Outlaw Train (13 page)

“Yes. Why you ask?”

“I was hoping maybe your father might have some whiskey about the place and you might share a little of it with a passing stranger.”

“My pa wouldn’t let me share his whiskey. But I know where somebody else’s whiskey is.” Jakey pointed at Ben Keely’s house just beside the unmoving wagon. “There’s a bottle on Ben’s shelf. Only a little left in the bottom of it. But with Ben being gone I don’t figure there’s any reason you couldn’t have it.”

“You got a key to the place?”

“Ben left me one when he asked me to tend to his cats.”

“Well, I don’t think the Tennessee Kid here will mind sitting out here alone for a little while.”

Jakey eyed the seated corpse while Anubis climbed down. “So it’s true that the Tennessee Kid lost one of his legs, I see.” Until just then the boy had failed to notice that the propped-up corpse indeed was one-legged, the trouser leg on the left side cut off just below the hip area and stitched shut.

“Yeah, it’s true,” Anubis said. “He died a hard death, that boy did. Holed up in an old farmer’s house, shooting it out through an upstairs window with some law in Texas, and never did see the farmer’s half-wit boy creeping up on him with the stove-wood axe. The half-wit took that leg off at the hip with one swipe. Axe was keen as a razor, so
goes the story. Well, when the Kid got chopped he reared up in pain right there at the window. What he didn’t know was that a Texas Ranger had managed to climb up on the roof of the porch that that window looked out onto. The Ranger jammed that shotgun through the window and blowed off the face of the Kid.” Anubis paused and smiled. “Then, the story goes, the half-wit fussed at the Ranger for having made such a mess. Said his mama would holler at him for letting his room get all bloodied up.”

“Huh. How’d you end up with his corpse, if that’s really the Tennessee Kid?”

“I didn’t. It was my partner, Raintree. He has a touch for getting hold of what he wants to find. And a knack for tracking down those who have it. I mean, he tracked
me
down, and he managed to track down your marshal’s family in Kentucky, and get that Harpe’s head jug from them. Just a skill he’s got.”

“How do you know this corpse is really the Tennessee Kid? Or that the jug of bone ain’t just full of animal bones or such?”

“I…I just know.”

“You’re taking your partner’s word for it, you mean.”

“You have an impudent tongue in your head, son.”

“I know I do. Sorry. But I can’t help wondering how you
know
what you are showing is real. My pa always says that showmen are mostly storytellers, by which he means liars. No offense. It’s why he ain’t allowed me to go see the Outlaw Train. He says nobody should hand over money to see a bunch of fake corpses and doodads and such.”

“Well, now that you’ve got that pass, you can come to the train without your father being out so much as a nickel. So I’ll expect to see you there. Now, can we go in and find that whiskey?”

“Yeah. But I’ll warn you, there ain’t much left in the bottle, as I recall it.”

“A little is better than none. Come on, son.”

They walked to the house of Ben Keely, and Jakey Wills turned the key in the lock. No more than a minute later, Gypsy Nicholas Anubis was seated in the corner of Keely’s front room with a glass of whiskey in hand, enjoying it along with the prospect of finishing off what still remained in the bottle.

Jakey, a little nervous because he’d let a stranger, without permission, into the home of a man who had trusted him, fidgeted in his seat a few minutes while Anubis drank, then began pacing around the small living room, looking at the handful of books on Ben Keely’s shelves.

“Here’s one called
Well-Known Bad Men of the Frontier
,” he announced as he pulled it down from the shelf. “Let me see here…” Jakey thumbed through it, found the index, and scanned. “Yep. There’s something here about the Harpes. ‘Big and Little Harpe,’ it says. Which one’s skull bone do you have? I forgot.”

“Big Harpe. He got killed and beheaded in Kentucky. His brother died later. Somewhere down in the lower Mississippi River country, I think.” Anubis took another sip of whiskey and smacked his lips. “Not bad whiskey for a backwater lawman to have on his shelf. I’m going to finish off this bottle, son, and thank you for it.”

“Well, you’re welcome, because I don’t figure Ben is coming back. He’d have come by now if he was going to.”

“So how’s your town fixed for law, with your marshal gone?”

“We got a substitute. One of Ben’s deputies, name of Luke Cable. Does a right fair job, but lately he’s had some trouble. The county sheriff got gunned down in one of the saloons, and after they locked up the shooter, the man got the jump on one of the jailers when nobody else was there, and killed him right through the bars. Snapped his neck clean as a hangman, with his hands. Know who it was?”

“How would I know your local jailers, son?”

“I’m talking about the prisoner, not the jailer. It was one of the Nolan brothers. Scar Nolan. Or that’s what everybody believes. He claimed some other name. But that’s what you’d expect a wanted outlaw like Nolan to do, claim a false name.”

