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Railroaded - WIP

C. D. Oakes

5/16/2014

Chapter 1.

The mountain air rang with the noise of steel on steel, and the babble of hundreds of voices. Some of them yelling loud and harsh and able to be heard a half-mile away, others raised and joined together in a song that was almost merry, as twin tracks of steel were laid down and spiked into place.  Ahead of the singing and spiking were other voices, quiet and sparse as crews of china-men built up the railway by piling earth ahead of the work crew and packing it down, then laying out measurements and rapidly placing thick slats of oiled lumber ties down just behind.  Although he’d grown used to both the labor songs and the quieter exchanges of Chinese over the last six months of working for the Union Pacific Railroad, Jimmy was still occasionally overwhelmed by the hodge-podge mix of clattering iron and the roar of so many voices mixed together.

        Today was even louder than usual.  There was an excitement about the work site, and folks were hustling, moving at an enlivened rate of speed not normally seen.  Today, the foreman had said, would be the day they finished and connect the railroad that had been started at one end in San Francisco, and the other end in Council Bluffs, Iowa, just across the Missouri River with large crews working both sides towards one another.  The great Transcontinental Railway, or Pacific Overland Route.  It had taken years, men had come and gone, many had quit.  Some had died and been left along the side of the railroad in shallow holes that were unmarked, and in two years’ time wouldn’t be able to be located again, even if the other workmen that had dug the holes and buried the fallen workers had a mind to go looking. Conditions were often terrible, and to men of lesser will and resolve, the entire project would appear insurmountable.

        As the sun started to set, Jimmy pushed his sand-colored and sweat-matted thatch of unruly hair out of his eyes and behind his ear.  This brief pause in the driving of railroad spikes with a hammer earned him a loud and surly curse from the foreman, who was striding back and forth next to the bustle of the railroad laying:

“If’n ya didn’t live like a complete and god-damned animal, you wouldn’t have to worry about shovin’ the fur out your eyes, would you, ya filthy mick?!  Now let’s go!  We’re quite nearly there!  I can see the Central Pacific boys coming over the hill now!”

The foreman strode on, already hollering at a group of workers that was taking longer than they should hauling iron tracks from the supply car behind up to the surveyors that were measuring and adjusting the wooden ties just in front of Jimmy’s group. The work team consisted of him and his bagman, who carried a large gunny-sack of steel spikes slung across his body and another duo doing the same job on the left-hand rail.  The bagmen would position the spike in a hole drilled through the steel and wood, at which point Jimmy would bring his 15 pound sledge down, driving the spike home, before moving on to the next.  It was tough work, and one didn’t just start off with the hammer.  When you arrived, you started by carrying steel rail on your shoulder with the hauling group.  If you were half-competent at that, you moved up to bagman, and after enough hammerers fell off, either by way of heatstroke or just plain quitting, you could move up, if one of the foremen gave you the nod.  There were even better jobs beyond that, but you’d have to have been working the rails a while, and had to be smarter than most as there were math and other calculations involved for surveyors and the like.

Young Jim was a thin boy of medium height, with a face covered in freckles and a nose that came to a point and gave him a bird-like look.  Fortunately, his hands were larger than normal and he had strong arms and shoulders, and could work for long stretches without breaks.  Today was tougher than any day he’d experienced before, and the bosses were driving everyone forward faster than he’d ever seen.  A typical day would see the rail workers complete between two and four miles a day, and here they’d already gone five!  He hammered away, but didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to keep up the hard pace.

At one point, he swayed forward and nearly hit his bagman.  The foreman caught on to the slowing and saw that Jimmy was swaying on his feet, starting to slip up.  The bearded and perpetually angry crew boss strode close, his right hand plucking Jimmy’s hammer from his hand, and his left grabbing the collar of his shirt and the back of his neck.   “By Christ boy, if you put one of my crew out of commission with your sloppy work I’ll have you lashed and put off the rail.  I’ve got no use at all for lazy, half-steppin’ Irish that can’t earn their keep”, he growled.  With that being said, he shoved Jimmy down the slope of the built-up track and was already yelling loudly for another hammerer.

Jimmy was able to keep his feet under him for the first couple of steps, but then stumbled and rolled the last couple of paces, landing in a bit of scrub creosote bush.  He didn’t have the energy to do anything for some time but lie there and try to catch his breath. As the noise of the work gang drove on ahead, fading from a roar to a dull rumble, he lay there feeling forlorn for not being able to keep up but filled with gratitude for the respite.

A quarter of an hour had passed when Jimmy felt a wet cloth on his forehead and a hand on his shoulder.  The cloth that would have felt refreshing under usual conditions was shocking to the touch in the heat of the spring day after hammering at full tilt for hours.  He nearly bolted upright and gasped, sucking in a breath.  His eyes flew open and fixed on an elderly looking Chinese man with a thin white moustache and beard.  It was Old Chen, the camp cook.  

Chen smiled serenely at him, offering a tin cup of water, he patted his shoulder again.  Jimmy wasn’t sure if Chen knew English or not, and had never heard him speak in English or ‘Celestial’, as some of the foremen referred to the Asian dialect that the Chinese workers used.

He offered Chen the best smile he could muster and took the cup of water.  He mouthed words of thanks, but nothing immediately comprehensible came forth.  Chen understood the appreciation being offered, gave Jimmy another pat then stood up.  He pointed a thin finger off to the west, gazing in the direction of the bustling work.

Jimmy rose to one knee, got his legs under him and got to his feet, shaky but fairly solid.  The resiliency of youth already kicking in and putting the long hours of the day’s hammering behind him.  He took in long swallows of the cool water while his gaze sought out the direction Chen was pointing.  The work crew had forged on ahead and gotten nearly two miles done while Jimmy had rested.  There were flatbed train cars stacked with steel rail and other supplies that had drawn alongside Jimmy and Chen now, with the iron carriers hopping up and handing the rail down to other men who positioned it on their shoulders and marched off with it, back to the front of the commotion.  They’d moved ahead surprisingly quickly, and to Jimmy, seemed to be picking up more speed as they went.  There was almost a tangible quality to the energy of the men.  Most days, there would be a good number of the rail workers that would seem slow or barely going, driven by the harsh words and shouts of the foremen.  Not today, though.  Today, everyone was moving faster, working harder.  It was a sight to behold, and it was difficult for someone watching to not be inspired by the sight and sound of it all.

Jimmy and Chen moved off towards the center of the commotion, the boy taking slow and hesitant steps to begin with, and transitioning to a slow trot as they neared the bustle of the workmen.  The bearded foreman that had shoved Jimmy earlier was still yelling over the din, his voice noticeably hoarse than it had been.

As they got closer, new sounds floated across the space from the west.  Chen pointed and Jimmy’s attention moved west, down the railroad.  The Union Pacific crew was less than two miles off now.  Looking back and forth it appeared that both crews were moving incrementally faster, and working at a near frenzy pace the closer they came to the center.  A large group was gathering all around of workmen that were either done with their tasks at the moment or taking a break from the heavy labor, and also of people that had come up from the nearby town of Promontory Summit in wagons, horseback and on foot.  The townies were cheering, and Jimmy saw a carriage with the Central Pacific Railroad logo on its side.  Even the fancy executives had started to arrive.  It wasn’t often that they emerged from their posh passenger cars and offices to look over the work.  They had rough men to ensure that the work was moving along as it should be who reported to them regularly.

