Friends and Enemies (9 page)

“You got any suggestions?”

“My brother-in-law is looking for work. Years ago he worked for Marshal Pappy Divide in Cheyenne.”

“What's he been doing lately?” Robert studied the process of unloading the baggage car as they continued to stand on the train platform.

“Goin' broke lookin' for gold up at Cripple Crick, Colorado.” The conductor pulled off his cap and rubbed the bald spot on top of his head.

“Where's that?”

“On top of the mountains behind Colorado Springs. Ol' crazy Bob Womack suckered him into dumpin' his savin's into worthless claims. Now he's needin' to work.”

“Send him by for an interview tomorrow morning. I can't guarantee anything. But I'll give him a listen.”

A roar of shouts rolled across the train yard. “What's happening over there?”

“Probably some bummers and drifters got into a fight.”

“Does anyone stop it?”

“The sheriff don't want them stinkin' up his jail and wolfin' down supper at county expense, so he won't come near them . . . unless someone gets killed.”

“Isn't that railroad property?”

“Sure is.”

“Then I'd better check it out. Can you tote my satchel up to the company office?”

“I will, but you be careful out there, Mr. Fortune. It ain't a healthy place to visit.”

“Neither is a mine shaft, but that doesn't keep men from doin' their job.”

Robert took his time. He strolled around the east side of the freight car where a half-dozen men stood in a rough circle. A lone man with bloody knuckles and bruised face stood in the middle, daring any and all to fight.

The others scooted closer, slowly encasing him. The shouts and curses echoed the train yard and none of the men seemed to notice or care about Robert's marked approach. A big, red-haired man grabbed the skinny man in the middle from behind. A tall, bearded man threw a wild punch into the victim's mid-section. The man crumpled; the red-haired man loosened his grip. Then the one in the center spun around, catching the big man in the chin with a bone-popping roundhouse. He staggered to his knees. The tall, bearded man landed a punch to the man with the bruised face and ear. Blood trickled down, yet the man hit back with three quick blows that busted the bearded man's lip and bloodied his nose.

“Come on,” the man in the middle screamed. “I'll take you all on at once. You ain't brave enough to fight me one at a time!”

Two more men jumped the man and began to swing. Several punches found their target. Yet the man in the middle fought even harder.

Robert fired his .45 Colt single-action army revolver into the air.

The fighting ceased.

“Who in Hades are you!” The bearded man with the bloodied nose hollered.

Shoulders back, gun raised, hand steady, Robert showed classic military posture. “Railroad inspector.”

“I don't need no help,” the man in the middle of the crowd bellowed.

“I don't care if you do or you don't, none of you are going to fight on railroad property.” Robert's gun moved slowly from one man to the next.

A burly man in a tattered ducking coat pulled out a Bowie knife and brandished it. “Says who?”

The man lunged at Fortune.

Robert stepped aside. He brought the barrel of his revolver down with such force that it sounded like the crack of a whip. “I say so,” he growled. The man dropped to his knees in screaming agony.

The fattest of the men tugged at a short-barreled Schofield stuck in his belt, but Robert grabbed the man's shirt collar and shoved his own revolver against the man's temple. “I said . . . there is no fighting on railroad property.”

“Nobody ever complained before.”

“Things have changed.”

“Are you sidin' with that card cheat?” He pointed to the man catching his breath in the middle.

“I'm not siding with anyone. You can go over there along the river and beat each other unconscious. But you can't do it on railroad property.”

“What about him?” another of the drifters shouted.

“I want to talk with him.”

“You goin' to arrest him for cheating us out of four bits?”

This fight was over fifty cents?
“Whatever it was about, it's over now.” Robert waited until all but the man in the center of the ring trudged away. He turned to the bruised man.

“I ain't got nothin' to talk to you about and I didn't need your help.” The man stood his ground, smearing blood across his chin. “I'm tougher than any two of 'em put together.”

