The discovery of the locket which had fallen from about Keith's neck
made it impossible for Hope to remain quietly for very long in the hotel
at Fort Larned. The more carefully she thought over the story of
that murder at the Cimmaron Crossing, and Keith's tale of how he had
discovered and buried the mutilated bodies, the more assured she became
that that was where this locket came from, and that the slain freighter
must have been her own father. She never once questioned the truth of
Keith's report; there was that about the man which would not permit of
her doubting him. He had simply failed to mention what he removed from
the bodies, supposing this would be of no special interest.
Mrs. Murphy, hoping thus to quiet the apprehensions of her charge,
set herself diligently at work to discover the facts. As her house was
filled with transients, including occasional visitors from Carson City,
and was also lounging headquarters for many of the officers from the
near-by fort, she experienced no difficulty in picking up all the
floating rumors. Out of these, with Irish shrewdness, she soon managed
to patch together a consistent fabric of fact.
“Shure, honey, it's not so bad the way they tell it now,” she explained,
consolingly. “Nobody belaves now it was yer father that got kilt. It was
two fellers what stole his outfit, clothes an' all, an' was drivin' off
wid 'em inter the sand hills. Divil a wan does know who kilt 'em, but
there's some ugly stories travellin' about. Some says Injuns; some says
the posse run 'em down; an' Black Bart an' his dirthy outfit, they swear
it was Keith. Oi've got me own notion. Annyhow, there's 'bout three
hundred dollars, some mules, an' a lot o' valyble papers missin'.”
“But if it wasn't father, where is he now?”
“That's what Oi've been tryin' ter foind out. First off he went out to
the Cimmaron Crossing, gyarded by a squad o' cavalry from the fort
here. Tommy Caine wint along, an' told me all about it. They dug up
the bodies, but niver a thing did they find on 'em--not a paper, nor
a dollar. They'd bin robbed all roight. The owld Gineral swore loike
a wild mon all the way back, Tommy said, an' the first thing he did
at Carson City was to start huntin' fer 'Black Bart.' He was two days
gittin' on the trail av him; then he heard the feller was gone away
trapsing after a singin' or dancin' gyurl called Christie Maclaire. She
was supposed to be ayther at Topeky or Sheridan. A freighter told the
owld man she was at Sheridan, an' so he started there overland, hopin'
ter head off 'Black Bart.' Oi reckon we could a towld mor 'n that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why shure, honey, what's the use tryin' ter decave me? Didn't Jack
Keith, wid his own lips, tell me ye was Christie Maclaire?”
“But I'm not! I'm not, Mrs. Murphy. I don't even know the woman. It is
such a strange thing; I cannot account for it--both those men mistook me
for her, and--and I let them. I didn't care who the man Hawley supposed
me to be, but I intended to have told Mr. Keith he was mistaken. I don't
know why I didn't, only I supposed he finally understood. But I want you
to believe, Mrs. Murphy--I am Hope Waite, and not Christie Maclaire.”
“It's little the loss to ye not ter be her, an' Oi'm thinkin' loikely
Jack Keith will be moighty well plased ter know the truth. What's 'Black
Bart' so ayger ter git hold av this Maclaire gyurl fer?”
“I do not in the least know. He must have induced me to go to that place
in the desert believing me to be the other woman. Yet he said nothing of
any purpose; indeed, he found no opportunity.”
Mrs. Murphy shook her head disparagingly.
“It was shure some divilment,” she asserted, stoutly. “He'll be up to
some thrick wid the poor gyurl; Oi know the loikes av him. Shure, the
two av yez must look as much aloike as two payes in a pod. Loikely now,
it's a twin sister ye've got?”
Hope smiled, although her eyes were misty.
“Oh, no; Fred and I were the only children; but what shall I do? What
ought I to do?”
The Irish mouth of Kate Murphy set firmly, her blue eyes burning.
“It's not sthrong Oi am on advisin',” she said, shortly, “but if it
was me Oi'd be fer foindin' out what all this mix-up was about. There's
somethin' moighty quare in it. It's my notion that Hawley's got hold av
thim papers av yer father's. The owld gint thinks so, too, an' that's
why he's so hot afther catchin' him. May the divil admoire me av Oi know
where this Maclaire gyurl comes in, but Oi'll bet the black divil has
get her marked fer some part in the play. What would Oi do? Be goory,
Oi'd go to Sheridan, an' foind the Gineral, an' till him all I knew.
