The Great Train Massacre Page 16

“What is it, Matt?” Mary Beth asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You look worried about something.”

  Matt pointed to the front door. “I’m not sure I trust that guy.”

  “Mr. Kelly?” John said, surprised by Matt’s comment. “What do you mean? Why not?”

  “It’s nothing I can put my finger on. It’s just a feeling I have.”

  John nodded. “I know about your feelings. I got a vivid demonstration of them in town. It’s just a feeling I’ve got. Go down to the other end of the bar, now!”

  “What?” Mary Beth asked. “Papa, what are you talking about?”

  “You remember when the sheriff commented about the encounter Matt had with a man named Logan?”

  “Yes, Runt Logan.” Mary Beth laughed. “I remember because I thought that was such a very strange name.”

  “Matt knew it was going to happen even before. He said he had a feeling, and he moved me down to the other end of the bar to be out of the way when the shooting started.”

  “You had a feeling?” Mary Beth asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you have that feeling now? Good heavens, you don’t think Mr. Kelly is going to try and shoot us, do you?” Mary Beth asked.

  “No, I don’t think he’ll try anything like that. But I just can’t shake the idea that, somehow, he’s involved. I think we would do well to be cautious around him.”

  “Well, we won’t have to worry about him much longer,” John said. “The entire train crew will change before we get to Chicago.”

  Damn! Kelly thought as he walked away from the Gillespie car. Does that son of a bitch have nine lives?

  Kelly walked back to the depot, then went up to the Western Union desk. The night operator was sitting in a chair that was tipped back against the wall. His arms were folded across his chest, and his eyes were closed.

  Kelly slapped his hand on the counter, and when he did so it startled the telegrapher so that the chair came forward, the legs making a loud pop when they hit the floor.

  “Uh, yes, sir! Can I help you?”

  “I need to send a telegram.”

  “All right. Write it out, and I’ll send it for you.”

  The telegrapher read the message. “That’ll be a dollar and a nickel. Will you be expecting a reply tonight?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “All right, I’ll send it.” He sat down at the desk, then began working the key.

  MONEY POORLY SPENT. JOB REMAINS UNDONE.

  KELLY

  Kelly remained in the depot until the train was reassembled, then, after all the passengers were boarded, he boarded himself.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Cheyenne, Wyoming

  Fred Keaton was the Keaton part of the McKnight-Keaton Wholesale Grocery Company. There was no McKnight, and truthfully, there was no Keaton either, except as the manager of the company that bore his name. At one time, Keaton and his brother-in-law, Phil McKnight, owned the company.

  Four years ago Phil McKnight had insisted that they buy all new wagons and enlarge the warehouse. Keaton had been against it, but McKnight was not only the senior partner, he was also family, so Keaton didn’t fight him. The timing had been terrible, because two new railroad spurs came into existence at the same time. The expansion proved to be disastrous.

  McKnight bailed out, leaving Fred Keaton with all the financial obligations of the failing company. The company was on the verge of bankruptcy when Gillespie Enterprises came in to buy McKnight and Keaton out. John had done some preliminary investigation into the company, and not only knew that McKnight was the cause of the company’s financial difficulty, but he also knew that McKnight had run off, leaving everything in Fred Keaton’s hands. Just as he had done with the Assumption mine, John offered Keaton the opportunity to stay on as manager, and Keaton accepted the offer.

  “We’ll keep the name of the company,” John told him. “You’ve built up a familiarity for the name, and it would be a shame to lose that recognition.”

  Keaton was being adequately compensated for his role as manager, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss. There was a time when he had high hopes and great ambition for the company. He had imagined passing it on to his son and having a comfortable income for his old age.

  None of that was possible now, and he sometimes wondered if perhaps he and McKnight shouldn’t have held on to the business. He was sure that if they had drawn everything in, they would have been able to weather the hard times. And the success of the company since Gillespie bought it validated that belief, because as it turned out, the railroads proved to be good for business. The long distance freighting ended, but the railroads increased the amount of freight, and the wagons of McKnight-Keaton provided the short-run connections.

  Keaton’s musings were interrupted when a boy from Western Union walked into the Wholesale Grocery Company carrying a telegram.

  “What can I do for you, boy?” Fred Keaton asked.

  “I’ve a telegram for Mr. Roy Slade,” the boy replied.

  “Slade? You’ll find him in back.” Keaton jerked his thumb toward a door that led out into the warehouse.

  The boy stepped into the back and saw several wagons backed up to a dock. Half a dozen or more men were loading the wagons.

  “Mr. Slade?” the boy called.

  “Yeah, that’s me.” The man who answered was carrying a box.

  “You have a telegram, sir.”

  Slade put the box onto the wagon, then came over to retrieve the telegram.

  The boy stood there for a moment.

  “What are you still here for?” Slade asked after he took the message.

  “Hell, Slade, give the boy a nickel,” one of the other men on the dock said.

  “What for?”

  “It’s common courtesy. When someone brings you a telegram, you give them a tip.”

  Slade looked at the boy, who was waiting with an expectant smile.

  “Get out of here,” he growled. “I ain’t got a nickel.” The smile left the boy’s face, then he turned and hurried away.

