Chapter 15

Sunday, February 25, 1894

With little breeze, and the sun shining brightly overhead, Christina decided to have a combined breakfast luncheon on the courtyard patio. The fountain had been turned off for the winter, and the flower beds were under straw mulch, but otherwise, the courtyard still had its chairs and tables scattered about. Except, now there was, In one corner, a tall A-frame apparatus supporting a beam that stretched across an eight-foot span to a similar A-frame. The beam supported two wooden boards, each slung from a pair of long ropes. As the families entered the courtyard, the children ran toward that corner.

“What is that contraption?” Malik asked his brother.

“Just watch,” Andy said.

And, soon enough, the two six year-olds, Andy and Christina’s son Luke, and Matilda’s daughter, Emily, were the first to reach the swings, much to the chagrin of five-year-old Paul, who came in a close third. Luke and Emily sat on the polished planks, pushed off, and began shifting their bodies forward and back in order to increase their arc.

Meanwhile, Aspen, the youngest of the six year-olds, walked sedately to the kitchen door, entered therein, and returned promptly with an egg timer in a protective wooden framework. She turned the full side up and set the glass timer on a table, in view of the swings.

Then Aspen went to stand next to Paul and said quietly to him, “Let’s let the little ones go next, and we’ll go last. Maybe the others will go play somewhere else and we can swing longer.” Paul looked up at her, sporting a grin. Aspen winked at her brother.

As they walked over, Malik asked, “And the egg timer?”

“If anyone is waiting, the first turn is for three minutes. Then subsequent turns are for six minutes. Let’s you and me push Gunnar and Robin when it’s their turn.”

“Gunnar and Robin? Can those two hold on? Won’t they...? Oh. Hence the sand.” They had arrived at the swings and the several inches of construction sand that had been spread underneath the contrivance became apparent.

“They’ve learned how to hold on, now that they’ve had some practice. They’ll yell to go higher, but keep your eye on me. I manage to grab hold of their upper legs and the seat at the same time, and I lift it over my head, as if to swing them from that height. That’s usually all the thrill they need, and I actually release the swing at a lower point. You’ll see.”

Later, as they sat for the meal at a long folding table that had been set up, and with the children adding to the cheerful clamor, Beatrice said to Malik, “Could we retire out here?”

“You mean at Ranch Home, rather than Paris or Vienna?”

“No, I’m serious. Who ever said anything about Europe, anyway?”

“So, you like it out here?”

“It’s so peaceful.”

“You call this peaceful?” Malik raised his eyebrows and looked around at the laughing children and several competing adult conversations, the warm sounds of family echoing from the courtyard walls.

“We won’t always be up to our necks in toddlers and youngsters,” Beatrice retorted.

“Unless you want to anticipate grandchildren.”

She smiled and said, “We won’t be counting chickens before they hatch, either, especially not decades before the eggs are even laid.”

“So, what are you thinking?”

“I think we should build a house out here.”

“On the ranch? We already have the cabin by the rio.”

“No, I mean a home here, in the village.”

“Another house? We already have three, if you count the cabin by the river.”

“Well, I don’t count it. The cabin’s fine for a few days, but it’s too rough, and it still uses an outhouse. So, no, I don’t count it.” The brothers had finally decided to take a different approach with the Riverside cabins, in contrast to the luxuries of the Hacienda Spa in Dorado Springs. They chose not to provide running water or flush toilets at the vacation cabins. Water was available in each at a hand pump at the kitchen counter, which pump was located next to a large kitchen sink. The sink drained into a dry well. Nor did the cabins have electricity. A large copper tub was provided for bathing, but the water had to be heated on a coal stove. More modern amenities had seemed to contrast too sharply with the natural setting.

But now, Andy said, “Why not build another hacienda, like this one?”

“Where?” Malik asked. “This is a pretty large structure, what with the courtyard.”

“Right off the plaza, on the east side of the northeast corner. We’d be neighbors.”

“You’re not saving that for commercial use?”

“Heck, no. I don’t want any businesses closer than Matilda’s bakery. You can use most of what’s vacant, and it’ll still leave enough space to build a house for Jacob and Hannah, closer to the bakery.”

“If we build something like this, there won’t be much space left.”

“That’s fine. They don’t want something very big.”

“But what about Matilda?” Malik asked.

Matilda said, “Dick and I want to build a second floor on the bakery, and live there.”

“Is that enough space?”

Schroeder said, “If not, we can expand off the back of the bakery.”

Malik seemed taken aback. “Geez,” he groused, “I go away for a few days, and everything gets changed.”

Beatrice laughed. “You’re just not used to having someone else make the plans.”

With a big grin, Andy said, “You do seem to lose your appetite when the pie being served is one you haven’t had your fingers in.”

“Are you suggesting I always have to be in control?”

“No, big brother, of course I’m not suggesting that. I mean to declare it.”

