The Whip (15 page)

Eleven

A
brand new Concord stagecoach stood before them. It had bright yellow wheels with a vermilion body and black trim. The side panels were decorated with a hand-painted landscape, and fine oiled leather curtains hung from the windows. Jim Birch, president of the stage company, stood with some of his top drivers, Hank Monk and Charley among them. At Charley’s side was an excited Tonia.

“Here she is,” said Birch, “tidy and graceful as a lady, and— like a lady—barely a straight line in her body.” He ran his hands over the coach. “But that’s not why I love her. That’s not why I had her brought round the Cape. The Concord is the best. It’s as smooth a ride as you’re ever going to get. You’re going to feel like a baby rocking in its cradle. The Concord Company is sending over three more just like her. Sacramento is now the busiest stage hub in the country. We need the best because we are the best. We’ve got the best horses, the best runs, and by far the best whips. I’m proud of you boys. You are nickel-plated and don’t you forget it. That’s why I chose you and that’s why you work for us. Now to cap the climax, I have some important news. In a few months our company will be merging with Wells Fargo & Company. We will be known as the Wells Fargo & Company Overland Stage. For those who are willing, there will be more frequent and longer runs with pay to match. All coaches will be outfitted with new green mailboxes. You will note the new middle bench inside the coach as well, with the hanging leather straps to hold on to. This is the new second class travel. Up top is now third class, the hangers-on. And this here is a poster of the Wells Fargo Stagecoach rules.”

He held one up to show the group. “Each swing-station will have one posted.”

WELLS FARGO RULES FOR RIDING THE STAGECOACH

Adherence to the Following Rules Will Insure a Pleasant Trip for All

1. 1. Abstinence from liquor is requested, but if you must drink, share the bottle. To do otherwise makes you appear selfish and un-neighborly.
   
2. 2. Abstain entirely in cold weather—you’ll freeze twice as fast under the influence.
   
3. 3. If ladies are present, gentlemen are urged to forego smoking cigars and pipes as the odor of same is repugnant to the Gentle Sex. Chewing tobacco is permitted, but spit with the wind, not against it.
   
4. 4. Gentlemen must refrain from the use of rough language in the presence of ladies and children.
   
5. 5. Buffalo robes are provided for your comfort during cold weather. Hogging robes will not be tolerated and the offender will be made to ride with the driver.
   
6. 6. Don’t snore loudly or lop over your neighbors while sleeping or use your fellow passenger’s shoulder for a pillow; he or she may not understand and friction may result.
   
7. 7. Firearms may be kept on your person for use in emergencies. Do not fire them for pleasure or shoot at wild animals as the sound riles the horses.
   
8. 8. In the event of runaway horses, remain calm. Leaping from the coach in panic will leave you injured, at the mercy of the elements, hostile Indians and hungry wolves. If the team runs away, sit still and take your chances.
   
9. 9. Forbidden topics of discussion are stagecoach robberies and Indian uprisings. Also, don’t discuss politics or religion, nor point out places on the road where horrible murders have been committed.
   
10. 10. Gents guilty of unchivalrous behavior toward lady passengers will be put off the stage. It’s a long walk back. A word to the wise is sufficient.
    
11. 11. Expect annoyance, discomfort and some hardships. If you are disappointed, thank heaven.
    

Birch continued on, “Please make sure all passengers are familiar with these rules.”

He then turned to look down at an enthralled Tonia.

“Hey Tonia, what do you say? You and Charley want to take the Concord on her first ride? Make sure she’s all in good working order?”

Tonia squeezed her eyes shut at the utter joy of it and nodded her head up and down.

It wasn’t long before the bright red Concord, with its dazzling yellow wheels, was on the road. Tonia was riding shotgun alongside her handsome Charley. They grinned at each other, their eyes narrowed against the bleaching sunlight, the wind sanding their faces. Tonia thought how like a god Charley looked. With such ease he flicked a finger coiled with the reins, and the horses, like something so powerful, rippled this way or that in response to his bidding. She would be just like him someday.

Tonia ran pell-mell through the cabin door later that afternoon as drunk as can be on happiness. Of course, Anna was displeased when she learned the cause of it, but at that point it was too late to matter much—Tonia was smitten.

And from then on, from time to time, they would sneak off and Charley would take her along on a real run.

When they’d return home, Anna would, of course, scold them both. Charley would then say to her, “Aw, shucks ma’am, I clear forgot your feeling about these matters.” And then she’d wink at Tonia.

Somehow those few days that Charley thought Anna and Tonia would stay, turned into something much longer. Anna was taking care of the cooking and the upkeep of the place, which suited Charley just fine. Tonia was in charge of feeding all the animals. And she had also started attending school in town.

