“Article just mentioned him,” I said, “didn’t convict him.”
“He convicted himself.”
We thought about that for a moment.
“Something spooked him,” Virgil said.
“That would be you, Marshal,” Hobbs said as he removed the handkerchief from his bleeding nose. “You scared the hell out of him when you were asking us all those questions.”
“He said that?” I asked.
“No,” Hobbs said, shaking his head, “not in words, anyway. He did say he thought the questions were unnecessary and insensitive, but in retrospect, I realize he was seriously disconcerted after your inquisition.”
“Disconcerted to the point he took my goddamn horse,” Berkeley said.
“Lassiter planned this with this thief Wellington,” the governor said. “The whole devious plot. Most likely intending on returning to the firm, keeping his profile.”
“Not now,” Virgil said.
“Nope,” I said. “Don’t think Texas will be part of his itinerary,” I said, “no time soon, anyway.”
“He’s got one of two options. He’ll get as far away as possible or he goes after Wellington, and the money he thinks Wellington has,” Virgil said.
“Wellington was vicious with his demands, and Lassiter was rattled, or he seemed rattled,” Hobbs said. “Do you think Wellington double-crossed him?”
“Lassiter thinks, or I would assume he thinks, Wellington has the money,” the governor said.
“That’s right,” Virgil said.
“And Wellington,” I said, “since he had your case, Governor, thought he was in possession of the money.”
Virgil pushed up on the brim of his hat a slight bit.
“There’s one thing for certain now, though,” Virgil said. “Now he knows he’s not in possession of it.”
“Might try and go after it,” I said.
“Might,” Virgil said.
The front door opened and a skinny young boy with coal dust on his hands and face and a head full of shaggy blond hair hurried in. He stopped by the black bears in the foyer and looked up at Virgil and me standing in the entrance to the main room of the hotel.
“Mr. Berkeley,” the boy said.
Berkeley got off the stool to have a look at the towheaded boy.
“What is it, Charlie?”
Charlie took a deep breath.
“Sam told me to fetch you right away!” Charlie said. “Said it was important! It’s got something to do with the governor’s daughters!”
65
The sun felt warm on my face. It was a new day, and sleep apparently was not an option, at least for the foreseeable future. Virgil and I had been in many sleep-deprived situations before, situations in which we had to operate on gumption and get-go, and this was shaping up to be one of those very situations. We walked down the street, heading to meet Sam and figure out what important information young Charlie was talking about regarding Abigail and Emma. The air was crisp, and there was not a cloud in the morning sky as Virgil, Berkeley, Hobbs, the governor, and I followed Charlie as he hurried ahead in front of us. Virgil and I lagged behind, out of earshot of the others.
“What do you allow, Virgil?”
“Hard to speculate.”
I didn’t say anything else as we continued walking.
“You?” Virgil said.
“Don’t know,” I said. “Been sort of expectant about it.”
“Sort of?”
“More than sort of.”
We walked on for a bit.
“I saw it right off,” Virgil said.
“What?”
“Feelings,” Virgil said. “The feelings that sprung up between the two of you. You and Emma. Short time as it was, I saw it.”
We walked a bit more.
“Like you surmised,” I said. “After we disconnected from the first coach, there was not a damn thing we could do about the fact Emma and Abigail were headed north and we were headed south but I’ve not for an extended moment stopped thinking about them, Virgil.”
“Nope,” Virgil said. “Me neither.”
“I hope to hell they are alive.”
Virgil rested his hand on my shoulder.
“Me too, Everett,” Virgil said. “Me too.”
Up ahead, the governor looked back to Berkeley.
“Just where is the boy headed, Mr. Berkeley?” the governor said. “Where is this Sam?”
“At the depot, sir,” Berkeley said. “Sam is the Half Moon Junction stationmaster.”
We walked by the tent encampments as we neared the depot. I did not need the aroma of coffee and bacon cooking to remind me I was getting hungry again. Just before we passed the encampment I heard the sound of a locomotive building up steam followed by two blasts of the engine’s whistle. When we cleared the last tent I saw the engine coming down the track. It was a Yard Goat, a heavy duty 0-6-0 locomotive, used for moving cars around switchyards. It was engineered by a burly man with his hairy arm hanging out the window.
“That Sam?” Hobbs said.
Berkeley shook his head.
“No, that’s Uncle Ted, Sam’s uncle in the Yard Goat,” Berkeley said. “Looks like he’s getting the track cleared.”
The Goat was connected to the coaches that had been left on the track and was in the process of pulling them into the switchyard.
Berkeley pointed to a little man walking next to the Yard Goat.
“That’s Sam there,” Berkeley said.
Sam switched the rails, and the Yard Goat whistle blasted two shorts and moved the cars slowly off the main track onto a side rail that dead-ended in the switchyard.
Sam said something to Uncle Ted and gestured up the track to the north. Uncle Ted nodded, saying something back, and throttled the Goat into the yard. Sam walked down the track toward the depot with his hands in the front pockets of his overalls.
As we neared the depot, the Yard Goat stomped past us, moving the coaches onto the dead-end section of track behind the water tower. Just below the Yard Goat’s window was a skillfully drawn chiaroscuro of a muscled horse running at a full gallop. Under the painting was the single word: Ironhorse.
When the coaches passed, Sam saw us walking toward the depot, and only then was it apparent Sam was in fact a woman dressed like a man. She wore a man’s shirt under her bib overalls and had a bowler hat snugged down low on her head.