The graveside services were finished, and as the grave diggers shoveled dirt down onto the two plain wooden coffins, the people of the town started leaving the cemetery.
“What was all that about?” Millie asked, coming up to stand beside her husband.
“Nothing much,” John said. He was well aware that he had just been threatened, but he had no intention of letting Millie know about it. Millie worried enough already.
“It was a nice funeral,” Millie said. “I know their families would be pleased to know that so many strangers turned out just to bury them. I’m proud of you.”
“Proud of me for what?” John replied. He was still distracted by the warning Denbigh had given him.
“I’m proud of you for making all this possible. Instead of being dumped into some unmarked grave, they now have a nice plot and a tombstone that identifies them by name,” Millie said. “You know what I would like to do? I would like to have Mr. Ludwig take a picture of the tombstones, and have you send the picture back to Texas. I’ll bet they would appreciate that.”
“I’m sure they would,” John said. He put his arm around his wife’s shoulder as they started out of the cemetery, back toward the newspaper office. “I’ll get in touch with Mr. Ludwig, and we’ll just do that.”
At nine forty-five that evening, Meacham had a moment of concern. It was nearly time to leave, but Jensen had not yet shown up at the train station. Had he changed his mind? Had he left town by stage? Meacham’s concern was eased, though, when he saw Jensen arrive in the mayor’s personal carriage.
“Mr. Jensen, next time you are in this part of the country, do visit us here in Pueblo again,” Mayor McClelland said. “You are always welcome.”
Matt stepped down from the carriage, then threw the saddlebags, his only luggage, over his shoulder. “Will I get another parade?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t know,” the mayor replied.
“It would give you another opportunity to make a speech.”
Mayor McClelland laughed out loud, then reached out to shake Matt’s hand. “In that case, Mr. Jensen, I will guarantee you another parade. Good-bye, Mr. Jensen, do have a pleasant trip. Driver,” McClelland said with a little wave of his hand.
“Where to, Mr. Mayor?” the driver asked.
“Home. Heavens, at this hour, I dare not go anywhere else. Not if I want to stay on Mrs. McClelland’s good side.”
Matt went into the depot to make certain that his saddle had been checked through. Then he stepped out onto the depot platform to wait for the train.
Meacham waited on the platform as well, though he stayed on the opposite side from Matt.
“Here comes the train!” someone shouted, and those waiting on the depot platform, which, even at this hour of the night, were a rather significant number of people, moved toward the track for a better view.
The kerosene headlamp that sat just in front of the bell-shaped smokestack was but a small light in the distance. The headlamp, Matt knew, was not to light the track in front of the train, because the distance the light would illuminate was less than the distance it would take to stop the heavy train. The sole purpose of the headlamp was to warn others of the approaching train.
As the train grew closer, the light became more prominent and the sound of the engine louder. Finally, the engine rushed in with white wisps of steam escaping from the thrusting piston rods, sparks flying from the pounding drive wheels, and glowing hot embers dripping from the firebox. The train was so heavy that it caused the wooden depot platform to shake, and Matt could actually feel the vibrations in his stomach. Then came the yellow squares of light that were the windows of the passenger cars, slowing, and finally grinding to a halt with a shower of sparks and a hissing of air from the Westinghouse air brakes.
Even after it came to a complete stop, the train was still alive with the gurgling of boiling water, the hiss and puff of vented steam, and the snap and pop of overheated bearings. A dim glow of orange shone through the window of the locomotive, and those who ventured close enough to peer inside were baffled by the maze of pipes, levers, and gauges.
Matt waited as the arriving passengers stepped down from the train. The three lady passengers were helped down the boarding steps by the solicitous conductor.
As soon as the last arriving passenger had detrained, the conductor pulled out his watch and examined it, snapped the cover closed, then put it away.
“All aboard!” he called.
That was the signal for the departing passengers to board the train, and Matt started toward the train with the others.
***
Lucas Meacham made certain to select the same car as Matt Jensen, and when Jensen took a seat toward the front of the car on the left-hand side, Meacham sat on the right-hand side, toward the rear. The juxtaposition of their seats gave Meacham the opportunity to keep an eye on Matt.
Although this would be an all-night trip, the car in which they were sitting was a day car with no provisions for berths. That meant that if anyone did any sleeping, they would have to do so by accommodating themselves as comfortably as they could to the seat, awkward though it may be. Meacham was sure that he would have ample opportunity during the night to kill Matt Jensen.
Three times during the night, Meacham got up from his seat and went to the front of the car, but each time he passed Matt Jensen, Jensen looked up at him. Each time, Meacham nodded, then went to the water scuttle at the front of the car.
The first time Meacham passed his seat, Matt nodded politely, then watched as the man unfolded a paper cup and used it to take a drink of water. The second time the man passed, Matt became a little curious, thinking it unusual that someone would have such a thirst, but he brushed it off. The third time the man passed by, Matt was
