Chapter 28

Saturday, November 28, 1891

As they approached the Halfway Wash way station, Malik said, “Want some hot coffee? They ought to have some on, here.” It was a few minutes after seven o’clock and the sun was just cresting the eastern horizon. The temperature was thirty-six degrees and they had been riding for two hours.

“You’ve convinced me. Is this place part of your operation?”

“The ranch, yeah. They change the mules here on our stage coaches, give folks a comfort break. Let’s put the horses in the stable, loosen the cinches, give them some oats. We’ll only be here ten minutes.”

A young hostler came out the door of the substantial adobe building nearby to the stable. “Is that you, Mister Malik? We’ve been watchin’ for you.”

“You fellas got some coffee going?”

“We’re on our second pot. Here, let me get the horses for you.”

“Just give them a little oats, Ernesto. We’re only stopping for a few minutes.”

“I’ll loosen the cinches, throw a blanket over ‘em, and get ‘em some water, too.”

“Thanks Ernesto.”

“Crackers has a message for you, Mister Malik.”

“Okay, thanks.”

They were greeted again as they entered the way station proper, where a coal stove had the interior comfortably warm.

“Hey, Mister Malik. Want some coffee?” the short, middle-aged man known as “Crackers” asked. “Two mugs, comin’ up. And are you Texas Ranger Sergeant Dick Schroeder?”

“I am.”

“I’m to tell you to stop at the train depot for an urgent telegram.”

“Did they say what it was about?”

“Sorry, Ranger, they’re not allowed to pass messages that way.”

“No, I’m sorry for askin’. I know the rules. My mouth just got ahead of me there.”

Crackers handed him the mug of coffee, “Here, punish that mouth with some of this hot java.”

Malik said, “Crackers, didn’t you just do three years at the state prison in Arabola for your coffee?”

“I was framed, Mister Malik. I swear, that was dishwater with some coffee grounds in it.”

Schroeder, after taking a sip of the coffee, said, “So what’s the problem? This tastes pretty good.”

Crackers shook his head despondently and said, “Yeah, that’s because Ernesto made it. When I make it, it tastes like dishwater.” All three men laughed.

Ernesto came in the door at that moment. “What ya’ laughin’ at?”

Crackers said, straight faced, “They’re laughing at your coffee, Ernesto. I told you that you put in too much garlic.”

Malik said. “We were laughing at the notion that Crackers got time off for good behavior.”

Schroeder ran his finger under the flap and tore the envelope open. He pulled out the message and read.

“Oh, this doesn’t sound like a good idea at all,” he mumbled as he read it a second time. He looked up at Malik. “State Congressman Ogilvie wants me to go down to Junction City and meet with Sam Webber and ‘brief’ him.”

“Is Ogilvie...?”

“Yeah, the Speaker of the House from Webber’s district.”

“Is he in your chain of command? Can he give you orders you have to follow?”

“No. For a while, he took an interest in my career, but has had a change of heart.

“In any event, I work for the administrative branch, not the legislative. But, if I don’t do his bidding, he’ll raise hell for the Rangers.”

“Can you wire your company for instructions?”

“I plan to, but I’ll guarantee that no one in my chain of command will be available to respond to my query until after I’ve done whatever it is I decide to do. Then they’ll jump onto whichever bandwagon is playing the loudest.”

“Well, it’s an hour-and-a-half before the southbound gets here.”

“Let me wire my officers and then I’ll talk to Sheriff Edwards.”

“He said he’d meet you at our law office. You can talk upstairs in the conference room. The offices are mostly empty on a Saturday.”

An hour later, Sean Edwards took Malik aside and whispered, “He reminds me so much of my little brother that it’s scary.”

Malik, sotto vocé, replied, “Now that you mention it, that’s probably why I’ve liked him from the start.” Sheriff Edwards younger brother, Bill, had been Jackson County’s chief deputy when Noah Williams was the sheriff. In 1887, Bill had been shot down in cold blood, in Waypoint, by two assassins sent by the gang leader known as Martin Doyle. Bill had clung to life for nearly thirty hours before succumbing to his wounds. Eventually, Malik killed the two assailants in a gun battle.

“So?” Malik asked. “Did you hire him?”

