Chapter 1

Thursday, April 14, 1887

Halfway down the yard spur, Andy stopped short, grabbed his brother’s arm and said, “What, that? That’s your private railroad coach? You’ve got to be joking. That looks like a freight car, or a baggage car, at best.”

“I never said it was a coach, little brother,” Malik replied. “The railroad calls them business cars. In fact, it was outfitted for some Confederate general and has been sitting on a siding at Fort Bliss, down in west Texas, for the past twenty-some years.”

“But you said it had a bedroom.”

“It does, though it’s more of a bunk room. The car’s forty by nine feet and is divided into three rooms. I’ll use two of them for consulting and office work and the third, of course, is the bunk room, with a small privy closet. It’s a work place, Andy, not a sybarite’s luxury coach.”

“Well, yeah, but I was thinkin’ that Christina an’ me...”

“Of course, you’re welcome to use it when I’m up at Smoky Valley, but it probably won’t seem like traveling in style, especially as it has one bunk above the other, fastened to the wall. Or maybe the walls are called bulkheads. I’m not certain.”

“And Gabriela is willing to stay in it when she’s down here?”

“Mostly Gabriela and I will be staying in my room at Missus Kuiper’s or out at the ranch, unless she accompanies me when I’m working at another town. I wrote her all the details. She says it sounds like an adventure.”

“But what will she do with the hours while you’re working?”

“As a matter of fact, she’ll share the office space. Gabriela’s been digging into my other business dealings. It was she who arranged the sale of several of the real properties for prices that allowed me to invest substantially in the K and ASR. In turn, it was a K and ASR periodic news bulletin that had information about the auction of surplus military railroad equipment by the army. That led me to this car.

“What’s more, as a Kansas and Southern Arizona Railroad board director, I’m entitled to free passage on any K and ASR line. I’ve even arranged for free use of a forty foot K and ASR stock car, so I can take along as many as six horses in individual stalls as well as their tack and feed.”

They’d climbed up the steps into the car and were both looking around the space. The front cabin and the rear bunk room each had four glazed windows, including two windows on each end bulkhead. The center cabin featured four passenger coach-style windows on each side.

“Seems to be in pretty good shape, for as old as it is.”

“Old, yes, but barely used before the war ended. And sitting in the Texas desert seems to have preserved it well, except for some lumber shrinkage. Ivan and Dmitry are mounting ply board to the exterior. That will also give it a more finished look. The inside walls will be a distressed oak, with a white stain. The ceiling will be tongue-in-groove aspen, also stained white. They’ll put horsehair insulation in both the exterior and interior walls.” At Andy’s quizzical look, Malik added, “The inside insulation will reduce sound movement through the walls, for purposes of client privacy. Ivan says they should have it complete in two weeks. The Kozlovs have recruited their wives and older children to help clean and paint it.

“Have you considered whether clients will want to clamber all over a railroad switch yard to reach your office?”

“That won’t be the arrangement. I’ve been assured I’ll be spotted either next to the depot or at a similarly suitable spot in each of the four towns I’ll frequent. Ivan will build some normal-height steps that will attach to the car to allow a less physically challenging access. Same with a ramp for the stock car. It won’t require a loading chute.”

“Wait, though,” Andy said. “I can see how that would work elsewhere, but here, outside this freight yard, they’ve only the main line and the depot siding. There’s nowhere like that to spot a car in Waypoint.”

Malik nodded. “I’m deeding those town lots south of the depot to the K and ASR and they’re putting in a siding to which I’ll hold a life tenancy. As part of the trade, I’m also receiving six lots that adjoin the Old Courthouse Inn to the south. We’ll have room to expand as well as put in our own stable.”

They had continued their leisurely tour during the conversation and had entered the third room. Andy commented, “Ah, I see what you mean. This bunk room definitely shouts more of army than it whispers of romance. Still, it is, uh, cozy.”

“If by ‘cozy’ you mean barely enough room to turn around.”

“Reckon that defines it. So, you’re going to close your office in town?”

“Already have it rented. David Lewin, a college-educated bookkeeper accountant will be arriving here by the end of the month. He’s also taking the rooms above for him and his wife, Sara. She’s a college graduate, too, and would like to teach the upper school grades here, which we certainly have need for.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. What’s Cowboy think about it?”

Malik chuckled. “He wants me to buy a railroad locomotive so he can run it and haul me around. Guess he’s getting tired of kneading dough.”

“Yeah, he’s been looking tired, but I don’t think it’s from kneading dough. Ever since Christina got in the family way, I’ve seen the hungry look in Matilda’s eyes. I’m a little surprised Gabriela isn’t feeling the same way.”

“I’m not so sure she isn’t. She’s just more subtle. Or maybe she’s just remembering Anna and isn’t so certain, anymore.”

