runaway - part 1

A hand roughly shook me awake. Tickets, his voice growled.

My vision still blurred with sleep, I mumbled, Fer wat?

No free riders. Show me your ticket or get off at the next station.

As I lifted my head it pounded like someone had hit me with a hammer. Screwing my eyes open, I tried to focus on the man with a ticket punch in his hand, but he weren’t no more than a gray blur. This aint Alameda?

He snorted, Alameda? You’re on the number 19 train to Los Angeles, but I’m putting you off at the Tehachapi station if you don’t show me a ticket.

Rubbing the back of my head, I narrowed my eyes, the ticket man’s features slowly coming into view, his mouth pinched in exasperation. As I forlornly pulled my pockets out, I said with a groan Ask the sidewinder who busted my head if’n he bought me a ticket. I gave him a lopsided grin, but he marched off cussin' me under his breath.

I tried to stand, but the pain was so bad I damn near passed out. Plopping back onto my seat, the whistle shrieked, the train shaking roughly before jerking forward. The engine chugging, we began to move for the first time since the ticket man awakened me.

I was a railroad man for almost ten years and could tell by the echo in the whine from the rods turning the drive wheels that the train was fitted with both a work and helper engine. The only time that’s done for a passenger train is for a long, steep grade. As the train started to struggle uphill a man walked down the aisle toward me and fixed me with a stern gaze.

Get up, you hear? You aint gonna rest your penniless ass in coach.

It’s like I tole that ticket fellar …

But he grabbed my left wrist with his right and pulled me to my feet, my right fist making its angry acquaintance with his jaw, the blow knocking him backwards onto the man seated across the aisle. The two of them hollered at one another ‘fore he got back up with a face like thunder.

That time I knocked him to the floor. No one lays a hand on Zach McMurtry.

After he got up and dusted his self off, he looked at me warily. Listen mister, I’m just trying to do my job. If you aint got a ticket I can’t let you stay in coach.

I was fixin’ to try explaining a second time but the ruckus roused the attention of a railroad Bull. Is there a problem, Wilson?

This man refuses to leave coach and hit me, twice.

You shouldn’t a grabbed me. I’m a deputy US Marshall, not some lazy bum.

That so. The newcomer wore a Colt 45 in a holster at his side and a black bowler on his head. Where’s your star, deputy?

I looked at my chest, the dark spot on my buckskin where I kept it pinned looking vacant and forlorn. Ahh, shit.

He held out a pair of manacles and said Give me your wrists like a good little deputy and you and I will get along swell.

It’s like I tole the ticket fellar …

Other wrist please.

If you jes let me explain …

You can talk all you want in the diner, deputy.

But you don’t understand …

No buts.

As we walked through the smoker car to the diner, the grade grew so steep that it became difficult to continue even leaning forward. We better take a seat before we topple over, the detective grunted.

As I awkwardly pulled out a chair, I noticed a pretty redhead looking my way who covered her mouth to stifle a grin. I smiled back and tipped my hat, but something about her seemed awful familiar.

Now that’s sumpin you don’t see every day, a deep voice boomed, Deputy Marshall McMurtry clapped in irons. Lean and haughty, Bill Doolin stood behind a table at the Diner’s far end while Little Dick West and Charlie Pierce looked at me over their shoulders and guffawed. Yer a long way from the Oklahoma territories, Zach.

And yer a long way from the Dodge City jail, Bill.

The Bull cast a casual glance over his shoulder at Bill. One of your friends? he asked with a raised eyebrow.

More an acquaintance, really.

He looks mean.

They don’t come no meaner than Bill Doolin.

Bill Doolin? Leader of the Wild Bunch?

Uh huh. It’s like I tole that ticket fellar … But a waiter arrived at that moment to take our dinner orders. The Bull ordered steak and potatoes while I sat there feelin’ sorry for myself, my hands restin’ on my empty pockets. When the waiter turned to me, I told him I didn’t have no money, could I please jes have a glass of water? When the Bull said he would cover my order I mumbled Much obliged, even though it stung my pride. I didn’t even look at the menu, ordering the steak and potatoes as well.

The meat was thick and juicy and was as tender and fatty as it looked. After I wolfed down the steak, I sopped up the grease with the taters and then licked my fingers. It was all so good that neither of us spoke while we ate, Bill Doolin be damned. But as we finished up and I sighed with pleasure; Bill, Little Dick and Charlie got up, almost on cue, and headed toward the smoker. As a parting shot, Charlie said over his shoulder Bet you wish you never left Alameda.

Who said I was in Alameda?

Little Dick gave Charlie an angry shove before they passed through the Diner’s door.

I hope your not thinkin’ of doin’ anything stupid, deputy.

I fixed him with a curious stare before replying, Bill’s wanted in Kansas and the Oklahoma territories for bank robbery and the murders of three deputy marshals. After his last bank robbery, he fled to the Oklahoma territories. When he finally came out of hidin’, I followed him all the way to Alameda.

You know, deputy, California is not the territories. You got no authority to hunt wanted men here.

Nope. But the sheriff of Alameda does. He was very accommodating.

Was he, now.

It’s like I tole that ticket fellar …

But the redhead picked that moment to stand and daintily brush off the front of her dress. Then she sashayed down the aisle just sassy as you please and we both stood and tipped our hats as she walked by without so much as a nod in greeting. After she passed through the door to the smoker, I mopped my brow. She was the same gal that landed me ticketless and in irons.