The Great Train Massacre Read online

  “All right, I will get to the point. I represent a consortium of businessmen. And I believe, that is, the consortium believes, that our businesses, and indeed many businesses that we don’t represent, are being hurt by the ruthless practices of someone who is concerned only for his own self-interest. We believe that this person’s ruthless business practices put at risk the jobs of thousands of people. He is much too powerful to take on in the courts. We believe the only solution is to have him killed. So you see, Mr. Conroy, that wasn’t purely a hypothetical question. Can we arrange to have that done?”

  “Yes, you can arrange that. But it is going to cost you a great deal of money.”

  “You will guarantee success?”

  “Of course. I could not stay in business unless I guaranteed my clients success.”

  “Very good. I would say, then, that we wish to become your client.”

  “Who is the person you want killed?”

  “Actually, there are two of them that we want killed.”

  “Two? You mean you want to arrange two separate operations?”

  “No. The two I want killed are always together, so it will be only one operation. Do you think you can handle that?”

  “Yes, I can handle it. But whether or not it is one operation or two separate operations, the fact that you want two people killed will double the cost. A human life is a human life, after all, and one doesn’t kill without some compunction.”

  Conroy’s visitor smiled. “I’m glad to see that your misgivings can be set aside, for a price,” he said caustically.

  Colorado Springs

  Matt was awaiting his turn in the Model Barbershop on Lamar Street. The barber and the customer in his chair were having a discussion. As it turned out, they were discussing him, though neither of them knew that the subject of their discussion was present at the time.

  “Jensen faced down all four of ’em,” the man in the barber chair said. “ ‘Throw up your hands, or prepare to meet your Maker,’ he called out to ’em.

  “‘It’s you that’ll die,’ one of the three men said. Then the pistols commenced a-blazing, ’n the next thing you know, why, three of them bandits was lyin’ on the floor of the railroad car, ’n the fourth one got scairt and throwed up his hands.”

  “That’s pretty amazing,” the barber said.

  “Yeah, well, if you knew Matt Jensen as well as I do, you wouldn’t think nothin’ of it. I told him, I said, ‘Matt, you keep gettin’ yourself into situations like this, one of these days you’re just liable to bite off more’n you can chew.’”

  “What did Jensen say when you told him that?” the barber asked.

  “Why, what did you expect him to say?” the talkative man replied. “He said, ‘The outlaw ain’t been born who can get the best of Matt Jensen.’ Yes, sir, that’s what he said. And me ’n him knowin’ each other as well as we do, why, I figure he’s prob’ly right.” Overhearing the conversation, Matt chuckled quietly, then picked up the newspaper and began to read.

  From the Colorado Springs Gazette:

  Gillespie Enterprises Acquires

  Northwest Financials

  John Bartmess Gillespie announced this week that his company, Gillespie Enterprises, has acquired Northwest Financials, the largest investment firm between San Francisco and Chicago. In making the acquisition, Gillespie beat out Whitehurst Commercial Development, the Kansas City–based company that was also bidding for the investment firm.

  Northwest has its main office in Denver, but there are subsidiary offices in a dozen cities. Northwest has been losing money over the last two years, and it is believed that Gillespie will completely reorganize the institution.

  “That’ll do it, Mr. Allman,” the barber said, taking the cape from his customer.

  Allman looked at himself in the mirror, ran his hand through his hair, and smiled. “You done a good job, Milt,” he said, handing the barber fifteen cents.

  “Hello, Mr. Allman,” Matt said as the customer walked by.

  “Do we know each other?” Allman asked, made curious by Matt’s greeting.

  “I heard the barber call you by name.”

  Allman nodded, then left the shop.

  “You’re next, sir,” the barber said.

  Matt lay the paper aside and walked over to get into the chair.

  The barber put the cape over Matt, unaware that Matt had drawn his pistol and was now holding it in his lap under the cape. It was a suggestion that his mentor and friend, Smoke Jensen, had made a long time ago.

  “Matt, I have a feeling that, like me, you’re going to wind up making some enemies, more than likely, a lot of them,” Smoke told him. “In addition, there will be some men who aren’t particularly enemies, but would be happy to kill you just for the reputation. One place where you are always vulnerable is when you’re sitting in a barber’s chair with a cape tied around you. That’s when your enemies will see you as a prime target. But you don’t have to be vulnerable there. If you’ll just pull your pistol and hold it in your lap, you’ll turn the situation around. Then, it will be you who will have the upper hand.”

  “That fella that just left here sure gets around,” the barber said. “You heard him talking about Matt Jensen, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Yes, sir, well, Matt Jensen ain’t the only one he knows. He’s good friends with Smoke Jensen and Falcon MacCallister too. He also knows Wyatt Earp, and he knew Wild Bill Hickock. Yes, sir, that fella really gets around.”

  “Some men just have a knack of making friends, I suppose,” Matt said, swallowing a laugh.

  “Find anything interesting in the newspaper?” the barber asked as he began building up a frothy lather in the shaving cup.

  “I was just reading about Northwest selling out,” Matt replied.

  “Yeah, what do you think of that?”