It worked well enough, satisfying all their needs to belong to a family. With pleasure now outweighing loneliness, Charley’s fear of being discovered subsided.

Charley behaved towards Anna like a little boy, somewhat irresponsible and mischievous, and Anna in turn, had no choice but to respond somewhat like a half-exasperated mother with a second, albeit extra-big, child.

As much as Charley was son of sorts to Anna, he was also an indulgent father of sorts to Tonia—and this in turn, as well as the fact that Charley provided for the two of them, made him in Anna’s eyes man enough to husband her.

Anna began to work on Charley with deliberation, opening those top buttons, leaning enticingly in the serving of dinner, touching Charley’s arm in conversation. “Don’t you think so?” she’d say, bending in, her lips moist.

“Yes, ma’am,” Charley would say and then change the subject.

And Anna would think: Doesn’t he see that I’m willing?

Tonia, of course, saw it all, coming and going.

Twelve

It was an unusually warm, muggy day and Charley with Tonia beside her were taking a run to Stockton. As usual, they were having a wonderful time together, sharing private thoughts, telling funny stories and finding solutions to all of Tonia’s predicaments, particularly surrounding her mother.

“Now Tonia, when you grow up to be a famous whip and need to handle any unruly ladies aboard, perhaps like your dear mama, all you have to do is yell ‘Indians!’ It will quiet them down quicker than 40 Rod Whiskey does a man.”

Tonia giggled.

The Concord went around a curve, slowing as it approached the steep grade outside of town.

Charley brought the team to a stop. “First class passengers, stay where you are,” she yelled. “Second class, get out and walk. Third class, get down and push.” And as always, the second and third class passengers, grumbling and mumbling, got out and milled around beside the coach waiting for further instructions.

There was the sound of snapping twigs. In the bushes next to the road someone was lying in wait. The barrel of a sawed-off shotgun snaked out from between the leaves. The hammer cocked with a loud click. A shot rang out. There was pandemonium—screaming passengers diving for cover.

Charley’s mind was racing. The first hold-up of her career, and of course, Tonia had to be with her. She pushed her into a flattened position down by her feet. There was no way to hide her, but at least she was out of the range of any random flying bullets.

“Everybody out of the coach and hands high in the air. Now. Including you driver. And the kid,” shouted the bandit.

The first-class passengers exited the coach and joined the frightened group, hands raised high. They all looked over at the bizarre figure standing before them.

The bandit’s entire face was covered with a sugar sack, slits for his eyes, nose and mouth. His feet were covered with a pair of burlap sugar sacks as well, tied around the ankles.

“Damn it,” said Charley under her breath. “It’s Sugarfoot.”

Although Charley had never had the pleasure of Sugarfoot’s company, she knew, as everyone knew, about his peculiar signature—his face and boots always wrapped in sugar sacks. No one could understand why he covered his boots. Charley also observed that the well-armed bandit was toting a pair of low-slung revolvers in addition to his shotgun. He wore an elegant brown duster and leather gloves. The duster looked somehow fresh, laundered.

She looked around to see if there was anyone else hiding in the bushes. Sugarfoot appeared to be alone, but she had heard rumors that he worked with a gang.

“Gentlemen…and ladies…this is a hold-up,” said the bandit. He was now courteous and soft-spoken. “Stay calm and no one will get hurt.” He looked them over, his wrapped feet planted in shooting position, his gun trained on the lot of them. “I want you gentleman one by one to reach for your guns nice and slow. Place them on the ground. Then I would appreciate you kicking them towards me. If any of you decide to challenge me, I guarantee you, my men hiding in the bush will send you speedily to your maker. You driver, let’s begin with you.”

He braced himself behind his shotgun as each man complied.

“Thank-you gentlemen. Now driver, would you be so kind as to climb up and throw down the box.”

He had a peculiar kind of English accent Charley noted, even with his voice somewhat muffled behind the sack. That was something she never knew about Sugarfoot—he’s a damn Britisher.

Charley looked at him straight on. “I got nothing but mail.”

“Indeed,” said Sugarfoot. “But that’s what they all say. You don’t mind if I ascertain that fact with my very own eyes, do you, sir? It’s not that I don’t trust you. Now, please throw down the box.”

As Charley climbed up to the driver’s seat, she felt her legs shaking. She reached under into the strongbox hold. She tugged the box forward and with difficulty toppled it down to the ground. She then returned to her place next to Tonia and the rest of the passengers.

The box lay there on the dirt for a moment while all of them stared at it.

Sugarfoot aimed, shot off the lock, and advanced towards it, kicking off the last remnants of the twisted metal. He then kicked it open. White paper spilled out. Mail. Just mail.