Maybe he could piece it together, an' guess what Hawley was up ter.”
Hope was already upon her feet, her puzzled face brightening.
“Oh, that is what I wanted to do, but I was not sure it would be best.
How can I get there from here?”
“Ye'd have ter take the stage back to Topeky; loikely they'd be runnin'
thrains out from there on the new road. It'll be aisy fer me ter foind
out from some av the lads down below.”
The only equipment operating into Sheridan was a construction train,
with an old battered passenger coach coupled to the rear. A squad of
heavily armed infantrymen rode along, as protection against possible
Indian raiders, but there was no crowd aboard on this special trip, as
all construction work had been suspended on the line indefinitely, and
most of the travel, therefore, had changed to the eastward. The coach
used had a partition run through it, and, as soon as the busy trainmen
discovered ladies on board, they unceremoniously drove the more bibulous
passengers, protesting, into the forward compartment. This left Hope in
comparative peace, her remaining neighbors quiet, taciturn men, whom
she looked at through the folds of her veil during the long, slow,
exasperating journey, mentally guessing at their various occupations.
It was an exceedingly tedious, monotonous trip, the train slackening
up, and jerking forward, apparently without slightest reason; then
occasionally achieving a full stop, while men, always under guard, went
ahead to fix up some bit of damaged track, across which the engineer
dared not advance. At each bridge spanning the numerous small streams,
trainmen examined the structure before venturing forward, and at each
stop the wearied passengers grew more impatient and sarcastic, a perfect
stream of fluent profanity being wafted back whenever the door between
the two sections chanced to be left ajar.
Hope was not the only woman on board, yet a glance at the others was
sufficient to decide their status, even had their freedom of manner
and loud talking not made it equally obvious. Fearful lest she might be
mistaken for one of the same class, she remained in silence, her veil
merely lifted enough to enable her to peer out through the grimy window
at the barren view slipping slowly past. This consisted of the bare
prairie, brown and desolate, occasionally intersected by some small
watercourse, the low hills rising and falling like waves to the far
horizon. Few incidents broke the dead monotony; occasionally a herd of
antelope appeared in the distance silhouetted against the sky-line, and
once they fairly crept for an hour through a mass of buffalo, grazing so
close that a fusillade of guns sounded from the front end of the train.
A little farther along she caught a glimpse of a troop of wild horses
dashing recklessly down into a sheltering ravine. Yet principally all
that met her straining eyes was sterile desolation. Here and there a
great ugly water tank reared its hideous shape beside the track, the
engine always pausing for a fresh supply. Beside it was invariably a
pile of coal, a few construction cars, a hut half buried under earth,
loop-holed and barricaded, with several rough men loafing about, heavily
armed and inquisitive. A few of these points had once been terminal, the
surrounding scenery evidencing past glories by piles of tin cans, and
all manner of debris, with occasionally a vacant shack, left deserted
and forlorn.
Wearied and heartsick, Hope turned away from this outside dreariness to
contemplate more closely her neighbors on board, but found them scarcely
more interesting. Several were playing cards, others moodily staring out
of the windows, while a few were laughing and talking with the girls,
their conversation inane and punctuated with profanity. One man was
figuring on a scratch pad, and Hope decided he must be an engineer
employed on the line; others she classed as small merchants,
saloon-keepers, and frontier riff-raff. They would glance curiously
at her as they marched up and down the narrow aisle, but her veil,
and averted face, prevented even the boldest from speaking, Once she
addressed the conductor, and the man who was figuring turned and looked
back at her, evidently attracted by the soft note of her voice. But he
made no effort at advances, returning immediately to his pad, oblivious
to all else.
It was growing dusk, the outside world, now consisting of level plains,
fading into darkness, with a few great stars burning overhead. Trainsmen
lit the few smoking oil lamps screwed against the sides of the car, and
its occupants became little more than dim shadows. All by this time
were fatigued into silence, and several were asleep, finding such small
comfort as was possible on the cramped seats. Hope glanced toward the
heretofore noisy group at the rear--the girl nearest her rested with
unconscious head pillowed upon the shoulder of her man friend, and both
were sleeping. How haggard and ghastly the woman's powdered face looked,
with the light just above it, and all semblance of joy gone. It was
as though a mask had been taken off. Out in the darkness the engine
whistled sharply and then came to a bumping stop at some desert station.
