Chrome Heart Trucker Hat
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The next morning was a repeat of the first: an early rise, breakfast, and then off on another stagecoach ride. It was a bumpy trip this time as the driver tried to avoid cow dung on the road, which made it impossible for me to sleep during the two-hour drive to San Francisco.
But I did get a chance to watch the landscape pass by outside our windows while listening to the conversation between Tomlinson and the driver as they discussed routes to Sacramento and what could be done about the lack of horses along the route.
They talked about a few other things but all that mattered to me at this point was whether there would be enough money coming into their coffers. We stopped once more before reaching Oakland. I was surprised to learn we were only three miles from the city since the landscape didn’t change much until we reached town.
Once inside, I followed the other passengers down the long street toward the train station, where several trains awaited us.
A short time after we arrived, Tomlinson walked over to where I waited with my suitcase near a large map showing the various train lines running through Oakland. “I’ll leave you here with the others.” He pointed to four men waiting in front of two railroad cars marked for Sacramento.
“They can take you across the bay if you don’t mind sitting on top of the train.” The man closest to me nodded. “It’s safer than being stuck inside a railcar with all those criminals out there. And it beats walking in the middle of nowhere.”
“We appreciate your concern,” I said.
“You know, Miss Harper, it wouldn’t hurt one bit if you put on a little dress for traveling like these people do.” Tomlinson turned around and looked at his companions who also stared at me while they spoke among themselves.
One man said, “If she wants to go that far, why not? She might even enjoy riding in style.”
But the speaker who’d spoken last answered him quickly. “She won’t want to look different from them, will she?”
Tomlinson walked up to me. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come along now.” I started walking ahead of the group when Tomlinson caught up with me. “Wait! You’re not going anywhere alone.”
“How many of us is she supposed to have anyway? One?” When I didn’t respond, he continued. “All right, you can go with these gentlemen. But don’t let any harm come to you and keep the gun close by at all times. Remember, it’s loaded.”
That was enough to make me decide to follow their directions so I climbed into the second train car that stood empty as the rest of the passengers boarded ours. It wasn’t until I was seated inside the compartment with a window on the side that faced the back of the train that I saw a familiar face sitting nearby.
His dark hair hung down past his ears as he watched the train pull away from the platform. My hand flew to the pistol inside my jacket. A bullet hole had been carved in his chest; blood stained both his shirt and pants. He was still wearing the sheriff’s badge.
***
Sheriff’s Office
Oakland
June 18
The train ride to Sacramento was a peaceful one as the other passengers slept or sat quietly reading newspapers spread out on their laps. I spent most of the time watching the scenery flash by outside the window, which included some farm fields and small towns along the way.
The only thing that interrupted the peace was a young woman who kept looking in my direction with suspicious eyes while her companion snored loudly next to her. Her gaze never left mine until she finally turned around and went back to the front of the car.
As we pulled into Sacramento, I took advantage of the time to look around. Our train hadn’t stopped yet so I was able to get a better sense of the layout. To my surprise, Tomlinson’s office was actually part of a hotel that overlooked the tracks.
The hotel was made up of five stories but seemed rather small compared to the large buildings I’d seen earlier. As the train came to a stop, I stepped forward to see if anything else needed to be done but soon realized Tomlinson and the others were already leaving the railcar.
“What about my baggage?” I asked the young man who’d carried my suitcase for me. He didn’t reply but hurried out of sight.
When I reached the platform, I found Sheriff Tomlinson talking with two men dressed in black suits. The younger man wore a red bandana tied around his neck and held a pistol at his waist. He stood out from the others because he was obviously trying to impress everyone with his expensive-looking suit.
Both men had their hats low on their foreheads, which meant they were probably hiding their identities for fear of getting mobbed by fans. It wasn’t hard to figure out why they weren’t wearing badges on their jackets as neither of them would be allowed to wear a sheriff’s star if anyone recognized them.
“Good morning, Sheriff. What can I do for you today?” The older man’s voice boomed as he waved the young man away.
“Hello, Mr. Harper, and how are you this fine day?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“Well, you can call me Sheriff.”
“And I’m sure you will find us lawmen quite helpful in protecting you from criminals.”
“Just as long as you protect us from each other,” Tomlinson replied with a laugh.
I smiled politely. “I hope so.” I turned and started toward the hotel. But before I could reach the steps, Tomlinson grabbed my arm.
“Don’t get too comfortable here, miss, or you’ll start looking at me like those ladies did.”
I shrugged free and continued climbing the stairs. The sheriff followed me closely behind. “So, tell me, where are you headed?”
“To the Capitol Building in Sacramento.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Then we should walk together.” We moved farther along the platform when I noticed another man standing near us, staring in our direction. It was one of the men from the train, the same one who’d looked at me so curiously during the ride.
He nodded slightly when he spotted me and then returned his attention to Tomlinson, who said, “We’re supposed to meet with the governor’s assistant to discuss your case. I just wanted to give you a warning.”
“A warning against what?”
“You’re going to feel some heat. Don’t worry. You won’t feel the full brunt of it. That would require an arrest warrant signed by Judge Fosbrook. But since he’s out of town and there isn’t much evidence to work with, there’s not much that can be done to prevent you from walking around freely without being mobbed by fans. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, Sheriff. If someone wants to come after me, I’ll handle it myself.”
“That’s the spirit! Now you’ll have no trouble at all finding a job with this new law firm of yours.”