As the two crews got within half a mile of one another things started to slow a bit.  The men actively working had wide smiles on their faces and glanced up to look down the stretch of tracks at the opposite crew.  Drawing closer still they started to call out and taunt one another, ebullient happiness worn plainly on tired and sweaty faces.  Even the red-cheeked and gruff foremen were yelling less now, and occasionally even let out a laugh or crack a smile.  Jimmy had never given any thought to what it meant for the great Overland Route to actually be completed.  He’d never bothered to imagine what it would be like, and to see happiness and even a bit of mirth emerge after such a brutal day of work was completely unexpected to him.  His face broke into a toothy grin as he watched the Central Pacific crew’s hammer-men move steadily towards the group approaching from the west. All the iron rail was in place now with the last measurements and adjustments being made.  The men with the hand-drills finished their work and stepped back, and all that was left now was the work of driving iron spikes.  As they neared the last one, two of the hammerers left off and stood back out of the way allowing the Central Union men the honor of driving the last few spikes and finishing this great task.

A foreman called out, “Whoa, whoa there boys!  Hold up!  Let’s just hold it right there, now.  Mister Stanford would like to have a look!  Let’s just stop right there, now!  Have a break!”

At this, a group of well-dressed men approached, followed by a tight throng of folks from the town and others who’d come out to see the completion of the line.  Jimmy guessed by their finery that they must be the owners, stock-holders and all other manner of executive rich types.  A photographer set up his camera and tripod while two gentlemen stood posing together in the middle of the tracks grasping each other’s hands as though greeting one another. Standing perfectly still, they gave toothy smiles and looked directly at the photographer.  The photographer ducked under a large black cloth that was attached to the back of the camera and said something that Jimmy couldn’t quite make out from his position in the noisome crowd.  A flashbulb popped, and the well-dressed men produced a golden rail spike and set it in place, both kneeling next to it.  Another pop of the camera and its apparatus was heard.  They then stood and stepped back, gesturing for one of the hammerers to go ahead and drive in the final spike.  Their man stepped up and did just that, driving the final golden spike and completing the Transcontinental Route.  The gathered crowd erupted into cheers, and folks laughed and called out.  Townies whistled and cheered and clapped the rail workers backs.  

Jimmy cheered loudly himself, and thumped old Chen jubilantly on the back.  Chen smiled broadly, his eyes twinkling with a happy satisfaction.  

In the center of the crowd, several of the foremen pried the golden spike back out of the rail, and handed it back to the men in their finery.  It was quickly replaced with a regular steel spike, and the cheering crowd began to surge back into the nearby town of Promontory Summit where the saloons were already  packed, and the sounds of a band playing could barely be heard over the ruckus of the celebratory masses, both townies and workers both, mixed together.

        Back in the workmen’s camp, there was singing and celebration with bottles of whiskey and other spirits being handed around freely.  The workers that were musically inclined had produced instruments and formed an impromptu band.  They couldn’t afford to drink in town, so they gathered around the center of their work camp which consisted of rows of canvas tents, interspersed with crates of supplies.  The tent rows spread out from a central clearing like spokes of a wagon’s wheel.  Most of the workers were now crowded into the central clearing along with a good smattering of folks from the town, and all were singing, laughing, dancing, or a combination of any or all of these.

        Jimmy pulled a deep drink from the brown whiskey bottle and passed it on.  To this point in his life, he’d never seen such a great thing achieved, and never thought he’d be witness to the completion of such lofty human endeavors.  

        He drank more than his fair share, and didn’t really keep track of how much he’d had.  It was more than enough, and young Jimmy who was no stranger to the drink, really didn’t know at all what time he’d stumbled back to his bedroll and tent.  

        He did know that when he was woken up, it was too early.  It seemed that he had gone from the relative comfort of darkness and sleep, to the acute discomfort of cool morning air and bright sunshine.  He felt the toe of a boot prodding his ribs.  He opened his eyes and saw the foreman leaning over him, hands on hips.

        “Come on then, son.  We’re breaking camp.  We’ll be needing that bedroll you’ve got there.  Property of the Union Pacific Railroad Company.”

        With that, two men folded up the tent he’d been sleeping under til just this moment.  He blinked up at them, squinting and looking around.  After they’d folded it, one of the men carried the canvas off and packed it into a wooden crate while the other knelt down and gingerly but firmly tugged the bedroll and blanket out from under Jimmy.  He walked off and packed the items into separate wooden crates, and the foreman went on to the next tent.

        Jimmy sat up and looked around. Starting to shiver in the dewy mountain air he blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to get them to focus and make sense of what was going on.  After a couple of minutes, he stood.  He clenched his eyes closed for several seconds, not at all sure he’d be able to remain standing.  His head was swimming and the earth felt unsteady beneath him.  He opened his eyes, found the foreman and began picking his way over to the man, swerving as he walked.

        “What’s going on?  Why are we breaking camp so early, and where is it to be set up next?”

        The foreman turned to look at Jimmy with plain disdain, “It’s not gonna be set up anywhere.  The Overland Route is complete.  We’ve no further need of your service, young man.  You’ll have to be clear of railroad property by sundown.  Good day.”

        Jimmy opened his mouth to say something else but before he’d even put another question together in his mind, the foreman had marched off to rouse the rest and finish packing up the camp.  He stood there swaying slightly, his mouth slightly ajar.  His hair was sticking up and out in several directions, making him look like a fledgling bird that had fallen from its nest, and was not at all sure about the world around it, or what to do next.

Chapter 2.

The rousted workers were gathering into small groups and quietly talking amongst themselves.  The groups began moving up the banks of the railway, towards a larger gathering of folks.  Jimmy fell in with the rest, but didn’t join in with the quiet chatter and speculation of the folks around him.  He listened and tried to make sense of things in his mind.  As the workers reached the crown of the ridge that was the railway, the rumblings and general unhappiness of the gathered people became plain, from looking at the frown-creased faces in the crowd and listening to the heated chatter and remarks.

An angry white-haired man with a red kerchief tied around his neck stumped past Jimmy, “They’ve run outta money, they say.  Only issuing notes of credit up there, for now.”

        The new-comers heard this, and the mood of the group rapidly changed from confusion and bewilderment to discontent.  They pushed forth anyhow, and as they joined the people already massed at the paymaster car’s window, other workers could be seen leaving with documents in their hands with befuddled looks on their faces.  

        The sun had risen further into the western sky; its heat had begun to weigh on Jimmy who was starting to sweat in his light cotton shirt.  The crowd was closely packed, it blocked out any bit of breeze the morning may have had to offer.    Looking around at all the gathered folk, some familiar from the long months of work and some he’d never seen, Jimmy saw that nearly every face was creased into a frown.  By the time the sun had started to make its way down towards the eastern horizon, Jimmy reached the front of the crowd and received an audience with the Paymaster.  A be-spectacled elderly gentleman wearing a canvas cap and burgundy vest looked down from the railcar and fixed Jimmy with his gaze, “Name, please.”  

        “James Mulryan, sir.”

        The Paymaster pored over his lists, shuffling papers and scanning columns while running his index finger across page after page.  “Here we are.  Mister Mulryan.  One moment.”  He set his list aside and turned to a typewriter.  Loading a fresh sheet of paper, he began to type.  His practiced fingers flew over the keys.  Jimmy watched on, marveling that the Paymaster barely bothered to glance at the sheet he was typing up, and kept his eyes on a ledger book.  The sheet took less than two minutes to complete.  The gentleman deftly seized the page between his thumb and index finger, turning quickly and gracefully back towards Jimmy, neatly setting the paper on the counter of the window between them.

