A Rocky Mountain Christmas

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Even as Matt and the others were discussing the situation, five of the remaining male passengers were huddled in the first passenger car, making plans of their own. Leading the discussion was Paul Clark, a deputy city marshal from Red Cliff. “I know these kind of men. I deal with them all the time. Basically they are cowards and get their way by bluffing. If we go into the dining car armed, like as not they won’t even put up a fight. And if they do, we’ll have the advantage of surprise.”

“You can count on me,” Dennis Dace said. “I was a sergeant in the army. I’ve fought Indians from Wyoming to the Dakotas.”

“I’m in.” Patterson was a teamster from Denver.

The other two men also agreed to be a part of the team. All five pulled their guns and checked the loads.

Clark looked back over the car at the other passengers, who were looking on with obvious anxiousness. “You folks. I think you’d best go back to the next car. You’ll be in less danger back there.”

“What are you going to do?” one of the passengers asked.

“What’s it look like we’re goin’ to do? We’re going to take back the dining car. Unless you folks are ready to go hungry.”

“There are at least four of them in there.”

“And there are five of us,” Clark replied. “Now, go on back into the next car. I wouldn’t want any of you hurt when the shootin’ starts.”

Quickly, the passengers left the car.

Clark and Dace led the other three men out onto the vestibule between the passenger car and the dining car. Signaling them to stay low, Clark raised up to look in through the door window. The car was well lit inside, and he could see the four armed men sitting at one of the tables drinking coffee. The three dining car workers, easily identified because they were wearing white uniforms, were sitting at a table between the armed men and the front of the train, effectively being held prisoners. Because the front of the train was under snow, there was nowhere for them to go.

Inside the dining car, Santelli spoke quietly. “Boys, I think we are about to have a few visitors.”

“What are you talking about?” Compton muttered.

“I just saw someone peek in through the window, then he ducked his head back down. I wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t four or five men out there about to rush us. You’d better get ready.”

Unaware he’d been seen, Clark turned to the other men with him. “All right. They are all sitting at a table at the other end of the car. None of them will be expecting us, so that gives us the advantage. Are you ready?”

“We’re ready,” Dace insisted. The other three men nodded, but said nothing.

“Let’s go!” Clark shouted. Pushing the door open, he led the rush into the dining car.

“Here they come!” Santelli shouted, alerting the other three gunmen, and all four turned their guns toward the men coming through the doorway.

The attackers could only come through the door one at a time. Before they could even bring their guns to bear, Santelli and his men were shooting.

Clark went down first, then Patterson, then Dace. The last two men, who hadn’t even made it into the car, withdrew quickly when they realized the attack had failed. One of them was nursing a wounded arm.

Compton and Morris started after them, but Santelli called them back. “Let ’em go! They can’t do anything.”

Outside they heard another rumbling sound.

“What’s that?” Kelly called out in fright.

They felt the train shake as snow came down on the dining car, but it stopped rather quickly, not covering the car completely.

“We’d better be careful about any more shooting,” Santelli said. “I think that’s what’s causing all the snow to come down.”

“Tell me, Santelli, how are we going to get out of here?” Kelly asked.

“What do you mean?”

“We was supposed to disconnect the engine from the rest of the train and take it on down the other side of the pass. We sure can’t do that now, can we? I mean what with the engine under all that snow.”

“We’re all right here. We’ll just wait it out.”

“How are we goin’ to do that?”

“Easy.” Santelli made a waving motion with his hand, then smiled. “We’ve got food. They don’t.”

When Kelly realized what Santelli was saying, the expression on his face changed from one of concern to a broad smile. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. We do have food, don’t we?”

“But how long will it last?” Morris asked, a bit concerned.

“Quite a while, I expect. You know there is enough food to feed thirty or more people, and they always pack a bit extra. But there’s only four of us that will be eatin’ it. Yes, sir, we are in fine shape.”

“What about the three men we just killed?” Kelly asked.

“What about them?” Santelli replied.

