from amazing apple peelers to aromatic lunches in boxes.
Hawke walked along the platform behind the trains, examining the paper in his hand and comparing it with the large numbers that were mounted on poles at the head of each track. He was looking for track number seven, and had just located it when a baggage handler came by, pulling a large cart filled with luggage.
“Make way! Make way, sir! Make way!” the baggage handler was saying over and over.
Hawke stepped aside to let him pass.
“Careful, baggage handler, don’t let that top bag fall,” an attractive woman called. She was holding onto the arm of a man who was nattily dressed, including a silk cravat and a diamond stickpin.
“Don’ you worry none, Mrs. Dupree. I ain’t goin’ to let nothin’ fall.”
“Libby, will you quit worrying and let the man do his job? I’m sure he knows what he is doing.”
“Oh, but Jay, I’ve got a bottle of very expensive perfume in that bag. It would be awful if it got broken, to say nothing of spreading the fragrance on all the clothes.”
“It seems to me like having your clothes doctored with perfume would eliminate you having to put it on,” Dupree said with a chuckle.
“Some of your clothes are in that bag,” the woman replied. “I know you are somewhat the dandy, but do you really want to smell like a Parisian fancy woman?”
Dupree laughed out loud, then raised his hand and called toward the baggage handler, “Careful with those bags.”
Libby laughed as well, then took his arm with both hands.
As they passed Hawke, Dupree saw him studying the paper in his hand.
“Are you looking for the transcontinental train?” Dupree asked. “Because if you are, you’re at the right place.”
“Yes, thank you, I do appear to be,” Hawke said, folding the paper and putting it into his inside jacket pocket.
“I’m Jay Dupree, sir. This beautiful young lady is Libby St. Cyr.”
“St. Cyr?” Hawke looked toward the baggage handler, who was well down the length of the train by now.
Dupree, noticing the expression on Hawke’s face and his glance toward the baggage handler, chuckled.
“Miss St. Cyr is my employee. If people draw the wrong assumption about us, I have found that it is better to let them think as they will. And you are?”
“Mason Hawke.”
“Well, Mr. Hawke, would you care to walk with us as we board the train?”
“I would be glad to,” Hawke said.
As they walked along the length of the train, Hawke could see, through the windows, those passengers who were already in the cars. They sat in their seats, reading newspapers or carrying on conversations, a world apart from the hustle and bustle outside the train.
“Where are you headed, Mr. Hawke?” Dupree asked.
“You can drop the ‘Mister.’ Most folks just call me Hawke. And I’m not headed anywhere in particular. I’m just going to be on the train.”
Libby looked at him in surprise. “You are going to be taking a trip to the Far West, but you’ve no idea where?”
“It isn’t the destination, it’s the trip,” Hawke replied.
“I don’t understand.”
“If you come into the palace car at any time during the trip, you will understand,” Hawke said. “I’m a pianist, and the Union Pacific Railroad has hired me to play the piano on this train.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Libby said, smiling and clapping her hands in delight. “Well, I’m sure we will be stopping in to hear you play from time to time.”
“Have you heard about the gold strike in the Wyoming Territory?” Dupree asked.
“Yes, I was just reading about it in the local paper.”
“I believe some enterprising people are going to make a lot of money,” Dupree said. “And I intend to get my share.”
Hawke shook his head. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Mr. Dupree, you don’t have the looks of a gold hunter.”
Dupree laughed. “It depends on where you are looking for the gold,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My…associates and I plan to open a social club there. I think men who have been working hard in the hills, prospecting for gold, would appreciate a place to come for a few drinks, the companionship of an attractive woman, and some relaxation.”
Dupree stopped, then checked the paper in his hand. “Ah, here we are, my dear. Our accommodations are in this car.”
A beautiful young blond-haired woman stuck her head out the window of the car, joined a few seconds later by a second, this one a redhead, just as pretty as the first.
“Jay, Libby, where have you been? Lulu and I have been on the car for just hours, waiting for you,” the blonde said.
Dupree laughed. “I doubt that you have been here hours, Sue. The train itself hasn’t been here that long.”
“Sue is right,” Lulu said. “It has been a long time. What kept you two?”
“Someone had to take care of the luggage,” Libby replied.
“These two ladies will be traveling with us as well,” Dupree said. “Sue, Lulu, meet Mr. Hawke.”
Both girls flashed broad smiles and stuck their hands out.
“Pleased to meet you,” they said at the same time.
“Like Libby, they are my associates.”
“Yes, I see. And I think I understand the nature of your business now,” Hawke said.
“Surely, Mr. Hawke, you aren’t a prude?” Libby asked. “An urbane gentleman like you?”
Hawke laughed. “I’ve been called a lot of things, Miss St. Cyr. I’m quite sure I’ve never been called a prude.”
“I wouldn’t think so. You don’t have that look about you,” Libby said.
“Have a pleasant journey,” Hawke said, touching the brim of his hat as Dupree and Libby stepped up into their car.
“Thank you, and the same to you, sir. We’ll see each other frequently, I’m sure,” Dupree replied.
Hawke continued until he reached the car he had been told to board. A porter was standing in the car door.
“Beg your pardon, sir, but this here be the crew car,” the porter said.
“My name is Mason Hawke, and I believe this is the car I’m supposed to be on. I’ve signed on to play the piano on this trip.”
“Oh, now that will be fine,” the porter said. “On these long trips, the passengers do enjoy the music.”
“I expect the conductor will be wanting to talk to me after a while. When he’s not too busy, perhaps you could tell him where I am.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll do that. And welcome aboard.”
“Thank you.”
Hawke settled in a seat near a window, put his long legs forward, folded his arms across his chest, then pulled his hat down over his eyes. Within a few moments he was sound asleep.
Chapter 10
THE ANGRY BUZZ OF BULLETS COULD BE HEARD