Through the black window a few lanterns could be seen flickering about,
and there arose the sound of gruff voices speaking. The sleepers
inside, aroused by the sharp stop, rolled over and swore, seeking
easier postures. Then the front door opened, and slammed shut, and a new
passenger entered. He came down the aisle, glancing carelessly at the
upturned faces, and finally sank into the seat directly opposite Hope.
He was a broad shouldered man, his coat buttoned to the throat, with
strong face showing clearly beneath the broad hat brim and lighted up
with a pair of shrewd, kindly eyes. The conductor came through, nodded
at him, and passed on. Hope thought he must be some official of the
road, and ventured to break the prolonged silence with a question:
“Could you tell me how long it will be before we reach Sheridan?”
She had partially pushed aside her veil in order to speak more clearly,
and the man, turning at sound of her voice, took off his hat, his
searching eyes quizzical.
“Well, no, I can't, madam,” the words coming with a jerk. “For I'm not
at all sure we'll keep the track. Ought to make it in an hour, however,
if everything goes right. Live in Sheridan?”
She shook her head, uncertain how frankly to answer.
“No loss to you--worst place to live in on earth--no exceptions--I
know--been there myself three months--got friends there likely?”
“I hardly know,” she acknowledged doubtfully. “I think so, but I shall
have to hunt some place in which to stay to-night. Can you tell me of
some--some respectable hotel, or boarding house?”
The man wheeled about, until he could look at her more clearly.
“That's a pretty hard commission, Miss,” he returned uneasily: “There
may be such a place in Sheridan, but I have never found it. Old Mother
Shattuck keeps roomers, but she won't have a woman in the house. I
reckon you 'll have to try it at the hotel--I'll get you in there if I
have to mesmerize the clerk--you'll find it a bit noisy though.”
“Oh, I thank you so much. I don't mind the noise, so it is respectable.”
He laughed, good humoredly.
“Well I don't propose to vouch for that--the proprietor ain't out there
for his health--but, I reckon, you won't have no serious trouble--the
boys mostly know a good woman when they see one--which isn't
often--anyhow, they're liable to be decent enough as long as I vouch for
you.”
“But you know nothing of me.”
“Don't need to--your face is enough--I'll get you the room all right.”
She hesitated, then asked:
“Are you--are you connected with the railroad??'
“In a way, yes--I'm the contract surgeon--had to dig a bullet out of
a water-tank tender back yonder--fellow howled as though I was killing
him--no nerve--mighty poor stuff most of the riff-raff out here--ball
wasn't in much below the skin--Indian must have plugged him from the top
of the bluff--blame good shot too--ragged looking slug--like to see it?”
She shook her head energetically.
“Don't blame you--nothing very uncommon--get a dozen cases like it a day
sometimes--stay in Sheridan, show you something worth while--very pretty
surgical operation to-morrow--come round and get you if you care to see
it--got to open the stomach--don't know what I'll find--like to go?”
“Oh, no! I'm sure you mean it all kindly, but--but I would rather not.”
“Hardly supposed you would--only knew one woman who cared for that sort
of thing much--she was nursing for me during the war--had a hare lip
and an eye like a dagger--good nurse though--rather have your kind
round me--ever nurse any? Could get you a dozen jobs in Sheridan--new
prospects every night--fifty dollars a week--what do you say?”
“But I'm not seeking work, Doctor,” smiling in spite of her
bewilderment. “I have money enough with me.”
“Well, I didn't know--thought maybe you wanted a job, and didn't like to
ask for it--have known 'em like that--no harm done--if you ever do want
anything like that, just come to me--my name's Fairbain--everybody knows
me here--operated on most of 'em--rest expect to be--Damn that engineer.
I don't believe he knows whether he's going ahead or backing up.” He
peered out of the window, pressing his face hard against the glass. “I
reckon that's Sheridan he's whistling for now--don't be nervous--I'll
see you make the hotel all right.”