Trail to Shasta (9781101622049) Read Free Page B

the two men looked at each other.
    â€œNow what do we do?” Kemper asked.
    â€œWhat we were hired to do,” Ahern said. “If that means we gotta take a rail trip, then we gotta do it. Come on, let’s get some tickets.”
    Kemper grabbed his friend’s arm.
    â€œWhat happens if he sees us?” he asked.
    â€œThat’ll be his problem,” Ahern said. “If he forces our hand, we kill him.”
    That satisfied Kemper. They went to a ticket window.
    * * * 
    When Clint Adams was gone, Bride said, “Bridget,” and pointed to the connecting door.
    â€œDon’t worry,” her sister told her. She went to the door and tried it. “It’s firmly locked.”
    â€œBut from which side?” Bride asked.
    Bridget opened her bag and took out an ancient-looking .25 caliber Webley Irish pistol.
    â€œWe are armed,” she told her sister confidently.
    â€œI’m still afraid,” Bride said, sitting on her berth.
    Bridget went and sat beside her sister, took her hand.
    â€œAfraid of what?”
    â€œEverything,” Bride said. “This country, that man . . . Mr. O’Neil.”
    â€œYou haven’t even met Mr. O’Neil,” Bridget said.
    â€œI know it,” Bride said, “and yet you expect me to marry him.”
    â€œThe man has a gold mine, Bride,” Bridget said. “Keep your mind on that.”
    â€œI am,” the younger sister said. “That is what keeps me going.”
    Bridget squeezed her sister’s hand.
    â€œJust do as I say,” she told her, “and we’ll be fine.”
    â€œA-All right.”
    â€œNow get some rest.” Bridget stood up, so that her sister could recline on her berth. The upper berth had been opened by the porter, but Bridget did not climb up. She set about changing her clothes, removed her dress, and took another, simpler frock from her bag. The valley between her pert breasts was heavily freckled. She held the dress to her and thought a moment.
    â€œHe’s very good looking,” she said.
    â€œWho?” Bride asked.
    â€œMr. Adams. Don’t you think?”
    â€œHe scares me,” Bride said again.
    â€œMe, you.”
    â€œBut you said you weren’t scared.”
    â€œOh, I don’t mean he frightens me,” Bridget said, “he was . . . scares me a little. Here.” She touched her belly.
    â€œBridget,” Bride said warningly, sitting up. “No.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, no?”
    â€œYou said you wouldn’t do that,” Bride said. “You promised you’d control yourself.”
    â€œOh, I know I did,” she said, “but he’s very . . . masculine, isn’t he?”
    â€œOh God,” Bride said. She lay back down and put her hand to her forehead.

SIX
    Clint went to his compartment and sat looking out the window. People were still rushing by, trying to make their trains on time. The two ladies were safely installed in their own accommodations. That part of the job was over.
    He was surprised at the youth of the two women, especially considering the age of Ed O’Neil. He wondered if O’Neil knew he’d be marrying a girl forty years his junior.
    It was true, women who made it out of their teens without being married used to be considered old maids, but wasn’t the country—the world—a more progressive place than that? Clint had met many women over the years—in their twenties and even thirties—who were still single. Not one of them acted like an old maid. But these two were from Ireland. Things must have been different there.
    He sat back, thought about taking off his boots for a couple of hours. His gun and holster were wrapped up in his pack. He had his Colt New Line stuck in his belt. As soon as they got far enough away from New York, he’d take the holster out and put it on. Then he’d feel much more comfortable.
    He