Chapter 27

Early the next morning, as the rising sun cast its first rays through the length of the tunnel, Emmet Quincy answered Malik’s compliments, “It’s my first railroad tunnel and I wasn’t going to disappoint Pickax Pete Pottinger.”

The explosion the night before had brought a switch engine crew from the railroad’s coal mine, some eight miles down the valley. They, in turn, had connected a portable telegraph key and sent a message to Kylie Junction. By first light, a work crew from the junction had already used a winch to move the dead horses from the tracks. Now, they were cleaning rock and timber debris from the tracks at the east end of the tunnel. They made quick work of the task, since the damage had been minimal.

As Quincy used the reflected sunlight from a mirror to inspect the tunnel ceiling and walls, he was understandably proud of the way his shoring had maintained the integrity of the tunnel.

“I’ll want to replace those beams and supports closest to where they set off the charge, just to be safe, but it looks to me like the only rock that came down was from the external fascia, above the portal.”

“Looks like your uncle will be buying larger hats, again. If he gets any more proud, he’s likely to burst,” Malik said, smiling as he anticipated Morton Quincy’s reaction.

“Just hug him and kiss him on the top of his head. That’ll slow him down. It always worked for us.”

The portable telegraph key, still connected to the overhead wire, began to chatter. The foreman of the work crew, a short Chinese man, walked over to listen. Then he looked toward Malik.

“Mister Malik. Sheriff Ulney says trouble in Dorado Springs. Explosion at new hotel. Your railroad car’s burnt. Explosion in Chinese workers’ camp. One killed, two hurt.” The man tapped an acknowledgment on the key.

“Damn it all to hell,” Malik exclaimed. “Now it’s that turd, Vandeventer.” He looked at Long Hand. “I’d better head back with this work train. Would you put Tsela in the Sonora mine corral?”

“You want me to ride him back to Dorado Springs?”

“Will he get along with you?”

“Cowboy and I used the same training methods and commands. Tsela and I should get along fine. If not, I’ll just lead him back. When I get there, I’ll put him in Stream-In-Winter’s corral.”

“I really appreciate it. I suspect he’ll not have a problem with you riding.”

“That way I can leave one of the other horses, to replace the extra one Nathan rode to town.”

Malik looked to the crew foreman. “When are you fellas headed back?”

“As soon as Mister Quincy says we can go.”

Quincy said, “Go ahead. I can finish up here with some of the men from the mine. Just leave that gondola there for us to work from.”

“I’ll have to run around it on the mine siding. Then we can leave it spotted right here. Would you want the boxcar? It’s higher?”

“Can we keep both?”

“Can’t think why not,” the foreman replied.

Long Hand took Malik’s elbow and said, “While they’re doing that, can we talk? In private?”

Long Hand led the way down the track, away from the tunnel and the men and activity there.

With a glance back toward the tunnel, Long Hand, now changing to a slower pace, said, “My brother and I know you came under suspicion after that union agitator disappeared. We are also confident that there will never be a trace of him found again.”

Malik gave Long Hand a quizzical look.

The Sonora went on: “When we were growing up, we heard stories of your father’s justice from Broken Nose, who admired your father greatly. Later, we heard of you riding with your father, and of the bad men never heard from again. And we know of the bad men from the Jackson County sheriff’s office who died or disappeared.”

Malik was shaking his head, but nearly imperceptibly and he looked down at the ground.

Long Hand stopped and turned to Malik. “Shadow, my brother and I can make Vandeventer disappear if he is still around, or if he comes around again. You will be in Waypoint when it happens. We know of a deep ravine near Jackrabbit Spring...,” Malik’s head swung up in shocked surprise, “ ... that is cut off from a newer flow channel. It would prove a dependable place to bury a body. The only men who go in that area are the occasional patrolling Sonora deputy marshals seeking water at Jackrabbit Spring. And, if they happened to ride on past the spring, only the most experienced eye would note the unusual erosion pattern on that arroyo’s bank. Even then, only the most curious would care to find out its cause. It was a coincidence beyond imagining.”