        “Sign here please, Mister Mulryan,” he instructed, holding a pen out towards Jimmy, “This is a promissory note from the Union Pacific Railroad Company, saying that you shall be paid in full, no later than the end of this year, son.  We appreciate your service, and wish you the best in your future endeavors.”

        Jimmy swallowed and stared down at the paper for a long moment.  It may as well have been written in ancient Hebrew or Mandarin Chinese for all the good it did him.  Jimmy had never learned to read.  Slightly embarrassed of this, he hurriedly took the pen from the paymaster’s hand and scribbled his name, which he had been taught to write, in the space he was directed to.   Stepping back and away from the office car, he folded his paper up and put it in his satchel.  Other workers, impatient to get to the front of the line and see exactly what was going on, pushed their way past Jimmy, shouldering him aside.  He retreated from the office railcar, his mind clouded with confusion and uncertainty.  The future was murky and uncertain, and it loomed like a heavy object threatening to overtake Jimmy and cast him aside into nameless oblivion.  Progress was a powerful and unrelenting force, and cared naught for people or things in its path.  To young Jimmy, the future felt like a train moving at full-steam towards him, and he wasn’t at all sure whether or not he’d be able to get clear of the tracks before its arrival.

Chapter 3.

Jimmy Mulryan turned and made his way through the press of workers towards the small town of Promontory Summit, turning his back on the rail-car office and the angry workmen clutching letters inscribed with promises of pay at a future date.  He looked down towards the town, and marched off towards the buildings.  Carriages, horses and people could be seen briskly walking through the streets and up and down the roads leading to and from the small town.

        Walking into Promontory Summit, it occurred to Jimmy that he hadn’t eaten since the day before, and hadn’t had much then either.  His stomach was protesting loudly, and finding food had of a sudden become top-most in his mind.  It was not a large city by any means, but there were several taverns, inns and eateries to choose from.  Jimmy was wary about his money, and didn’t want to transfer his coin-purse from his satchel to his pants pocket there in the street.  Looking quickly up and down the street, he could see it was crowded with workers that were generally unhappy.  Most of them no longer had employment and if that weren’t reason enough for the discontentedness he saw, then not having been paid their remaining wages, and having notes of credit issued to them that nobody was quite sure when they’d be able to draw funds with was sure to add to it.

        Shouldering his way through the crowded street, Jimmy’s eyes skimmed from building to building, looking for a quiet and out of the way spot for him to duck into, if only for a minute.  His gaze settled on a stable.  It was attached to the back of an inn and consisted of an open corralled area, a large barn and a farrier’s workshop and shed.  He squeezed between people in the street as politely as he was able, and made his way to the stable.  Once he’d gotten to the corral, he quickly inspected the yard.  Closer to the back of the inn was an older woman on foot, and two young children - a boy and a girl on small ponies, riding around in circles.  Through the bustle, Jimmy could hear the woman chiding her students to keep their backs straight and their chins up: “Now then!  I will not have any of my students return to their parents with such slouched riding!  Katherine, eyes forward!”, she clucked.

        Apart from the small class of equestrians, the yard was empty.  Jimmy figured they were pretty busy with their lesson and wouldn’t notice him.  He slipped between the first and second rail of the corral and walked briskly to the door of the barn.  He turned and looked around behind him, checking for a reaction from the teacher and students.  They hadn’t noticed him.  Jimmy looked back toward the bustling street from which he’d come.  It seemed to be business as usual there as well.  Nobody had spared him a thought or glance.  He turned back to the barn door, which was open a crack.  Pushing it open just a bit wider, Jimmy slipped sideways through and into the cool darkness of the barn.  

        Once inside, Jimmy stopped and stood still.  He couldn’t see much, as the darkness in the barn left his eyes to adjust from the bright daylight outside.  Breathing in, the air was thick with the taste and smell of cut hay and the musk of hard-working beasts of the field.  Jimmy blinked a few times, and the interior of the darkened barn was clear enough, with the sunlight slanting in from the cracked door, and slipping in where it could between the wooden boards of the barn’s exterior.  The light played golden across the floor of the barn, and dust swam in the bright bars, swirling like fog.  

        Jimmy blinked a few more times, then pulled his satchel strap over his head and off.  Kneeling down, he unbuttoned the flap that held the canvas bag closed.  He rummaged through the contents which consisted of two extra shirts, a pair of denim dungarees, several woolen socks (most with holes in the toe), a tin mess set that consisted of a dented cup, a spoon and a fork, a rosary made of carved wooden beads and cross, a couple of ticket stubs that he’d saved from his coach rides from the east coast, and a leather coin purse.

        Grasping the leather purse, he let the satchel lie on the ground.  The purse was closed by a length of twine wound tightly around the top, and secured with a knot.  Jimmy unknotted the twine and tipped the contents of the purse into the palm of his hand: A gold three-dollar piece, three quarter-dollar pieces, six ten-cent pieces, two two-cent pennies and six copper Indian-head pennies.  Most of the coins still shone brightly, and were relatively newly-minted.  Jimmy hurriedly put the large gold back into the pouch, then pushed the quarters back in as well.  He separated three of the dimes and the pennies and put them in his pants pocket, placed the rest in the pouch, and secured the twine back into place.  Thirty-four cents should be plenty for an early dinner, he thought to himself, pushing the closed purse down into the bottom of his satchel, and buttoning the flap back into place.  

        A muffled screech cut Jimmy’s calculations and thoughts of food short.  He quickly straightened and clutched his satchel tight to his mid-section as the yowl drew out and was cut off.  Jimmy’s eyes, wide as saucers, flicked to a door at the far end of the barn.  It was closed, but he could hear a series of solid thumps coming from behind it.  

        Jimmy turned towards the open barn door and was beginning to step towards it when the yowling came from the door again, this time weaker and more pitiful.  There’s nothing behind that door that concerns you, James Mulryan!, he admonished himself.  He knew that whatever was happening in the next room was none of his business.  Even so, he couldn’t help himself.  Turning towards the closed door at the end of the barn, Jimmy quietly picked his way past a few empty stalls, and across the hay-strewn dirt floor.  He reached the door and grabbed hold of the rough iron handle.  A quick tug didn’t budge the door at all, and Jimmy figured it was either barred from the other side or latched somehow.  He wrapped both of his work-calloused hands around the handle and pulled.  The door grated loudly against the frame as it was pulled free.  Jimmy had pulled with more than enough force to un-stick the door, and the energy that was left propelled the door back and into his knee.  Stumbling back a step and grunting at the pain, it took him a moment to take in the scene in the next room.

        The sound of glass clattering loudly against glass drew Jimmy’s attention away from his stricken knee and into the room.  Looking from the darkened barn and into the better lit farrier’s shop, two men were visible.  One was a larger man, at least a full head and shoulders taller than Jimmy, with broad shoulders and close cropped grey hair.  He stumbled a bit when the door from the barn had flown open, and swayed unsteadily on his feet.  He brandished a thick metal poker in his right hand.

The second man in the room was a bit shorter and smaller than Jimmy, with long black hair that was tied back, dark skin and un-readable black eyes.        In his right hand he held a heavy brown bottle, and in his off-hand he had a large-jawed pair of pliers that were normally used for cutting down, or nipping off, protruding horseshoe nails.   Jimmy’s eyes caught on the pair of nippers.  The jaws were slicked with a dark liquid, and in the dim workshop, Jimmy saw what looked like tufts of hair clinging to the tool.