  “It doesn’t look like they had much choice,” Matt said. “According to the article, they’ve been losing money for the last couple of years.”

  “I guess that’s right,” the barber said. “It’s just that I hate to see it go to Gillespie.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with Gillespie?”

  “Oh, I don’t know as there is anything wrong with him. It’s just that it don’t seem right for one man to have so much money. Why, they say he’s as rich as some countries.” The barber was sharpening his blade on the razor strop.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being rich, as long as you have come by it honestly,” Matt said.

  “Well, yes, sir, I reckon that’s true. Maybe I’m just jealous ’cause he’s got all that money, and I don’t.”

  “Are you married?” Matt asked.

  “Yes, sir, I am. I got me a fine wife, two kids, a boy ’n a girl, and another one on the way.”

  “And a nice business where you provide a service for people who need that service,” Matt commented.

  The barber was quiet for a moment, then he chuckled. “You’re a pretty intelligent man, mister. You’re right. Now that I think about it, I’ve got all a man needs to be happy.”

  The barber whistled a contented tune as he began shaving Matt.

  After the shave and haircut, Matt walked out front, untied his horse from the hitching rail, then swung into the saddle.

  “Spirit, we’re going to San Francisco. I know that’s over a thousand miles, but you won’t have to walk the whole way. I’ll find a place for us to catch the train before we get there.”

  Chapter Three

  San Francisco, the Gillespie Building

  Drew Jessup stood just at the open door of John Gillespie’s office and knocked lightly on the door frame. At the knock, John looked up from his desk and smiled.

  “Drew, what can I do for you?”

  “It’s not what you can do for me, John, it’s what I can do for you,” Drew replied. “Well, for you and for Mary Beth.” Drew, who was the vice president of Gillespie Enterprises, walked into John’s office with an envelope in his hand. Smi
ling, he put the envelope on the desk in front of John.

  “What is this?” John asked.

  “Didn’t I hear Mary Beth tell you last week that she wanted to go see the Junius Booth play?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I believe she did say that.”

  Drew pointed toward the envelope. “There are two box seat tickets there,” he said.

  “Why, Drew,” John said, picking up the envelope. What a wonderful thing for you to do!”

  “What good is it to be friends if one friend can’t do something for the other friend from time to time?” Drew asked.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” John said. He waved the tickets. “And I’ll have to find something nice to do for you someday.”

  “I already know what I would like for you to do for me,” Drew replied.

  “What’s that?”

  “When you go to Chicago next month, you can bring back a souvenir. Have you told Mary Beth yet that you are going?”

  “No, I was waiting for the right time.”

  Drew pointed to the ticket envelope. “Can you think of a better time to tell her than when you are both at the theater?”

  John shook his head. “Why, that’s a wondeful idea, Drew. Yes, the theater would be an excellent time to tell her.”

  “Do you still plan to invite her to go with you? The reason I ask is, I will need to know, so that I can make all the arrangements for your travel.”

  “Thank you, Drew, I appreciate that,” John said.

  San Francisco, the Solari Building on Jackson Street

  “You don’t have to worry, Mr. Conroy, I’ll take care of it.”

  “If you can, make it look like an accident,” Conroy said.

  “Yes, of course, I have it all worked out. I know exactly what I’m going to do. All you have to do is just have the money ready. You do have the money, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I have the money, but I don’t intend to pay you until afterward. And then I will pay you only if you succeed,” Conroy said. “I don’t make a habit of paying for failure.”

  “I understand.”

  The Alcazar Theater

  John Bartmess Gillespie and his twenty-three-year-old daughter, Mary Beth, stepped out of the theater, which was on O’ Ferrel Street between Stockton and Powell. They had just seen a performance of Julius Caesar starring Junius Brutus Booth Jr.

  “Thank you so much for bringing me to the theater, Papa,” Mary Beth said. “I thought it was a lovely performance, and Mr. Booth played the role of Brutus so eloquently, don’t you think?”

  “He was good, but not as good as his father was. Now, there was a brilliant actor. To be honest Junius Jr. wasn’t even as good as his brothers, Edwin, or John Wilkes,” John said.

  “John Wilkes? Papa, surely you aren’t praising the man who assassinated President Lincoln?” Mary Beth asked, shocked by her father’s comment.

  “Give the devil his due, sweetheart. A murderer and scoundrel he may have been—he was, nonetheless, a very talented actor.”

  “Well, I feel sorry for Mr. Junius Booth, having to live with the shame of knowing what a horrible thing his brother did.”

  “It wasn’t his fault, and the theatergoers have accepted both him and Edwin, without ascribing to either of them any guilt by association. I have spoken with him about it, and he is reconciled to the shame John Wilkes brought to the family.”

  “Shall I summon your coach, Mr. Gillespie?” a young man asked.

  “Yes, if you would, please,” John said, handing him a fifty-cent coin.

  “Yes, sir!”

  “By the way, Mary Beth, what do you think about your father being invited to give a speech at Northwestern University in Chicago?” John asked, after the boy hurried off to summon the coach.

