Parker pointed to Santelli. “What car is he going to be in?”
“Oh, sir, I don’t know. Unless someone buys a ticket specifically for a Pullman car, I never have any idea where they will be. This is a narrow-gauge railroad, so there are no Pullman cars on this run. But I’m sure if you don’t want to be in the same car as a murderer, you will be able to avoid him.”
“We want to be—” Parker stopped mid-sentence. He’d started to say they wanted to be in the same car as Santelli, but thought that might make the ticket clerk suspicious. “That is, I really don’t care what car we get put in.”
“Well, I will say this, sir. Normally the Red Cliff Special is pretty much filled. But it being nearly Christmas, it seems there aren’t as many passengers as normal, so you can probably sit just about anywhere you want.”
After the four men received their tickets, three of them went over to the farthest side of the depot waiting room, but Parker went over to the prisoners. “Santelli, Bob Ward is an old friend of mine. He said if I saw you, I was to tell you hello.”
“Really? You’ve met with him recently?”
“Just a couple of days ago.”
“Well, thank you. And thank you for bringing the message,” Santelli nodded indicating he understood.
“Here,” Proxmire fussed. “Get away from my prisoner.”
“I was just passing on a greeting from a mutual friend,” Parker replied.
“You have no business with my prisoner. I’m going to ask you again, sir, to move away.”
Parker held his hands out. “Whatever you say, Deputy. I’m not one to cause trouble.” He turned away and went over to join his partners.
Jenny continued to watch the four men for the next few minutes. She was sure the man who’d spoken to Santelli had exchanged some sort of signal with him. She wondered if she should mention it to Deputy Proxmire. After a moment’s consideration, she decided not to say anything about it. There was no law against exchanging glances, and though Jenny was of a suspicious nature, she convinced herself there was nothing significant about the way the men had looked at each other.
An overweight well-dressed man, a woman, and a child came into the depot then. The man pointed to one of the long wooden bench seats. “Millie, you and Becky wait there for me. I’ll get the tickets.”
“All right.” The woman hustled the little girl to the bench.
“Mama, I still don’t feel good.”
“I know, dear. There’s room on the seat, and you can lie down and put your head in my lap.”
“What about when we get on the train?”
“I’m sure there will be room enough on the train, too, for you to lie down.”
“Senator Daniels! Senator Daniels, I’m with the
“Certainly, my good man, as soon as I secure the tickets for our travel.”
At that moment the depot began to shake and rumble as a train came into the station.
“Is that our train?” Santelli asked.
Proxmire shook his head. “No, that’s the southbound. We’ll be on the Red Cliff Special, going west.”
CHAPTER TEN
Matt was on the train pulling into the Pueblo Station. He would leave that train and board the one going toward Red Cliff. Big Rock was on that line, being the first stop on the other side of the Mosquito Range of mountains. He was anxious to get to nearby Sugarloaf Ranch, where he planned to enjoy Christmas with his friends.
“Pueblo!” the conductor called, coming through the cars. “This stop is Pueblo. This is where you’re getting off, isn’t it, Mr. Jensen?”
“Yes, it is.”
The conductor reached out to shake Matt’s hand. “Well, sir, let me tell you it has been a real privilege having you aboard. I can’t wait until I tell my son. He has read all about you. Oh, and I thank you for the autograph.”
“It’s quite all right,” Matt said. “Tell your son I said hello.”
“I’ll do that, Mr. Jensen. Yes, sir, I will certainly do that.” He continued on through the cars calling out the stop. “Pueblo! This stop is Pueblo!”
Matt had been a little embarrassed at being asked for his autograph. He was always self-conscious about being connected with the literary work of Prentiss Ingram.
“It’s hardly literature,” Sally had said once, scoffing at the books Ingram had written, not only about Matt, but about Smoke and Falcon MacAllister, as well as books about and plays starring Buffalo Bill Cody.
Matt looked out the window as the train drew close to the Arkansas River, then passed several houses, the windows gleaming gold from the inside electric lights. Like Denver, Pueblo had been electrified. Maybe he was old- fashioned, but he preferred the soft, golden glow of gas lanterns to the harsh white of the electric lights.
Matt saw a buckboard, a young boy on the seat beside the driver. In the back of the buckboard was a freshly cut evergreen tree, no doubt soon to be sprouting tinsel and Christmas ornaments.
That turned his thoughts to Christmas with Smoke and Sally, and Matt realized it had been a long time since he had seen his friend. He was looking forward to seeing him again and renewing his acquaintance with Duff MacAllister. It was fitting they would be meeting at Christmas as he had first met him five years ago, during Christmas of 1888, when he helped Duff and Smoke deliver a herd of Abner cattle from Wyoming to Texas.
The train rolled into the station and rattled and rumbled to a halt. It was almost eight o’clock in the evening. Matt helped a young woman get her grip down from the overhead rack, then reached up for his suitcase. Carrying his coat, he followed the young woman through the car and down onto the depot platform. Immediately, he was hit by a blast of cold air. Shivering, he hurried across the brick platform and into the inviting warmth of the station as the train’s overheated journals and bearings popped in the cold air.
Inside, he saw two men talking, or rather, one man talking while the other man was busy recording their conversation in a small notepad. Matt wondered what was so special about the man that everything he said had to be recorded. Then, he heard the man with the small, narrow notepad ask a question and he knew what it was.
“Senator Daniels, are you aware of the claim being made by the coal mine owners that paying in company script is the most efficient way to run their businesses?”
“I know it is what they say. But consider the miner, how he sweats and toils beneath the earth to mine coal, only to see that his remuneration is in paper that is worthless to spend anywhere except in a company store.”
“Which provides all the necessities for living,” another reporter said. “Food, furniture, clothing. What more does someone need?”
“In my opinion, that is nothing more than a form of slavery,” Senator Daniels answered.
“But, according to the mine owners, this actually helps the miners’ families as it prevents the miners from spending money on whiskey or gambling it away.”
“Of course slave owners could justify their actions as being best for the Negro,” Senator Daniels replied. “But we all know they weren’t. Besides, who are the mine owners to make such decisions for someone else? No, sir, it is wrong. Wrong, I say, and I intend to fight against it, and I intend to fight with every ounce of my being.”
“There are some who say you have no real interest in your bill, other than as a way to generate publicity for yourself,” the reporter suggested.
“To what end, sir?” Daniels replied, obviously irritated by the question.
“Why, so you could run for governor during the next election. What about that, Senator? Do you have aspirations to run for governor? Or perhaps even a higher office?”
Senator Daniels reached up to stroke his muttonchop whiskers before he responded. “Right now, I just want to be a very good state senator. But I have chosen politics as my profession, and anyone who enters into any profession would want to reach the top, would they not?”
