“We don’t have to get on the train if you don’t want to, B.W.,” Rance said.
“I’ll manage,” B.W. said. “Let’s get the horses loaded.” B.W. took the money bags off his horse.
They led the horses on the car, grabbed the Henrys and the shotgun and unsaddled the horses, closed the gate and walked up to the passenger car.
The ticket agent came running up to them. “That Indian can’t get on board with them guns and that tomahawk,” he said. “He got a gun in them saddle bags?”
“No, personal things,” Rance said.
B.W. handed his guns to Rance. Rance handed them to the train man.
“What about the tomahawk,” the agent said.
B.W. pulled the tomahawk out of his belt and handed it to the railroad man and glance down at his boot with the knife in it, picked up the money bags and started walking down the aisle of the car.
People placed bags in their seats and sat kids in them to keep him from sitting down. He walked all the way to the back of the car and sat down by himself and placed the suitcase beside him.
“What’s he doin’ that for?” Tommy asked.
“Let him be. He’s doin’ it for you,” Rance said.
“For me?” Tommy said.
“You’ll know soon enough, go on back,” Rance said, pointing at the back of the car. They sat down next to B.W. The nearest passenger was four rows in front of them.
“May need another war,” B.W. said.
“Might have to be on your side next time,” Rance said.
“How much one of them Gatling’s cost?” B.W. said, placed his hand on the suitcase and tapped it with his fingers.
“Know what you’re thinking,” Rance said, “but this train may belong to Tommy.”
“Ya’ll talkin’ in riddles,” Tommy said.
“That we are,” B.W. said. “No need for you to know.”
A short, dumpy little man with a gray beard and a big gut stood up and looked at B.W. “Aint ridin’ no train with a stinkin’ Injun. Might as well be a nigger.” He grabbed his suitcase and headed for the door.
B.W. rose up in his seat and Rance put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re gettin’ off,” Rance said.
B.W. eased back down in his seat. “No, we need to get to Traversville. I’ll stay here and try not to kill anyone for now.”
They heard a whistle and the train began to roll away from the depot, smoke running past the windows as the train picked up speed. Seconds later, the train was at full speed headed for Traversville.
Four hours later, when the train pulled into the Traversville depot, they followed the other passengers off the train. The conductor gave them their weapons and they headed for the cattle car to get their horses when they heard a woman’s voice behind them.
“Mister Indian,” the voice said and they turned around. There stood a little old white lady wearing a flowered cotton dress and a bonnet, holding her parasol over her head in the Texas heat. She took a step closer to B.W. “Mister Indian,” she said, “wanted you to know I didn’t mind riding with you, even if you are an Indian.”
B.W. took off his hat. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said. She nodded, turned and toddled off.
Rance grinned at B.W. “You know,” Rance said. “I don’t mind ridin’ with you either, even though you’re not a complete Indian.”
“She meant well. Nobody knows but you.” B.W. said. “Let’s get the horses.”
They got their horses and saddled them, B.W. holding on to the money bags as they rode down the street looking at the town. Pretty much like all the rest they passed through along the way, he thought. They rode by a bank and B.W. took a long look at it.
“Why you lookin’ at that bank?” Rance said. “You’re makin’ me nervous.”
“Was thinkin’ ‘bout our money. A safe place to put it,” B.W. said. “Need to buy that ranch ‘fore something happens to it.”
“Still havin’ some problems with that. Should do somethin’ useful with it,” Rance said.
“I am,” B.W. said, “goin’ to buy us a ranch.”
“Don’t know if I want a ranch, need two good hands for that,” Rance said.
“I’ll be your other hand,” B.W. said.
“Can’t turn something like that down,” Rance said.
“I want to find my mama‘s killer,” Tommy said.
“Kind of think that would be my priority too,” B.W. said.
“Your what?” Tommy said.
“The thing I would want to do first.”
Tommy nodded.
“Let’s find us a place to bed down and get a bath and some clean clothes,” Rance said. “Then think on the rest.”
“There he goes with that bath thing again, B.W.,” Tommy said.
“Maybe we do need a bath,” B.W. said.
“I don’t believe my ears,” Rance said. “You mean you don’t think you smell like tree bark anymore?”
“Don’t get too carried away. It’ll be a quick one.”
“Cleanliness is next to godliness,” Rance said and grinned.
“Man, are you full of shit,” B.W. said.
Rance smiled.
They crossed over to the next street and saw Ferguson Bed and Bath Boarding House on a sign out front.
“That looks good,” Rance said. “Want to try it?”
“Might as well,” B.W. said.
“Guess I’ll go too,” Tommy said.
They tied their horses to the hitching post and dismounted, B.W. holding on to the money bags. They walked up to the door and rang the bell.
A young woman appeared and opened the door. She had long blonde hair with a pink ribbon in it, big blue eyes, wearing a long blue dress holding a white cat. “He’ll run out the door if I put him down,” she said. “Come on in.” They walked in and closed the door. She shifted the cat to hold him with both hands and sat him down and he ran off.
“I’m the owner, Rhonda Jennings,” she said. “You need a bed?”
“Yes ma’am,” Rance said.
“Can give you and the boy a room, the Indian will have to sleep on the back porch, bathe in the creek.”
“No ma’am, I won’t