“You’re telling me Scar Nolan is locked up in your local jail?”

“No. He broke out. He took the key off the jailer’s corpse and let himself out. Got a horse and fled. The marshal has a posse out looking for him right now.”

Anubis rubbed his chin thoughtfully while thunder rumbled through the clouded sky outside. “Intriguing, boy. Absolutely intriguing! And a little worrisome.”

“Why worrisome?”

“I’d as soon not say. Suffice it to say he might have cause to be a bit unhappy with me and my associate. I have to wonder if he followed us here. I’ve
had a feeling somebody’s been following us for a while now.”

“None of my business, I reckon, but why would Scar Nolan have something against two showmen?”

“Because we got something on the train that he most likely wouldn’t like us having.”

The man drank some more and the boy continued to restlessly pace about. As Anubis poured the last of Ben Keely’s whiskey into his glass, he eyed Jakey with one brow slightly raised. “Son, let me ask you a question. Have you heard any talk about a woman, kind of a fortune-teller or something, who is in your town right now?”

“There is a woman who’s held a meeting, talking to the dead kin of folks who came to it.”

“Hmm. What’s her name?”

“House, or Hoss, or something like that.”

“Heard any talk about her?”

“Joe Farner, who lives over yonder way a few miles, rode by yesterday and said something about her. Said she’s a real pretty woman.”

“Did he say she was a fallen woman? A whore?”

“No. But we didn’t talk for long. He was just riding through to visit some of his people further to the west.”

“We’ve run across that same woman before, Percival and me, while we travel. And she is indeed a fallen woman. Makes part of her money that way, part by pretending to get messages from the dead. And there’s a chance she’s not really named Haus. There’s a good chance her real name is Kate Bender. You’ve heard of her, I suppose?”

“I’ve heard of the Bender family who had that inn where they killed folks.”

“That’s who I’m talking about.”

“Is it really her?”

“Don’t know. But if it is, I wish she’d visit the Outlaw Train and fall over dead while she was there. She’d be quite the display, that particular woman’s corpse.”

Jakey had to ponder how strange a man this was he’d allowed into Ben Keely’s house. “How would you keep her corpse from going bad on you?”

“Same way I’ve preserved the others, like Tennessee out there. That’s my trained skill, son, preserving the dead. It’s what I know how to do, better than anybody else in this nation. This woman Haus talks to the dead. Me, I preserve them.”

“But even an undertaker can’t make a corpse last for good.”

“Not if he hasn’t been trained in certain secret old arts that make it possible. Me, I’ve been trained. I’ve been taught the old arts. In my field, son, I’m a famous man, in one small circle. No other like me. No other at all, not since my teacher passed on. No one else alive knows what I know about preserving the dead.”

“So who will know when you’re gone?”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“Well…nobody lives forever.”

“I’m not an old man yet.”

“No…but nobody lives forever.”

“Well, I…I don’t know. I haven’t given it a thought.”

“You ought to teach somebody else.”

Anubis rubbed his hand across his chin and looked distressed. After a few moments he said, “No. I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because then I wouldn’t be the only one. It’s good, you see, to be the only one. It’s all I’ve got…being the only one.”

Jimmy Wills, seated behind the desk of the Gable House Hotel, looked up quickly when he realized he had a customer. He’d been absorbed in a dime novel, something he counted on to help him pass what promised to be a boring day. Mr. Gable had moved him off night duty, a positive change, in Jimmy’s view, but he’d been surprised to find that the only difference now was that daytime rather than night had become an endless drudgery.

Jimmy slipped the novel onto a shelf under the desk and stood to welcome the newcomer. The ravenhaired man was dressed like a typical traveler, but Jimmy noticed his clothing, though of seemingly high quality, was threadbare and worn. Old. His hat bore the dark stains of much wear and handling. This man was accustomed to travel, and was no man of means.

What intrigued him about the man, though, were his eyes. They were quite large and extraordinarily blue, but not the kind of pale, dog’s-eye blue that made some people striking, but a deep, almost lavender hue, made more obvious in contrast to his pallid complexion. The thought that crossed Jimmy’s mind
as he looked at the stranger was that this man came from some exotic, and definitely European, ancestry.

“Good day, sir,” Jimmy said brightly. “Welcome to the Gable House.”

“Thank you,” the man replied in an accent that sounded familiar to Jimmy, though he couldn’t remember just where he’d heard another like it. As the man continued to speak, though, Jimmy made the connection. Katrina Haus. That’s who he talked like. “I’m a traveler in need of a room, young man. Have you anything available?”