  “What’s the telegram say, Slade?” the man who had suggested the nickel tip asked.

  “It ain’t nobody’s business but mine.”

  FIFTY DOLLARS WIRED TO YOU AND JONES AVAILABLE AT THE WESTERN UNION OFFICE STOP BOARD THE LINCOLN BOUND TRAIN AT TEN OCLOCK THIS MORNING STOP WAIT UNTIL IT LEAVES THE STATION THEN SHOW THE CONDUCTOR THE AGREED UPON SIGNAL STOP CONDUCTOR WILL PROVIDE FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS

  LC

  With the telegram in hand, Roy Slade walked out into the wagon yard, where Marcus Jones was packing grease into the hub of a wagon wheel.

  “You remember that letter we got?” Slade asked. “The one that said we could make some money by doing a special job?”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Well, we just got a money transfer of fifty dollars apiece and a telegram.”

  Jones began wiping the grease from his hands. “What does the telegram say?”

  Slade read the telegram.

  “I thought we was supposed to get two hundred and fifty dollars apiece.”

  “Yeah, but you remember, the letter said we’d get the rest of the money after the job is done.”

  “Ten o’clock, huh? You think Mr. Keaton will give us the morning off?”

  A twisted smile spread across Slade’s face.

  “Yeah, he’ll give us the morning off.”

  Half an hour later, Slade and Jones were waiting at the depot for the eastbound train. It was supposed to have arrived at four o’clock this morning, and a lot of the departing passengers were complaining about the delay. Those who were here to meet arriving passengers were just as upset. It made no difference to Slade and Jones that the train was late. They hadn’t even known they would be meeting it until they received the telegram.

  As the heavy engine rolled by, the red-hot coals dripping from the firebox left a glowing path between the tracks. There was a screech of stee
l on steel as the train finally came to a stop, and the great drive wheels were wreathed in steam.

  The two men watched until the arriving passengers disembarked from the train, then Slade and Jones joined the ten or so who were boarding at this stop. They took a seat in the last car and waited until the conductor came through checking the tickets.

  Slade and Jones showed the conductor their ticket, then Slade showed him the ace of spades playing card.

  The conductor took the card, then nodded.

  “Wait until I tell you,” he said.

  “Wait until you tell us what?” Slade asked.

  “Wait until I tell you what I’m going to tell you,” Kelly said.

  At the front of the train at that moment Matt had climbed over the tender, then dropped down onto the engine deck. When he first dropped down, neither the engineer nor the fireman saw him, as both were looking forward. They were engaged in conversation.

  “Hey, Prouty, have you ever pulled a private car, like that’n we’re a-pullin’ now, before?”

  “I’ve pulled private cars before. I don’t know as I’ve ever pulled one quite like this. I bet it’s a purty thing inside.”

  “Oh, believe me, it is,” Matt said.

  Matt’s sudden and totally unexpected appearance startled both men so that they jumped.

  “Who are you? Is this a holdup?” the engineer asked.

  “No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Matt apologized, holding out both hands.

  “Then who are you, mister? And what are you doin’ here?” the engineer asked. “There ain’t no one allowed on the engine deck ’ceptin’ me and the fireman.”

  “My name is Matt Jensen, and I’ve been hired by the railroad to look out for the passengers of the private car you two were talking about.”

  Back in the train itself, Kelly left the rear day car, and smiling and greeting several of the passengers, he was every bit the gracious host that a conductor was supposed to be. As he passed through the dining car, he could smell the food being prepared for lunch. From the dining car, he stepped into the Pullman car. Here the occupants were generally wealthier than the passengers in the day cars. They were considerably better dressed, and they projected their elevated status with a haughtiness about them as they rested in their more comfortable seats and stared through the windows, rather than meet the gaze of a mere railroad employee, albeit he was the conductor.

  From the Pullman car Kelly walked through the baggage car, then stepped into the rear vestibule of John Gillespie’s car. The conductor tapped on the door of the private car and Mary Beth opened it. That surprised him. On every previous visit to the private car, the door had been opened by Matt Jensen.

  “Hello, Mr. Kelly,” Mary Beth said, greeting him with a smile.

  “Miss Gillespie,” Kelly replied.

  “Won’t you come in?”

  Kelly stepped into the car and saw John sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs reading a book. John looked up.

  “Something I can help you with, Mr. Kelly?”

  “No, I just wanted to check with you to make certain everything is all right. Do you need anything?”

  “No, we’re getting along just fine, but I thank you for your concern.”

  Kelly touched the bill of his cap as if in a salute.

  “Well, since everything is going well here, I’d better get back to work. Just send the porter for me if you need anything.”

  “We will, thanks.”

  Kelly left the car and passed back through the baggage car and the Pullman car. He had noticed when he came through a moment earlier that Matt Jensen wasn’t in his seat, nor had he seen him in the private car.

  Could it be that he had left the train, thinking the danger to Gillespie was passed? Kelly didn’t see him get off in Cheyenne, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t leave. If Jensen had left the train—and since Kelly hadn’t seen him in a while, he was convinced that he probably had—now would be a good time for the two men to take care of business. And with Jensen finally out of the way, the job had suddenly gotten much easier.