At the feet of the men was what looked like a discarded pile of dark rags.  It stirred a bit, and a low and pitiful mewling arose from object, which Jimmy realized wasn’t a pile of rags at all, but some poor beast.   Young Jim’s stomach twisted a bit at the scene before him.  Looking up at the men again, he watched the larger of the two’s expression change from a cruel and toothy grin as the corners of his mouth pulled down and his eyebrows knotted together, twisting his sun-leathered face into a deep scowl.  

Just then, the small pile of shadowy fur leapt and ran full tilt through the rough door, past Jimmy and into the darkened barn.  The sudden movement made him jump a bit.  He started to follow the trajectory of the thing with his eyes when the small, dark man began moving quickly towards Jimmy.  Though his face showed no expression, his eyes radiated a cold malice.  As Jimmy watched the small man move closer, his lungs hitched and refused to draw breath for a moment, and his heart felt as if it was pumping icy water in place of blood.

Chapter 4.

The larger man lunged towards Jimmy and the open door, slower to react than his lithe companion.  In his haste and drunkenness, his feet caught on the empty jugs in front of him, causing him to stumble and fall face-first.  He tried to get his hands between himself and the ground, but this only partially broke his fall.  One of the round glass jugs was caught beneath the man’s crashing weight and broke beneath him.  He grunted and his eyebrows pulled down into a deep frown that gave his normally brutish face a look that suggested he were in deep thought.

Jimmy took two hurried steps back as the smaller of the two rushed towards him.  The sound of his larger companion falling and the loud smashing of glass behind him caused the man to hesitate and stop a few feet from Jimmy and look back.  His eyes flicked back into the farrier’s shop and fixed on his partner, who was moaning and trying to get to his feet, clearly pained.  They didn’t linger long, quickly flashing back to Jimmy who was backing up now, clutching his satchel.  His gaze bored into Jimmy’s eyes, studying and sizing up the boy, as a wolf might assess a lamb.  The piercing black eyes flicked from Jimmy’s eyes to the satchel clutched in his hands.  His hands followed, fingers digging into the burlap cloth of the satchel like claws.  

Jimmy had been trying to keep his eyes on the small swift man approaching him, but had glanced down while backing up, trying to ensure he wasn’t going to trip over anything or back himself into further danger.  He was alarmed and deeply dismayed to feel hands on his satchel other than his own.  He looked at the satchel, trying to determine how best to remove the stranger’s hands from it, when pain exploded in his knee and he found himself pushed violently backward.  

He maintained his grip on his satchel’s strap as he fell back to the barn floor with a loud and pain-filled yowl.  He landed amid the dirt and straw of the barn floor and looked up to see his oppressor pulling his booted foot back for another kick.  Jim pulled hard on the satchel and tried to back out of kicking reach.  The worn burlap couldn’t withstand the stress of being pulled in two directions simultaneously.  The side of the satchel split wide, spilling its meager contents onto the dirt floor.  The coin purse landed first with a hard rattle of metal on metal.  

Jimmy lurched forward on his hands and knees, the pain from his injury forgotten for the moment, his only concern now the coin purse and his savings.  He wasn’t fast enough.  He watched as his attacker knelt and scooped up the pouch containing his coins.  For the first time, a smile broke across the small man’s face.

Jimmy’s heart filled with an anger born of desperation, and he was on his feet.  He stepped towards the small man, who was weighing Jimmy’s coin purse thoughtfully in his hand.  Light spilled across his face, blinding him for just a moment as the barn door clattered wide open.  

“What is going on in here!”, boomed a loud and matronly voice.  Jimmy saw daylight fall across the small hawk-nosed man, causing him to squint his eyes.  They were now no more than angry chips of black with the light reflecting off of their centers.  The man stepped towards the barn door just as the woman pushed her significant girth through and into the barn.  

Thunder and fire filled the barn then, freezing Jimmy’s aggressor in his tracks, mid-stride.  The woman held a coach-gun in front of her, one of its twin muzzles had smoke drifting lazily out of it, almost opaque in the shaft of light from the barn door.  The small man was stepping backwards towards the open door of the farrier’s shop.  He strode backwards as quickly as he had entered the room, if not more-so, his eyes unblinking and not wavering from the woman or her weapon.

She stepped forward cautiously, her gaze moving from Jimmy, who was just getting to his feet, to the swift figure of the man, who had almost reached the door to the farrier’s shop.

“Stop moving please, both of you.  Keep your hands in plain sight.”  

Jimmy noticed then that the man had dropped his nipping tools, and the cup he had been holding earlier was nowhere to be seen.  The man displayed his teeth in a predatory sort of smile, and was gone through the door before the woman was able to do anything else.  She glanced again at Jimmy, and seemed to have made up her mind then that he was no threat, she strode past him to the open shop door.

Jimmy followed hesitantly behind the armed woman.  Though his leg throbbed with pain where he’d been kicked, he gritted his teeth and followed behind her, moving cautiously.  Peering over the woman’s shoulder, he could see that the side-door to the workshop hung wide, letting in a shaft of sunlight that darkened and writhed as motes of dust passed through it.

        The farrier’s shop and barn exploded with noise as the woman’s coach-gun barked out a second time.  Jimmy’s attention snapped from the open shop door to the form of the large man lying on the floor.  His arm was outstretched and his fingers were grasping weekly at the woman’s foot.  Jim plainly saw that the brute’s life was coursing out of him, both from the blood pumping weakly from the large and ragged mess that remained of his chest, and the mixture of blood and saliva that his irregular breathing were blowing out of his open mouth and into the dirt of the workshop floor.

        While Jimmy stared with eyes wide and jaw slack, the woman locked her gaze onto the man she had just shot, not wavering at all as she cracked the breech of the double-barreled weapon.  By the time the brass cartridges thudded to the dirt floor, the woman had already fished two fresh rounds from the apron she wore, and was sliding them home.  

She moved her foot from the grasp of the dying man and broke her gaze from his eyes that had taken on a glossy sheen and a certain opaque quality that hadn’t been there just moments ago.

She tilted her head in Jimmy’s direction then:

“What in the Good Lord’s name is going on in here?  Why are you people in my barn?”, she asked in a stern voice, and giving Jimmy a look to match as she pushed small spectacles back into place, further up her nose, “I am quite certain that you have not received permission to be in here!”

“I, uh, ma’am…”, Jimmy replied feebly as she brushed past him and back into the main of the barn.

“There’s no use in just standing there with your mouth open, young man.  Something unpleasant is bound to find its way in, if you do not spend some effort on keeping it closed  when not in use.”, her voice disapproving and mildly annoyed.  Jimmy wasn’t sure if it was annoyance with him or with the whole  situation.

“I had just, ya know, come in off the street for a moment, umm…”, Jimmy tried again.

“Never mind that, just this moment.  Whose blood is this?” She gestured with her weapon at a thin trail of droplets in the dust, barely visible in the dusty light.

“I..I don’t really know.  Something ran past”, he pointed towards the horse stalls deeper inside the barn.

“’Something’ ran past…?” she queried as her brows knit together in uncertainty.

They proceeded towards the horse stalls.  The woman adjusted the grip on her shotgun, holding it tightly and striding into the dim area.  Jimmy followed behind, hesitant and reluctant to go further.  His mind was racing at what he’d just witnessed.  His ears were still ringing from the blast that had put the large man down for good in the next room.  

She pushed the stall door open with her gun.  The sound of it hitting the side of the stall made Jimmy jump and want to get out of the barn.

They both peered in at an old pile of straw in the back of the corner.  It was hard to make out, but something was in there.  Jimmy could just make out the trail of blood, and see some of it on the straw.