“I can only imagine” Andy said. “I mean, it was bad enough when Ma was killed. Same with Pa’s passing, even as sick as he’d been. But when I think about something bad happening to Christina, especially carrying our child, it’s what nightmares are made from. Gabriela’s lived that nightmare losing both her husband and her daughter. And we still have that lecherous dung heap Gunderson sitting there in the courthouse.” Malik turned to look at him square on. “Oh, surprised you, huh, big brother?

“I heard about Gunderson’s plans for Christina. Bill Edwards told me that he overheard Gunderson and that asshole, Tim Banks, lamenting the collapse of Senator Ranford’s big plan. Bill was writing a report for the county prosecutor, and was using that conference room up on the second floor, hoping for some quiet. He reckons Gunderson and Banks must’ve thought no one was around. Says it sounded like they were both drunk.”

Malik shrugged, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to worry you, Andy, especially since Sheriff Banks and Senator Ranford were dead and there was nothing left of that whole brainless plot. But I guess I’m glad you know. I’m surprised Bill’s put up with that job for as long as he has.”

“Well, with the way the sheriff’s office was decimated during that mess, Bill ended up being the senior deputy within a year. And Noah seemed to take a shine to him, father-like, so much so that he appointed Bill chief deputy. He says Noah’s not too bad to work for, since he pretty much leaves Bill to run things. It just takes some fancy footwork to get old Noah to come around on new ideas, him bein’ so set in his ways and maybe not the smartest man, so to say. But the other two men they’ve hired seem steady, so he’s pretty comfortable. And he’s sparkin’ Francine Kuiper’s youngest.”

“I thought I noticed something going on, there. He seemed to hang around her more, of an evening.”

“If even you’ve noticed it, big brother, then they must have already reserved the church. As it is, Bill tells me that his Ma and Missus Kuiper might be going into business together and open a boarding house in Dorado Springs and maybe even one in Cleveland.”

Malik nodded, knowingly, then shrugged. “Client business, little brother. I can’t say.”

They stepped back out onto the front platform. Andy said, “Both those ladies have been to visit the other’s boarding house. I’ve stayed at both and I’d hazard that they’re like-minded women when it comes to accommodating people. Both homes are clean, comfortable, and peaceful with good food and friendly treatment. More like you’re staying with family. The only difference is that Missus Edwards’ place is in town and Missus Kuiper’s is a bit outside. Say, you don’t reckon they’ll be giving the Old Courthouse Inn a run for its money, do you, Emil?”

“I’m not worried. Different clientele altogether. Besides, neither of them really wants short-term guests, even though they do accommodate them when they show up. They’re at their best when they can get to know their folks and when they don’t have to familiarize a new guest every day. But, speaking of the Inn, how ‘bout we head over there for lunch?”

“Best we stop by the store, see if Christina would join us, maybe Jacob, too. He might be persuaded to put up the ‘closed’ sign for an hour.”

“Fine by me.”

Some little while later, the Malik brothers, now in the company of Jacob Baylor and his daughter -- Andy’s wife -- Christina, were walking toward the Inn. Just after they crossed to the south side of Jackson Street, they met chief Jackson County Sheriff’s Deputy Bill Edwards, who was headed east on the boardwalk along Jackson. As was his custom when on duty, Edwards carried a shotgun in the crook of his left arm and a pistol in an open holster on his belt, arranged just forward of his left hip, in cross-draw fashion.

“Good afternoon Miz Christina, gents,” he said as he touched the brim of his hat. Edwards was in his mid-twenties, of average height and build, and with a pleasant, boyish face.

They paused and Andy said, “Howdy, Bill, how’s your day goin’?”

“Not too interestin’, so far, just the way I prefer it. You folks headed to the Inn?”

Malik said, “We’re going for lunch. Do you have time to join us?”

“Well, thanks, Emil, but I’m just comin’ from Molly’s, myself. Actually, I was comin’ down to the store, but I reckon it can wait.”

“What’re you after, Deputy?” Jacob asked.

“A couple boxes of forty-four forty shells and some gun oil. But I can get ‘em another time.”

“How ‘bout we send them out with our deliveries this afternoon? I’ll just put it on your bill for next time you’re in. You want ‘em delivered up to the sheriff’s office or out at your room at Missus Kuiper’s?”

“That’d be fine, Mister Baylor, thank you. Reckon the office’d be better. Don’t do any gun cleanin’ at Missus Kuiper’s, if I know what’s good for me.”

Malik chuckled. “I know exactly what you mean, Bill. Is your mother that tough, too?”

Edwards smiled. “Not something I’d really care to discuss, Emil, all’s the same with you,” he said, a hand moving gently to his rump. The others smiled or chuckled.

“And I know exactly what you mean about that,” Andy said.” I get to rememberin’ how our Ma reacted to some of our antics, my backside starts to smart all of its own.”