Christina smiled kindly and said, “Don’t feel too bad, Emil. Just about every adult at the table suffers from the same malady. The only one who seems not to be infected is Matilda, who is serene no matter the uncertainties.”

“I only look serene,” Matilda replied.

Andy took some cigars out of his pocket and handed one to his brother, seated across from him, and another to Schroeder. Accepting the cigar, Malik said, “Serenity is a trap. It’s Mother Nature’s way of lulling you into thinking everything’s alright. But everything is never alright. Something untoward is always happening, it’s just that you don’t know about it yet.”

Frowning, Christina asked, “When did Shadow become so cynical?”

“I’ve always been cynical, or at least since I was fifteen or so.” Manuela Malik, the Malik brothers’ mother, had been killed that year, during a bandit raid on the ranch.

“Well,” Andy said, “you sure seem grumpier about it these last few years.”

Malik, woefully shaking his head, said, “I must be getting older as I age.”

(Sunday, February 25, 1894)

Monday, March 19, 1894

With the junior college buildings at Waypoint already hosting the law enforcement school, and the tent cabin village near the Ten Mile Canyon dam nearing completion, some of the construction crews had been shifted to the next site on the list, at Wickenburg, on the Arizona Southern Division, where the next college was to be built. It was to that division that Malik, Peng, Dixie Yeats, and Frank Tremaine, had traveled, arriving at Prescott Junction early on the morning of a Monday in mid-March.

Awaiting them was the K&ASR stationmaster, Raphe Higgins, and Kanzona Police Sergeant Maeve Johnson. Johnson was thirty-one, a tall, rawboned woman with a face scarred by the smallpox that had taken her husband and infant daughter. Her husband had been a sheriff’s deputy assigned to Tyson’s Wells, a remote but important hamlet in the Arizona Territory’s Yuma County. Before her daughter was born, Maeve would often assist her husband in his duties, and both became known to the Kanzona police, as the railroad maintained an untended, covered waiting platform and water tower at Tyson’s Wells. She went to work for the Kanzona after her family died.

Johnson, as second-in-command of the Division’s law enforcement contingent, was assigned to supervise the office at the north end of the branch. She and Higgins waited on the station platform as Malik and the others disembarked.

“Maeve,” Malik said to the stern-faced woman as he reached for her hand. “Raphe, good to see you,” he added, nodding to the dapper man who stood several feet away, watching both Malik and the activity on the station platform.

“Sir,” Johnson said, “there’s been some trouble. The northbound was robbed last evening. The telegraph line had been cut in three places, so we didn’t get word until the train arrived. Our conductor, Marty Jacobs, was killed and the passengers were robbed. A few were roughed up. One young women was rather badly mauled by one of the robbers, the same man who stabbed Marty.”

Tremaine said, “Jacobs was stabbed to death?”

Johnson switched her focus to Tremaine and, nodding ruefully, said, “Yes, Inspector. The man had a pistol, but he also had a large Bowie knife. He stabbed Marty in the upper part of his stomach. Witnesses said Marty died right away.”

“What county was it?” Tremaine inquired.

“Mojave.” (mo-HAH-vay)

Malik asked, “Did Jacobs have family?”

“A wife. She knows,” Johnson replied.

“Where does she live?”

“Here, over in Seligman.”

Tremaine asked, “Has the sheriff mounted a posse?”

“The sheriff’s down in Mojave, the county seat. Wire’s still down to there. There’s a deputy named Braddock has an office up here. He wants to ride down on the southbound, take a horse car along, and a few men.”

“Where exactly was this?”

“North of Wickenburg Junction, on a long grade called Six Mile Hill.”

Tremaine said, “Six Mile Hill? That sounds familiar.”

Malik said, “You might’ve heard stories. Wayne DeWitt, who had your job until he was killed, once had a run-in with a gang of train robbers on Six Mile Hill, when he was an Arizona Ranger.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. Moira told me that story. Did this bunch grease the tracks?”

“No,” Johnson said. “They threatened to shoot the locomotive boiler full of holes.”

“How many of them were there?”

“Seven or eight, we’re not sure.”

Peng asked, “Can anyone identify them?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnson said. “Each of the train crew got a good look at one or two of them. And there was a Pinkerton agent on board. He says he knows who one is.”

Tremaine said, “A Pinkerton, huh? Did he say what his business was?”

“He said he was looking for one of the men he saw in the robbery, the man who knifed Jacobs and molested the girl. He’s a robber that’s hit the Santa Fe and the UP with a another gang.”

“Not the same gang?”

“No. The Pinkerton says all the members of that other gang are dead or in prison. This man, this Haney Fitts, was the last of them.”

“Haney Fitts, huh? Does this Pinkerton have a name?”

“O’Rourke, Riley O’Rourke.”

“Where was he during the robbery?”

