Noble Savage Page 2

  Behind her, she heard Ellen's voice, a little peevish. "I just did."

  * * * *

  Shaking his head, Luke said, "Mick, I just don't want to stay in Chicago. There's land out West. I could make a fresh start." And maybe leave the nightmares behind. He was already regretting the impulse to look up his old comrade. Just seeing Mick Conner reminded him of battles they had fought together. Battles he'd just as soon forget.

  "You can do that right here. Why man, there's a real future with the Pinkertons. We're growing every day."

  "Sorry, Mick, but detective work's not for me. I don't want to ever again get into a fix where I have to rely on a gun." He drained his glass, set it on the table. "I'll be heading West in a week or so, soon as I can get some gear together. When I get to a stopping place, I'll send you a wire."

  "Wait!" Mick's hand on his arm prevented him from rising. "There's a job--"

  "I'm not lookin' for a job," Luke repeated.

  "This wouldn't be working for the Pinkertons. We're doin' it as a favor to some bigwig back East. A young woman's traveling alone, needs a guard, and we're shorthanded. These bank robberies, well, they're keeping our people busy as a weasel in a henhouse. Could you--"

  This time Luke managed to stand before Mick prevented it. "I'm no bodyguard, particularly for a young woman." He was the last man on earth should be taking responsibility for a female--especially a lady.

  "Three hundred dollars," Mick said. "Half up front, half when you get her safe to Ogden."

  That stopped Luke. He had about seventy dollars left from his wages, but no horse, no gear, and he still had to buy a train ticket. Three hundred dollars could give him a good start.

  "Where's Ogden?"

  "Hell, I don't know. Somewhere out West. All I know is the railroad hasn't got there yet. You'd go the last ways on a stage."

  If the railroad wasn't there yet, there'd be plenty of empty land for a man wanting to make himself a new home. "I'll do it," he said, before he could think about what a mistake he might be making. "When?"

  "Wednesday. She's comin' from Boston." Rising, he said, "Let's go back to the office. I've got all the information there."

  * * * *

  Ellen frowned up at Katie. "I wish you weren't going!" She stroked a finger across the baby cheek at her breast. "Not with winter coming on."

  "You knew I'd leave as soon as you were back on your feet. You've got nurses and maids and friends and all of Charles' family. You don't need me."

  "That's according to how you define 'need.' I'll miss you something awful, Katie-girl. You're the only family I've got for two thousand miles."

  Katie smiled. "I can always tell when you start thinking of me as your baby sister. You call me 'Katie-girl.'" She knelt beside her sister and reached to touch the baby's tiny hand, lying delicately on the embroidered pink coverlet. "You've got family--right there in your arms. And Charles too, of course."

  "I know. I guess I'm just clutching at straws. Maybe one of them will convince you to stay through winter."

  "I got another letter today."

  The smile on Ellen's face vanished. "Oh, no! And I thought--"

  "Yes," Katie said, fighting to contain her anger. "So did I, when there were no flowers and no letters for a week. But this one--" She took the letter from her pocket and waved it. "Ellen, it's just outrageous!"

  Ellen took the envelope from her. It was, as before, heavy, creamy vellum, addressed in an elegant hand. Unfolding the letter, she read its message aloud.

  My dear Miss Lachlan;

  I saw you in the park yesterday, looking more lovely than ever. Your hair shone in the sunlight. Your cheeks bore the blush of autumn's cool touch.

  I commend you for your shyness, your reserve. It is essential that a young woman of your station be modest and unassuming. Yet I wonder if you do not carry it too far. For I have stated my intentions and still you hesitate.

  My parents have initiated inquiries into your antecedents and await results. I am certain you will be acceptable to them. In anticipation, I wish you to accept my ring, a pledge of my intentions.

  I will do myself the honor of waiting on you Wednesday next at three o'clock in the afternoon. At that time I will formalize my offer. Please do not trouble yourself to reply, as I will let nothing hinder me.

  As ever, your devoted admirer,

  Hamilton Steens Whitney III

  Ellen's eyes were wide as she raised them to look at Katie. "But Charles told him--"

  "I know. I listened at the door." Accepting the letter back, Katie folded it carefully. She had kept all the notes he'd written her, except the first. Something told her she should not destroy them, although the mere fact of keeping them made her angry all over again.

