“I know,” Timmy said. “But they wouldn’t make them up about you if some of it wasn’t true.”
“Maybe,” Matt granted.
He turned to the other woman. A girl and a boy sat in the facing seat. “And you, Mrs. . . . ?”
“My name is Anita Lewis. This is my daughter Barbara, she’s eleven, and my son Steven.”
“I’m nine, just like Timmy,” Steven explained.
“Except I’m a month older,” Timmy said quickly.
“Mr. Webb, Mrs. Lewis, I think you should take your families and the rest of the coal back into our car. We’ll be able to consolidate the coal and make it last longer for all of us.”
“That’s a good idea,” Webb said.
“All right,” Anita agreed.
“Mr. Jensen, do you think we will be stuck here through Christmas?” Barbara asked.
“I don’t know.” Matt smiled, trying to put a good face on the situation. “But if we are, we’ll just make the best of it. Why, we can have our own Christmas party.”
“How can you have a party without food?” Steven asked.
“We’ll just figure out a way,” Matt said.
After the Webb and Lewis families left, with Mr. Webb carrying the scuttle of coal, Matt and Troy took up the carpet, then they returned to the rear car.
“That was a good idea, inviting them—and their coal—to our car,” Luke said.
“Well, I would have just invited the coal, but I didn’t think they would go along with that,” Matt said. Webb stared at Matt for a moment, then when he realized Matt was only teasing, he laughed out loud.
It was good to hear laughter.
“Mr. Jensen, do you suppose there’s more coal in the other car?” Troy asked.
“There may be,” Matt said. “And good for you for thinking about it. We’ll also cut up that carpet and make more serapes. We can’t do anything about food, but at least we won’t freeze to death.”
Prosecutor Lloyd Gilmore was on the telephone in his office, talking to the governor. “Yes, Governor. Yes, I’m absolutely sure of it. Yes, sir, the sheriff and defense attorney are here with me now. Thank you, Governor. I will tell them. Yes sir. We will take care of it.”
Gilmore listened for a moment, then looked over at Sheriff McKenzie.
“The governor wants to know if we have heard anything else about the stranded train.”
“Nothing from the train itself, but I believe they are putting together a rescue train to go up and relieve them,” McKenzie said.
Gilmore repeated the information to the governor, then hung up the phone. “There won’t be any need for another trial for Luke Shardeen, Tom. I am dropping all charges.”
“Thank you, Lloyd,” Murchison said. “I’ve known Luke Shardeen ever since he came here, and I know he is a good man. You are doing the right thing.”
“What are we going to do about Briggs?” Sheriff McKenzie asked.
“It has already been done,” Gilmore said. “Governor Waite has just removed him from office. He wants you to inform him.”
McKenzie agreed. “That is something I will do with great pleasure.”
“May I come as well, Sheriff?” Murchison asked. “I very much want to see this.”
“Sure, come along if you want to.”
Accompanied by Gilmore and Murchison, Sheriff McKenzie walked to the courthouse. Inside, they climbed the stairs to the second floor, and stepped into the judge’s outer office, where they were greeted by Arnold Rittenhouse, the judge’s secretary.
“Gentlemen,” Rittenhouse said. “Do you have an appointment with His Honor?”
“No appointment is necessary for what I’m about to do,” Sheriff McKenzie declared. “And there is nothing honorable about him.”
“I don’t understand.” The expression on the secretary’s face reflected his confusion.
“Just stay out of the way and watch. You’ll understand soon enough.” McKenzie started toward the door to the judge’s chambers.
“No, Sheriff, you can’t go in there!” Rittenhouse shouted.
McKenzie jerked the door open and walked in.
“Here, what is the meaning of this?” Judge Briggs shouted, holding his pants up with one hand, while a young woman from the Colorado Social Club was busy trying to rearrange her clothes.
“You’d better leave, miss,” Sheriff McKenzie said.
“What? Who are you to tell her to leave? If anyone is going to leave it will be you and this . . . this entourage you have with you.” Briggs pointed at McKenzie with his free hand. “Get out! Get out of here at once, or by damn I will hold you in contempt of court!”
“I already hold you in contempt, you sorry excuse for a man,” McKenzie said angrily. “Amon Briggs, you have been removed from the bench by order of the Governor of the state of Colorado. And you are also under arrest for stagecoach robbery.”
“Stagecoach robbery! Are you out of your mind?”
“Tell him, Mr. Gilmore,” Sheriff McKenzie said.
“Mr. Briggs—”
“You will address me as Your Honor or Judge Briggs,” Briggs continued angrily.
“You are lucky I’m even addressing you as mister. You have been removed from the bench, Mr. Briggs, and I am filing charges with the Attorney General of the State, charging you with collusion with Dewey Ferrell and Jebediah Clayton for the attempted robbery of the Wetmore to Yorkville stagecoach.”
“What do you mean attempted robbery?”
“It means they tried to rob it, but were killed,” Sheriff McKenzie answered.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“We found a note in Ferrell’s pocket—a note from you, Briggs—telling him the coach would be carrying three thousand dollars, and demanding one third of the money,” McKenzie advised.
The expression of anger and defiance on Brigg’s face faded, quickly changing to one of fear.
“Stick out your hands, Briggs,” McKenzie said. “I’m going to cuff you.
“No, please,” Briggs pleaded. “Don’t parade me in handcuffs in front of the people! I’ll lose all their respect.”
“Tell me, Mr. Briggs,” Gilmore said. “What makes you think anyone respects you now?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Everyone in town had heard that the train was trapped at the top of the pass. About a hundred people were in the depot, most out of concern and curiosity. Those who had relatives and loved ones on the train had the greatest concern. Although they knew Deckert had no more information than they did, being at the depot made them feel closer to the people on the train.
Word has reached this newspaper that the Red Cliff Special, which left the Buena Vista Depot at nine o’clock
