CHAPTER IV

Longley clung to the straps he’d used to tie down the baggage on the back of the coach. It was a smooth road as roads go but that didn’t keep the baggage rack from bouncing and jumping, constantly threatening to throw him from the coach. He looked over at Lambert.

The gun’s head sagged, chin to chest, hat pressed down hard to cover his eyes while he cradled his rifle. He bounced along with the coach too but every time Longley thought he’d go off the back end Lambert adjusted himself slightly taking no notice.

After a good thirty minutes fretting for the other man Longley spoke up.

"Mr. Lambert," he ventured. The gun remained quiet and Longely wondered if he heard him. It was loud at the back. And dusty. It was possible enough dust had settled into Lambert’s ears they might be caked shut. "Mr. Lambert," he shouted again, even louder.

Finally Lambert tilted his head slightly and opened one eye. He still said nothing but Longley assumed it was okay to proceed.

"I don’t mean to sound like a worrisome grandma but you really should secure yourself."

Lambert continued to stare back, wordlessly.

"I get the sense Wilson don’t care for you much and if you bounce off the back of the coach he’s likely to just keep running."

"You reckon so, do you," Lambert finally replied.

"Yes, sir, I do sir," Longley continued. "I believe he’d just file a report at the next station and request a replacement at the next station down from there, sir."

"You can quit calling me sir, boy," Lambert said as he closed his eye and settled back in. "I wasn’t ever an officer."

The coach bounced good and hard and Longley’s ass came off the baggage. One hand slipped free of the straps to which he clung and suddenly he was flailing for a new hold but the bouncing just kept him getting a hold. Just as he thought he would bounce right off Lambert reached out and grabbed the boy’s shirt and shoved him down hard.

"Better grab on, boy."

Longley grabbed hold of the strap again and pulled himself down tight, gritting his teeth.

"You need to hook yourself on, boy," Lambert said leaning forward. Longley shouted thinking this was the moment the gun would fly off the end and disappear into the storm of dust the coach was kicking up. "Calm down, kid," Lambert said. "I ain’t never bounced off the bock of anything in my whole life. Just showing you the hook."

He pointed to his back and now Longley saw the metal hook off the back of the stagecoach. It didn’t stick out far and it wasn’t very long but it was turned with the hook pointing down so that when Lambert put his belt on it held him down firmly. There was no way he’d fall off without leaving his pants behind as well.

"You want me to hook you on?"

Longley nodded his head anxiously. Lambert reached across and pulled hard on the boy’s belt, eventually getting it under the hook.

"Now you won’t drop off the back and you can keep your eyes the drag. We hit rough hills and we’re going to need to slow down."

Longley looked through the dust as best he could. There wasn’t a hill of any kind in sight, let alone a steep hill, up or down. He craned around the side of the coach trying to look ahead. No hills in that direction either.

The coach hit another bump and Longley whipped back around and scrambled to get his hands latched around the baggage straps again. Lambert laughed.

"Would Wilson stop if you bounced right off the back?"

Longley sat thinking for a moment then looked down.

"Probably not."

"Most times folks don’t really look out for others unless they go a dog in the hunt, so to speak," Lambert drawled. "Then again, if somebody’s only looking out for you because they get something in return they aren’t really looking out for you. Are they?"

Longley looked at the gun, wondering what his real story was. He’d heard of the man but only because his name was one of five that had been a mysterious legend during the war. Other than the deeds of Shadow Five as a whole there wasn’t much known about any of the members of the group. This was going to be a long trip so Longley figured he might as well ask.

"Mr. Lambert," he said. "When you were running with-"

"Gonna check up front, boy," he cut of the kid as he undid his belt from the hook. "Hang on back here until I get back."

Lambert smoothly turned and climbed on top of the coach leaving Longley to cling to the baggage with all his strength.

Lambert scooted across the top on his belly, cradling his rifle on the tops of his arms, using his chin to hold it tight. He’d made this crawl through hundreds of yards of grass, fields of mud and horse shit, over sand dunes and snow drifts. It got to the point he could crawl across the country almost as fast as he could walk. The kid knows, he thought to himself.

It’s not that Seth Lambert had anything to hide. Just to opposite. He’d been given awards for his service to the Union and the special role the Shadow Five had played. There was no logical reason he shouldn’t want to talk to the kid about it. Problem was the way the kid looked at him. Lambert had seen that look in so many young boys that had joined the war effort. New recruits always had that look when they saw one of the veterans. They all figured that if somebody could survive as long as one of these "old timers" they could too. Worse than that the stupid kids started thinking the veterans, which by the end of the war was just about anybody who could survive six months, was some kind of super man. Bullets wouldn’t hurt them.