Edwards smiled and nodded. “He starts January second. He and Tony will be under-sheriffs and will change off town and rural supervising every month.”

“Have you determined how you’ll arrange things?”

“I figure pretty much how we first talked about it. Tony will be senior, but not Dick’s supervisor. They will both report to me. The deputies will switch off duties, too, but more of a round robin, so that, over time, everyone works with everyone else in both settings. The rural crew will have a deputy rotate through Ranch Home a week at a time.”

“That sounds good to me,” Malik admitted.

“The town levy passed with sixty-eight percent in favor. I want to make sure people get their money’s worth.”

Malik looked at a clock on the wall and said, “We need to get Dick down to the train station.” Then, to Schroeder, he called, “Sergeant, are you done flirting with our receptionist? Your train will be here in ten minutes.” The ‘receptionist’ was Mrs. Lee-Chang Cheng, a married, fifty-three-year-old grandmother who was, in fact, one of the accountants. She had pulled a turn at Saturday morning duty and was sitting at the reception desk.

“I’ll have you know that Missus Lee-Chang was telling me about the Kuiper Boarding house,” Schroeder responded, in mock indignation. “But I reckon I do need to get going.”

At the depot, the Ranger asked if he’d received any telegrams, but there were none.

“What did I tell you?” he said to Malik. “I even sent one to the governor, who’s at the top of my command chain. They all know the Rangers should have no truck with Sam Webber, but none of them want to go against Speaker Ogilvie. Instead, they leave a Ranger sergeant holding the bag.” He shook his head, a disgusted grimace on his face. “Well, I’d better go down to Junction City, just to see what Webber’s up to. This should be real interesting.”

The three could hear the train whistle, as it started warning the several grade crossings on the north side of town. Schroeder picked up his leather valise and walked out onto the platform. Malik and Edwards followed along.

As they stood waiting, Malik produced a couple cigars and slipped them into Schroeder’s shirt pocket. “To remind you of your new home,” he said. “I’ll order you a box of thirty for January. After that, you’re on your own.”

“Geez, thanks.” Then he turned to Edwards, “Hey, boss, I need a raise.”

Edwards scoffed, “First it’s fancy cigars, next you’ll be wanting your own private railroad coach. I can see you’ve been running with a bad crowd.”

On a serious note, Malik said, “It doesn’t make sense that Sam Webber came all the way to Arenoso just to hear your description of the twins’ trial.”

Schroeder replied, “I figure he stayed away from the trial because he knew he’d be implicated by the testimony. But his coming here, now, sure doesn’t bode well.”

Malik shrugged, saying, only half joking, “Maybe he plans to break the twins out of jail, before they’re transferred to Arabola.”

“Or something,” Schroeder said. As the train pulled into the station, he added, “I reckon I’ll soon find out. I hope he doesn’t expect me to help him in something like that.”

“He might. You’d best be cautious in what you say. He might not take kindly to being told no.”

Edwards, looking toward the arriving passenger coaches, said, “Oh-oh, the plot thickens: Connor Lonegan’s on the train.”

The others looked to see Lonegan step down from the second coach, followed by Deputy Marshals Leo Trombley and Bill Goodson, each man with a travel bag. Lonegan looked grim.

After the men shook hands in greeting, Lonegan explained. “Judge Westcott signed a material witness warrant for Sam Webber after the trial. I sent a wire notifying Marshal Proctor, in San Antonio. He wired back that Webber and eleven men, including a few former Rangers, were headed this way for some sort of mischief. Moreover, Proctor says Webber had the Pinkertons write up a report about you, Emil. You can draw your own conclusions.”

“Well, hell,” Malik said.

Lonegan looked at Schroeder, and, with a note of uncertainty, even suspicion, he asked. “What’s your interest in this, Sergeant?”

Schroeder shook his head. “To get the hell out of it, as soon as possible. But if I want my last paycheck, I need to play along for a few more days.”

“Last paycheck?” Lonegan looked puzzled.

Edwards said, “He’s going to be working for me, come January second. Meet one of our new under-sheriffs.”

Lonegan shook his head. “So, you’re quittin’ the Rangers?”

“Because of crap like this. I’m supposed to go down to Junction City and brief Webber.”