  She stared out the window, unseeing. "I think," she said slowly, "that it's a very good thing my train leaves tomorrow."

  Chapter Two

  "I really wish you'd take Colleen," Ellen said.

  Katie hugged her sister and laughed. "And who would be taking care of whom? A pretty little Irish maid like her! I'd need a broom to sweep away the men."

  "Well, it just isn't done, for a lady to travel alone."

  "I seem to remember someone threatening to hitch a ride on a freight wagon until Pa gave in and brought you back East." She dipped in an elaborate curtsey. "Lawks, Miz Forsythe, a body'd never believe you was raised in a log cabin, you bein' so proper and all!"

  Ellen turned bright pink. "Hush! It's not that I'm so proper. I'm just worried about you. There are all sorts of people riding the trains, especially once you get past Chicago."

  "Oh, Ellen, listen to you! Whose family has more 'all sorts' than ours?" Counting on her fingers, she said, "Chinese and mountain men and gold seekers and ex-slaves, maybe even an Indian or two. I'd sure like to see Mr. Upper-crust Whitney's parents when they get their report on the Lachlans."

  Ellen grinned and shook her head. "I know. I sounded like a real prig, didn't I?" She tucked a rolled-up petticoat into a corner of Katie's satchel. "There! I think that's everything you'll need on the train. But I still wish you weren't going away."

  "I'm not like you, Ellen. I'm not suited to the fancy life. All this--" She spun, arms out, in a wide gesture that took in the comforts of a Beacon Hill house. "I feel like a pig in the parlor, sometimes."

  "I know, but..."

  "But you're a long way from home, and Charles won't even talk about your going back for a visit until the railroad's built." Katie hugged Ellen once more. "It's been wonderful, going to school out here in the East. The opera. The theatre. And oh! The museums!" She looked out the window, seeing trimmed trees and the grand houses across the busy street. "But I miss the mountains, Ellen. I miss being able to see for miles. Not hearing another human voice for days at a time."

  Colleen tapped on the door before opening it and entering. "The cab's here, Miss. I'll have Kirby take your bags down."

  "There's just the one, Colleen."

  Ellen gathered Katie into her arms. "I still wish you were taking Colleen. Or one of the other maids. After Chicago, you'll be all on your own."

  Katie gave her sister one last squeeze. "Don't worry about me, Ellen. I can take care of myself. I always have."

  * * * *

  Luke laid his rifle and his spare set of clothes carefully on his blanket and rolled everything inside the tarp that had served him as ground sheet and tent for so long. A leather thong tied it into a neat roll, with enough left over to make a handle he could slip his arm into. Everything else was stowed in the saddlebags, never mind he had no horse to sling them across.

  God! He'd be glad to get out of Chicago. Too many people. Too much smoke and dirt.

  The Union Pacific had laid rails almost to Utah. His ticket was for Laramie. Maybe a bit beyond. The agent didn't know how far they were carrying passengers this week. The letter from Charles Forsythe of Boston had said he was to go as far on the train as Miss Kathryn Lachlan did, then accompany her on the stage to Ogden.


  At least Luke now knew where Ogden was. What he didn't know was why Miss Lachlan wasn't supposed to know he was guarding her. Or what from.

  He walked to the depot of the Northwestern Railroad, knowing that in a few hours he'd be wishing he could stretch his legs. A crowd filled the high-ceilinged waiting room, most of them dressed in dark, sturdy clothing. He wondered where they were all going.

  At one end of the cavernous room, beyond a velvet rope on which swung a fancy sign, another sort of crowd was gathered. There weren't many, twenty or so, all dressed to the nines. Luke maneuvered around so he could read the sign. "First Class Only."

  He'd stayed in a first class hotel once, during the War, when he'd been sent to Washington with secret dispatches. The fellow who'd carried his bag to his room had worn more gold braid than General Grant himself. The room had been as ornate as any in the fancy whorehouse he'd visited in St. Louis.