As often as not he’d see the same look on their dead faces after a rough battle. For anybody who did last long enough to become an "old timer" that look quickly changed from frightened but hopeful awe to genuine despair. Too many good men went home empty shells when it finally came to an end.

It was one of the reasons he’d been glad to be selected as one of the Shadows. It meant he didn’t have to spend as much time in a regular company. Didn’t have to count the recruits and listen to others place bets on which would take a ball of lead first.

He still had orders. Still had a captain. They still lost people. But the magnitude of the casualties was lower, less overwhelming.

At least that’s what he tried to tell himself when Carson got clipped on one of their last missions. They were successful. The mission did help bring the war to an end faster than if they hadn’t intercepted the small group of reinforcements. But the fact that the Shadows hadn’t lost a man since they’d been formed made finally losing Carson harder than looking at a sea of dead after a battle between hundreds or thousands.

He’d seen both and asking which was worse was like asking if you’d like to have your right or left hand chopped from your arm.

But that was all in the past now. Here he was, scooting across the top of a stagecoach being driven by a Class ’A’ moron, so he could make sure bandits or Indians or both didn’t come down on them.

"At least it’s a living," he muttered to himself.

Wilson and Bridges jumped, Wilson yelping and yanking on the reins, making the horses swerve. He quickly fought them back in line and as the coach bucked Lambert looked over his shoulder to see Longley plopping back on his ass, whooping in fear.

"Jesus Christ, Lambert," Wilson yelled. "What the hell you doing sneaking around up there?"

"Didn’t think you all could hear me over all this clatter."

"You fool," Wilson yelled. I can hear a cricket fart as we drive by. You got some reason to sniffing in my ear?"

"Just came up for wider view, boss," Lambert yelled into the wind. "That and to get out of the dust a bit. Can’t shoot banditos if I can’t see ’em."

###

"Mr. Colton," Jessie said, snapping him out of his daze. "Pardon me again but when you rolled up I thought I heard you say you were riding the line only to Tuscon."

"That’s right, ma’am," he perked up. "I’ve been selected as the town’s sheriff."

"You’re a lawman," she replied. "How very exciting."

"Frankly, ma’am, the hope of all lawmen is that they live a slow and boring existence. But I suspect I won’t have such luck."

"Why is that, Mr. Colton?"

"Tuscon is growing something fierce," he said. "There’s plans to put a rail line in and if Tuscon is anything like the rest of the towns the trains came to it won’t be long before it’s all grown up and cosmopolitan."

"Seems a fine honor to be selected sheriff of a soon to be booming town."

"It is ma’am, thank you."

"Are you striking ahead of your wife and family?"

"Jessica Lintrel, you really are much to forward," Fran finally joined, then turned to Colton. "I really must apologize for my sister, Mr. Colton. She’s young still and hasn’t quite learned her place."

Jessie’s eyes flared at that and her jaw clamped hard. None the less she forced a smile at her sister. Fran’s eye grew narrow, silently chastising her younger sister.

"That’s quite alright, miss," he said, smiling at both of them. "I’m not married as yet."

"Oh," blurted Fran. "I’m sure you have plenty of prospects though."

"Why thank you, ma’am," he beamed. "Right now though I have none."

Fran felt her temperature rise each time he flashed a smile at her. She looked away but there was nothing to see so she pulled the small curtain back from the window. That kicked a puff of dust into her face from out side forcing her to quickly close it. She turned back to the other passengers.

"I apologize if any of you were dusted."

The group ignored it or muttered a quiet "not at all." Except for Robert Colton.

"I can knock the dust off my jacket just fine ma’am," he beamed.

She couldn’t look away and when she saw his smile felt the heat rise again.

"It really is stuffy in this buggy," she said, absent mindedly taking the fan Jessie offered her. "Thank you."

"You’re going all the way to Los Angeles, Jessie," asked.

Fran’s eyes shot wide when he used her first name. She leaned over and hid behind the fan.

"You’re quite familiar with him," she whispered.

"I’m actually going all the way to San Francisco, Mr. Colton."

He whistled long and low and nodded his head.

"That is a long journey."

"Yes, but one well worth it."

"I take it your future husband is there getting settled in and all that," he smiled and winked.

Her back stiffened and she squared her shoulders.

"Like you I have no prospects," she shot back firmly. Colton sat up and the smile dropped from his face. He put his hands up as if trying to push something away.