“Brief him? About what?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, but I’d put money on Emil Malik being one of the topics.”

Jimmy McGillycuddy, the conductor, came and stood nearby. Malik turned to him. “I know we’re gumming up your schedule, Jimmy. But come here and talk with us. You might end up involved.”

“It’s not critical on a Saturday, Mister Malik,” McGillycuddy allowed. “Traffic’s light and we’ve no real schedule conflicts. Besides, both north- and southbound wait to pass at Kylie Junction.”

Lonegan asked, “Why might he be involved? Are you thinking of a plan, already?”

“I don’t have to. We’ve already done it, several times. Micah Spring.”

“An’ you mean tomorrow’s northbound, then?” McGillycuddy asked.

“Yes,” Malik said. You’ll be on that trip, won’t you.”

“Ay, it’s my return trip.”

Lonegan was nodding. “So you isolate his group in the rear car, then drop it at the Micah water tank.

McGillycuddy said, “Fine, fine, then. I’ll separate the other passengers as they load, an’ I’ll make sure the couplin’ pin’s greased, so it won’t be resistin’ at the wrong moment.”

Malik said, “Exactly, Jimmy.”

Then he turned to Schroeder. “Dick, we’ll communicate through Jimmy, here, so you won’t have to receive any wires that you can’t explain. He’ll point out Micah Spring when you pass it, this afternoon. It’s not a regular stop any more, but it still has a water tower and it’s isolated. A confrontation there won’t endanger any innocent bystanders. It’s where we took on the Rangers when Rusty McInerney was killed.

“How we’ll work this is that we’ll be hidden when the train arrives. If all goes well, then Jimmy will have Webber’s group isolated in the rear car. He’ll pull the coupler pin and the rear coach will be left behind. After the train pulls away, we’ll call to the coach, identify ourselves as US marshals and county sheriffs, and we’ll demand their surrender. If there’s any sense among them, that will be the end of it.

“I’d recommend you try to be on the forward coach when the train pulls away, then climb down and walk back after you’ve cleared the area. Ride at least to the wye switch. Just be careful if shots are being fired or they haven’t surrendered yet.

“Assuming Webber heads this way, tomorrow, we’ll go to Micah and set up in the morning. If he doesn’t take the train tomorrow, we’ll depend on Jimmy letting us know. We’ll wait at Dorado Springs depot for any last-minute messages, then head out about an hour before the northbound’s due at Micah. It’s about twenty minutes south of Dorado Springs.”

“Anything else?” Malik looked around at the other men. “Good enough, then. If we think of something else, we’ll wire Jimmy. Otherwise, your only job is to slip away with the train at Micah Spring.”

Schroeder said, “Then likely I’ll see you, tomorrow,” and he shook hands all around and got on the train.

Jimmy McGillycuddy called “All aboard,” then waved the go-ahead to the engineer.

By 4:15 that afternoon, Andy and Peng Yan had arrived, on horseback, from Ranch Home, and Sonora County Sheriff Nathan Ulney had been notified, by wire, of the pending action. The principles were gathered in the Lincoln Falls Loop, which was spotted on Malik siding number two, behind the Waypoint depot.

At 4:17 p.m., one of Nate Vargas’s messengers brought a telegram. Malik tipped him a generous nickel.

Reading the message form, Malik said, “It’s from Jimmy McGillycuddy.” He paused to read the body of the message.

Looking up, he said, “This bears attention. Peng, would you wake up Bill and Leo?”

“We’re up,” Trombley said, using his hand to rake his hair into some semblance of order. As he walked into the lounge. “Bill’s in the can.” Another service from the Nate Vargas crew was a twice-daily replacement of the catch bucket in the privy; the bucket was used only when the car was spotted in place. When the coach was underway, the waste fell directly to the roadbed, as with all passenger coach and crew car privies on every railroad in the country.

Malik said, “Jimmy says that Webber is traveling in a private railroad coach. He says it has some unusual features. It appears to have steel sides and there are bars over the windows. He says the listed weight is nearly twice what he’d expect from a coach that size.”

“Sounds like it’s armored,” Lonegan observed.

“What’s armored?” Goodson asked, entering the lounge, currently set up with the dining table in place.

Trombley said, “The private railroad coach this yokel is traveling in.”