  The thought that this business was about to be over pleased Kelly, and as he walked back through the cars of the speeding train he thought back to his own business arrangement.

  “I’m not asking you to do anything except facilitate the operation,” Conroy had told him. “From time to time you may be approached by individuals who are working for me. In every case, they will identify themselves by showing you a playing card, the ace of spades. I ask only that you do nothing to impede their task. To ensure your loyalty, I will give you two hundred and fifty dollars now. If Mr. Gillespie and his daughter are dead by the time the train reaches its destination, you will be paid an additional seven hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “I am a person of some importance,” Kelly replied. “Because of that, I will be taking a considerable risk in helping you with your scheme. I want the entire thousand dollars now.”

  “No. It is not my policy to pay the entire amount before the job is done.”

  After some discussion, Kelly had agreed to take five hundred dollars, to be paid in full, in advance. He was taking less money than the original offer, but he received the money up front, and it wasn’t dependent upon the final outcome, which, after all, was beyond his control. And, he had increased his share by the one hundred and fifty dollars he kept from the failure of Hellman and Ladue to do the job.

  Kelly wished now, though, that he had taken the original deal. With Jensen out of the picture, he was convinced that the job would be done.

  He got an idea. He would ask for the money anyway, but he would do so in such a way that Conroy would think it would be in his best interest if he paid up. Otherwise . . . there might be some suspicions raised as to Conroy’s participation in the whole affair.

  But upon further thought, he put that idea aside. That was blackmail, and though this was the first business he had ever done with Conroy, he had quickly learned what a dangerous man Conroy was. He was much too dangerous to blackmail.

  When Kelly reached the day car where Slade and Jones were, he worked his way back to them, speaking to everyone in the car.

  “And how is that young man doing? Is he enjoying the train ride?” he asked a woman with a little boy.

  “Oh, yes, I think he is,” the woman replied with a smile.

  He carried on small talk with everyone until he reached Slade and Jones.

  The two men, who were sitting in the last seat on the left side of the car, were only slightly less disreputable looking than Hellman and Ladue had been. They were certainly not the kind of people Kelly would ever engage in any social conversation with, but he realized that these were exactly the type of men that would be needed to carry out the job that Lucas Conroy wanted done.

  “Are you gentlemen doing all right?” he asked.

  “Uh, yeah,” Slade replied.

  “Oh, let me check the latch on that window.”

  When Kelly leaned toward the window, he spoke very quietly. “Wait until I leave the car, then go forward. You’ll have to pass through the baggage car to reach the private car.”

  “What do we do when we get into the private car?” Slade asked.

  “Haven’t you been told?”

  “I want to hear it from you,” Slade said. “I need to know that we can trust you.”

  “You are to kill Gillespie and his daughter.”

  Slade smiled and nodded. “Yeah, like I said, I just wanted to hear it from you.”

  “What do we do after, uh, the job is done?” Jones asked.

  “The car is private and separated from the rest of the train by the baggage car, so nobody will have any idea what has taken place. When you are finished, just leave them there and come on back here. You can get off the train at the next stop.”

  “What about the rest of the money?” Slade asked.

  “That’s between you and Conroy.”

  “I thought maybe you was supposed to g
ive it to us.”

  “I don’t have the money, that’s between you and Conroy,” Kelly repeated. “There!” he said, loudly enough for others in the car to hear him. He raised the window. “That should take care of it. I’m sorry if this window was giving you any trouble.”

  “Thanks,” Slade said.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The reason Kelly hadn’t seen Matt was because he was still in the engine cab speaking with Mr. Prouty, the engineer, and Mr. Hastings, the fireman. The two men had relieved Kirkpatrick and Cooper back in Cheyenne, and unlike Kirkpatrick and Cooper, were unaware of the attempts already made on the lives of John and his daughter. Matt was filling them in on the situation.

  “Be especially alert,” Matt said. “From the time this train left San Francisco, someone has been trying to kill Mr. Gillespie and his daughter. I wouldn’t put it past them to do something to sabotage the train, like pull up a rail or block off a bridge.”

  “Yes, sir, we’ll be on the lookout, I can promise you that,” Prouty said.

  “Mr. Hastings, I think I should tell you that just before we left San Francisco we found a stick of dynamite in the coal tender.”

  “Damn!” Hastings said. “That’s not good. I get to shovelin’ so fast that most of the time I don’t even look at what I’m shovelin’, and I just throw it into the furnace.”

  “Yes, that’s the way it was explained to me as well. That’s why I’m warning you.”

  “I guess I had better start lookin’ just real close at ever’ shovel I take,” Hastings said.

  “I’d say that would be a good idea,” Matt replied.

  Matt nodded at the engine crew, then climbed over the tender to return to the private car. Just as he opened the front door, he saw two men with drawn pistols coming in through the opposite end of the car.

  “What are you doing here?” Matt demanded.

  Both men swung their guns toward Matt, but Matt drew and fired before either of them could get off a shot. Jones went down, and Slade turned and ran back outside.