“You, come back here!” Bixby ordered. “Well, I never,” he said in exasperation as the railroad employee hurried away without looking back. “I will certainly write Cornelius Vanderbilt a personal letter and complain about this insolence. And I shall inform him that this is no way to run a railroad.”
“Oh, Jay, don’t be so disagreeable,” Cynthia said. “Look at all these people and think about the journey they are about to make. Imagine just how many stories are here to be told.”
“Ha!” Bixby said with a mocking laugh. “I can think of nothing more dreary than to listen to some of the stories of these poor wretches. No doubt they are going to see Grandmother or some such thing in some awful place like Indiana or Arkansas.”
“Why must you always be so hateful, Jay?”
“I’m not hateful, my dear, I am merely practical,” Bixby answered. “Ah, good, Hendel is back. It is about time. Well?” he asked as the young man approached.
“The luggage is checked through, sir.”
“The schedule, man, the schedule,” Bixby said. “Will the train leave on time?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” Hendel replied. “In fact, it is already here and I expect they’ll be loading in just a few moments.”
“The train is already here? Well, why didn’t you say so, man?”
“Jay, he did say so. He just this moment returned,” Cynthia said.
Almost as if on cue, someone stepped through one of the doors that led out into the train shed. Lifting a megaphone to his mouth, he began shouting an announcement.
“Now loading on track number nine, the Western Limited to Albany, Buffalo, Cleveland, Indianapolis, Springfield, and St. Louis. All passengers please proceed to track number nine!”
“I wonder how long it will take us to get there,” Cynthia said.
“Two days to St. Louis,” Hendel said. “From there, another three days to Denver, then three days from Denver to Phoenix.”
“We shall be but one week and one day in transit,” Bixby said. “We do live in a marvelous age. I’m told there was a time, in the early days of the Western migration, when it would take upwards of three months to cover the same distance we shall in a few days.”
Antonito, Colorado
The car was dimly lit by no more than four low-burning, wall-mounted, gimbal lanterns. When the train came to a halt, Pogue Willis looked out the window toward the depot. The building, constructed of unpainted, wide planks, was totally dark. A white sign, with black letters, hung from the eave of the roof.
ANTONITO, Colorado
The conductor came through the car then, moving quietly so as not to awaken any of the sleeping passengers. He leaned over the seat where Willis and Deputy Kinsley were sitting.
“Deputy, this is our last stop in Colorado,” he said.
“Thank you,” Kinsley said. “Uh, the next train back to Denver is at six in the morning. You got any idea where I can stay until then?”
The conductor pulled out his watch and looked at it. “That’s only about three hours,” he said. “There is a bench inside the depot. You can wait there.”
“It’s closed, ain’t it?”
“Well, there is nobody there now, but the building remains unlocked,” the conductor said. He chuckled. “They don’t keep anything of value there.”
“All right, thanks, I’ll wait there,” the deputy said. He looked over at Willis. “Come on, Mr. Willis, this is where we get off.”
When Willis and the deputy stepped down from the train, they encountered a pretty stiff wind and the beginning of a rain. A streak of lightning flashed across the sky.
“Looks like it’s starting to rain,” Kinsley said. A crash of thunder followed his words.
“Yeah,” Willis said.
“I expect you’re going to get wet.”
“What do you mean I’m goin’ to get wet? You mean we, don’t you?”
Kinsley shook his head. “No, like the conductor said, I’ll be waitin’ in the depot till the next train north.”
“So what about me?”
“There is no what about you,” Kinsley replied. “I was told to take you to the state line, then see that you got across, and that’s what I’m about to do.” He pointed to a marker alongside the track. “That marker is the state line,” he said. “On this side is Colorado. On the other side is New Mexico.”
Another lightning flash, and more thunder.
The train whistle blew a couple of times, then started forward, enveloping both Willis and Kinsley in a cloud of steam.
“Why did I have to get off the train here? If you’re sendin’ me to New Mexico, why didn’t you get me a ticket all the way to Santa Fe, or some such place?”
“The judge said to get you out of the state, he didn’t have no word as to where you was to be—just where you wasn’t to be,” Kinsley said. Again, he pointed to the marker. “You ain’t to be in Colorado, and this is the last town inside of Colorado. That there marker gets you out of the state. Now, come along.”
The rainfall intensified as they walked alongside the track toward the state-line marker.
“Look, couldn’t I just wait there in the depot with you until morning? Or at least, until this rain stops?”
“The depot is in Colorado,” Kinsley said pointedly.
“So?”
“My job is to get you out of the state,” Kinsley repeated.
“So then are you just goin’ to leave me here? What about my gun? Where’s my gun?”
“More than likely, your gun is on the train we just left.”
“What?”
“Sheriff Allen sent your gun on ahead by U.S. mail. You can call for it at general delivery at the post office in Santa Fe.”
“That ain’t right,” Willis said.
“Think about it, Willis. Do you really think I would turn you loose out here with a gun?”
All the time the two men were talking, they were walking. At one point, Willis tripped and fell against Kinsley, but he recovered quickly.
“Watch where you’re walkin’,” Kinsley said irritably.
After a few more steps, they reached the marker.
“Here we are,” Kinsley said. “From this point, you are on your own.”
There was another lightning bolt, this one so close that it was followed almost immediately by a huge clap of thunder.
“Ha,” Kinsley said. “If I was you, I’d be findin’ me a rock to crawl under or a hole to crawl into,” he said. “Otherwise, you’re purt’ near goin’ to drown out here.”
Willis didn’t reply.
“Well, so long, Willis. I’ll be seein’ you. Oh, no, I won’t, will I? I mean, seein’ as you can’t come back into Colorado no more.”
Turning, Kinsley laughed as he started back toward the small depot.
“Deputy?” Willis called.
Kinsley stopped.
“Ain’t no sense in you callin’ after me, Willis,” he said. “You heard the judge’s rulin’ same as me. I done just what he said for me to do. Now, like I said, your best bet would be to find you a place to get out of the rain.”
“Turn around, Deputy Kinsley,” Willis said.
There was something in Willis’s voice that caught Kinsley’s attention and he turned back toward him. When he did, he gasped at seeing a gun in Willis’s hand.
“What the hell?” Kinsley said. “Where did you get that?”
“It’s your gun,” Willis said. Another lightning flash showed that a wide, demonic smile had spread across Willis’s face. “I got it when I fell against you a while ago.”
“No,” Kinsley said, holding his hands out in front of him and shaking his head. “Willis, no!”
Willis pulled the trigger, but the muzzle flame was obliterated by another lightning flash, and the sound of the shot was covered by the crash of thunder from the previous lightning flash.
Kinsley fell forward, the blood from his wound streaming out into the mud puddle.
Stepping over to him, Willis went through his pockets, relieving him of all his money.
“Three dollars?” he said with a snort of disgust. “All you got is three dollars? Damn, they don’t pay you lawmen nothin’, do they?”