“Armored? Crap.” Goodson lamented.

Malik said, “Webber’s arranged for food, water, and ice deliveries in the morning, before departure, and they also have a stock car with their horses, which will be at the rear of the train.”

Andy said, “Depending on how that stock car is equipped, they could make a break on horseback.”

“We’d best plan as if they can,” Lonegan observed.

Malik asked, “Left to their own devices, what do you imagine their plan is?”

Andy said, “You mean, assuming they weren’t stopped or interfered with?”

“Precisely.”

There was no immediate speculation. After a few moments, Lonegan said, “They are a bit obvious, with a rig like that. And a dozen armed men galloping off in a cloud of dust would certainly draw attention.”

Andy: “Maybe they intend to attack your home here in town, Emil.”

Malik: “Then what? Re-board the private train cars and catch the southbound the next day? And then intimidate their way back to Texas?”

Andy: “Yeah, that wouldn’t be a very practical plan.”

Lonegan: “Maybe they plan to abandon the private cars. Ride back to Texas, fight off any posses.”

Andy: “Maybe if they had a battalion, that might work. But, even then, they’d have to face the army from Fort Bliss. And, besides, there’s only a dozen of them.”

Peng: “If they were trained warriors with specialized skills, even twelve could present a formidable fighting force.”

Andy: “But they’re not.”

Malik: “But maybe they think they are, at least in comparison to us lowly creatures who are not born and bred in Texas.”

Lonegan: “Could be. It wouldn’t be the first time we’d run into that attitude.”

Malik: “No, it wouldn’t”

Goodson: “What if they planned to steal a locomotive to get them back?”

Trombley: “How’s that supposed to work? All somebody’d have to do is switch them onto a spur.”

Malik: “But maybe they haven’t figured that out, either. I once had a man, who owned a large, successful business, ask me how we steered the locomotives. Even some smart people have no idea how a train works.”

Andy: “So you’re going to base your plan on these men being dumb?”

Malik shrugged. “You tell me what’s more likely: a brilliant strategy that will defeat two railroads, the US Marshals, and the US Army, executed by a dozen men a thousand miles from home, or an entirely inept plan to either punish me or break the twins out of jail, or both?”

Andy allowed, “Well, when you put it that --”

Peng, suddenly sitting up straight, said, “Or it could be a diversion.”

Lonegan: “What could be a diversion?”

Peng: “Everything we have been discussing regarding the use of the armored coach.”

Malik exclaimed, “Oh my god!” He reached for the telephone. “Could you connect me with the Malik hacienda at Ranch Home? It’s urgent.”

...

“Christina? It’s Emil. Is everything all right out there?

...?

“No, we’re fine. It’s just that we’re encountering some unexpected developments and one of them led us to the possibility that the ranch may come under attack by at least a dozen armed men.

...?

“With the intent to harm the family, we think.”

...

Andy: “Let me talk to her.

“Christina, it’s Andy.

...?

“I’m fine. We’re still here in Waypoint trying to figure this out.

...

“I want you to get Denis involved.

...

“Four things. First, alert Fu-chun at Summer Lake.

...?

“Because it’s more likely they’ll come from the south and have to cross the rio somewhere, either at the Lake Manuela dam or the railroad bridge by Summer Lake.

...?

“They could cross at Gravel Bar, but it seems more likely they’d want to stay farther away from town. But that doesn’t mean they won’t come from that way, or the north, either.

...

“Second, cancel our stagecoach runs, until this is resolved.

“Third, get everyone back to their homes and make sure they’re armed.

“Fourth, have Denis and them get at least two dozen men under arms to guard the place. Start with the single men.

...

“I’ll be out there as soon as I can.

Malik: “Tell her you’ll be out to Summer Lake with the Chen Niao as soon as possible.

Andy: “Emil’s going to arrange a special train to take me to the Summer Lake depot. I’ll see you in an hour or two. Take good care of everyone.

...

“I love you, too.

...

“Okay, bye.”

Malik tapped the receiver hook again. “Now I need the Sheriff’s office, please.

“Tony? It’s Emil Malik. Listen, we’ve developed some concerns about this group of Texans that could affect Waypoint. You and Sean might want to come down to the Lincoln Falls Loop and hear us out.