  A conductor appeared and led the swells out a side door. Luke sauntered along behind them. He got as far as the door, before a porter pulled it shut in his face.

  "Sorry, suh," the porter said. "You gots to have a first class ticket to go through here."

  Luke showed his ticket. "But I don't want to get on until just before the train pulls out."

  The porter's eyebrows rose, but all he said was, "Whatever you say, suh. Your seat's the end one on this side of the car."

  The prosperous looking men and their well-fed women stood in a cluster on the platform. After a few moments they began, one by one, to board the next-to-last railcar.

  Ladies weren't the same shape as they'd been before the War. Their hoops were flatter at the sides and humped up more in the back. These women wore bonnets trimmed with flowers and feathers to beat the band. Their fur cloaks or fancied-up velvet coats covered hooped skirts that dragged the ground in back, caught on the wind-blown papers and debris littering the platform.

  Maybe that's why the slim young woman stood out in the crowd. Her coat was dark red, fur-trimmed wool, snugged around her slender body to show a slim waist with curves above and below--curves lush enough to make a man conjecture. Her skirt was hooped, but not wide, and it swung enough above the ground so that he could see she wore sturdy black boots. Coal black hair was piled up on her head, a mass of curls that made his hands itch to bury themselves in silken loops.

  She turned her head. He saw that her chin was pointed and strong, her nose straight, and her eyes wide and dark under arched brows. For a moment it was as if she looked straight into his eyes. Luke's pulse leaped. Suddenly he hungered for rich and sweet, and knew she was.

  Then she looked away. In a moment she was aboard the railcar and gone from his sight.

  Part of him wanted to hightail it out of there. Mick hadn't warned him just how dangerous this job could be.

  The rest of him wondered if his luck had changed all of a sudden.

  Dropping his saddlebags and bedroll, Luke hunkered down against the wall. The train was due to pull out about three, but he wouldn't bet the farm on its being on time. Not if all these folks were planning on boarding it.

  Idly he wondered what it would be like, sleeping in a real bed while you traveled thirty or forty miles an hour.

  He'd find out tonight.

  "That's some fancy railcar, now ain't it?"

  Luke turned to look at the man who'd spoken. Tall and gaunt, he was a man who'd once been strong, with wide shoulders and big hands. Now illness sat on him like a shroud, for all his eyes still burned with life. "It's one of those new bedroom cars," Luke said. "I reckon it won't look so bright and shiny once it's been on the rails for a while."

  The old man shook his head in wonderment. "What'll folks think of next?"

  They watched in silence as the last of the passengers boarded the bedroom car. After a few minutes, the coach passengers were allowed onto the platform. The old man stooped to pick up a carpetbag, but as he lifted it, his body convulsed in a paroxysm of deep, wheezing coughs.

  "Let me take that," Luke said, lifting the bag from his hand. He waited until the man's coughs had subsided, then saw him safely to his railcar. As he handed the carpetbag to the porter, he said, "I'll be along later in case you want company at supper. I never did like eatin' alone."

  A mocking grin showed Luke his tact had been appreciated. "I'd be obliged, lad," the old man said, as he climbed aboard.

  * * * *

  Katie settled herself into her seat in the railcar, her movements jerky, uncoordinated. Her hands shook, her stomach roiled.

  How dared he!

  A cluster of delicate pink rosebuds in a silver holder had arrived just as she was leaving her hotel. She'd ripped open the accompanying envelope.

  My Dearest Miss Lachlan,

  I understand your maidenly shyness, your exquisite manners. As soon as it is convenient for me to do so, I shall follow you. If fortune smiles upon us, we will meet along the way and will complete our journey together.

  Until then carry these roses next your heart, where I long to be.

  With fondest regards, I remain

  Yours faithfully,

  Hamilton Steens Whitney, III

  She'd dropped the flowers on the lobby floor, surely shocking the desk clerk. "Destroy them!" Her voice had sounded thin and shrill, even to her own ears.

  All the way to the depot, she had told herself, over and over, that at least Hamilton Whitney wasn't in Chicago. He would follow her, he'd said.

  How dared he!

  Still furious, Katie leaned forward, hands clenched in her lap, as if by her position she could move the train.

  Hurry!

