The Union Belle Page 16

  “What does General Dodge say?” Mark asked quickly.

  “Dodge is fighting twenty-four hours a day with the law-makers,” Ames sighed. “It’s my job to see to the money.” His face was filled with apprehension. “I’ve mortgaged my business to the hilt, but it’s not nearly enough.”

  “So what comes next, sir?” Ray asked.

  “I’ll talk to Reed. He may have to go to Washington and help Dodge. If that happens, you two will be responsible to keep things going.”

  A thrill of exultation ran through Hayden, but he kept a serious face. “We’ll take care of this end, Mr. Ames.”

  They talked about the railroad for two hours, then left Ames’s room. The sound of gunfire broke the night, and a group of horsemen rode down the street, screeching like banshees.

  “Maybe it’s time I paid Cherry another visit,” Mark said grimly.

  “That’s just what they want,” Ray argued. “Let’s get the army to put the town under martial law.”

  “No, this is the Union’s job, and I’m the man the Union has chosen to do it.” He thought hard, then said, “I’m going to the Wagonwheel. Will you go find Driver and Young and tell them to meet me there?”

  “Get them first,” Ray insisted.

  “No, just tell them to be quick.” Mark walked off before Hayden could argue anymore.

  He ignored the looks he got on the way down the crowded street. The Wagonwheel was in full swing, but Mark moved easily across the room, taking a seat at one of the few empty tables. He looked around for Valance, but didn’t see him, nor did he see Goldman. A nondescript man came out of the crowd and asked, “You looking for Lowell Taylor?”

  “No,” Winslow said.

  “Well, he’s up at the Silver Dollar Saloon, in trouble.” The man faded away at once. Mark got to his feet and left the saloon at a fast walk. The Silver Dollar was a poker club on the second floor over a hardware store. He made his way through the crowd, turned off on the side street, and noted that no lights burned on the second floor. A stairway led along the outside wall, and he climbed it slowly, pulling his gun as he reached the landing. He put his hand to the knob of the door and stepped into a hall illuminated by one small lamp bracketed against the boards. A little ahead of him a door stood ajar, and he moved cautiously toward it. A slice of light crept out of the crack, and Mark took a quick step into the room, pistol raised and ready for an ambush. But what he saw hit him harder than a bullet.

  By the dim light of a lamp, he saw Lowell Taylor sprawled out on his chest, his head twisted to one side. A pool of blood spread out from the still body, and when Mark felt for a pulse, he felt nothing.

  Suddenly a board squeaked behind him, and he immediately fell flat on the floor beside the still body. An explosion rocked the room, and Mark rolled over, laying a raking fire on the open doorway. He rose and plunged into the hall, just in time to see a figure disappear through the door that led to the stairway. He dashed down the hall, flung the door open and stepped outside. A figure at the foot of the stairs turned, and he saw the flash of a gun even as the breath of a bullet licked across his face. He laid his gun on the man, but the hammer clicked on an empty cylinder, and before he reached the foot of the stairs, the gunman had vanished into the darkness.

  He returned to stand beside Taylor’s body, a great sadness filling him. He had grown fond of this man—and he knew for a certainty that Taylor had died because of his connection with him. A seething rage began to rise in him, and he slowly replaced the loads in his gun, then walked out of the door and down the stairs.

  He met Young and Driver rushing down the street.

  “Mark?” Driver asked. “What’s up? You all right?”

  “They got Lowell,” Mark said evenly, and both men saw the anger in his gray eyes. “Come on.” He strode down the street looking from side to side, and then seeing a short, chunky Irishman, he stopped. “Terry!” he shouted out, and the short man swiveled his head, then came at once to wait for orders.

  “Terry, it’s time to give Mr. Cherry Valance a little lesson in manners. Go get some good men, and pick up some axes. Meet me in front of Cherry’s place.”

  “Sure, it’ll be no trouble at all, Mr. Winslow.” Terry McGivern grinned. He left at once to round up those men he knew would be willing. By the time Mark and his two friends arrived at the big tent, McGivern and about forty or fifty track hands were there, all of them carrying double-bitted axes and most of them smelling like the whiskey they were full of.

