the Daylight. The good colonel asked that I keep a protective eye on his daughter, ya see?”
Smoke saw only too well. He began to suspect that Colonel Drew’s generosity in offering them his private car, and then installing the newlyweds, might be tempered by a desire to have further protection for his dearest daughter. The old man had spoiled her outrageously whenever she had visited the railhead during construction. Fine with him, Smoke decided, so long as everything went well. Somehow, though, Smoke Jensen had the gut feeling that something would come along to see that it did not go so well.
Five
Dutifully the happy couple showed up some twenty minutes late for the postnuptial celebration, obviously laid on the behest of Colonel Drew. They wore smirking, guilty expressions that clearly telegraphed how, besides changing clothing, they had spent the time since disappearing into their compartment. They sipped champagne, munched on small, heart-shaped sandwiches, carved a miniature of their wedding cake and passed out pieces to Smoke and Sally, and then, in a rush of egalitarianism, included a spluttering Jenkins, the cook. Lee Fong, and his helper.
John Reynolds would not have approved, Smoke Jensen thought amusedly over that. Following a chatty half hour, the bemused pair withdrew to their compartment once more. Smoke and Sally saw little of them from then on. When a tinkling silver bell announced a light supper at six o’clock that evening, Sally and Smoke ate alone. Another sounding of the bell by Jenkins at nine for dinner brought the lovebirds forth, both looking decidedly more weary than the rocking, swaying journey could account for.
They ate sparingly of excellent pheasant and boiled potatoes, and departed early. Smoke turned an amused visage on Sally. “I gather they have found a way,” he opined.
“So shall we, dear; so shall we,” Sally promised.
* * *
Despite Smoke Jensen’s misgivings, everything went well through the night. Not until the train rattled down the track, well into Kansas, did the morning sunlight reveal a condition that warranted quick action by Walk Bigalow, the engineer.
A section of track had been ripped up and used with cross-ties to form a barricade. It could mean only one thing, Walt Bigalow thought: a train robbery. Hostile Indians had long been cleared from this part of Kansas. Fort Hays had been dwindling into the small town of plain Hays, Kansas. Yet he could use the cavalry now. He quickly pulled back the throttle, swung the reverse bar to the proper position, and hoped for the best.
Huge drivers squealed and threw out showers of sparks. All along the train, startled crewmen leaped to the large wheels of the brake controls for the cars. Last to be jolted by the emergency stop was the private car in which Smoke and Sally Jensen, Thomas and Priscilla Henning partook of a late breakfast. Coffee sloshed over the gold-filled rims of delicate china cups and stained the linen tablecloth. Thomas nearly impaled his cheek with a fork.
“What in heaven’s name?” he blurted.
“Something on the tracks,” Sally suggested.
Smoke cut his eyes to the window opposite his place at the table. “From what I can see, it’s a two-legged something,” he stated tightly, as he came to his boots and started toward the passageway that led past the compartments and kitchen. Sally sent an understanding look after him, then rose in a composed manner.
“Come, Priss, I think it is wise if you and Thomas go to your compartment. Lock the door after you.”
“Why? What is it, Sally?” Priscilla asked, suddenly alarmed.
“Perhaps nothing, but Smoke isn’t often mistaken. It could be trouble.”
It was Thomas rather than Priscilla who paled. “What sort of trouble?”
“Train robbers,” Sally answered him simply, not one to mince words at this point.
Smoke stepped onto the vestibule at the same time as Liam Quincannon. The worried expression on the conductor’s face made Smoke’s
Smoke saw only too well. He began to suspect that Colonel Drew’s generosity in offering them his private car, and then installing the newlyweds, might be tempered by a desire to have further protection for his dearest daughter. The old man had spoiled her outrageously whenever she had visited the railhead during construction. Fine with him, Smoke decided, so long as everything went well. Somehow, though, Smoke Jensen had the gut feeling that something would come along to see that it did not go so well.
Five
Dutifully the happy couple showed up some twenty minutes late for the postnuptial celebration, obviously laid on the behest of Colonel Drew. They wore smirking, guilty expressions that clearly telegraphed how, besides changing clothing, they had spent the time since disappearing into their compartment. They sipped champagne, munched on small, heart-shaped sandwiches, carved a miniature of their wedding cake and passed out pieces to Smoke and Sally, and then, in a rush of egalitarianism, included a spluttering Jenkins, the cook. Lee Fong, and his helper.
John Reynolds would not have approved, Smoke Jensen thought amusedly over that. Following a chatty half hour, the bemused pair withdrew to their compartment once more. Smoke and Sally saw little of them from then on. When a tinkling silver bell announced a light supper at six o’clock that evening, Sally and Smoke ate alone. Another sounding of the bell by Jenkins at nine for dinner brought the lovebirds forth, both looking decidedly more weary than the rocking, swaying journey could account for.
They ate sparingly of excellent pheasant and boiled potatoes, and departed early. Smoke turned an amused visage on Sally. “I gather they have found a way,” he opined.
“So shall we, dear; so shall we,” Sally promised.
* * *
Despite Smoke Jensen’s misgivings, everything went well through the night. Not until the train rattled down the track, well into Kansas, did the morning sunlight reveal a condition that warranted quick action by Walk Bigalow, the engineer.
A section of track had been ripped up and used with cross-ties to form a barricade. It could mean only one thing, Walt Bigalow thought: a train robbery. Hostile Indians had long been cleared from this part of Kansas. Fort Hays had been dwindling into the small town of plain Hays, Kansas. Yet he could use the cavalry now. He quickly pulled back the throttle, swung the reverse bar to the proper position, and hoped for the best.
Huge drivers squealed and threw out showers of sparks. All along the train, startled crewmen leaped to the large wheels of the brake controls for the cars. Last to be jolted by the emergency stop was the private car in which Smoke and Sally Jensen, Thomas and Priscilla Henning partook of a late breakfast. Coffee sloshed over the gold-filled rims of delicate china cups and stained the linen tablecloth. Thomas nearly impaled his cheek with a fork.
“What in heaven’s name?” he blurted.
“Something on the tracks,” Sally suggested.
Smoke cut his eyes to the window opposite his place at the table. “From what I can see, it’s a two-legged something,” he stated tightly, as he came to his boots and started toward the passageway that led past the compartments and kitchen. Sally sent an understanding look after him, then rose in a composed manner.
“Come, Priss, I think it is wise if you and Thomas go to your compartment. Lock the door after you.”
“Why? What is it, Sally?” Priscilla asked, suddenly alarmed.
“Perhaps nothing, but Smoke isn’t often mistaken. It could be trouble.”
It was Thomas rather than Priscilla who paled. “What sort of trouble?”
“Train robbers,” Sally answered him simply, not one to mince words at this point.
Smoke stepped onto the vestibule at the same time as Liam Quincannon. The worried expression on the conductor’s face made Smoke’s
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