  “Really, Papa? Oh, what a wonderful honor that is! But then, the university should be equally honored to have you. You are going to accept the invitation, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, indeed. It has been a long time since I was last in Chicago. I’ve asked Drew to make the arrangements to have my private car attached. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Oh, yes, Papa, I would love to!” Mary Beth replied enthusiastically. “When are we going?”

  “We’ll leave here next month. I thought maybe we would spend a week or ten days there.”

  “Does Uncle Drew know you are planning to be gone for that long?”

  Drew Jessup wasn’t actually Mary Beth’s uncle, but he was as close as family. Many years ago Drew and John had been classmates at the University of Pennsylvania and were still friends. Drew was now vice president of Gillespie Enterprises, a far-flung operation that included shipping, mining, and commercial properties. John also had investments in railroads, railroad sleeping cars, and oil. He was exceptionally wealthy and was often mentioned with such men as Cornelius Vanderbilt and Andrew Carnegie.

  “I’ve no doubt but that there will be receptions to attend, and you can act as my attendant. Your mother used to do that for me, you know.”

  “Yes. I know she teased you about it, but I think she actually enjoyed doing it.”

  “I think she did as well.” John was quiet for a moment. “I miss her so much, Mary Beth.”

  “I know you do, Papa.” Mary Beth moved closer to him, and he put his arm around her.

  “I would give every penny I have to have her back. I don’t know if I could stand it if it weren’t for you.”

  “Oh, here comes the coach,” Mary Beth said, speaking cheerfully in hopes of breaking her father’s melancholy.

  “I’m glad to see that Mr. Chan is giving the young man who summoned him a ride back to the theater,” John said.

  Mary Beth giggled and pointed to the driver. “Look at Mr. Chan in his new red jacket. I think he really likes it.”

  The young messenger, who had ridden back on the driver’s seat, jumped down and opened the door to the coach. He helped Mary Beth enter and held the door open for John, closing it behind him.

  “Thank you,” John said. “All right, Mr. Chan, we’re all ready,” he called up to the driver.

  The coach drive from the theater to the Gillespie home would take about half an hour. They were near the top of Eureka Peak, the north hill of Twin Peaks, when they heard Chan give a yell in alarm.

  “Mr. Chan, what is it?” John asked, and looking out the window he saw the team of horses running away. Chan was lying facedown in the road, and the coach was picking up speed and heading for the edge of the cliff.

  “Mary Beth, jump!” John shouted.

  Fortunately, Mary Beth didn’t take the time to question him. Instead, she opened the door to her side of the coach and jumped, as John did the same thing on his side. They slid and rolled along the road but stopped short of the precipice.

  There was a low fence, but it did nothing to impede the momentum of the coach, which crashed through it, then started down. They heard the splintering sound as it hit the side of the mountain, then tumbled over and over, leaving pieces of it strewn along the way until it came to rest on the ground, eight hundred feet below.

  “Mary Beth!” John shouted. “Where are you?”

  “I’m here, Papa!”

  John saw Mary Beth sitting up slowly.

  “Oh, no!” Mary Beth said in a pained voice.

  “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “My dress is a mess! It’s dirty and torn.”

  Despite himself, John couldn’t help but laugh. “If all you’re concerned about is your dress, you’re all right,” he said, relief evident in his voice.

  “What happened? Where is Mr. Chan?” Mary Beth asked.

  “Chan!” John said. He got to his feet then and ran to check on the Chinese driver, who was lying in the middle of the road groaning in pain.

  The Gillespie Building, two days later

  Drew Jessup poured two glasses of bonded whiskey and handed a glass to John Gillespie. John was in Drew’s office.

  “You were lucky you were
n’t killed,” Drew Jessup said.

  “And to think that the accident happened in the worst possible place. What if you and Mary Beth had not been able to jump from the coach when you did? Why, you would have crashed all the way to the bottom of Eureka Peak and, no doubt, been killed.”

  “Yeah,” John said. “There’s no way we would have survived the crash, that’s for sure.”

  Drew shivered. “Let’s not even consider such a thing. Lord a’mighty, John, do you have any idea how many people depend on you? If you had been killed, it would not only have been a personal disaster to me for losing a close friend, it would have been an economic disaster to more than a thousand families.”

  “Ahh, you could have kept it going,” John said. “If I didn’t think so, I would have never made you vice president.”

  “How are you and Mary Beth doing? Any the worse for wear?”

  “No, we were very lucky, a few scrapes and bruises, is all. It was Mr. Chan who was hurt.”

  “Yes, I should have asked about him. How is he doing?”

  “He has a broken collarbone and a broken leg, but he is recovering.”

  “Well, you give him my best, will you?”

  “Yes, and I’m sure he will appreciate it.”

  Drew smiled and held his glass out toward John, who touched his glass to it.

  “Well, I would say be more careful, but accidents by their very nature are accidents.”

  “Yes,” John said. “I suppose so.”

  “I have made the arrangements for your trip. You will be leaving San Francisco in about four weeks, and your car will be attached to the Conqueror. That’s the fastest engine on the line.”

  “Thanks, Drew. You always have been good with making arrangements like that. I have to confess, when I have to take care of details, I don’t know whether to wind my watch or scratch my ass.”