Some three years prior, Malik and Cowboy Tsosie had buried five men and four horses in a ravine about a mile from the intermittent Jackrabbit Spring. Those men had set up an ambush for Malik and Gabriela Lestly, who later was to wed Malik. Malik, Cowboy, and Gabriela had gotten the drop on the erstwhile sheriff’s posse and killed them all.

“Long Hand, I--”

“You should have no concerns, Shadow. We know of the murders of your friends, of the attacks on you and others, of the plans to defile and enslave your women. Nathan Ulney has spoken of that time in Jackson County, how the county government was rotten and reaching to steal everything of value, including the Sonora reservation, and killing those who got in their way. We know there was no justice because they were protected by a powerful man in Washington. We understand. As men we understand. As Sonora, we understand even better.

“You are helping us. You are helping the Chinese. Men come to kill you and your friends because you help us. Let us help you, now.”

“Long Hand, I cannot be more gratified to have your friendship than I already am. It is not necessary for you to do this. It would be a danger to you for the rest of your life.”

“Shadow, we do it for ourselves and for the People, too. These men bring the worst of the white man way of life to our home. They make explosions, and set fires, and kill people in our village. We have even fewer ways to obtain justice than you did.”

Malik stood, face-to-face with Long Hand, looking into his eyes. A long moment passed. Finally, he nodded once and said, “No one, absolutely no one, not a wife, not a son, not the chief, not the shaman, not the man who saves your life, no one must ever know, save for you and Stream-In-Winter. The urge to tell the story to someone will arise, and it will arise more than once, but the secret must remain hidden, with never a hint to anyone, no matter how close they are to you. If nothing else, the knowledge would also burden them, or increase their risk. Never. The knowledge must die with you, as it will with me.”

“We know this, Shadow.”

“And if it is too risky, then let it go. It is not worth losing either of you to have this done.”

“We understand this, Shadow. Some degree of risk cannot be eliminated, but we will not act in unfavorable conditions.”

Malik held out his right arm and the men clasped forearms, while each gripped the other man’s shoulder.

Malik and his prisoner arrived at Kylie Junction, along with the five dead bodies, in plenty of time to flag down the southbound.

The prisoner had been identified as Arnold Samuel Whitby, also known as Dub Whitby, at his earlier arraignment for the assault at Baylor’s store in Waypoint. Malik explained that he was unlikely to get bail this time, as he had left Jackson County against the court orders from the earlier hearing. Moreover, since the curve of the track where Malik and Long Hand had concealed themselves was on reservation land, and since he had fired on federal marshals, both federal offenses, he would be arraigned in the federal court at Fort Birney. Malik made no mention of the sabotage, as he was uncertain of the jurisdiction for the attempt to blow up the railroad tunnel nor were there any surviving witnesses to Whitby’s part in that crime. Even so, the man had said nothing to Malik since shouting his surrender.

He brought the man to Dorado Springs where the thug was housed in the Sonora County jail. Nathan Ulney had already notified the federal court in Fort Birney that they had a prisoner and the court had assured them a marshal would arrive the following day.

Malik went from the jail directly to the small camp, near the new Spa, where the three Chinese laborers had been attacked. While one man had been killed, the other two had escaped with only minor injuries. As it turned out, the dead man had attempted to throw the stick of dynamite and it had blown off his arm and shoulder. His body shielded the others from the blast but the man had bled out within minutes, the nature of the injury preventing any sort of tourniquet from being applied. Both of the survivors were planning to relocate to the railroad work camp at Kylie Junction.

The other explosion had blown out the front corner of the hotel, causing a portion of both the second floor and the roof to collapse. Again, the building was adobe and repairs could be made without a great deal of trouble.

