Blood Legacy (A Tony Masero Western) Page 7

  Zack who usually did most of his traveling by horse or carriage was impressed by all the fittings and he studied the interior with approval. He considered, that the modern railroad companies certainly knew how to make long journeys a pleasurable occupation.

  Without further ado, Long tossed his gear into the rack above and slid himself into a chair, spreading his long legs across the aisle with his boots resting on the floor cushion provided, he pulled down the brim of his hat and promptly fell asleep.

  Zack sat opposite and studied his companion with a critical eye. There was no doubt that Long came from somewhere a lot wilder and woolier than his present surroundings. With a shrug, Zack settled back to look over their schedule as the train pulled out of the station and set off at a steadily increasing speed until it reached its average twenty miles an hour.

  From Pittsburgh to Cleveland, then Mansfield and Toledo and the final stretch that would bring them to the shores of Lake Michigan and after a total fifty-eight hour journey into the depot at Chicago. Two and a half days of travel, then the same again down south. Zack reckoned it would be a week in all until they arrived at their final destination.

  He laid aside the Westward timetable and thought about James Van Olen and wondered how the man had changed, if at all, over the intervening years. Zack knew virtually nothing about James’ progress other than the few items he had seen reported in the newspapers. From those it appeared he had come into his family’s fortune sometime shortly after the war’s end and continued to prosper. He was recognized as a successful businessman not only in the family concern that he had inherited but also expanding into other areas of post-war affluence.

  As he had noted these minimal paragraphs of information, Zack had wondered at such times whether he should get in touch with his old compatriot but decided under the circumstances that any advance should come from James himself. Zack did not want to appear forceful in any way or to appear as if he might be attempting to intrude on James’ good fortune. So he had kept his peace and soon forgotten about his old comrade as the pressures of his law studies were quickly followed by the advent of his new firm and the courtship of Isabel.

  With the steady rocking of the train and the unrelenting rhythm of the wheels, with these thoughts in mind Zack soon found himself nodding and before long his eyelids drooped and he followed Long into dreamland.

  Some hours later, Zack was awakened from his doze as Long nudged him with his boot.

  “What d’you say, Cap’n? Ain’t this the pig’s whiskers?” he had tilted back his hat brim and was giving the carriage and its few other occupants an investigative glance.

  “Impressive,” agreed Zack, with a yawn.

  “Damn! But these modern inventions is something else, I do declare. Never thought I’d see the day when you could cross the country from coast to coast in such fine style. You know this here line carries on right across to California and the Pacific Ocean? Make those old boys in their ox-pulled prairie schooners weep to see, wouldn’t it now?”

  “I reckon so,” Zack agreed.

  Long reached under his vest and scratched at his armpit. “Now you and me’s got to have a little talk,” he confided, leaning forward.

  “How so?” asked Zack, sitting up and straightening the creases out of his jacket.

  “I need a little information here. That Smith fella is a little circumspect; he likes to dither on the telling of it. Go here and do this he says, but never gives a straight out answer. So I have to know what we’re about here. I know we’re headed for Dead River country, that much I do know. I know you’re about to meet up with this rich man Van Olen, I know that also but that’s about it all. He didn’t tell me no more. Said it would all be explained as we went along. So I’m asking and hoping to God I get a straightforward answer, what are we about, Captain Endeavor?”

  Zack shook his head, “How is it you are in this business, Long? I really don’t quite see you as a….” Zack lowered his voice to little above a whisper. “A Secret Service agent.”

  “Why not?” frowned Long. “You think we should all go around in neat-cut hair and look-alike’s in Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, do you?”

  Zack shrugged, “I guess one uniform’s as good as another,” he said.

  “It ain’t the uniform, it’s what’s in it that counts.”

  For a moment, with a jolt, Zack was reminded of almost the same words he had said to Mary all those years before.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded. “I just have some problem with it, that’s all. I’m sure you are a competent enough fellow at whatever it is you do, scouting or tracking, or whatever….”

