“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not aware of any such facility,” the employee replied. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”
“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.”
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