“We do, sir,” Jimmy said. “Your choice of any of four rooms at the moment.”

“All of equal quality?”

“They are. All with a good bed, extra pillows, extra quilts in the trunk at the foot of the bed—though you won’t need those in this warm weather—and cherrywood wardrobes with a dozen hangers each. There’s a basin on a washstand, and every morning our guests find a pitcher of heated water outside their door by eight o’clock, with a clean towel and washcloth. We also offer a free razor-sharpening service for our guests in conjunction with the general hardware store down the street. And discounted meals for our guests in the Almanac Café over on Emporium Street.”

“Emporium Street…named for the Montague’s Emporium that is making your town so famous?”

“It is. Though I don’t know that our town is ‘famous,’ exactly.”

“Well, I can tell you that word about that remarkable establishment has spread far and wide. The
nearest store to compare to Montague’s Emporium, I’ve been told, is in Chicago, far from here.”

“It is a big place, no doubt about it. I wasn’t sure the emporium would survive here, with the size of our population, but it draws customers from miles away. Many people travel to Wiles just to visit the place. It’s been good for this town, sir.”

“The town of Wiles owes a great deal to Mr. Montague.”

“How long do you anticipate staying with us, Mr…”

“Baum. Fredrick Baum. Two nights at least. Perhaps more if the ground here proves fertile. I speak metaphorically in that regard.”

He might as well have been speaking Greek as far as Jimmy Wills was concerned. Jimmy had no notion what a word such as “metaphorically” meant. The “fertile ground” reference made him assume that Baum was in some way involved in agriculture.

“If you need to extend your stay, that will be no problem. We give preference to lodgers already in place. Now, if you wish to sign in…”

Jimmy turned the ledger around to allow Baum to put his name on the first open line. While signing, Baum scanned previous names. He lifted a forefinger and touched the name of Katrina Haus higher on the register page.

“You know her?” Jimmy asked.

“Years ago, back in Pennsylvania, from where I come, I knew a girl by that name, while both of us were children. A beautiful girl…the first I ever took notice of, if you understand me.”

“The Katrina Haus who is staying here is a very beautiful woman,” Jimmy said. “The most beautiful I’ve seen.”

“I’ll keep an eye peeled, then. Doubtful it would be the same person, though.”

“Probably not.” Jimmy fished a ringed key off the pegboard behind him. “May I help you get your bags upstairs?”

“I have only what I’m already carrying,” Baum replied. “I’ll manage alone. But thank you.” He hefted his things and stepped toward the stair. “Would it be improper for me to ask what room Miss Haus is staying in?”

“She’s right down the hall from the room I just put you in, sir,” Jimmy replied. “Two doors, same side of the corridor as you.”

“Thank you, sir. I look forward to my stay in your hotel.”

“Glad to have you with us, Mr. Baum.”

Baum started again toward the stairs, then stopped. “Oh, young man,” he said, “I take it you are a reader. I saw you reading a book when I came in.”

“Helps to pass the time.”

“Let me give you something you might enjoy, then.” He set down his bags, opened one of them, and from it produced something that at first Jimmy thought was another dime novel, or perhaps an almanac. Baum laid it on the desk in front of Jimmy.

SPRING-HEELED JACK’S ARGUS OF MYSTERY
, the illustrated cover read. Then a smaller line of ornamental type beneath:
A Compendium of the Strange, Spiritual, and Supernatural from across the United States of America.

The illustration, an etching similar in style to what Jimmy had seen in such publications as
Harper’s
and
Leslie’s Illustrated
, showed a woman on the street of some city, cowering by night from an apparition that loomed out of a dark alley, leaning over her like a giant made of smoke. Beneath the image were the words Ghosts of the Philadelphia Backstreets, a Study by F.A.B.

“That’s me, ‘F.A.B.,’” Baum said. “Frederick Allen Baum.”

Jimmy picked up the paper-bound volume and studied the picture closely. “You print this thing?” he asked.

“No, but I write for it. And I work closely with the illustrators who provide the excellent art such as you see on that cover.”

“So this thing is about ghosts and such?”

“It is a periodical journal that explores those mysteries that confront us in this world, particularly when it intersects with worlds beyond. Do you understand me?”

“I ain’t sure.”

“Then let me put it this way: it’s about ‘ghosts and such.’ The ‘and such’ part being a broad category indeed.”

“I don’t know of ghosts in Wiles, mister.”

“Oh, there may be some. There are often ghosts in places where violent death has occurred. And small Western towns such as this one are known as sites of violent death.”

“Not Wiles. We’re known for nothing much happening.” He paused. “Except…our county sheriff just got killed by a famous outlaw. Scar Nolan. Shot
him dead. Marshal’s posse is still out looking for him, far as I know.”