  Yet there was no reason for her eagerness to get moving. Through the railcar's window all she could see was an empty platform and the brick side of the depot. Inside the building, standing so his cheek was pressed against the glass of one of the grimy windows, a man stared at her.

  He was dressed in plain, dark clothes, a leather vest, and a wide-brimmed hat. Not the elegant, well-tailored clothing men in Boston society wore. No, he was a laborer. A farmer, maybe, on his way to stake a land claim in Nebraska. Or a cowman.

  This man wouldn't write polite notes or send pink roses.

  A shiver of excitement shot up Katie's spine. He'd be more likely to sling a woman across his saddle and head for the hills.

  She watched as he slung saddlebags across his shoulder and tucked a bedroll under his arm. Then she lost him in the passengers surging toward the coaches.

  "All aboard!"

  Katie relaxed. She should be in Salt Lake City in a little more than a week.

  * * * *

  The conductor was as good as a watchdog, Luke decided, watching him patrol the sleeping car. So once his fellow passengers were tucked safely in their curtained bunks, Luke strolled through the train. In the third coach forward, he found a poker game. He hadn't yet seen a train without one.

  Tired of just sitting, he leaned over a seat back and watched for a while. Several of the players could have made their living at cards. None of them seemed to be cheating, but they knew what they were doing.

  After an hour or so, most of the coins, as well as a few crumpled bills, were piled before the old man Luke had helped earlier. He coughed as he contemplated his hand, a dry, hacking cough Luke had heard all too often in bivouac. After a few seconds, the old man raised ten dollars.

  Two players folded, the rest called.

  The old man laid down a straight, all diamonds.

  As the other players tossed in their losing hands, the winner looked up at Luke and grinned. "Set in?" he suggested.

  "Don't mind if I do," Luke said. He couldn't sleep, he was bored, and he had always been lucky at poker. He had maybe twenty-five dollars to spare. If he lost it, he'd quit.

  "Take my place," a fellow who'd just lost his last coins said. He got up and let Luke slide in opposite the old man.

  Two hours later Luke stared with amazement at the pile of coins and bills before him. He'd never seen such cards. Never had suc
h luck.

  One by one the other players had dropped out. Most passengers around them were sleeping, draped over their seats in contorted, uncomfortable poses. Some even lay in the aisles. Snores vied with the clacking of the rails, and the only lamp still burning was the one directly over the poker game.

  Luke's one remaining opponent--the consumptive old man who'd introduced himself simply as Smith--leaned back in the opposite seat, one booted foot resting against the makeshift table. He rubbed his stubbly chin and stared at Luke. Finally he said, "Tell you what. I'm cleaned out of cash money, purt' near. How about one last hand? Winner take all."

  Looking again at the riches piled before him, Luke hesitated. "I don't reckon..."

  Smith held up a hand. "I'm gettin' off in Council Bluffs. Goin' to live with my daughter. Her man don't like me and I don't like him. But I got nowheres else to go." He shrugged. "Don't guess it matters, seein' as how I likely won't live to see spring."

  Again he held up his hand as Luke started to speak. "I ain't lookin' for sympathy. Had me a good life, seen a fair piece of the world. Only reason I didn't stay in Indiana is the stock. I'm gettin' so I can't take care of them proper."

  Luke heard steel in his voice, sensed a will far stronger than the failing body housing it. "What if you win?" He thought it likely. He'd about used up a lifetime share of luck at cards.

  "Well, then I'll have enough to live my last winter in style, won't I? Down to New Orleans, maybe, or somewheres warm." He coughed, a long paroxysm that left him shaking. There were droplets of sweat on his brow, although this end of the railcar was scarcely warmer than the October night.

  When he pulled the handkerchief from his mouth, Luke saw it was tinged with bright red blood.

  "C'mon, lad!" Smith barked, his voice remarkably strong and commanding. "Where's your spirit? You've got as good a chance as I have of winnin' it all. Hell, I'll even throw this in." He worked a slim book from his coat pocket and tossed it on the table, knocking a pile of coins askew. Some jingled to the floor. "And the stock, too. Likely my daughter's man would sell 'em, soon as I'm dead."