  Long interrupted with a shake of his head. “It ain’t nothing like that.”

  “Then just what is it?”

  Long grinned, a slightly mischievous smirk that hinted at something evil. “The thing I’m particularly good at, is killing people.”

  “Lord!” Zack started back in surprise. “You are an assassin?”

  “Of the first order,” smiled Long proudly. “I’m fast with a gun, brother Endeavor. And where we’re heading I’ve a mind we’ll be needing it. So tell me the odds, I’d like to know where we stand.”

  Zack studied him suspiciously. “You don’t mean you are here to kill someone are you? Not James Van Olen?”

  “Just spit it out will you? Tell me what we’re about, then I’ll know.”

  Zack sighed and thought it over. It appeared he was stuck with Long and it made sense that he should know what they were up to.

  “Caleb Smith informs me,” he started. “That the Secret Service has uncovered a plot. At least they think it is a plot. A scheme organized by a variety of wealthy men.”

  “How many wealthy men?”

  “That is what I am determined to find out. Back in the early sixties before the Civil War there were no more than three hundred or so fellows you could term millionaires in the country but now since the advent of the so-called Gilded Age, as Mr. Twain has so aptly called it, the rising riches to be found in this post-war boom is increasing the number rapidly. Smith estimates that we’re well on the way to having four to five thousand men who can now be classified as millionaires in the country.”

  Long was doubtful, “That’s one hell of a rise in a very short time.”

  “Oil, coal, iron and now steel, it’s like a fountain of gold,” Zack explained. “You realize what it means when a single man can represent a hundred million dollars of worth? That’s one hell of a lot of power. You’re riding on a railroad that used to have to bring the iron for its tracks in from England. Now we make our own steel, right here in this country and with all the cheap Chinese and gandy-dancer immigrant labor ready to work through twelve hour shifts around the clock, soon this whole nation will be banded by steel.”

  “Who the hell can own one hundred million dollars, that’s nigh on obscene.”

  “Well,” Zack explained patiently. “Commodore Vanderbilt of shipping fame does and he’s closely followed by Messrs. Carnegie the Steel King and J. D. Rockefeller of Standard Oil.”

  “You don’t say,” breathed Long. “But how does that affect this Van Olen guy?”

  “The matter concerns the upcoming presidential election,” Zack confided in a hushed voice. “The Republican candidate, Mister Rutherford Hayes and his opponent Samuel Tilden of the Democrats are head to head on a tight book. It could swing one way or the other and it is said that Rutherford Hayes has promised that if he is called into office he will abolish the Reconstruction and recall all troops from the South.”

  “So I guess there are certain carpet-bagging parties that would find that unfavorable,” Long nodded sagely.

  “Yes, Smith fancies that there will be an attempt to rig the election and the only people that could organize such a thing on this scale would be amongst the very wealthy. He knows of my connection with James Van Olen, I was of some help to James during our imprisonment and hopes that by using my influence I may be able to discover those res
ponsible and duly avert a catastrophe. For if those with vested interests can control the election of whomsoever they want to high office, it means that our democracy will be no more than an empty shell and we shall be governed not by the will of the people but by the desires of a few select individuals.”

  “You don’t say,” breathed Long. “Then I can see why Smith wanted me along to watch your back.”

  “Why? Is that necessary, do you think?”

  “If it is such men at play,” growled Long. “They will have bodies under their command of a dangerous nature. Men who will do as they’re told without question. I’ve seen it all before with the cattle barons who took on armies of gunslingers to keep their interests safe.”

  “You really consider there is some danger then?”

  “It could be,” said Long vaguely as he considered the permutations. “Best keep that pistol of yours to hand just in case, Cap’n.”

  Zack frowned dubiously but was beginning to wish that he had kept his skills with the pistol in a better state. He had not fired the weapon since the war and it was a zone he had no real desire to enter into again.