“I have no doubt you're right about that,” Robert replied. “But there were six of them. That's bad arithmetic.”

“I didn't start it. I beat 'em fair. Two queens over an ace. But I don't back away.”

“You lookin' for a job?”

“With the railroad?”

“Maybe. You ever been in jail for anything more than hurrahin' a saloon or gettin' in a fight?”

“Nope.”

“Can you go two weeks without drinkin' alcohol?”

“I don't drink ever.”

Robert surveyed the man from hat to boot. “Can you get a bath, a shave and a haircut, and wear a suit?”

The man took a red bandanna out of his back pocket and mopped the blood off his ear and neck. “Why?”

“I might have a job for you.” Robert stared at the cottonwood trees where the men still loitered.

The man flinched when he touched the bruise on his forehead. “What if I don't want a job?”

“$250 a month, plus expenses and a free train pass. Think about it.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Won't be any tougher than what you just did.”

“I ain't dressin' up for nobody. I don't want your job.”

“What's your name?” Robert pressed.

“Holter. Who are you?”

“Robert Fortune.”

“You related to Sammy Fortune?”

“He's my brother.”

The man's brown eyes relaxed for the first time. “I'll take the job.”

“Why the sudden change?”

“'Cause I owe Sam Fortune a favor and I'd like to pay him back.”

“What kind of favor?”

“He helped my sister when she was hurt and in trouble. I never met him when he was alive . . .”

“He's still alive.”

“No foolin'? Everyone in the territory claims he's dead.”

“Trust me.”

“Well, ain't that somethin'! I look forward to shakin' his hand. He treated my sister kind and gentle like, then gave her money for a train ride home. A man don't forget somethin' like that. What kind of job did I just agree to?”

“I didn't hire you yet.”

“You said . . .”

“You show up at the train office above the depot tomorrow morning at 9:00. Have a shave, bath, and haircut. Put on your best clothes. Then we'll discuss the job,” Robert explained.

“I said, I don't dress up for no one.”

“That's up to you, Holter. You can discuss it with those six guys waitin' over by the trees. Or are you walkin' with me back to the depot?”

Holter hesitated. “Yeah, I think I might walk with you.”

There were four sets of tracks to cross, and a slow-moving train on the ones closest to the depot. They waited for it to pull out.

“How come you decided to hire me when you don't know nothin' about me?”

“Here's what I know about you,” Robert explained. “You aren't on the same side as some whiskied-up drifters. I can tell a lot about a man by looking at his enemies. Second, you don't back down from a fight. You obviously don't care about the odds. And third, you'll keep battlin' even when you're hurt. If I hire someone else, I might never know all of that until I really need it; then it will be a gamble.”

“Is it going to be that rough of a job?”

“I'm going to do everything possible to put in place a system that keeps any such thing from ever happening. But I want to know what kind of men I've got in case it does happen. I'll see you in the morning, Holter. I don't mind callin' you Holter, but the railroad is goin' to want a first and last name. You got any problems with that?”

“Nope. The name's Guthrie Holter. Listen, I ain't doin' real good at the moment. I don't have the funds for a shave, bath, and a haircut,” he admitted.

Robert pulled out a silver dollar and handed it to the man. “You got a wife and kids, Holter?”

“You're gettin' personal.”

“Are you ashamed of them?”

“I got me a wife and two little boys but . . . well, they left me.”

“Why?”

“You're pushy, Fortune.”

“Some day my life might depend on you, Holter. I'd like to know the character of the man who's backin' me up. I'm not judgin' you. You don't have to answer if you don't want to.”

“I was the one who left, sort of. She got tired of me draggin' her down, she said.”

“Where is she now?”

“Probably still in Sidney, Nebraska,” Holter said. “We got in an argument and I stormed out sayin' if she wanted to see me, I'd be in Rapid City.”

When the train finally passed, the men hiked on over to the depot platform. “When was that?”

“It will make a year on June 15th.”