Both detonations had occurred shortly after ten o’clock Saturday night. No one had witnessed the perpetrators. Vandeventer had been playing cards in a saloon at the time

Both of Malik’s cars had been set afire while most folks were attending to the aftermath of the explosions. No one saw who did that, either. Both cars were mostly destroyed, from the end where each had joined the other. The bunk room and most of the center cabin and the furnishings were beyond salvage. The floor locker under the bottom bunk had remained intact and Malik’s personal belongings, including his moccasins and his stealth clothing, had survived the fire. Since joining the partnership, he had returned most of his files and books to the office on Courthouse Avenue, only carrying documents that were necessary for his trips. Since this trip was not for purposes of his law practice, he had not carried any irreplaceable documents.

Morton Quincy walked up while Malik was going through the locker under the bunk. “What do you think, Emil? Will you have it repaired?”

Malik finished wrapping everything salvageable into a bundle and he stood up. “I don’t think so. It was a war surplus item and I bought it at auction for a very good price. I’d never have bought it for what it would have cost new. And that’s what repairing it would cost. Besides, railroad cars have gotten much longer in the intervening years and they deliver a more comfortable ride.” He jumped down and turned to look at the charred remnants. “But, I don’t know. It was darned convenient, and my partners like the idea of a wider clientele base, so I really can’t say, right now. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Was it insured?”

“No. Insurers viewed it as a private railroad coach, which it was, I suppose, just not one of the deluxe rolling palaces they usually are called upon to insure. In any event, the premiums were exorbitant.”

“Would the railroad be liable for the replacement? The damage occurred while the car was in their custody. But I suppose it always is, since it’s a railroad car.”

“That’s a good point; I hadn’t even thought about liability. But I doubt I’d press them for it. They’ve been more than generous in other ways.” He looked at Quincy. “I’ll have to think about it when I can have some quiet time to reflect. Maybe on my ride out to the Flat Grass Valley.” He smiled. “It might be fun to argue about it with Raul.”

“You’re going out to see the Tsosies?.”

“I want to talk to the lunch counter sisters, first, but if they’re not interested in managing the Spa, then I’ll see if Mockingbird might be.

“Which reminds me: have you seen Les Toomey? I’m supposed to meet with him today.”

“I saw Sage and Juniper over at the lunch counter at breakfast. In fact, that looks like them headed over here, now.”

By suppertime, Malik had made the rounds.

Both Juniper and Sage thought that Mockingbird and Stands-to-Cougar might be amenable to a job at the new Spa. They, themselves, realized there were siblings, cousins, and another generation coming along that could work the ranch.

Juniper said, “It’s different without Cowboy. I’m not sure what it was. Maybe those Appaloosas, I don’t know. The ranch somehow isn’t, ah ... what am I trying to say here, Sage?”

“It doesn’t feel as special, or even as homey as it did,” Sage said. “It’s like there was something, oh ... magic about it that just isn’t there anymore. I don’t mean real magic, I mean more, like the spirit has gone out of it.”

“Part of that may just be growing up, fellas,” Malik commented. “Adult responsibilities and losses take the shine off lots of things.”

None of the lunch counter sisters were interested in anything beyond the food service at the Spa, though they were agreeable to supervising the dining room, too. Malik wrote a memorandum to Joe Collins, to be carried in the next day’s railroad express, advising him that, in keeping with their prior discussion, the first of the sisters would arrive for a training tour on Tuesday.

He had lunch with Les Toomey. The Doña Anna’s general manager told Malik that they would be completing the spring round-up, in stages, by the end of the month.

“We should have the sale herd ready by June first,” Toomey said, “and I have a contract for up to three hundred head. This year we’re selling to a new packer, up in Fort Birney. He’s shipping carcasses in ice-packed cars direct to the east coast. And we’re getting a dime better a pound than we did last year.”

“Still going to cut and brand the calves on May thirty-first?”

“It’s a Doña Anna tradition. We’ll take a rest on June first, then start the drive on the second. The spring grass should still be good, so I’ll move ‘em down here slow. I’ve ordered cars for the sixth, though, if the grass is good, I might hold ‘em ‘til the seventh. The Tsosies plan to bring their herd in on the tenth. We always keep our herd south of the main trail so that their herd can have the grass on the north side.”

