“All right.” Adele finally had enough. “If you are unable to see the difference, I won’t argue with you. How much is her fine? I’ll pay it.”
“I’m afraid that won’t work. This is far beyond having one of your women caught with a cowboy. You see, the gentleman she was with is the sitting governor of a neighboring state.”
“I know that, Judge. Governors, congressmen, senators”—she paused—“and judges—have all visited the Colorado Social Club. And the more cultured of these gentlemen want to spend some time with Jenny, not as a sexual partner, but as a conversationalist.
“And why not? Jenny is the most educated and intelligent person I know, man or woman. And you can see with your own eyes how beautiful she is. It is no wonder that such people find her interesting.”
“Nevertheless, if it gets out that the governor was with Jenny McCoy, it could have far-reaching consequences. Therefore, my sentence for you, Mrs. McCoy, is that you leave Pueblo.”
“What?” Jenny asked with a gasp. “Where will I go? What will I do?”
“Like Miss Summers said, you are an uncommonly beautiful woman, Mrs. McCoy. I’m quite sure you will be able to find some means of supporting yourself. I just don’t intend for you to do it here.”
“I will not be a prostitute!” Jenny said resolutely.
The judge’s only response was to bang his gavel. “This hearing is adjourned.”
Adele walked back to the Colorado Social Club with Jenny, comforting her as best she could.
“I have never been so embarrassed and humiliated in my life,” Jenny said.
“Nonsense, my dear. You have nothing to be humiliated for, or embarrassed about.”
“But what will I do? Where will I go?”
“You can go to Red Cliff,” Adele suggested. “I have a brother who owns a nice store there. I’ll write to him, and ask him to give you a job.”
“Would you? Oh, Adele, you have been such a wonderful friend.”
Bob Ward was meeting Felix Parker, a man he had served time with in the Colorado State Prison in Canon City. Also present at the meeting were three men Parker brought with him: Roy Compton, Gerald Kelly, and Melvin Morris.
“Michael is still in jail in Kiowa. From what I’ve learned, he’ll be transported on the Red Cliff Special, leaving Pueblo at nine o’clock at night on the nineteenth,” Ward said.
“What day is that?” Parker asked.
“That will be Monday, day after tomorrow.”
“How are we going to work this?” Morris asked.
Ward gave out the first set of instructions. “You four will board the train in Pueblo. The train will have to go through Trout Creek Pass. It is 9,000 feet high, so by the time the train gets to the top of the pass, it won’t be goin’ any faster than you can walk.”
“That’s when I’ll go to work,” Parker continued. “I’ll go up front and stop the train.”
“And while everyone is distracted by the train being stopped, Compton, you, Kelly, and Morris, will take care of the deputy escorting Michael, then come to the front with him.”
“I’ll disconnect the train from the engine, and we’ll go on over the pass, leaving the rest of the train behind,” Parker said.
“I’ll meet you in Big Rock with horses,” Ward continued. “After that, we’ll go get the money.”
“Are you sure the money is there?” Morris asked.
Ward smiled. “Let’s put it this way. The money damn well better be there, because Michael knows what will happen if it ain’t there.”
“He’s your brother.”
“Yeah? So was Abel Cain’s brother,” Ward said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Matt Jensen opened his eyes and looked around his hotel room. The shade was pulled, but a small hole in the shade projected onto the wall a very detailed image, not a shadow but a photographic image of the winter-denuded cottonwood tree growing just outside the hotel.
He sat up in the bed and swung his legs over the side, remaining there for a long moment before padding barefoot across the plank floor toward the chest of drawers. He picked up the porcelain pitcher and poured water into a basin. The water was just short of freezing, but it had an invigorating effect as he washed his face and hands, then worked up a lather that enabled him to shave.
It was already mid-morning, but the heavy green shade covering the window kept out most of the light. Not until he was dressed did he open the shade to let the morning sunshine stream in. He stood at the window for a moment, looking out onto the street below.
Across the street, an empty wagon with one of its wheels removed sat on blocks. Another freight wagon was just pulling away while a third was being loaded. That Claro was an industrious town was well demonstrated by the painted signs and symbols used to make the various mercantile establishments known to the citizens as well as the farmers and ranchers who came into town to buy their supplies. The apothecary featured a large cutout of a mortar and pestle. Next to that, a striped pole advertised the barber shop, and next to that a big tooth led patients to the dentist. Directly across the street, Matt could see the painted, golden mug of beer inviting customers in to the Red Dog Saloon.
Matt turned away from the window, pulled his suitcase from under the bed, and began packing. Nothing in particular had brought him to Claro, and nothing was keeping him there.
When his suitcase was packed, he took it to the depot and bought a ticket to Denver, figuring it was time he got back to Colorado. He decided to send a telegram to his friend and mentor, Smoke Jensen, informing him of his plans.
DEPARTING CLARO NEVADA 10 AM DEC 17 STOP
ARRIVING DENVER 2 PM ON 19 STOP REPLY BY
TELEGRAM TO CENTRAL PACIFIC DEPOT IN CLARO
STOP MATT
Matt checked his suitcase in, then went over to the Red Dog Saloon to have his breakfast. He had made friends in the Red Dog and thought to tell them good-bye.
He took a seat at a table halfway between the piano and the potbellied woodstove that sat in a sandbox. Roaring as it snapped and popped, the fire put out too much heat if one was too close to it and not enough if one sat some distance away from it. Matt knew exactly where to sit to get just the right amount heat to feel comfortable.
Trebor von Nahguav was sitting at the next table, drinking coffee. An Austrian, he was a pianist who had studied under Chopin.
“Matthew, is it true you are actually leaving today?” Trebor asked.
“I am.”
“I will not like to see you go. You have brought a bit of
“Bekanntheit?”