“Bring me the lamp from the other room,” she instructed.

Jimmy stepped back and out of the stall, turning and moving back towards the open door of the farrier’s shop.  In truth, he was happy to be out of the dark barn.  

He began going over the events in his mind and labeling himself a coward, angry now that he hadn’t done more.  It didn’t sit well with him that he’d required being saved by a woman.  He muttered quietly and increased his pace towards the open shop door, and then froze in mid-stride.

Had he seen a shadow in the next room?  His eyes narrowed and he listened carefully, stepping forth more cautiously now, concentrating on making his foot-steps as light and quiet as he could.  He couldn’t hear or see anything out of place, but had an uneasy feeling all the same.

Just nerves, Mulryan.  Get that lamp.

Stepping quickly through the door, Jimmy blinked and looked around.  The dead man wasn’t there.  Turning to the right, his eyes followed a trail of blood and disturbed dirt that disappeared through the exterior door.  Jimmy frowned and stepped through the door, outside.  His eyes blinked in the sunlight outside.  The trail ended just outside, where he was not able to discern disturbed earth of an injured or dead man moving from the earth that had been churned up by countless hoof-marks.

Scanning the area, he couldn’t see any trace of the man, and had no idea in which direction he could have gone.  Also, he could not fathom how the man had moved at all, at least not of his own volition.  He turned and went back inside.

Grabbing a lamp from a hook in the ceiling, he took another  look around.  He lit the lamp with matches he’d found on a workbench, and carried the lit lamp back into the barn.

“That took a while, young man,” he heard her say from the other side of the barn.  

He walked swiftly across, reaching out and handing the lamp out to her.  Taking the lamp, the woman turned her attention to the pile of straw.  She set the lamp on the floor nearby and started to poke the barrels of her shotgun through the straw.

“I…I can do that.  Let me have a look,” he said, stepping forward.  His cheeks flushed red in the lamp-light as he recalled having to be rescued only a short time before.

Almost as an afterthought, he told her, “The man in the next room.  He’s gone, now.”

“Gone…?” she asked, puzzlement crossing her face.

“He’s not there anymore,” he shrugged, “He either crawled off or somebody dragged him out.”

Kneeling down by the pile, he gingerly reached his hands out and moved some of the old straw aside.  

A low growl rose from the straw pile as Jimmy uncovered an under-sized cat.  It lay there looking at him through half-lidded eyes and didn’t move.  The animal’s fur was caked with blood, and its color wasn’t immediately discernible.  Jimmy winced involuntarily as his eyes caught on the knob of white bone protruding from the cat’s front left leg.

The woman leaned over Jimmy’s shoulder for a closer look.  She sighed heavily.

“Why in the Good Lord’s name would anyone do that to a living creature?”

Her features were drawn into a heavy frown.  She placed a hand gently on Jimmy’s shoulder, “What’s your name, young man?”

“James Mulryan, ma’am,” Jimmy answered.

“Go on and stand aside now, James.  Go and wait outside, if you’d prefer,” she told him, her voice quiet but firm.

Jimmy’s eyes moved from the woman’s, to the shotgun in her hands, and then down again to the pitiful mess of blood and fur in the straw.  His feelings and thoughts were a muddled cacophony in his head.  He was still assimilating everything he’d just seen and heard.  Emotions struggled against one another but he quickly turned toward what he knew so well, and his anger rose to the surface.

The edges of Jimmy’s mouth pulled down, contorting his young face into a look that momentarily added the weight of years, “You haven’t even given the thing a chance!  Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks!  Seems to me like he’s drawing breath like a champ, yet.”

His hands were on his hips now, and his voice was rising steadily.  It might have just been the day he’d had so far, or just that he’d been unable to process the trauma of it all, but he wasn’t about to, and could not, see any more senseless death today.  The thought of the sound of that shotgun going off in the confines of the barn again was absolutely unbearable.

She maintained her even-headedness, even after everything that had happened, “James, that animal is in wretched shape and even worse pain right now, I promise you.  It’s a better thing for everyone concerned to show this beast the Good Lord’s mercy, and end his suffering.”

“We’d ought to at least give him a chance!  Isn’t there anything that we can do?”  His anger subsided a touch, and a tear sprouted from the corner of his eye.  The adrenaline of the initial excitement had begun to ebb and be replaced by exhaustion of the eventful morning.

The woman Jimmy had watched transform from a riding instructor into an executioner held his angry gaze for a long moment.  It felt to Jimmy like he was being weighed, judged and categorized.

He knew when her eyes changed, softening just a touch, that she was going to give the wounded cat a chance.

“Run along to the main house.  Tell the children that I’ll require a bucket of water and some towels.  The old towels, mind you, not the new ones.”

Her attention had shifted entirely to the bloodied animal in the straw.  Jimmy ran for the barn door, and couldn’t help but feel relief when the woman propped her weapon against the side of the stall.

Chapter 5.

They had managed to stop the blood loss of the small animal, enabling it to live.  What they hadn’t been able to save was the cat’s left front leg.

Once Miss Agatha had cleaned the wounded cat up with a bath, they found that the injured leg had been cut almost completely off with something sharp.  It was left hanging by a flap of skin and ligament.  She quickly separated the wounded leg with a pair of sewing shears, wrapped it in an old rag and set it aside.  She then stitched the wound closed with a careful hand.  They had assumed that the blood and gore had come from the near-amputated leg.  While bandaging the freshly-stitched wound, they saw that the animal’s chest and stomach had been damaged as well.  There were fine lines cut into its flesh in a stylized spiral design.  If it were for the blood and the depth of the cuts, one might mistake the cut for a pencil drawing.

Miss Agatha squinted hard, examining the peculiar cut.  Jimmy didn’t see it at first.

“That’s odd, then,” she said, tracing the cut with her fingertip.  

Jimmy leaned in close, examining the cut as she traced it out.  Neither of them had seen a cut quite like it, and Jimmy tried to imagine what sort of blade had been used.  Nothing more was said about the cut and Miss Agatha wordlessly finished cleaning and dressing the damaged creature.

Jimmy had learned that the matron of the inn was known as Miss Agatha.  Miss Agatha and the two children had helped him to make a bed from a wooden box and the old towels. Miss Agatha had sewn up the animal’s wound with a heavy duty needle and thread that she normally reserved for large jobs, such as curtains and heavy cloth.

After the cat had been tended to the best of Miss Agatha’s ability, she escorted Jimmy back out into the street and into the center of town.

“I’m not sure what it is you folks were after in my barn, but the Sherriff will have something to say about it, no doubt.”

Jimmy couldn’t help but feel guilty about the intrusion, even though he didn’t know the two men they’d run across in the barn.  He walked along beside her, quiet and sullen.

“Like I said ma’am, I’ve never seen those men in my life.  They were there before I was,” Jimmy mumbled.

Miss Agatha gave him a sidelong glance, “I see.  Just happens that there are three strangers in my barn, cutting on live animals, and you haven’t seen or met them before.    It is a most fascinating turn of events, wouldn’t you say?  We’ll see what Sheriff Marley makes of all of this.”

Promontory Summit was small, and they had arrived at the sheriff’s office in minutes. It wasn’t a grand structure by any means, but was clearly nicer than the town that had been built around it.  When roughly half of the town was still operating out of large tents and clapboard buildings, any structure with a foundation and some prior planning involved really stood out.

The municipal building also served as the town’s jail, and occasionally was used as a courthouse.  It was also a focal point for many of the town’s activities.  People would meet at the courthouse for business and just about anything else.

