ground the way sound travels across water. He stepped up onto the track and began waving. When he heard the steam valve close and the train began braking, he knew that the engineer had spotted him and was going to stop. As the engine approached, it gave some perspective as to just how large the prairie really was. The train that had appeared so tiny before was now a behemoth, blocking out the sky. It ground to a reluctant halt, its stack puffing black smoke and its driver wheels wreathed in tendrils of white steam that purpled as they drifted away in the fading light.
“Perhaps you had better stay down here until I call you,” Hawke cautioned.
“That’s all right by me,” Pamela agreed. “I don’t feel like walking, or even standing up, until I have to.”
The engineer’s face appeared in the window, backlit by the orange light of the cab lamps. Hawke felt a prickly sensation and realized that someone was holding a gun on him. He couldn’t see it, but he knew that whoever it was—probably the fireman—had to be hiding in the tender.
“What do you want, mister? Why did you stop us?” the engineer asked.
Hawke knew that his appearance was not all that reassuring.
“My horse went down,” he explained without going into detail. “I need a ride.”
“You’ll have to take that up with the conductor,” the engineer said.
Even as the engineer was talking, the conductor came walking up alongside the train to see why they had made an unscheduled stop. He was holding an open watch in his hand.
“Smitty, what’s going on? Why are we stopped?” he asked. “We’ve got a schedule to keep.”
“This here fella wants a ride,” the engineer replied. “His horse went down.”
The conductor studied Hawke, obviously put off by his trail-worn appearance. He shook his head no and waved his hand dismissively.
“We don’t pick up drifters,” the conductor said to Hawke.
“Are you saying you’d leave a man stranded out here?” Hawke asked.
“When we reach the next stop, I will inform someone that you are out here,” the conductor replied.
“Well now, that certainly isn’t very Christian of you, Mr. Marshal,” Pamela said, coming up from her place of seclusion.
The conductor gasped. “Miss Dorchester! My Lord, what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Did you know the whole line has been looking for you? What happened? Did you fall from the train?”
“I was kidnapped,” Pamela said.
“Kidnapped? What do you mean, kidnapped?”
“I mean that when the train stopped for water, someone came on board and kidnapped me.”
“Oh, heavens!”
“This gentleman saved my life. Now we are trying to get back to Green River. That is, unless you plan to make us rely on shank’s mare.” Pamela looked over at Hawke and smiled, calling his attention to the fact that she had acquired the Americanism for her own.
“No, of course I would never do anything like that,” the conductor said, falling all over himself now to please her. “I can find accommodations in one of the first-class cars for you, and your friend can ride—”
“In the first-class car, with me,” Pamela said, interrupting the conductor.
The conductor cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, ma’am. Yes, of course, he can ride with you as well.”
“I appreciate that,” Hawke replied. “Oh, and by the way—Smitty, is it?” Hawke called up to the engineer.
“That’s what folks call me. My real name is Malcolm Smith.”
“Well, Mr. Malcolm Smith, you can tell your fireman to take his gun off me? I’m just another passenger now.”
“Billy,” the engineer called. “Come on out.”
There was a rustling sound as the fireman climbed out of the pile of wood. He leaned the shotgun against the edge of the tender, then began brushing himself off.
“How’d you know he was there?” Pamela asked.
“He had to be somewhere,” Hawke said. “It takes two men to drive a train, and Mr. Smith was the only one in the cab.”
“Billy, you were pointing your gun at me?” Pamela asked.
“No, ma’am, not you,” Billy replied. “I was just pointin’ it at him.” He nodded toward Hawke. “Hope you didn’t take no offense at it, mister,” he added.
“No offense taken,” Hawke replied. “Under the circumstances, it was the prudent thing to do.”
“This way, please,” the conductor said, starting toward the rear of the train.
“Do have someone bring us some food from the dining car, would you?” Pamela said. “I haven’t eaten for some time now, and I am famished.”
“Oh, that won’t be possible, I’m afraid. The dining car is closed,” the conductor replied.
“Open it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Hawke followed Pamela onto the train, dropping his saddle on the platform deck just before they went into the car. There were two men and two women in the car, all sitting in overstuffed, comfortable chairs. They were well-dressed, as befit their station, and they looked up in curiosity and ill-concealed irritation as Hawke and Pamela invaded their domain.
“Good evening,” Pamela said, smiling brightly at the others in the car. No one returned her greeting, and a moment later Hawke overheard one of the men grumbling to the others.
“I’m all for picking up unfortunate souls who may be wandering around in the desert. But to put them in the car with us is unconscionable.”
Hawke glanced over toward Pamela to see if she heard, but she had taken her seat and was looking through the window. It was getting dark outside, and because it was well-lighted inside the car, Hawke could see her reflection in the window. Her face expressed no reaction to the comment.
Shortly after the train got underway, the conductor came into the car, accompanied by two dining car stewards. Each of the stewards carried a silver-covered serving dish. A table was set up between them and the meal served.
“Oh heavens,” one of the women in the car said. “Now they are going to eat here. Well, I say, this is just too much.”
“Indeed it is,” the older of the two men said. “And I shall certainly complain to the railroad, you can rest assured of that.”
“Anything else I can do for you, madam?” the conductor asked as, with a flourish, the two stewards unfolded white napkins and gave them to Pamela and Hawke.
“Yes,” Pamela said. “Our fellow passengers seem to resent our presence. Perhaps you could find other accommodations.”
“Well now, that’s decent of you, madam,” the older of the two men said. “I have nothing against you personally, you understand. I have nothing but compassion for those who are down on their luck. But I’m sure you can see our position.”
“Other accommodations?” the conductor asked.
“For them,” Pamela said as she picked up a fresh asparagus spear and took a bite.
“Yes, ma’am,” the conductor replied. Looking toward the other passengers, he held up his hand. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask all of you to leave this car,” he said.
“What?” the older man replied in loud disbelief. “Do you know who I am? I am Addison Ford, Administrative Assistant to Secretary of Interior Columbus Delano! And I am undertaking the journey on official cabinet business. You might even say that I represent the President of the United States! How dare you ask us to leave!”
“Yes, Mr. Ford, I know who you are. But don’t worry, I’m sure I can find accommodations on one of the other parlor cars that are just as nice as these.”
“See here, I will not be put out of this car. I paid good money for my passage.”
“Indeed you did, sir,” the conductor replied. “But it has come to my attention that you would prefer not to share this car with Miss Dorchester and her guest. Therefore I am sure you will be more comfortable in one of the other cars. Come along, please.”
“Well, I never!” one of the women said. “Addison, do something.”