  “Terry,” Mark said, “that building over there belongs to Cherry. Tear it down.”

  A yell broke out and the men began hacking at the frame building, a house of prostitution owned by Valance. They hit the building straight on, and the axes bit into the cheap lumber with deadly blows. Almost at once women came rushing out, cursing and yelling, but the axmen only laughed. Some of them scrambled to the roof and peeled it off, shingles flying through the air wildly. They tore at the walls, and soon the roof fell in on the second floor. McGivern encouraged them. “Now, just a little push, boys—and down she comes!”

  The mob moved to one side and gave a mighty heave, the skeleton collapsing with a crash. The Irishmen gave a cheer, and McGivern said, “How about another building, Mr. Winslow?”

  “Let’s go ask Mr. Valance about it, Terry.” Mark led the wild mob straight into the Wagonwheel where Valance and all his housemen were lined up behind the bar, waiting. There were no customers, and Lou Goldman stood to the left of Valance, waiting.

  “Cherry, we’ve pulled one of your buildings down. Got any more you want down?”

  Valance shook his head. “You’ll never get by with this, Winslow.”

  “Maybe we ought to pull this tent down, Mark,” Driver observed. “Wouldn’t be too hard, now would it?”

  All Winslow had to do was speak one word, and the tent would be afire, but instead he said, “No, we’re going to give Mr. Valance twenty-four hours to move his little tent out. If it’s still here, Cherry, we’ll burn the tent—and maybe you with it.”

  Valance stood there, his face pale, but there was no fear in his eyes. “It’s your day, Winslow,” he said.

  “Twenty-four hours—and you go with the tent, Goldman,” Mark said. “If you’re here after that, you’ll hang.”

  Goldman stared at him, licked his lips, but nodded. “Like Cherry says, it’s your day.”

  Mark turned and walked out of the tent, then called the men together. They gathered around him like a pack of wild wolves, and he knew exactly how to handle them. “We’re going to make a few calls. Go to the work train and get your rifles and plenty of ammunition. Be back here as quick as you can. We’ve got quite a few visits to make tonight, and maybe a few more buildings to pull down.”

  They let out a wild yell and left running. When they were gone, Young said, “Well, you shore played thunder, Boss. But that bunch ain’t whipped. We run ’em out of Julesburg, and they’ll just set up again down the road.”

  “But they won’t have the upper hand there, Dooley,” Mark said wearily. “Come on. Let’s go take care of Lowell.”

  That night was never forgotten. Not all the roughs went as easily as Cherry did. There was a virtual battle in the streets, and five more men died before the night was over. The next day, Mark wired General Dodge to state only that “Julesburg is quiet enough for you now.”

  The railroad men called Winslow the man who tamed Julesburg. But Mark thought more about Lowell Taylor than his victory over the roughs. And he was sure that Lowell would not be the only man to die before the rails reached Utah.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Shep’s New Plan

  The shock of Winslow’s attack on the roughs paralyzed Julesburg, or so it seemed. There were still enough saloons and gambling houses to syphon off the earnings of the UP hands, but the cemetery no longer got its man each day, and Mark spent most of his time helping Reed get precious cottonwood ties for the seemingly endless miles that stretched out toward the west.r />
  He had come back from one of these expeditions late one Tuesday afternoon to find Ray and Moira walking along the main street. Getting off his horse, he took off his hat and beat it against his thigh, sending the powdery dust flying. “Been a hot one,” he said. He licked his dry lips, asking, “How’ve things been in town?”

  “Quiet,” Ray said. “The saloon keepers are afraid to spit since you ran Valance and his crowd out of town. The ones who stayed are pretty tame cats.” He looked down the street and nodded at the gaping space where the Wagonwheel had stood. “Makes quite a hole in the landscape, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose, but Cherry’s already set up down the line, along with most of the other gamblers.” Mark was tired and stained with the fine dust of the trail. He was, they both saw, not as easy in his ways as he had been before the cleanup. There was a hardness in his expression that hadn’t been there before, and Hayden assumed Mark still grieved over Taylor’s death.