Malik said, “I had been planning to ride back with you, just to say howdy to the crew, but this latest round of violence has put the kibosh on that. I still have to go out to the Flat Grass, but I likely won’t head out there ‘til Monday. There’s a remote chance I might swing over to the Doña Anna, but don’t count on it.”

“Well, we’d be glad to see you, even though you’d have to put up with Sage’s cooking,” Toomey said. Sage and Juniper were eating lunch with them.

“Which is the real reason I probably won’t come by.” Malik responded, successfully suppressing a grin. “But that reminds me: Wren has been signed on at the Malik ranch as a regular employee, so she won’t be returning to the Doña Anna.”

“Yeah, we kind a’ figured as much, what with the babies an’ all. Them little critters seem to have a draw women folk can’t resist. We’ll miss her smile, that’s for certain. An’ I’ll damn sure miss her cookin’,” Toomey said, grinning at Sage.

Sage said, “For you, boss, when we get back, I’ll make my special horse-apple pie.”

Malik had supper with Nathan Ulney and his wife. Afterward, the men sat on the front porch while Mrs. Ulney finished up in the kitchen. Ulney had lit a pipe and Malik was smoking a Guardia Real, his last, as the supply he’d brought had been lost in the fire.

“Lonegan’s comin’ down,” Ulney informed Malik. “Says he’ll be here tomorrow. I figured we’d wait to confront Vandeventer until he can join us. We’ll dazzle ‘im with our badges.”

“Has Vandeventer done anything remarkable since last night?”

“No. Even when everybody else ran out of the saloon to see what the commotion was, he stayed in there. Switched to playing solitaire, the barkeep said. Didn’t leave until closing time. He’s been over at the stable most of today. Had lunch with the manager, that Alva Dudek.”

“Well, he sure established his alibi.”

“There was a couple rough lookin’ birds got on the northbound, this morning, One a’ my deputies thinks they came in on Friday.”

“Anyone see them with Vandeventer?”

“Not that anyone noticed. It was for sure he didn’t see ‘em off at the train this mornin’.”

At the sheriff’s office, the next morning, a warm Sunday, both Malik and Ulney were sipping coffee, marking time until Lonegan arrived.

A small boy, barefoot and breathless, knocked on the frame of the open door. “Sheriff Ulney?” he gasped, holding out a folded sheet of foolscap.

Malik, who had had his chair leaned back against the wall and his booted feet up on another chair, dropped his boots and chair square on the floor. Ulney leaned forward over his desk and said, “Butch? What’ve you got there? Come on in, son.”

The boy trotted over to Ulney’s desk and dropped the folded flimsy on it. “Message from Mister Sanchez, over at the train station.”

As Ulney was unfolding the note, he was also reaching into his trousers’ pocket. That hand fetched out two pennies, which he slid across to the young messenger, while, at the same time, he glanced at the message. “Thanks, Butch,” Ulney said, as he lifted his fingers from the pennies. “There’ll be no response.”

With a big smile, Butch took the coins from the desk top, said, “Thanks, Sheriff,” and left at a run.

Ulney waved the note in the air. “Jesus Sanchez says Vandeventer just bought a ticket for Fort Birney, with connections to Galveston on the Santa Fe.”

As the two men looked up at the Regulator clock hanging on the wall, there was the mournful wail of a distant steam locomotive whistle. Both men got quickly to their feet, each grabbed a shotgun, and, already wearing their hats, they headed through the door. Outside, they hurried across the plaza in the direction of the railroad depot.

“How do you want to handle this?” Ulney asked.

“Let’s just arrest him on suspicion of aiding and abetting a felony.”

“And what’ll we do with him? Don’t forget, Whitby’s already in the cells. Do we want them together?”

Malik was thoughtful for a moment as they walked. “We’ll tell him Whitby’s implicated him. I’ve a feeling Whitby’s seen the inside of more jails than churches, and I’ll bet Vandeventer may never have been in a jail before. Let’s see what happens. We won’t be any worse off than we are now, in any event.”

They found Vandeventer on the platform, a large carpet bag in one hand. He was looking down the track toward the approaching train and didn’t see Malik and Ulney come upon him from behind.