“Hey, deputy,” a man called from across the street.

Edwards looked over, then back to the group. “Looks like duty calls.” He touched the brim of his hat toward Christina. “Ma’am, gents, see you around.” And he walked off across the street.

As they walked on, Christina said, “Bill sure seems suited to that job.”

Malik said, “Indeed. He takes after his big brother, who’s been promoted to chief deputy by Sheriff Hanson up in Franklin County.”

Andy chuckled. “Bill’s been crowin’ over Sean that he made chief deputy before Sean did.”

“Well,” Malik said, “that Minnie Edwards didn’t raise no shirkers, that’s for certain. Both those men actively look for whatever needs doin’. What do you think, Andy, would Bill make a good sheriff candidate this November?”

Andy crooked his head and gave a small shrug. “I know there’s been talk. In the balance, I’d like to see him have a few more years of deputy experience, first. But Sheriff Williams needs replacing sooner rather than later. At best, Noah’s harmless, but he follows whatever half-witted instructions that Judge Gunderson or Tim Banks give him, then they leave him holdin’ the bag. Fact is, I’d hate for Bill to have to deal with those two until he’s had more seasoning.” He shook his head. “Even then, I would probably vote against him.”

Christina exclaimed, “You’d not vote for him? But he’s your friend.”

“Exactly. It’s because I consider him a friend that I wouldn’t want to see him stuck with that mess.”

Baylor chuckled, then said, “Ain’t that the truth. Fact is, there’s talk around town of Emil standin’ for sheriff.”

Malik looked at the older man, surprise evident on his face. “Me?” he gasped. “Not hardly. I’m invested in expanding my practice, riding a circuit, so to speak, with the railcar I just bought. Then the railroad has me on retainer for their in-state business, and I’m on their board of directors. There’s also the Inn and there’s still a number of town properties that need attention. Besides, I spend considerable time up at Gabriela’s ranch, and that’s in Sonora County. No, I’ve got a pretty full plate, Jacob. And I don’t really want the job, anyway. Please quash any talk you hear like that.”

The conversation was interrupted by their arrival at the Inn, where they were greeted by Juanita Garcia.

While the wait staff at the Old Courthouse Inn dining room were invariably men, often young men from the Malik ranch trying out town life -- and learning town manners -- its reception station was overseen by Juanita Garcia, nee Espinoza. She was the former housekeeper at the Malik hacienda at Ranch Home, the “company” village on the Malik ranch. She had moved to Waypoint with her new husband, Val Garcia, when he was offered the job of sales and purchasing manager at the new Malik ranch office in town. Juanita, besides acting as hostess for the dining room, also supervised the restaurant’s “front of the house,” as the dining room and other public reception spaces of food and lodging businesses were dubbed. The so-called “back of the house” was the realm of cooks and kitchen help or, in lodging, the housekeepers and maintenance staff. Joe Collins, the Chef Manager of the Inn’s food service, supervised Juanita and his own kitchen, scullery, and pantries. Collins, in turn, reported to the Inn’s General Manager, Mitchel Anderson, who personally supervised the lodging side of the business.

After Juanita had seated Baylor and the Maliks, Jorje Garcia, garbed in the standard white shirt and black trousers of the Inn’s wait staff, filled their water glasses. Jorje was named after his father, the deceased partner and foreman of the Malik ranch, and was Val Garcia’s youngest brother.

Christina asked him, “How do you like living in town, Jorje?”

The young man looked over his shoulder to see if Juanita was looking his way, then turned back to Christina. “Juanita’s even stricter than Mama, Miz Christina. With her being in charge of that house where we all live, we don’t get to have any fun at all.”

Christina smiled at him. “Where did you get the idea that living and working in town would be fun, Jorje? If you want to make a living and not let your money leak through your fingers, it’s pretty much the same situation no matter where you live.”

“Yes, ma’am, but, just once in a blue moon we could be allowed out on our own?”

Christina glanced over at Juanita, who was seating two men in business suits. Then she looked back at the young man. “I’ll talk to her, Jorje.”

“Would you, Miz Christina? Thanks. You folks want coffee?”

After Jorje left, Baylor shook his head as he unfolded his napkin onto his lap. He returned to the interrupted conversation. “Well, we need somebody as sheriff we can depend on to be fair, honest, and able to stand up to those crooks on the second floor of the courthouse. Who can we get? Think Cowboy would throw his hat in the ring?”

Malik said, “I don’t know if he’d be interested, but I doubt he could win. Folks aren’t going to elect an Indian to that kind of position, much as I hate to say it.”

The conversation flagged for a few moments, then Christina said, “What about Andy?”

Now it was Andy’s turn to be caught off guard and he choked on his recently sipped coffee. “Me?” he rasped. “I’m not...” But he paused and looked off into the middle distance, lost in thought. The others looked at him, waiting for him to gather his thoughts. He brought his attention back to the group and addressed Baylor, “Any word on who else might be interested in the job, Papa?”

