Jo's Triumph (8 page)

I suppose accidents like that were one reason why the men rarely bathed — once or twice a year when the weather was warm. They didn't find it strange I chose not to do so, either. But it never did feel right to me to be as filthy as a beast.

At least Cookie Townsend would have gone straight to the head of the line at the gates of Heaven. You couldn't get
much Godlier than dying while you're having a bath. Then, I started fretting. What if something
did
happen to me on the trail and I got myself killed? I was so dirty Mrs. Pinweather could have shared a church pew with me without knowing who I was.

How unclean did you have to be before you couldn't get into Heaven at all? My fingernails were so black they looked like I'd been scratching at lumps of coal. The rest of me wasn't much better. I didn't have a change of clothes so those I wore day in and day out were filthy.

There I'd be after I died, talking to Saint Peter, explaining why I was so dirty. Ma and Baby Grace would be waving at me from inside Heaven. Ma's face would fall when she laid eyes on me.

So, I decided to have a bath – partly so I would be presentable if I died, and partly to celebrate my thirteenth birthday.

I found a pool in the creek downstream from the horse corral. The water wasn't overly deep — up to my knees
where the creek went around a bend.

Checking that nobody was near, I slipped off my clothes. I gasped when the cold water swirled around my bare legs.

I bent over and scrubbed at my legs and feet with a sliver of black soap I'd put into my pocket earlier that day. My arms and face were next and then, already shivering, I held my breath and plunged my head under the water.

I scrubbed my fingers through my hair, but lasted only a few seconds before I had to stand straight up, coughing and sputtering and trembling with cold.

“Weeeell, lookee here.”

Shrieking, I ducked under the water, trying to cover myself with my hands.

James stood on the bank, grinning down at me. “Joe? I'd say you was missing some parts.”

My legs ached from squatting in the cold water and my heart hammered with terror. I couldn't run away — not without my clothes. Besides, where would I go? I couldn't fight him — James was too big, too strong. My
tongue froze in my head. All I could do was stare back at him.

“So maybe that's why you're so quiet all the time.” His eyes raked over me and I hunkered down deeper into the water.

James took a step toward the edge of the creek. I inched backwards. Should I call out? Did it matter now if the whole camp knew? What would he do to me if I didn't shout for help?

“Shhhh,” he said, almost like he knew what I was thinking. He crouched at the edge of the pool and raised his finger to his lips. “How about we make us a little deal, you and me.”

Deal? I didn't care to make any kind of deal with wild-haired James. The water lapped and gurgled around me and my teeth chattered. I was hardly in a position to argue.

“Well, Miss Joe … How about I don't say nothing about your little secret here and in return…”

He tugged at his beard as if considering the price of his silence. “In return, you can help me with a little
job I got planned.”

“What k-k-k-k-kind of — ”

He touched his finger to his lips again. “I'll let you know in good time. Meantime, you'd best be getting on out of that crick or you'll catch your death of cold. We wouldn't want that, would we?”

For a long moment I thought he was going to stay where he was while I climbed out of the water. Then, without another word, he winked and walked away.

I crouched for as long as I could in case he came back. When he didn't, I counted to three and then burst from the pool, showering water behind me. I sprinted to my clothes and pulled them on, not caring in the least that I was still soaking wet. Tugging on my boots with shaking hands, I cursed under my breath. Darned fool James.

He was the last person in the world I would have trusted with my secret. Now what was I going to do? What was the job he had talked about? Feeling sick, I grabbed my hat and headed back to the stationhouse. Whatever he wanted me to do, it wasn't going to be good.

The weeks passed in a blur of mail runs through the heat of the desert summer. September brought shorter days and cool nights.

When I happened to be on a rest day at the same station as James, he treated me with exaggerated respect and called me Joe-boy. I longed for the days when James had tormented me for my poor shooting. Whenever I saw him, the knot in my stomach tightened as I waited for him to tell me what dreadful chore he had in mind.

Each week I counted my money, praying I would have enough to get away before James gave away my secret.

One night in late September, I was asleep in my bunk at Ruby Station dreaming of a great golden nugget, so big I couldn't lift it all by myself, when in my dream an earthquake started shaking the walls of my cabin.

“Joe-boy. I said, git up.” A man grunted and I realized my bunk really was shaking. Hard.

“Joe-boy!” James's voice was loud and close to my ear.

I stiffened and choked back a scream.

“Shut-up and listen to what I got to say.”

I licked my lips, my mouth bone dry.

James took a long, slow suck on a cigarette. Without warning, the bunk jerked again as he grabbed my collar and dragged me out of bed. His cigarette hung from between his lips and his hot breath stank something fierce as he leaned close and hissed at me,
Here's what you're gonna do.”

He pushed me against the wall, his knuckles pressed against my throat. “I overheard old Billy talking with the militia about a cash delivery headed for Sacramento this week.”

He'd hardly started talking and I knew I didn't want to hear another word.

“A man like me could use some extra cash, don't you think?”

I squirmed and the hold on my shirt tightened.

“But it wouldn't be right for me, a Pony Express rider, to take off with a mochila full of cash now, would it?”

I managed the slightest shake of my head.

“'Course not. That's why you're gonna help me.”

“Me?” My knees felt right peculiar, like my legs were made of dough.

“Who's due to head west tomorrow afternoon?” he asked.

“Me,” I whispered.

“That's right. And this is what's gonna happen. You ride west just like always except you're gonna make an
unscheduled stop at them smelly pools just past Diamond Springs. You know the ones I mean?”