  “Say,” said Long, suddenly brightening. “My belly’s rumbling, what say we get some eats. They do have a chow wagon on this contraption, don’t they?”

  ~*~

  The train was beginning to fill up at stops along the way as they progressed nearer to Philadelphia and the great Centennial Exhibition that was taking place there. It was a major event celebrating the first century of the American Republic and covered a great area of land with especially constructed buildings enabling participants coming from around the world to show their wares. So the dining car, when Zack and Long arrived was a busy place but amidst all the noise and chatter they were directed to a vacant table and settled down to their meal.

  “This here exhibition is sure attracting attention,” observed Long, looking around warily at the excited and noisy travelers who were obviously enjoying the prospect of the outing.

  “Well for fifty buck and a few cents you get a chance to see the rest of the world in a day, so I guess its quite an adventure for some folks,” observed Zack, looking up from the menu and seeing the caution in Long’s eyes. “What is it?” he asked.

  Long shook his head. “I don’t like it,” he said. “After what you’ve just told me, this kind of crowd can hide a multitude of sinners.”

  “I don’t understand your concern,” said Zack in exasperation. “Why the devil would anyone wish us harm? For all they know we going on a visit to an old friend of mine, that is all. Who could possibly find fault with that?”

  “Because it ain’t your real intent, is it?”

  “But still, no one can know of the real purpose of my visit.”

  “Is that a fact?” Long said cynically. “Just suppose these devious bodies had heard, don’t you think they might try and make things a little tricky for you?”

  “I suppose.” Zack said doubtfully, returning his attention to the menu. “But it’s all highly unlikely. I think you might be being a little overcautious.”

  “Never does not to be cautious,” growled Long.

  The waiter interrupted to take their order and as he left a suited fellow across the aisle lent over. He was a broad shouldered bald headed man with a stiff celluloid collar that pressed into his thick neck and gave a suffusion of red to his cheeks.

  “I say,” he said cheerily. “You boys bound for the great Exhibition?” he asked.

  “No,” Zack answered. “Just passing through on our way to Chicago.”

  “Oh,” said the man. “Business trip, huh? The name’s Desmond Gable,” he held out a meaty hand. “Me and the lady wife…” he indicated the slender woman sitting next to him. “We’re bound for the great show. Intend to spend five days and nights taking in the sights, should be quite something so I’m told.”

  “So they say,” agreed Zack, seeing that Long was glowering at the man and his wife suspiciously.

  “I’m in the leather business myself,” Gable explained. “Shoes and gloves mainly, that kind of thing. And you Mister….” he hung out the question anticipating an answer.

  “Endeavor’s the name. I’m a….”

  “Aw, we’re nobody really,” cut in Long. “Just traveling like you say. Cattle and such, that’s our business.”

  “Well, Chicago’s the place for it, so they tell me,” Gable seemed unconcerned by their reticence and turned to his wife. “First holiday we’ve had in a long while, isn’t it, my dear?”

  She nodded acquiescence, her eyes, which were dark and shadowed in a pale face under her bonnet, gliding over the two men in a calm manner. “It certainly is,” she agreed, her voice low and almost inaudible over the noise surrounding them.

  “Kind of a second honeymoon,” supplied Gable, with an affectionate smile at her.

  Just then the waiter arrived with their meal and any further intercourse was impossible, Gable waved a parting hand at them as they tucked in.

  “Call this a steak?” Long complained, looking down in dismay at the slice of meat on his plate. “T’ain’t enough to feed a baby child on.”

  “I suppose you’re used to a side of beef the size of a house,” snapped Zack.

  “Certainly bigger than this morsel,” Long said, prodding the offending cut with his fork. “Dunno how you folks survive up here in the North. Like to starve a body, I got more peas on this plate than meat.”

  “Well, they have elephants on display at the Exhibition, maybe we can stop over and shoot one for you. Should be enough to satisfy even your appetite.”

  Long looked at him for a brief moment. “What’s an elephant?” he asked curiously.