“Any evidence of ghostly activity where your sheriff died?”

“He ain’t even buried yet, mister. I figure a ghost would at least wait for the burying before he stirred himself.”

“Well…no matter. I didn’t come to this town on the hope of stumbling upon some random ghost tale.”

“Why, then?” By the standards of the Kansas frontier, this was an intrusive question, and Jimmy knew it, but he was too curious not to ask.

“I’m on…a
trail.
The trail of a particular story. This is the place, I think, where I will find it.”

“Well, good luck to you in that, sir. Most times there’s nothing in this town with the least bit of excitement to it.”

“Sometimes a town has its own excitement, and sometimes excitement comes to it.”

“Let me know if you find any problem with your room, Mr. Baum.”

“Thank you, young man.”

Baum hefted his things and started toward the stairs again. But Jimmy said, “Sir, I told you I knew of no ghosts in Wiles. And that’s true, except that there was a meeting here in the last little bit where folks gathered and talked to their dead kin. It was Miss Haus who led it.”

“Really? She is a medium?”

“She says she can talk to spirits of the departed. I saw her doing it…it was my job to collect the admission money at the door.”

“Did she succeed at her task?”

“She seemed like she did. She told a lot of folks a lot of things they seemed to want to hear. About their dead children being in heaven and all. So I guess she must have gotten through to the spirits.”

“There are ways, really quite simple ones, by which such things can be faked. Did you see manifestations? Mists? Smokes? Plasmas? Audible voices coming from nowhere?”

“Nothing like that, no.”

“I see.” Baum pursed his lips and knit his brows. “I see.”

He headed up the stairs, carrying whatever thoughts he had with him in silence.

Jimmy, meanwhile, was glad the subject of Katrina Haus had come up. It reminded him that there was something he needed to give her. Something he’d found on the hotel desk when he arrived for his shift. He put his hand into a drawer and withdrew it.

It was an envelope, sealed with wax, with the name of Katrina Haus on the front of it. He had no idea who had left it.

Jimmy laid the envelope out near the ledger so he would be sure to see it when Katrina next came in. And as luck would have it, she walked into the lobby within the next five minutes, and headed toward the stairs. Baum was long gone by now, locked away up in his room.

“Ma’am,” he said. She turned. He held up the envelope. “Someone left this for you.”

She took the envelope and unsealed it on the spot. Pulling out a folding note card, she opened it and read quickly. Jimmy recognized the monogram on
the outside of the card. It was one of the personalized note cards used by banker Howard Ashworth for his informal correspondence.

To Jimmy’s surprise, Katrina brought the card over to him. Covering up much of the writing inside with her hand, she let him see a few words.

“Tell me, Jimmy,” Katrina asked, “does this writing look like Mr. Ashworth’s writing to you?”

He glanced at it and shook his head. “The impression it gives me, ma’am, is of a woman’s hand.”

“I thought the same.” Katrina pulled the card back and frowned at it.

“What is your concern, ma’am?”

Katrina looked up at Jimmy. “I probably shouldn’t…oh, what does it matter? I’m certain you know what I do. For my living, I mean. Other than my communications with the departed.”

“I think I know what you’re referring to, ma’am.”

“Well, then you’ll understand why I find it odd that the wife of a man with whom I’ve…done, well, ‘business’ would write a note requesting me to meet her husband in a private location, and sign her husband’s name to it. That’s what this note is. A request supposedly from Howard Ashworth to meet me in a dark lot near the emporium building. His name is signed, but I’m inclined to believe this was done by his wife.”

“I don’t think you should go, Miss Haus,” Jimmy said. “Maybe she knows you were with him before. Maybe she’s got bad designs. Or, maybe they just want to thank you for putting their dead son in touch with them at your presentation.”

“Maybe so.” She thought about it a few moments
and seemed to seize upon the idea. “I’m sure you are right, Jimmy. They simply want to thank me.”

“Or maybe Mr. Ashworth has just got a womanish way of writing,” Jimmy suggested.

“It’s possible.” Katrina laughed musically. “You have been a most helpful young man while I’ve been in this town,” she said. “Before I depart here, I am thinking of, shall we say,
rewarding
you in a special way.”

Jimmy tried to speak, but his voice had disappeared.

Katrina Haus laughed and went up the stairs to her room. There she looked again at the card bearing Howard Ashworth’s monogram and signature, and marked in her mind the time and place of the requested meeting. It was this same day, the time not very far away.

She listened to a peal of thunder and regretted that the weather was turning bad. She would proceed nonetheless. Maybe the storm would come and go before she met Ashworth in that lot near the emporium.