I nodded. I knew exactly where he meant. The ponds smelled of bad eggs. No man or beast would stop there without darned good reason. The stationhouse not far from there was known as Sulphur Springs.

“Wait for me there. I'll bring a second mochila stuffed with paper.” James chuckled and I stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette as it hopped up and down in the dark.

“We'll switch mochilas and you'll ride on to Dry Creek with the worthless one and deliver it just like nothing happened. I'll be back here at Ruby before anyone knows there's a problem.”

He twisted my shirt tighter. I whimpered and tried to push his hand away.

“Shut-up,” he said. “You do as I say or — ”

By the dim glow of his cigarette his forefinger aimed at my temple.

“You got that?”

I nodded again, my knees buckling out from under me.

“Now git back into bed and keep yer mouth shut.”

I scrambled back into my bunk. Not long after that the door to the station-house creaked open. Uncle Billy slid the bolt home and poked at the embers of the fire. He and his dog had been out checking the livestock.

“Time to rest your old bones, dog.” Springs creaked as the dog jumped onto an empty bunk. “Evening, James.”

“Evening, sir.”

The two men fell to chatting quietly.

I could not sleep for anything, not even after the men were breathing deep and regular. A cash delivery. Bolivar Roberts had talked about them what seemed like a hundred years ago in Carson City.

James was going to rob the mail and I was going to be most important to him if his plan was going to work. James would tell my secret in a second if I breathed a word of what I'd been
told to anyone — if he didn't shoot me first.

I was beside myself. James had worked things so it looked like I was part of the robbery. The only way to explain why I was going along with it was to explain how he had found out I was really a girl. If the Express Company knew I'd lied about that, then why would they believe I was innocent of the robbery? I was so close to being able to go to California I couldn't bear the thought of having to give up now. For the first time in a long time, I cried myself to sleep.

It seemed but five minutes later and I was up again. For most of the day James never let me out of his sight. Before I knew what had happened, we were outside the stationhouse waiting for the westbound rider.

“Maybe you won't have too much snow.” James squinted at the gray clouds hanging low over the hills looking for all the world like he was truly interested in the weather. James didn't always help with the horses. I knew
he was there to stop me from saying anything to Uncle Billy.

“Whoa, Jess.” I patted the chestnut mare, the horse that would carry me west. She'd been saddled for an hour and now pricked her ears toward the end of the valley.

“What do you see there, girl?” I asked.

The mare whinnied, her belly tucked up and quivering. A horse and rider, at first just a moving dot, grew larger as they galloped toward us.

A minute later Bart Ridley jumped off a black mustang and gave me a slap on the back.

“Good to see you, Joe. Make good speed, you hear? Smells like snow out there.” He winked and grinned at me, unaware of my near panic.

James slipped the mochila over the saddle and slapped his gloved hand against the saddle. Jess danced on the spot and it took two of us to hold her.

“Up you get, Joe,” James said, as Uncle Billy pulled the time card from the unlocked pouch. I climbed up into the saddle, Billy noted the time, slipped
the card back into the pouch, and sent us off with a wave of his hat.

The mare spun in a circle and we were gone.

We settled into a quick canter and I glanced down at the three locked pouches of the mochila.

James would soon set out to follow me. It would be easy enough for him to leave. The men often headed out to hunt. It was such a simple plan — switch mochilas, take the money, and send the empty saddlebags on to California. He must have borrowed one of the spares kept at the bigger stations in case of damage or theft. I supposed he planned to replace it as soon as he'd made the switch and taken the money.

By the time anyone discovered that the money was missing, the borrowed mochila would be back in place, James would have long disappeared, and nobody would be any the wiser. As Jess charged up a short ridge, I wondered how much cash was in the bags.

As we topped the rise, I saw fires burning in the hills ahead. Indians,
most likely. For the thousandth time I thought of Sarah and her people and hoped she had escaped the recent battles alive.

Pulling my hat down over my ears, I put my spurs to the mare's sides. Jess jumped forward. In places snow lay upon the trail, but not deeply, so I made good time to horse changes in Jacob's Well and Diamond Springs.

The sun dropped as I left the stationhouse at Diamond Springs and headed up the trail toward James at the sulphur ponds. How long would I have to wait before James would catch up to me?

The impending robbery loomed. What if I were caught with the empty mochila? I'd go to jail where my secret would be discovered. Even if I were found innocent of any part in the robbery, my career as an Express rider would be over. Then I had another thought to add to my worries. What if James was planning to shoot me so I couldn't ever tell what I knew? That would make the whole thing seem like
a good old-fashioned hold-up. Shoot the rider — take the money.

My new horse, Runaway Luke, galloped into the gathering darkness. The first time I'd ridden at night I had been terrified of losing my way. I soon learned that the night is rarely completely black — the stars and moon usually provided enough light that we hardly had to slow down at all. I remembered how Smokey McPhail had told me that I would be grateful to my horse for having such good eyes in the dark. Smokey had sure been right. The horses were far more comfortable in the dark than I was and kept a quick pace in all but the blackest of nights.

Despite my thudding heart, I reached along Luke's neck and gave him an encouraging pat. There was so little time. I had a job to do — get the mail through — but how?

I reached for the pistol tucked into my holster. Over the past weeks I'd become more than a fair shot, though I'd never had to shoot at anything bigger than a jackrabbit.

But shooting James at the sulphur pools was too risky. He'd likely have his gun drawn, just in case I tried something like that. He'd be quick enough to put a bullet through my head.
Bang!
That would be me, gone. If I shot him first then I'd be a murderer, not just an accomplice to a robbery.