Rage of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page B

this car for . . . how long?”
    “We’re leaving the train at Kansas City, to take a river-boat to New Orleans,” Priscilla informed Smoke.
    Smoke turned to Sally. “That’s where we should be going, instead on to the East Coast,” he advised in an I-told-you-so tone. He continued his offer of peace. “Since we’re going to be together in this car for at least three days, we might as well make peace and get along as well as we can.”
    “Call me Priss.”
    “I’m Sally.” The two women smiled.
    Uncomfortably, Thomas Henning extended his hand. “Thomas, if you please.”
    “Smoke,” the most famous gunfighter in the penny dreadfuls responded.
    “ Aaaall abooooard! ” the conductor cried from outside. “Do you have more luggage?” Sally asked.
    “Jenkins has taken care of it,” Priscilla replied. “It should be in our compartment.”
    As though summoned by name, the butler, Jenkins, appeared from the door to one compartment. “Miss Priscilla, Mr. Thomas, I have taken the liberty of giving you the second compartment. That way there will be no one to either side of you.” He actually blushed at the implication of his words. “Mr. Jensen? Yours will be the one at this end, Number Four.”
    “Thank you, Jenkins,” Priscilla said, with all the polished casualness of those accustomed to dealing with servants. “If you will excuse us, we will go change to something more suitable for travel,” she told Smoke and Sally.
    Jenkins cleared his throat. “There will be champagne and hors d’oeuvres to celebrate the occasion in the parlor section in one hour.”
    “That . . .” Priscilla and Thomas exchanged glances. “Will be fine.”
    “Needn’t hurry on our account,” Smoke offered in an amused tone.
    One long and two shorts shrilled from the steam whistle of the locomotive to announce departure. The great driver wheels spun until trickles of sand gave proper traction. Then the space widened between cars as they stretched to the limit of their couplers. Another long and three shorts celebrated the entire chain of cars getting under way.
    Smoke and Sally entered their compartment and found it as opulent as the rest of the car. Wood-paneled walls with plush red-flocked wallpaper interspersed gave a rich glow to the room. All of the brasswork had been highly polished. A double set of facing seats would fold down into one bed, the other an overhead, swing-away model. Sally examined them and grinned impishly up at her husband.
    “I wonder how the newlyweds will handle this arrangement?” she asked mischievously.
    Smoke made a great show of offended sensibilities, eastern style. “You shock me. I never dreamed you could harbor such nasty thoughts,” he teased, then added, “For that matter, how are we going to get around it?”
    “We’ll manage,” Sally told him saucily.

    Once the train had slowly rolled through the heart of Denver and beyond its suburbs, it was literally all downhill to Ellsworth. The journey across the rolling prairie would take the rest of the day and much of the next afternoon to complete. Although named the Daylight Express, numerous water and coaling stops would eat into the time on the 396-mile journey. Also, there would be passenger stops at Limon and Stratton in Colorado, and at Goodland and Fort Hays in Kansas.
    With that thought in mind, Smoke and Sally Jensen returned to the parlor section of the private car shortly before the hour had passed. Before the happy couple put in an appearance, the conductor entered the car and came to Smoke.
    “Mr. Jensen, ye’ll pardon me for being blunt, sir. As it is, I happened to notice ye had boarded the train armed. Sure an’ that’s a comfort to me,” he added.
    Smoke made a puzzled frown. “Why’s that?”
    “Because I’m travelin’ armed this trip, also. The name’s Liam Quincannon, and though ’tis true I work for the Santa Fe, Colonel Drew had a quick word with me when we made arrangements for his car to be placed on