“I don’t care to stay in this car with three dead men.”

“That’s no problem. Just push ’em off. The cold won’t bother ’em none,” Santelli added with an evil chuckle.

Matt learned of the aborted attack from one of the participants, a man named Turner. He had made his way to the last car.

“There was three of us that got killed.” Turner had been shot in his left arm and was being attended to by Jenny, who had tied a bandage around the entry and exit wounds of the bullet. “Clark, he was the first one to go down. He was the one that talked the rest of us into doin’ it. Then Dace went down, and after him, Patterson got kilt. Me ’n Simpson was still out on the vestibule, hadn’t even made it into the dining car yet, but when them other three got shot, well, we turned and run off.”

“Was Simpson hit?” Matt asked.

“No. He was just scared is all.” Turner chuckled. “I was, too, to tell the truth.”

“Well, there is certainly no need for shame,” Senator Daniels said rather pompously. “To try and rescue the rest of us was a noble and brave thing.”

“It might have been noble and brave, but it wasn’t very smart.” Matt let out a sigh.

“What do you mean it wasn’t very smart?” Senator Daniels asked all in a huff. “What is your proposal? That we just sit here and do nothing while we starve to death?”

“I propose that, as much as possible, we do not shoot a gun nor incite them into shooting one. Any more shooting and the entire train could be buried under hundreds of feet of snow.”

“Heavens!” Millie exclaimed. “We certainly don’t want that!”

“Well, just what do you propose that we do?” Senator Daniels asked again.

“I think we should just sit tight. When the train doesn’t reach the station in Big Rock, the station agent will telegraph back to Buena Vista, and they’ll send another train after us.”

“Yes”—Senator Daniels cheered up a bit—“I suppose that is true, isn’t it? Unless . . .”

“Unless what?” Millie asked.

“Well, if the pass is buried under hundreds of feet of snow, the telegraph poles will be as well. They won’t be able to get a telegram through. How will anyone know of our plight?”

“That’s not a problem,” the conductor said.

“What do you mean, it isn’t a problem?” Once again Senator Daniels questioned what had just been said.

“We are used to lines being down for one reason or another,” Bailey explained. “If they can’t send a telegram directly through the pass to Buena Vista, they will send it where the wires are up. The telegram will be sent from station to station, going all the way around the pass, perhaps even as far as New York and back.”

“To New York?” Millie repeated. “Oh, my, if it has to go that far it will take so long they’ll never know about us.”

Bailey chuckled. “How long do you think it takes to get a telegram signal to New York?”

“I don’t know.”

“As fast as you can blink an eye.”

“He’s right, Mrs. Douglas. It doesn’t make any difference how far away it is, the telegraph signal gets there instantly. Why, a telegram can come all the way from London to New York, then by telegraph wire across the United States to San Francisco. It is so fast a message from London can reach San Francisco before it was even sent from London.”

“What?” Millie gasped.

Luke smiled. “Well, maybe I am joking with you just a little. But you needn’t worry if the telegraph has to go to other places before it reaches Buena Vista. Believe me, that won’t slow it down.”

Millie smiled. “Well then, we have nothing to worry about, do we?”

“Nothing at all, my dear,” Senator Daniels said, putting on a brave front for his wife and daughter.

Up at the front of the train, the engine had withstood the avalanche. Don and Beans sat unharmed in the engine cab within what amounted to an air bubble. They’d been stuck there for several hours. Realizing they were beginning to run out of air, they were trying to decide their best course of action.

“You know what? I’ve got a shovel,” Beans said. “There’s no need to be trapped here like this. We can shovel our way out of here.”

“Good idea,” Don agreed.

Beans stepped to the edge of the steel plate between the tender and the engine and began shoveling. Within fifteen minutes his shovel hit something and he stopped. “I’ll be damned.”

“What is it?” Don stood and called out.

“It’s a body. I think it’s the fella that tried to stop us.”

“He did more than try. He did stop us . . . but I don’t think this was quite what he had in mind.”