  Zack shook his head in dismay and settled into carving his steak.

  Once they were done with the meal, Gable lent over again.

  “I wonder if you gentlemen would care to join me in an after-dinner cigar. I have some fine Virginia leaf stogies to hand and I daresay one of those and a glass of your pleasure would not go amiss, what do you say?”

  Zack was about to decline when Long leaned across him. “That’s mighty generous of you, Mister Gable. We’d be glad to partake.”

  “Very well,” said Gable, starting to rise and allow his wife to leave first. “You lead the way to the parlor car, my dear and we’ll follow.”

  With a tight smile at the men, Mrs. Gable brushed past and made her way along the aisle.

  “After you,” said a beaming Gable, allowing Zack and Long to follow. “You see those gloves my lady wears. Those are our specials, kid gloves, soft as a baby’s rear end. You’ll not find better quality anywhere, I’ll vouch for that.”

  As they brushed through the busy dining car and into the adjoining carriage Long breathed into Zack’s ear. “Watch that woman.”

  Zack was about to turn and ask what he meant when Long prodded him in the back and cut off any queries. “Get along there, old man,” he said loudly. “I’ve a mind to taste these fine cigars and sup a whiskey along with Mister Gable.”

  “That’s it,” said Gable from the rear. “Nothing like a drop after dinner.”

  They came through a carriage with seating on each side and pressed on into the next, here the carriage narrowed into a single passageway alongside a storage area, it was dimly lit and empty of passengers.

  Mrs. Gable stopped suddenly in front of Zack and began fumbling in her reticule.

  “Is something wrong?” Zack asked as the woman turned to face him. Then he saw the glittering blade she held in her hand. It was a sharply pointed dagger and without further ado she lunged at Zack, who turned swiftly sideways as the blade passed before him.

  There was the sound of thudding and grunts coming from behind Zack but he could not turn to see what was going on as the woman confronted him again. He reached out and grabbed at the knife hand and clutched the narrow right-hand wrist in his fist. The woman snarled at him her face twisted into a mean grimace. She punched him with her left hand hard against the jaw an
d Zack realized the kid gloves were loaded with more than leather. His head spun away and he tasted blood inside his mouth.

  She struck at him again, this time in the ribs as she tried to free her knife hand from his grasp. Zack sighed as he felt the sharp blow and he began to realize that this was more than a casual robbery and that his very life was at risk. It flashed through his mind that Long had been right and he should have given more credibility to his warning.

  It was hard to make headway in the narrow corridor and Zack could see the slender woman’s advantage in the confined space. Nevertheless, he brought up his elbow and rapped her sharply on the cheek. She snarled again and shook her head, a slight smile playing on her lips as if the blow meant nothing. She hit him again, this time on the forehead and Zack saw stars.

  Zack swung his head back, his eyes glazed for a moment. He recognized the moment of weakness and felt her knife hand beginning to pull free. Quickly he lunged forward and head butted, striking the woman on her nose and drawing blood. She staggered back a few steps and Zack casting all thoughts of propriety aside went after her. He punched hard, a sweeping blow delivered from waist height and socking the woman under the jaw. There was the crack of bone on bone and the woman fell in a tangle of her dresses.

  Zack straddled her unconscious form and lifted the knife from her limp fingers, feeling the band of metal under the knuckle of the gloves as he did so.

  “About damned time,” he heard Long say behind him. “I thought you were going to start sparking with the hussy you took so long about it.”

  He held up a bloody-faced Gable by the shirtfront, the man’s collar now sprung from its stud and curled up alongside his glazed eyes.

  “You want to tell me who sent you?” Long asked the semi-conscious man.

  Gable mumbled something and Long slapped him hard across the red cheek. “Speak up, loaf-head. Who was it?”

  Gable was sliding from Long’s grip; his heavy weight bearing him away and with a sigh of disgust Long lowered the unconscious body to the floor.