They walked into the sheriff’s office and were greeted by a stout man of middle age.  He wore dark pants and a black vest over a long-sleeved white shirt.  The sheriff sat at a desk and was leaning back in his chair.  He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.  His eyes had dark circles beneath them, but they were alert.  The sheriff looked Jimmy up and down a moment, then stood and greeted them.

“Afternoon, Agatha,” he nodded to the woman as he stood up behind the desk and offered her a slight smile.

He turned slightly to address Jimmy, “I don’t believe we’ve met, mister…?”

“James Mulryan, sir,” Jimmy answered, looking the sheriff in the eye and keeping his chin up.

“I’m Sheriff Marley,” the older man extended his hand across his desk, shaking Jimmy’s hand with a solid grip.

“I don’t think we’ve met, Mr. Mulryan,” then, to Miss Agatha with an arched eyebrow, “I hope everything’s alright over at the Inn…?”

“We’ve had some trespassers, Sheriff.  I’m not sure what they were up to precisely, but they were mutilating a cat in my barn.”

Sheriff Marley’s eyes narrowed a touch, but his expression didn’t change aside from that.  

As the sheriff returned to his seat at the desk, Miss Agatha explained what had happened in the barn at Guthrie’s Inn.  Jimmy added an occasional detail, or pointed out things that Miss Agatha had left out.  When they had finished their telling of the events, the sheriff asked Jimmy again about the man who had been shot.

“Just gone…?  It doesn’t sound to me like that boy was walking anyplace on his own,” Sheriff Marley said, rubbing a couple days’ worth of stubble on his chin.

        “Was just the two of them, you’re saying.  That little guy able to drag off the big one, would you say?” the sheriff asked Jimmy.

        Jimmy thought about it for a moment, then answered, “He was stronger than I’d have thought at first, sir.  He grabbed hold of my bag and it wasn’t anything for him to just pull it to pieces, right out of my hands.”

        The sheriff looked from one to the other, “Let’s go over and have a look.  I haven’t got a lot of time, but you’ve got my curiosity up.”

        He stood up from his desk slowly and took his pistol belt from the wall behind him, fastening it about his waist as they left the office.

        On the short walk over to Guthrie’s Inn, the sheriff questioned Jimmy about his business in town.  Jimmy explained that he had just helped finish up the overland route.  When he described how he and the other workers had been summarily dismissed, and not paid out either, Sheriff Marley grimaced and nodded knowingly.

        “We’ve had nothing but trouble since the minute those railway moguls decided that that was a wise and judicious way to handle lay-offs.  At least those men are getting passage out of town, if nothing else.  Hopefully they’ll all make it home and out of my town before too long.”

        Jimmy glanced quizzically at the sheriff, “That’s the first I’ve heard of an offer to get a ride.”

        “They had to do something.  I know that some of the rail-line managers are unhappy at the development.  I don’t expect it’ll be long before they’re taking a chunk out of those I.O.U. notes they’ve handed out.”

        They’d arrived at Guthrie’s Inn, and the sheriff and Miss Agatha had ducked through the corral fence.  The yard and the barn in it smelled of drying alfalfa hay and horse dung mixed with dirt.  A gust of wind spit dust at the three of them as they crossed the yard to the barn.  The door to the farrier’s shop was still ajar, and the wind knocked it against the jamb when it blew.

        Sheriff Marley held the door open and nodded for Miss Agatha and Jimmy to go ahead of him.  Jimmy stopped and pointed to some marks in the dirt.

        “You can just make out some sort of dragging or crawling went on here.”

        The sheriff kneeled down for a closer look. The dirt had soaked up most of the blood, but a rust-colored crust was still visible.

        Marley followed the trail into the shop.

“Someone lost a lot of blood,” he said, frowning.

        He had a look around the barn, but there wasn’t a whole lot left to see of what had happened.  The sheriff inspected the liquor bottles the men had left behind.  They were empty and discarded, and one of them had broken beneath the larger man when he’d fallen.

        At the sheriff’s request, Miss Agatha described both of the men again, as thoroughly as she was able.

        “The small man was just so fast,” Jimmy said, “I couldn’t believe how quick he could cover ground.  And he was stronger than he looked, too.”

        “Did they work with you on the rail-line?  You didn’t recognize them at all?” the lawman asked Jimmy.

        Jimmy thought about it for a moment, then answered, “I don’t recall seeing either one of them before.  I had seen most of the workers at one time or another, but so many just came and went.”

        Sheriff Marley nodded and took a long slow look around farrier’s shop.  He stepped through the door that led into the barn’s main area.  Seeing the discarded nippers, he knelt and picked them up.  They were caked with fur and blood.

        “What was the point of this?”, he asked.  “Where is the cat now?”

        Miss Agatha showed the sheriff over to the horse stalls, and into the one where the cat was bedded down. When she pulled one of the old towels back to let him have a look, Marley caught site of the bandaged animal and winced.  He leaned in closer to get a better look in the dim light of the stall.

        She wasn’t sure that the cat was still pulling breath.  Reaching down, Miss Agatha gently lifted the tiny animal from his resting spot.  One yellow eye half-opened, and the creature made a weak noise like a sigh.  Jimmy stood just outside the stall, trying to get a look and make sure their patient was alright.

        “He hasn’t got much of a chance,” Miss Agatha said, glancing back at Jimmy, “We had to remove the leg.  They didn’t leave much to have to take off.”

        The sheriff just stared a moment.  He looked tired and ill at ease.  He reached out and gave the cat a light pat on its head.  Miss Agatha bundled the creature up again and laid it gently back into the box.  Sheriff Marley walked back through the barn slowly, taking in the scene and looking for anything out of the ordinary.  

        “Not a lot left to work with here, Agatha.  If either one of them was around, dead or alive, we might get somewhere.  Are you sure you hit him with that buckshot…?”, he stopped and asked her, “It is a little dim in here.  Maybe your shots were off some?”

        Miss Agatha shook her head, “No, sir.  There’s no doubt in my mind that those shots hit home.  The muzzle was practically touching him.”

        Sheriff Marley stepped out of the farrier’s shop and back into the dirt yard between the barn and Guthrie’s Inn, blinking as his eyes adjusted.  

“If that big guy was as bad off as you say he was ma’am, then he’d be easy to spot.  I’ll pass word around and see if anyone has seen anything of the sort.”

He jerked a thumb in Jimmy’s direction, “Do we need to do anything about this young man and his trespassing…?”

Miss Agatha gave Jimmy and appraising look, “No Sheriff, I think he can make up for the trouble he’s caused by fetching some supplies from Herzog’s shop for me, and maybe looking after these horses.  Could use a hand around here, til things calm down, at least.”

The sheriff gave Jimmy a long look, “See that you stay out of trouble.  I’m not sure about you.  Might be best for everybody involved if you take advantage of that rail-way pass.”

With that, the sheriff crossed the yard and ducked through the wooden corral-yard fence.  Jimmy watched him disappear down the street as dusk set in.  He was grateful to be out of trouble, even if his money was gone.

Chapter 6.

He had been introduced to the children, of whom Miss Agatha was charged with teaching and looking after while their father was away on business.  Their names were Ronald and Katherine, and they were quiet most of the time, very intent on their studies.  Miss Agatha took the children’s education just as seriously as she took day to day tasks and upkeep of her inn.  The siblings would often come out to the barn in the evenings.  Miss Agatha sent them out with food for Jimmy, but they were keenly interested in the well-being of the small cat on whose behalf Jimmy had intervened.