  Moira said quickly, “Go get cleaned up. You’re having supper with us at the Palace.” When he hesitated, both of them urged him until he finally agreed.

  As Mark continued on his way, Moira said, “He’s changed, Ray.”

  “I guess he is. Any man with his job is going to get harder.”

  They idled along, wasting time for almost an hour, and then made their way to the Palace Restaurant. Mark walked up just as they got there, freshly shaved and wearing a lightweight brown suit with a clean white shirt that made his dark face look even darker. He greeted them more cheerfully, and they entered the Palace. The restaurant was crowded, but Ray had reserved a table, and led the way to it. There were fresh flowers in a vase and a white tablecloth. “Why, Ray, how nice!” Moira exclaimed.

  As she leaned over to smell the blossoms, Ray shrugged. “I wish I could have come up with an orchestra so we could have some music with our dinner—but that’ll have to wait until we get back to Boston.” He had gone to some trouble to get the flowers, having hired a Mexican to go out and gather them. His keen awareness of the nicer things set him apart from most of the men in the West.

  “You never brought me flowers when we ate here,” Mark jested. “But then, you don’t want to marry me, either.”

  The other two laughed as they sat down. They ordered their food, and as they waited Mark slowly relaxed, letting Ray carry the burden of the conversation. Without seeming to, he gave close attention to Moira—as did every other man in the room. In a country starved for women, any woman would have been an attraction, but with her dramatic good looks, Moira was like a splash of color in an otherwise dreary world. Mark was a little puzzled, for he couldn’t discern much depth of affection between the pair. They certainly enjoyed each other’s company, but he saw no sign of any deeper emotion in either of them. Ray, he knew, kept his emotions hidden, but it was his judgment that Moira Ames was a woman of extremes. It seemed strange to him that she displayed so little feeling for the man she was going to marry.

  He told them about his trip as they ate, mentioning a brush with five young Sioux warriors, and her eyes fixed on him. “You have such a dangerous job, Mark.”

  “Not as dangerous as my last one—that one landed me in a Mexican prison,” he smiled. “And certainly not as dangerous as the job I had before that.”

  “What job was that?” she asked.

  “I worked for Robert E. Lee,” he smiled. He started to say something else but stopped when he saw Lola come in through the front door.

  Moira caught his glance, and at once said impulsively, “Ask her to join us, Mark.”

  He hesitated. “She’d probably be uncomfortable, Moira.”

  “Nonsense!” Ray said briskly. “I’ll do it myself if you’re too bashful.” He got up and walked over to where Lola was standing. “Lola, Mark just got in. Come and join us, won’t you?”

  He expected her to refuse at first; it was plainly written in her eyes. But she accepted. “That would be nice, Ray.”

  Mark rose as Hayden led her to the table.

  Moira bubbled enthusiastically, “Sit down, Miss Montez. You can keep these two from bullying me.”

  Lola sat down and the two men took their places. “I think they are more likely to fight over you than do any bullying, Miss Ames,” she commented with a faint smile.

  “I hope not!” Ray exclaimed, and he turned toward Mark. “We almost came to that a few times at the Point, didn’t we? Remember Alice Glover, the Major’s niece?”

  “I’m trying to forget that little incident,” Mark said with a grin. “She had each of us ready to go after the other with a saber—and all the time she was laughing at us.”

  Hayden laughed at the memory. “She was secretly engaged to one of our instructors all the time. But I never faulted Alice for putting us through the hoops, Mark. That’s the way the game is played between men and women.”

  Moira scolded him with a smile, “That’s right—always blame the woman for your own foolishness.” They kept up a light conversation until the food came, and when they were finished with the meal, Moira asked as they idled over coffee, “What will you do now, Miss Montez?”

  Mark had wondered the same thing, but had not wanted to ask. It seemed a little crude of Moira to bring up the matter of Lola’s profession, but he saw no sign that she meant anything by it. Lola shrugged, saying mildly, “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Ray said, “Julesburg will be a ghost town in a few weeks. That’s what happens to all these end-of-track towns. When the railroad workers move on, there’s nothing left to keep a town going. Why, think about what a hummer North Platte was—and yet there’s not two hundred people there right now!”