“You haven't been back?”

Holter hung his head. “Nope.”

“You love your boys, don't you?”

“Yep. I love Dacinda too. But my job fell through up here, and I barely been gettin' by, so I . . .” His voice trailed off to silence.

When they reached the raised wooden platform, Robert brushed dust off the sleeves of his suit coat. “You're too proud to go back?”

“I reckon. You sure do preach at a man, Fortune.”

“You might as well get used to that.” Robert surveyed the land surrounding the depot as if he were the one planning a robbery.

Holter peered back across the tracks at the men still huddled in the distant grove. “After all this time, she probably don't want to see me,” Holter murmured.

“I can guarantee there are two boys that want to see you.”

“I reckon you're right about that.”

Robert strolled toward the stairs leading to the second-story offices. “Meet me right here in the morning. Where are you staying tonight?”

“I been campin' out over in them cottonwoods, but with those hombres on the prowl, I'd better find a different tree to camp under,” Holter said.

Robert reached into his pocket and pulled out two more silver dollars. “One is for a room, the other for some food money. You all set now?”

“You mentioned puttin' on my best clothes. I hope it don't count against me, but I sort of . . .”

“Those are your only clothes and they're a little ripped and bloody?”

“Yes, sir.”

Robert sorted through the coins in his pocket and pulled out a half-eagle gold coin. “Buy a good durable suit and tie and new hat and boots.”

Guthrie Holter refused to take the money. “I don't take handouts.”

“Holter, sounds like your pride has already robbed you of a family. You going to let it rob you of a good job? Anyway, this isn't a handout. . . . It's a loan. I expect to be repaid from your first couple of paydays.”

Holter grinned. “I thought you said I wasn't hired yet?”

“You aren't.”

“How do you know I won't just take this ten dollars and ride off?”

“I don't know that,” Robert admitted. “But if that's the kind of man you are, I'd like to find out right now. I'd rather lose ten dollars now than lose a passenger's life later on.”

“Kind of like a test?”

“Not much of one. I don't reckon you couldn't ride off with my money.”

“You're mighty confident in your surmisin'. You don't know me very well.”

“Am I right, Holter?”

“Yeah, you're right. You ain't one of those guys who's always right are you?”

Robert Fortune pushed his hat to the back of his head. A tight-lipped grin broke across his face. “Yep.”

Robert Fortune spent most of the afternoon getting a tour of railroad facilities in Rapid City and reviewing company policy on everything from the purchase of ammunition to official policy when a woman gives birth on a moving train.

After supper with several railroad officials and bankers at the Dakota House Hotel, he perched for several hours at the little oak desk in a back corner room of the F. E. & M. V. Railroad office building. His was the only light shining when he turned the switch, locked the door, then sauntered down the outside stairway into the dark night.

With his tie hanging loose around his neck and his suit coat over his arm, he surveyed the street. It was close to midnight, but the gas street lamps continued to give a dull glow. A distant shout. A squeaking wheel. A dog yipped in the distance as he strolled down the raised sidewalk toward the downtown hotel. His own boot heels on the wooden boardwalk was the only sound close by. Scattered clouds blocked some of the stars, but others pierced the blackness with pricks of twinkling white. The air tasted a little dusty but pleasantly cool.

He pulled on his suit coat.

Robert Fortune, railroad inspector. One office in Deadwood, another office . . . well, at least my own desk . . . in Rapid City. That's a long way from being a Coryell County, Texas, cowboy. Lord, I believe you've been leading me. I know you led me to Jamie Sue, so You must have led me to join the army when I did. As for being a railroad inspector . . . well, I trust it's the right thing. I believe I'll enjoy this job . . . except for the paperwork.

But I'll miss the cavalry.

I enjoy havin' a strong, spirited horse under me.

I'll buy some horses in Deadwood, one for every member of the family. Then we can ride out to Cheyenne Crossing for a picnic or . . . Little Frank is a natural on horseback.