The night after all of the commotion, the children came out to the barn.  They’d  been discussing what the cat had ought to be named.  Ronald and Katherine had brought Jimmy a large bowl of stew and a round loaf of bread, along with a pitcher of water and a smaller bowl of milk for ‘the patient’.  While Jimmy ate, they took up seats on hay-bales in the barn and brought the issue to his attention.  

Ronald  proposed that they name the cat Runty Three-Paw.  Katherine wrinkled her nose and gave Ronald a look of severe disapproval.  Although she was two years younger than her brother, she already seemed to have more sense than he.  Jimmy grinned broadly at Katherine’s reaction.  It was all he could do to not burst into laughter.  

When she was finished expressing her disdain for Ronald and his ideas on naming cats, she suggested that Jimmy call the cat ‘Francois’, as, in her words, “He’s just got the look of a French-man to him, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jimmy sat in surprise for a moment, blinking.  He had met many different people on his way out West, and had worked with a number of folks from different countries, cultures and parts of the world.  However, he had never met anyone from France, and wasn’t sure how a ‘French-man’ normally looked.  

“What does a French-man look like, do you think?” Jimmy arched an eyebrow in her direction, curious as to how many of them she’d seen in her small number of years.

Katherine thought it over for a moment.

“Well, we’ve seen them come through here.  They talk different, and…”

Ronald spoke up at this, and insisted that, “They talk all funny, ya know?  The way they get taught to talk, over in France!”

At this, Katherine turned a withering look on him.  When it was clear that Ronald had gotten the idea, and would cease interrupting, she continued.

“And.  They dress fancy.  All of the people I’ve seen from France dress very nicely.  Much nicer than any of us.”

As she finished describing people from France, she looked pointedly at the plain clothes that Jimmy wore, and didn’t spare poor Ronald from another look of disapproval.

“Someday, I’m going to dress like a French person.  I may even live there.”    

The cat was mostly black, with a white stomach and feet.  The front of his neck was white, and the fur of his lower jaw was white.  Also, his feet were white.  Katherine pointed out that he was wearing small white shoes.  The only fellow she had ever seen that wore white shoes and a black and white suit like that was a French-man who’d come through and stayed at the inn last year.  

Jimmy got a good chuckle out of this.  They agreed that his name would be Francois, but would call him Frank for short.  Katherine and Ronald retired to their rooms after the name had been decided.  Jim noticed the small girl had a smug and self-satisfied look on her face.  He couldn’t help but grin.

Two nights after he’d arrived in Promontory, Miss Agatha came out with the children.  As they delivered his evening meal to him, she tended to the wounded animal in his box.  As she was changing its bandages, she gave Jimmy another measuring look, and asked him what he had planned to do next.

“You won’t be able to stay in this barn forever.”

“I’d thought I might head back east, now that my work is done with the railway.  Would be nice to visit with Mother and my da a while,” Jimmy answered.

“Many of the folks who were staying here have gone, now that the railway has been completed.  Most just wanted to have a look.  There were a few here from Union Pacific on business, but they departed this morning,” she told him as she tied the bandage and observed the animal.  

“I’ve got a few rooms inside now.  You’re welcome to come in out of the barn, but there are a couple of conditions.”

Jimmy watched her tend to the cat and nodded for her to continue.

“You’ve got to help out around the inn.  I’ll need you to brush and groom horses that we take in.  If all of our rooms fill up, you’ll have to move out here for as long as they’re full.”

She glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.  Jimmy nodded in acknowledgment.  

“You can’t stay forever,” she glanced down at the box, “and neither can your barn-cat.”

“Frank,” Jimmy told her with a smile.  “His name is Frank.

Chapter 7.

Jimmy moved himself, his satchel, and Frank into the Guthrie’s Inn that night.  It had been months since he’d slept in a real bed and with a roof overhead.  

He was kept pretty busy, with caring for the horses and keeping the boarding-house swept twice a day.  Miss Agatha also had him run errands on a fairly regular basis.  After just a few trips to the general store a few streets over, they knew him by sight.  The owner was a tall and thin man.  He looked gaunt, as if he had gotten deathly ill once, and had never quite recovered his health.  He didn’t say much typically.  At first, he had refused to hand over parcels and deliveries that had arrived for Guthrie’s.

“Too many strange faces around here,” he’d told Jimmy, “not very many of them look trustworthy, if you ask me.”

Miss Agatha had come in with him later in the day and introduced him, telling the store owner, whose name was Herzog,that it was alright to let James Mulryan carry things from the store to the inn.  At first, he appeared not to have heard her.  After giving Jimmy a long and scrutinizing look, his top lip pulled up, and he grunted.  Herzog went to retrieve their parcels, mumbling quietly to himself as he went.

After the first trip, Herzog didn’t exactly give Jimmy any problems, but he did appear very reluctant to entrust him with anything.  Jimmy thought it odd, but didn’t dwell on it much.

On slow days at Guthrie’s Inn, Jimmy would watch Ronald and Katherine learn to ride, and would sometimes listen in on their lessons during the day.  He thought of asking Miss Agatha if he could sit in and learn some of the things that she was teaching them.  Sometimes he would try to puzzle out the note he’d received and what it said, exactly.  He was able to recognize the numbers, and the letter seemed to suggest that the note was worth more than he would normally make in a month’s work.  Jimmy found asking for help difficult and a little embarrassing, so he put it off.

After a day of running supplies and orders back and forth between Herzog’s Store and the inn, and caring for the horses in the stable before he retired for the night, Jimmy was tired.  His feet nearly dragged all the way through the inn’s common room, and up the stairs, where the guest-rooms lined the single upstairs hallway.

Jimmy’s room was a very small one, on the second floor and all the way at the end of the top floor once you’d climbed the stairs and turned right.  He had the idea that it hadn’t been meant as a bedroom at all, but possibly a small room for storage.  He didn’t mind much, as he had a nicer bed than he was accustomed to, complete with clean sheets and a blanket.  He didn’t need much more room anyhow, since all he had was his satchel and not much else.

Miss Agatha’s room was the largest room in Guthrie’s Inn.  The door to her room was just at the top of the stairs.  Ronald and Katherine had the first room to the left along the second floor row, and there were a few rooms between Miss Agatha’s and Jimmy’s.  Guestroom doors lined the hallway all the way down the left side.

It was quiet upstairs.  The few boarders they had staying were out and about for the most part.  Halfway down the hall, Jimmy heard a muffled thump and stopped.  He stood in the dim light a moment, staring at his door and listening. He couldn’t tell for sure, but it sounded like the noise had come from his room.  Frowning and wishing he had thought to bring a lamp, Jimmy stepped forward, more curious at who’d be in his room than worried or frightened.

Jimmy fished his room key from his pocket and thrust it into the lock on his door.  As he turned the knob, he could just make out a low and raspy voice.  Turning the knob, Jimmy’s hand had just the slightest tremor to it.  

He pushed the door open, and saw the wooden box that had been made into Frank’s bed lying on its side in the corner, the towels that had been used for bedding lay scattered around the foot of his bed.  Frank himself was standing, albeit on wobbling legs.  The diminutive cat was struggling to walk.  He half hopped, half stepped forward a step on his only front paw.  He let out a soft and ragged mewl as he did so.  It sounded to Jimmy as hardly more than a loud sigh.

Jimmy moved into the room, and scooped up the cat with one hand, and his box with the other.  Frank struggled weakly against Jimmy’s side as he set the box back on the foot of the bed, and placed the old towels back inside.