  “I’ll be going back East in a week,” Moira said. “My father’s sending his special car. If you have any intentions of going that way, I’d be glad to have you accompany me on the trip.”

  It was a strange thing for the aristocratic girl to suggest, but somehow it didn’t come out as hospitable as it might. Lola only shook her head slightly, saying, “That’s very kind of you, Miss Ames—but it’s unlikely that I will be going that way.”

  Ray had missed the underlying exchange between the two women. “Well, that leaves only two choices, Lola,” he commented. “Either stay in this town—or follow the track.” He got to his feet, apologizing, “I’m sorry to go, but I need to meet Reed in thirty minutes. He’ll probably want to see you first thing tomorrow, Mark.”

  “All right.”

  Moira also rose and prepared to leave. “I’m glad you’re back, Mark. Miss Montez, nice to see you again.”

  As soon as Ray led her outside, Moira said, “Are you worried about Mark?”

  “Worried?” Hayden looked puzzled. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Oh, Ray!” she snapped impatiently. “Can’t you see what’s going to happen? With only one woman to every three hundred men, how long do you think a man like Mark Winslow will be able to keep away from a woman like that?”

  “I think Mark’s old enough to handle himself, Moira,” he said in surprise. “But what if they did fall in love? She’s a beautiful woman.”

  “She’s a dance hall woman,” Moira said in exasperation, her pace picking up so that he had to lengthen his strides to keep up. “Mark is a man who could go to the top. Look at how fast he’s come with the Union already. Father says that General Dodge thinks there’s nobody like him. But if he marries a dance hall girl, that will end it all.”

  Hayden stared at her. “Why are you so concerned?”

  “I hate to see a man like Mark wasted,” she snapped. “And I’m disappointed in you, Ray. After all, Mark’s your friend. You should warn him about her.”

  “Why, I couldn’t do that!” he said in astonishment. “In the first place, it’s none of my business. The relationship between a man and a woman is their own business, Moira.”

  “Yes . . . but he’s not in love with her. He’s lonely, and she’s beautiful—and available. If he mistakes that for love, he’ll be throwing his career aw
ay.”

  “I don’t agree that she’s ‘available.’ Lola Montez is hardly a loose woman.”

  Moira gave him a swift glance. “I take it from that that you tried your luck with the Union Belle, darling?”

  They argued about it all the way to her hotel, and when she left him abruptly, he went to his meeting with Reed thoroughly disturbed. Although her attitude puzzled him, he finally shrugged and resolved to put it out of his mind.

  Mark and Lola had watched the pair leave, and Mark asked, “Anything I can do to help you, Lola?”

  She shook her head, and getting to her feet, refused, “No, Mark. Thank you for the offer.” No longer hungry, she wanted to get away, for the encounter had displeased her. Moira Ames obviously disliked her, despite all her outwardly generous gestures, and she wanted to leave. He stood and followed her through the doors, and would have gone with her to her boarding house, but she said, “Thank you for inviting me—but it wasn’t wise.” Something came to her eyes that he could not understand, and she put out her hand. “Good-bye, Mark.”

  “Well . . .” he hesitated. “I’ll see you again.” She shook her head, and turning, walked along through the gathering gloom without a backward look, not stopping until she had closed the door of her room. She took off her hat, washed her face with the tepid water from the pitcher, then went over and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She had stared at it a great deal over the past two weeks, and the dissatisfaction that had been growing steadily in her came stronger than ever.

  She had reached a dead end in Julesburg, and now that the town was on the verge of drying up, she had no energy to decide which direction to take. There was nothing for her in the East—and not for one moment did she entertain the idea of going back to her old life in Texas. As the tinny sounds of the saloons came to her through the open window, she thought despairingly, There’s got to be more to life than this! Now that she had escaped her life in Texas, an elusive idea, a concept of a better life, floated to her.