“Ah, a man of his word, for once,” said Sugarfoot. “I salute you, driver.” He sighed, looking at the row of pale-faced passengers. “Oh dear. What to do?”

He paced up and down the row. “I do apologize. You look like a kindly lot. You wouldn’t send me away empty-handed now, would you?”

He trained his gun on the first passenger in line, and threw an empty sugar sack at him. “You,” his voice turned cold and threatening.

The man jumped and plunged his hand in his pocket for his coin purse. He placed the purse into the sack, “Here. Take it.”

“Your watch too.”

The man quivering, opened his waist coat, removed his gold pocket watch and dropped it into the sack.

“Thank-you my good man,” said Sugarfoot. “Now please pass the sack along to our next friend.”

He pointed the gun at the next passenger. “I’m afraid it’s your turn, sir.”

The next passenger made no move for a long moment. Instead he chewed on his tobacco. Then keeping his eyes fixed on Sugarfoot, spat on the ground.

Sugarfoot stepped forward. “Tut, tut,” he said scolding, cocking his gun. “The goddess Hygeia, my dear sir, begs observance. It’s plain prudence to display good manners to the chap with the gun.”

The man kept his eyes on Sugarfoot and continued to chew, but now his hand was reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and dropped it into the waiting sack.

“Wise man,” said Sugarfoot. “Next.”

One by one, the passengers relieved themselves of the contents of their pockets: their gold dust, money, watches, and jewelry.

Charley, who was the last to receive the sack, emptied all the coins from her pockets. She dropped them inside and held it out to Sugarfoot.

“Please young lady,” said Sugarfoot pointing to Tonia. “Would you be a little angel and deliver the goods to me?”

“Hell, don’t involve the girl,” said Charley.

“I must insist. But don’t fret. I would never hurt a child.”

Tonia stepped forward, her eyes bright with excitement, “Don’t worry, Charley. I’m not afraid.”

Charley hesitated but then handed the sack over to Tonia.

Tonia’s little feet began to move towards Sugarfoot and everyone held their breath.

Charley felt her whole body trembling. She wanted to leap at Sugarfoot and defend the child. But she knew that to act would put Tonia in even greater danger.

Tonia reached Sugarfoot and held up the sack, her face defiant and feisty.

He studied her for a long moment. “You’re quite the brave little girl, aren’t you?” He reached down with his free hand and pinched her chubby cheek. “Thank-you my dear child.”

Sugarfoot removed the sack from her hands. He then surprised them all by reaching into it and lifting out a silver dollar. “Here sweetheart,” he said, handing it to Tonia.

She took the coin and stared at it, stared at him.

He said, “They’ve all been so good, haven’t they?”

Fascinated, Tonia nodded.

“Tell you what,” continued Sugarfoot with loud stagy intimacy. “I want you to buy them each a cup of coffee when you reach your destination. Will you do that for me, my little sweetheart?”

She nodded again.

Sugarfoot regarded the others.

“Oh and by the way, my friends, now that you have made your charitable contribution for the day, don’t forget your civic duty…remember to vote when you get to Stockton. And with that, I bid you farewell.”

“Who are you going to vote for sir?” squeaked Tonia.

Charley gave an infuriated look. It was not the occasion for chitchat.

“I don’t mind telling you,” said Sugarfoot, continuing his loud but confidential tones to Tonia. “It will not be for Mr. Franklin Pierce. I cast my vote with the thinking minority of this country, for old General Scott.

A distraught portly woman shouted, “I knew it. A Whig. A Democrat would never rob a woman.”

Sugarfoot addressed her, the shotgun still trained forward. “A Democrat, madam, would not have left you with the price of a cup of coffee, and would have taken your bloomers as well.”

He gave a jaunty wave of his shotgun.

“Everyone face down on the road, if you please. And I’m ever so sorry, my little sweetheart,” he said to Tonia, “but you must take this undignified posture along with the others.

As they all lay face down on the ground Sugarfoot approached Charley. His burlap-clad feet stepped close to her head, the shotgun coming close to her temple.

Fuck, thought Charley.

But then the bandit bent down and placed a cigar on the ground by her hand. “No hard feelings, I trust?”

Charley was not amused. “Next time I’ll break even with you,” she said looking up at him.

Sugarfoot laughed. “Break even with me?”

“I’ll be ready for you. I promise,” she said.

“And the time after that?”

“There won’t be another time after that.”

Sugarfoot let out another laugh and then vanished into the tall brush.

The passengers, still on the ground, heard the sound of a horse galloping away into the distance. They sat up in the dust…angry, relieved and bewildered.