“Whoa, alright little fella.  You ought not to be outta bed!”, Jimmy chided.

Knowing that Frank must be thirsty and probably pretty hungry as well, he closed his door behind him and locked it, juggling his key in one hand, and the cat in his other. He carried Frank downstairs to the kitchen.

He was impressed that Frank was able to move around at all so soon after his injuries.  Opening the icebox, Jimmy retrieved a bottle of milk and filled a small bowl, setting it and Frank on the ground.  The cat didn’t hesitate and splashed his small tongue into the cool liquid.  Jimmy grabbed a second bowl, unbolted the rear kitchen door and went outside to the pump to fill it.  

Jimmy watched while Frank lapped up the whole bowl of milk. When he’d finished, Jimmy poured him some more, wondering to himself how much milk such a small creature could hold.  The cat made his way through most of the second bowl before deciding he’d had enough.

Frank hop-stepped a few paces from the bowl as Jimmy watched him.  His admiration for the animal’s recovery capabilities were quickly put out of mind, as he noticed Frank sniffing at a spot not far from the bowl and begin to squat down.

“Whoa, hold on there boy!”

Scooping the cat back up, Jimmy strode across the kitchen to the door.  A heavy iron bolt held the back door closed to anyone that might try to enter the kitchen from the back of the inn.  Jimmy pulled the bolt back and opened the door, stepping out into the night.

The air was cool and still outside.  Jimmy walked out into the corral behind the inn.  The night’s half-moon showed a yard of thick dirt that had been churned up by countless hooves. Jimmy crossed the empty yard to the barn. He set the cat down to handle its business in the dirt near the side of the barn, jammed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wooden corral fence, facing the empty street across the stable yard.  The hard-packed dirt of Promontory Summit’s main thoroughfare took on a dim blue-white hue in the moonlight.  

Jimmy was gazing across the street at the now-dark telegraph office when Frank made a low hissing sound.  Jimmy glanced down and noticed that Frank had not tended to his business at all, but instead was crouched low on his three remaining legs.  His ears were laid back and the fur on his back stood up.  The cat’s mouth was open and he was making a sound of pure displeasure.  His gaze was fixed in the direction of the street, and Jimmy looked to see what was causing such a reaction.  

Jimmy scanned beyond the rough wooden beams of the corral and across the moonlit street.  The windows of the telegraph office were dark.  A wooden porch ran across the front of the building, and was lit by the moon.  A chair sat out front, but there was nobody present.  

Just to the right of the office was a space between buildings.  The moonlight was blocked by the eaves, leaving it completely in dark shadow.  Frank was staring right into that dark space.  The cat had stopped hissing now.  It crouched and stared, its mouth open slightly and its tail lashing back and forth in the dirt.  

Jimmy felt cold inside.  He looked from the disturbed cat to the buildings across the street.  He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, and was less sure he wanted to find out what had startled Frank.

Something moved in the narrow alley between the buildings.  Jimmy couldn’t make it out.  He barely noticed a lighter shade of grey in the darkness.  He was moving to scoop Frank up and head back inside when he made out the figure. It looked to be a short man, just flush with the building fronts, and just barely visible.  If Jimmy hadn’t been looking in that direction already, he wouldn’t have seen anything.

He had the cat in his left arm and was crossing the sand lot to the kitchen door.  He wasn’t quite running, but his pace was quick.  As he slipped into the lamp-lit kitchen, he turned and looked again, but could see nothing but darkness between the buildings.

Jimmy shut the door hurriedly and slammed the bolt into place.  Walking into the common room and front of the inn, he checked to make sure it was still locked, then headed upstairs to his room.

Chapter 8.

Jimmy hardly slept that night, and was downstairs in the common room before the sun had risen.  He didn’t have long to wait before Miss Agatha was up and about preparing for the day ahead.  

Wearing a brown corduroy dress, Miss Agatha looked fully awake and ready for business.  Her long brown locks had been tied up into a bun, and she was fixing her apron into place around her heavy frame as she came downstairs.  She greeted Jimmy as she walked past and into the kitchen, intent on getting breakfast started.  Jimmy trailed behind, trying not to wring his hands as he went.  

He’d been terrified last night and lay awake for hours.  He couldn’t help but jump out of bed and look out of his small window with its limited view.  Occasional gusts of wind or the stirrings of other tenants of Guthrie’s Inn had caused him to creep from his bed on more than one instance.  He would open his door just a crack and peer out, making sure that the small, swarthy man wasn’t lying in wait for him in the hallway.  Frank, on the other hand, slept soundly and didn’t stir at all as Jimmy tossed and turned, trying to determine if the things he was hearing were real or imagined.  

Thinking about all of this now though, in the well-lit common rooms of the inn, he felt more than a little foolish for his frightened state.  As the first curls of smoke rose from the pan of frying bacon in the kitchen, Jimmy tried his best to explain what he’d seen to Miss Agatha, without seeming like a frightened child.  His stomach growled involuntarily as the smell of food being prepared filled his nose.

“Herm”, he cleared his throat, “Miss Agatha, there’s something I should tell you.”

Agatha turned and gave Jimmy a concerned look, “Of course, James.  What’s bothering you?  I hope little Frank is holding up…?”

“Yes ma’am.  Frank is doing better already,” he replied.  They had both been happy with Frank’s progress over the last few days.  The cat was already trying to walk around on its own, and was looking stronger all the time.

Miss Agatha looked a little relieved at that, “What’s bothering you then?  You look to be in terrible shape this morning.”  

Jimmy explained to her about Frank knocking his box over, and then what he thought he’d seen across the street.  As he was telling what happened, he cringed at how silly it must seem to someone who wasn’t there.

“Frank saw something out there as well, Miss Agatha.  He was hissing and terrible upset,” Jimmy added, thinking that if he was able, Frank would corroborate his story.

She thought about it a moment, while she tended a large pan of eggs.  After thinking it over, she asked, “Maybe we should let Sheriff Marley know, just in case.”

She raised her index finger into the air before Jimmy could answer, “But, be sure that you’re sure.  The sheriff is bone-weary.  There’s been a ton of commotion in town this last week.  It’s dying off now, but I know the sheriff hasn’t gotten much rest.”

She watched him for a moment longer.  Jimmy wasn’t sure what to say.  He was less sure this morning than he’d been the night before.  He nodded that he understood, and Miss Agatha gave a return nod before turning back to her breakfast tasks.

Jimmy headed upstairs.  He closed the door behind him quietly, so as not to disturb Frank.  Peeking in, he could see that the cat was awake already, and lying down in such a way that his head poked out of the top of the box, and his legs were folded beneath him.  He gave Jimmy a clear-eyed and unblinking gaze.  Jimmy crossed the small room in a couple steps and gave Frank a pat on the head.  The cat loosed a raggedy mewl that made Jimmy cringe.

“Your lungs are healthy, if nothing else,” he chided the cat.

He wrapped the small animal in the old towels that made up his bedding, much as one might swaddle a baby.  Frank didn’t complain or struggle against this.  Jimmy then tucked the wrapped cat under his arm, and headed back downstairs.  

Once they were outside, Jimmy took the cat to their customary sandy spot in the shade of the barn.  He let Frank handle his business and looked carefully at the people passing by on the street.  Folks were walking and riding past, leaving a dusty haze hanging over the vicinity.  Jimmy didn’t see anything or anyone unusual.  He felt pretty sure he should tell the sheriff what he’d seen the night before.  He had to run by Herzog’s to check for shipments that morning, and decided that would be his best chance to swing by and talk to Sheriff Marley today.