Baylor took a moment to reply, while frowning a bit. “Arthur Coates is the only one I know. That’s what got folks talking about Emil. Coates seems a little bit too much like the bad element that’s been common in the courthouse the last few years. So far it’s mostly Coates promotin’ himself, tryin’ to get a word-of-mouth campaign started, I reckon. But it doesn’t seem to be gainin’ traction. Still, he’s been getting’ chummy with the county judges and Tim Banks, so there’s no tellin’. You thinkin’ about this seriously, Andy?”

“It surprises me, but I am. Every year, I have less to keep me busy at the ranch. We’ve got too many good people working out there for me to be all that much help, especially since we opened the office in town. Val’s headin’ off a lot of the problems and makin’ it easier to garner business than it was tryin’ to work things from out at the ranch, four or five hours away. And it saves a lot of saddle leather in the process. Christina and I are already spending as much time in Waypoint as we do at Ranch Home. And, if there’s criminal trouble, it’ll be here in town or on the west side of the county. Between our ranch and the Sonora freeholders, the east side of the county is always pretty calm.”

Andy looked at Christina. “But this was your idea. Where did that come from? You’d really want me to be sheriff?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, looking at him closely. “It just jumped into my head that you’d be good at it. You certainly have all the qualities that I’d like to see in our sheriff.”

“Well, why don’t we think about it for a few days? See if our interest holds up as we discuss it. But what do you think, Papa? Would I have a chance?”

“I wouldn’t see why not. It might surprise folks a bit, but, outside of that second-floor group across the street, I don’t know anyone what doesn’t like you. You want me to sound out some of the other merchants?”

“Maybe not just yet. Let’s talk some more, over the next couple days, first.”

Just then, there was a series of gunshots out in the street, three different guns, each fired once, in rapid succession, the last sounding like a shotgun.

The Malik brothers were out of their seats and headed for the door before the last shot’s echo died. Both reached for the pistols they wore in shoulder holsters under their frock coats. Around town, they each carried a Colt M1877 thirty-eight caliber Lightning pistol, converted to single action. From past experience, it was their habit to always be armed.

Out on Jackson Street, their attention was drawn east, where two riders, spurring their horses, already near a gallop, were turning south on Wagon Road Avenue. A half block closer, a man was lying in the street. Even from that distance, they recognized the clothing and hat that Bill Edwards had been wearing when they’d encountered him a few minutes before. Both Maliks sprinted toward Edwards, guns in hand.

Andy reached him first and immediately fell to his knees next to his friend. Emil ran up and stood next to Andy. He surveyed the scene on the street, then looked down at Edwards. There were two apparent gunshot wounds on the deputy, one to his left hip and the other to the right side of his chest. He was conscious, but blood was bubbling on his lips. Andy and Malik each pulled a clean handkerchief from their pockets and Andy opened the deputy’s shirt and pressed one kerchief to the chest wound, which was sucking air. He leaned hard on the kerchief. Malik pulled a folding knife from his pocket and cut Edwards’ trousers open at the hip wound. Andy pressed the other kerchief there, then knelt over Edwards, letting the weight of his upper body supply pressure to the wounds. At that point, Baylor and Christina arrived.

Malik said, “Jacob, see if you can locate Ernst Bauer or Frieda. Christina, could you go down to the bakery and tell Cowboy -- never mind, here he comes now. Maybe you could help your Pa find Ernst or his daughter.”

Cowboy knelt next to Edwards, across from Andy, and reached under the deputy. “This hip wound is all the way through.” He moved his hand up Edwards’ back. “The chest still has the bullet in.” He stood, again, and walked across the street.

Malik went to one knee and took the wounded man’s hand. “Hold on’ Bill. We’ve sent for Doc Bauer. And we’ve got those two shooters spotted. We’ll get ‘em. You just hold on.”

As more people were coming out on the street, Malik said to his brother, “I’m going to go over there with Cowboy. I want to look at those tracks before they get walked on.” As he stood, he saw Maylon Rademacher hurrying toward them. Emil said, “Maylon, maybe you could go inform the sheriff? Have him round up a buckboard or something to carry Bill on, or maybe a door, to use as a litter. As soon as Ernst or Frieda gets here, Cowboy, Andy and I are going after those assholes. If the sheriff follows, tell him it was two men, each on a chestnut, cow hand clothes, dungarees, one had a red shirt, the other was gray. Red shirt wore a bowler, the other had no hat. Maybe that’s his hat over there by those horse apples. I’ll find out at Missus Kuiper’s which way they went, send someone in with word, might be worth sending a wire to Sheriff Ulney in the Springs. You know what, I’ll send that wire. Can you handle the rest?”