“He walked out of the privy unawares, and right into the guns of two of the gang. He cussed them a blue streak and got pistol whipped for his trouble.”

“Bad luck,” Tremaine said, shaking his head.” Then, after a moment, he asked, “Who’s in the posse?”

“Sheriff’s deputy and three other temporary deputies, me and four of our railroad officers, and O’Rourke, the Pinkerton.”

Tremaine said, “Well, reckon I’ll ride along.” A worried look came over Dixie’s face, but she gave no other sign of her concern.

Malik and Peng exchanged a glance. He said, “See if the sheriff can pick up another deputy or two. The railroad will stand the expense of the posse, including wages, horse rent, and food and feed supplies. Here, take these,” he added, handing Johnson four double-eagles. Also, fifty dollars for each member of the gang brought back alive, ten for them dead.”

“Where’ll you be, boss?”

“I want to visit Jacobs’ wido, today, Frank, and then I intend to be in Wickenburg a couple days. I’ll probably go down there later today.” Glancing at Higgins, he asked, “Do you have a crew bunk car in the yard?”

The stationmaster nodded. “Should be one there. Usually is, unless some major project is going on, and I don’t know of any such.”

“Then send along a bunk car and a couple stock cars. They can use it down there, if that’ll suit ‘em, rather than sleeping on the ground. Send ‘em with my crew as a special.”

“Your crew is due some rest, Mister Malik,” Peng said.

“Yeah, you’re right. Then put together a special from the yard an’ the extra board.”

Johnson said, “It’ll be almost as quick to join the southbound passenger train, and we won’t be adding to the timetable.”

“OK, do what best suit’s you.” Malik looked tired. He had been up late the previous evening discussing fiscal loss mitigation strategies with Dixie Yeats and then had slept poorly when he had retired.

After seeing off the posse with the southbound passenger consist, Peng convinced Malik to return to bed for a few hours, and he had a serious three-hour nap.

Just after eleven o’clock, he, Peng, and Yeats visited the Jacobs’ home for a condolence call on the widow. They took along a basket with half of a smoked ham, two smoked chickens, and a pound of smoked trout, along with a ten-pound sack of potatoes. As there were other friends of the family present, they declined the widow’s invitation to lunch. Before leaving, they did assure her of her husband’s pension benefit and that the road would cover all funeral expenses. As he took her hand on departure, Malik placed five twenty-dollar gold coins in her palm., and promised to attend the funeral on Wednesday.

Returning to the hired buggy, Malik instructed the driver to take them back to the Junction. He said to the two women, “If we’re to attend the funeral, we’ll have to go down to Wickenburg yet today.”

By four that afternoon, Malik was meeting with the college site’s construction supervisor, along with the college project developer, Barbara Matheson, chancellor Father Ignacio Ramos, and Francis Garity, the Arizona Southern Division Superintendent.

(Monday, March 19, 1894)

Tuesday, March 20, 1894

Malik had concluded his site review by the end of lunch. He had his coach coupled to the northbound passenger train, as he had already sent his locomotive and engine crew north in replacement of the disabled locomotive on the -- now bi-weekly--livestock express. Division Superintendent Garity joined Malik, Peng, and Yeats, as he planned to attend Marty Jacobs’s funeral. Frank Tremaine was still with the posse, in pursuit of the train robbers.

Some twenty-five minutes out of Wickenburg Junction -- Wickenburg itself was not on the main line, but connected by what was, originally, a mine spur -- the train had slowed as the locomotive pulled for the summit of Six Mile Hill. Peng, who had stationed herself on the coach’s platform, came striding quickly back into the parlor.

Pausing only momentarily, she said to Malik, “There are riders along the track,” and she proceeded directly to their cabin. As Malik rose, he asked Garity, “Are you armed?”

“I’ve a thirty-eight pistol.” Garity replied, tapping the left side of his suit jacket.

“C’mon, then. What did you bring, Dixie?”

“A thirty-two, a double-barreled sixteen gauge, and a Yellow Boy.” Yeats’s Winchester model 1866 “Yellow Boy,” so named for the golden tint of its alloy receiver, was a rifle she had treasured since receiving it on her twelfth birthday.

“Best get ‘em, then,” he said to her. Turning to Garity, he asked, “Francis, do you prefer a rifle or a coach gun?” as he followed Peng toward their compartment.

“Ah, I’m pretty handy with a rifle.”

Peng had pulled a drawer out from under the bed in which were affixed several long guns, both rifled and shotguns. Malik drew out a Winchester Model 1873 from the rack and handed it to Garity, following that with a box of shells. He then retrieved a Winchester Model 1892 rifle and a corresponding box of forty-four-forty center fire cartridges. Peng, in the meantime, had unlimbered her Mauser and was in the process of stringing her bow.

Both had been traveling in comfortable dungarees and cotton flannel shirts., so it was only a matter of pulling on some heavy work jackets and stuffing the pockets with cartridges.