The conductor handed her down as she gathered her skirts up in one hand for the jump to the ground. It was then that she saw what awaited her on the rails beyond a switch that joined a spur-line to the main track.
Lights cut through the darkness, from lanterns suspended on the rear of the vehicle ahead and from the headlights of both engines. The air was cold and damp, and she shivered as it penetrated her clothing. Overhead, the stars were not as huge and bright as they had seemed in the desert and on the open plains, but they were much more impressive than any stars seen from a city street. There were not many sounds besides the panting of the engines; a night-bird or two, some frogs or insects. Two men with lanterns and a hand-cart approached her from the odd vehicle on the tracks of the spur, and the wheels of the cart grated in the gravel of the right-of-way. Men from the baggage car met them, carrying her trunk and carpetbag. One of the two new men removed his soft cap deferentially and approached her.
'Are you Miss Rosalind Hawkins?' he asked.
'Yes, I am,' she said, faintly, with one hand at her throat.
He looked relieved. 'Good. Mister Cameron sent us to meet you, ma'am. We'll be taking you right to his door, practically.' In the light from the carriage windows above her, and the lantern in his hand, the man smiled reassuringly. 'Won't be long now, and you'll be all settled in.'
He put his cap back on and offered her his arm. The other man loaded up his cart with all of her baggage, including the valise the conductor handed to him, and headed back to the odd vehicle without uttering a single word. Rose looked doubtfully at the conductor, who nodded and smiled, and made little shooing motions with his hands.
So she took the stranger's arm, and she was glad to have it. The railroad right-of-way was rough and uneven, and she couldn't see where she was putting her feet in the darkness. The conductor mounted back up to the platform of the carriage and signaled to the engineer with a lantern as soon as Rose and her escort were out of the way. Down at the end of the train, another lantern waved in the same signal from the caboose.
The engine, which had been 'panting' slowly up at the head of the train chuffed out a great puff of steam as if sighing with impatience, and resumed its interrupted journey. The wheels rotated slowly, with a metallic screech, as the locomotive strained against the dead weight of the train, got it in motion, and gradually picked up speed. By the time Rose and her escort reached the spur, the red lantern on the back of the caboose was receding into the black distance, disappearing like a fading, falling star.
The vehicle they approached was like nothing Rose had ever seen before. A combination of two pieces, an engine and a passenger car, it was smaller than the locomotives that had brought her here, but quite large enough to be impressive. She could not see past the windows of the passenger section with their lowered, red shades trimmed in heavy gold fringe, and it was too dark to see the exterior of the car clearly, but the carved molding, glinting softly with a hint of gilding, implied luxury and opulence.
'This is Mister Cameron's private vehicle,' the man said proudly, patting the side of the carriage with his free hand. 'We use her to get in and out of Frisco. Useta be, when he had to travel down to Los Angeles, we'd hook the car in with the regular train. I reckon you'll be comfortable enough in her, ma'am.' He handed her up into the carriage, doffed his cap again to her. 'Mister Cameron says, make free of what you find.'
'How long will it take us to reach-where we're going?' she asked, feeling anxious, as he started towards the cab of the engine.
'Well, we'll be a-goin' fairly slow, ma'am, so maybe a couple of hours,' he replied, over his shoulder. 'This spur's a twisty piece, and we wouldn't want to take any chances. You ought to go inside and make yourself to home.'
Since he was reaching for the handhold to haul himself up into the cabin of the engine, she decided she probably ought to take his advice.
Strange, how this rough-seeming man could be so polite, and the one who had dressed like a pseudo- gentleman had been nothing of the sort.
She turned and opened the door, stepping into a world she had thought was lost to her. The color-scheme was of red and gold, the gold of polished brass fittings and gilded fixtures, the red of scarlet leather, velvet and satin. The car was fitted out to resemble a comfortable parlor, with three small tables covered with red damask cloths, real chairs, a Roman divan couch, and a bed lounge. All the furniture was deeply padded and upholstered in red velvet or leather. The floor was covered with a deep red Turkey carpet, and the furniture was discreetly bolted to the floor through the carpeting. Mahogany bookcases full of leather-bound volumes decorated one wall, and a handsome mahogany sideboard laden with bottles and glassware graced another.
Enough oil-lamps burned from fixtures set between each window that the interior of the car was illuminated as cheerfully as anyone could ask. There was even a porcelain stove in an alcove at the back of the car to heat it.
A serving-plate covered with a silver dome sat on one of the tables, but as the 'train' began to move, Rose's attention was drawn to a door on the end of the car. A discreet brass plaque announced 'Lounge' in square script, and she made her way to that door, wondering if it contained what she hoped.
It did. A brass and porcelain oil-lamp lit the tiny room softly. Her valise sat in a clever tray bolted to the top of an oak washstand, to keep anything placed in it from being overset. The washstand-or rather, vanity-boasted a graceful porcelain basin inset in the top; the basin was even equipped with a drain-hole and a stopper to close it so