"I didn’t mean-"

"I’m going to San Francisco to start a life of my own. I’m going to rent some space and begin purchasing fine fabrics and produce functional clothing for fashionable ladies."

"Sounds rather ambitious," Bill Bentley said. Jessie turned sharply to him but said nothing. "If you don’t mind me saying."

"What’s wrong with ambition, Bill Bentley?"

"Nothing at all," he replied. "I wouldn’t be where I am today if I weren’t ambitious."

"Where is that exactly," she asked. "If you don’t mind."

"I’m part of an investment group," he replied. Her blank stare told him more detail was required. "There are three of us, all who worked our way up in life by starting businesses and either selling them or leveraging them so we could put money behind other ventures. We still have some of the companies we started with but we’re always looking for new ventures. Unlike my good colleague from Wells and Fargo here," he jerked his thumb at Roger Maynard, " we are willing to take a few risks when we lend money."

"Must I remind you," chimed in Maynard, "that if Mr. Wells and Mr. Fargo were in the habit of throwing money away-"

"Nobody said anything about throwing it away, you old fool."

"I’m half your age, Mr. Bentley," the younger man in a suit shot back."

"Fine. You’re half as old but twice as foolish."

Before the argument could continue Jessie piped in.

"Gentlemen," they both stopped just as they snarled at each other and turned to square off in what looked could be a thunderous battle and slowly turned to Jessie. She gave them both a soft, warm smile. Fran rolled her eyes as the two men instantly melted at her charm. I have no idea how the girl does it but for all her going on about needing to stand equally with men I fear she doesn’t realize how powerful she is right where she’s at.

"We’ve got a long road ahead of us and I for one would prefer it go by without constant quarreling. We’re going to be uncomfortable as it is."

They both quickly glanced at each other and simultaneously folded their arms across their chests and turned to look at the covered windows beside them.

"Perhaps we could discuss your services and nature of your involvement, Mr. Bentley."

"Involvement in what, Miss Lintrel?"

"We’ll," she said, considering her words. "I’m going to need capital once I arrive in San Francisco and beyond that I’m also going to need people to help."

"In this fashion shop you were mentioning," Bentley asked.

"Oh, don’t let her bother you, Mr. Bentley," Fran said.

"I’m not bothering the gentleman, Fran," Jessie shot back.

"Can’t you see he was just trying to settle in to this long trip and here you go on about this dream you’ve had since you were child..."

"It’s more than a dream, Fran," Jessie shot back, spine stiff and long."

"Not that she’s grown up all that much you can see," Fran said to the men in suits, as if Jessie wasn’t right beside her.

"Your sister isn’t bothering me at all, Miss Lintrel," Bentley assured Fran. "I rather find it refreshing to hear a young lady discussing plans for a future in the business world."

"Don’t encourage her, good sir," Fran said quickly. "It’ll do nobody any good."

"I’m believe it was a mistake for you to tag along," Jessie yelled at her sister.

"I’m here to keep you from getting into any more trouble than you’ve already landed is all," Fran replied. She looked across the coach and saw Colton smiling and looking between the sisters while they jousted. He winked at her and caught fire immediately. Her fan whipped like a humming bird’s wings after that.

"I can look after myself just fine," she said then trying to ignore her sister turned back to Bentley. "As I was saying money just to bring in the fabrics won’t be enough. I’ll need a place large enough that I can have multiple people actually assembling the clothing, you see. It doesn’t need to be too large at first but certainly large enough. And then there’s the work of trying to advertise and get shops to carry my designs..."

"Why rely on other shops," Maynard asked.

Both Jessie and Bentley slowly turned their attention to the young banker. He looked between them and leaned back slightly, eyeing them as if they might start licking their lips.

"Maybe you’re not as dumb I as I thought at first, boy," Bentley said, smiling.

"It only makes sense," the banker replied. If you’re going to need a space large enough to manufacture small, custom runs why not get a space with just enough room to have your own sales floor?"

"Yes, Mr. Maynard," Jessie said, perking up and smiling with excitement again. As she talked her hands became more involved with the discussion. "It makes perfect sense. This would allow me to have an area where I can have basic designs which I tailor to each woman’s figure..."

Fran rolled her eyes and leaned back against the wall of the coach. She’d seen enough from Jessie over the years to know that even though these two men were just entertaining a foolish girl’s fantasy she had found a willing listener and once Jessie got on a roll...

A bugle blasted from outside making everybody in the stagecoach jump. Then the conductor started yelling.

"Arriving at the next station," he bellowed over the horses and clattering of the coach. "Arriving at next station! Prepare to break!"