I smiled politely and hurried down the stairs as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t catch up with me again. “Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate you giving me a heads-up.”
“Oh, no need for thanks. Just remember, you can never be too careful these days.”
At first, I wondered if he meant about the danger of becoming a target for a murderer or mobster but then I recalled a story that had appeared in my newspaper last week about a female reporter who’d been kidnapped and killed.
She had left a note explaining that she was leaving her job with the Chicago Tribune to follow the story of a notorious gang leader who was suspected to be involved in several bank robberies. Her kidnapper had also forced her to write his ransom demand, threatening to kill her if she didn’t comply.
It was clear that the killer had planned his crime carefully to take advantage of her desire to write a sensational story.
I thought about the threat of having my picture taken while in disguise and realized that even though I could always remove the wig and glasses, they might help put a name to a face for any future criminal.
I tried to think of a way to prevent that from happening until I remembered that I still hadn’t told him who I was, which meant he would have no reason to believe anything bad was about to happen to me. So I decided to tell him the truth when he asked me what I’d be doing in Sacramento.
Then he’d understand why I needed a change of clothes and a new set of clothes for myself—which included some very feminine undergarments.
***
I stopped at the corner and pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders as I watched a horse-drawn stagecoach roll past. I’d arrived in Gold Rush City late yesterday afternoon, but instead of checking into one of the city’s three hotels, I’d walked along Main Street, looking for an appropriate place to live, and settled for this boardinghouse.
This was my first time in the state capitol building, but I already knew it was an impressive structure. There were two wings, each with three floors, and four smaller wings extending from them. The center section was open and surrounded by large trees. From our vantage point, the gold dome shone in the early evening sunlight, and its beauty seemed to match the majesty of the city itself.
The building’s interior reminded me of Washington’s White House. The walls were painted white, the floor was made of black slate, and there were large windows throughout. But the most noticeable difference between the White House and the Capitol Building was the number of people working in the lobby area.
They weren’t just clerks or secretaries; they seemed to be lawyers and judges, all of whom were dressed in their finest clothes. I guessed that was because this was where the governor’s staff gathered before making appearances on the front steps of the Capitol Building.
There was also a long line outside of a coffee shop, which I assumed was owned by the governor’s family. A few women stood near the entrance, waiting patiently to enter the cafe and sip the governor’s favorite hot beverage.
While I waited for a carriage to carry me through town, I studied the building from our position across the street. The doors opened onto an expansive marble hallway that led straight to the grand rotunda. At least two dozen men and women entered or exited the door, and every one of them looked prosperous and confident.
It was impossible to see what kind of business they did inside the Capitol Building unless they took off their hats, which wasn’t likely, given the importance of wearing them in public.
After leaving my bag and valise with the landlady, I crossed the street and headed toward the Capitol Building. I didn’t notice anyone staring at me as I passed through the revolving door and walked up to the first floor.
As I stepped out of the glass doors, I immediately noticed that my hair now matched my new wardrobe, which meant that I had to get used to the fact that it was shorter than before. That was something else I could blame on my former life as a newspaper reporter.
My current employer had insisted upon shortening my hairstyle so that my hat wouldn’t cover my eyes, thereby ruining my ability to take pictures. Of course, that was only a temporary measure; eventually, I would have to find another way to take photographs of criminals and witnesses without being seen. I hoped that wouldn’t cause any problems for my new career.
My next stop was the Capitol Building’s gift shop, which was located directly opposite the main entrance to the rotunda. When I reached the store, a bell chimed above the door as I stepped inside. I turned right to enter the book room, where I searched through a collection of books about California and its history.
Many of these were old and dusty, but it was interesting to see how the country had changed over time.
“Miss? May I help you?”
Startled by the man’s voice, I glanced up to see a middle-aged clerk with dark brown hair and a mustache. He wore a gray suit and vest and carried a stack of books under his arm as if they were the only items he owned.
“I’m looking for some information about the California Gold Rush,” I said, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt. “Have you ever heard of William H. Bonney, otherwise known as Billy the Kid?”
“Of course.” The clerk nodded as if he already knew everything about Billy the Kid, who’d died at age 21 after a shootout at Fort Sumner in New Mexico Territory, almost thirty years ago. It seemed to bother him that I hadn’t mentioned the fact that I was writing a book. “But are you looking for anything in particular?”
“Not exactly… Are you familiar with a man named John Tunstall? I read about him in one of the papers today. He’s apparently quite famous for shooting down Indians while riding a horse.”
The clerk chuckled and shook his head as if that was too much to ask. “Well, we’re lucky that we don’t have to shoot Indians anymore, aren’t we? Not like those early pioneers had to do.”
“Yes… And what about Billy the Kid? Do you know what happened to him?”
“He was tried in the courtrooms here and then hanged. You might also want to look into the history of the Old West since that period is still considered quite colorful and exciting. How long will you be staying in Sacramento?”
“Just a few days. After that, I’ll probably visit San Francisco.”
“That sounds exciting… If you need any more information, please let me know,” he offered. Then he left the book room, closing the door behind him.
It took me less than five minutes to finish searching the book room and leave the Capitol Building. On my way back to the inn, I stopped to talk to one of the guards stationed outside the front doors and asked about Billy the Kid.
The guard was polite enough to tell me that Billy’s grave was at a cemetery several miles north of town, just west of the railroad tracks. I thanked the guard and then headed home.
The landlady had prepared a light lunch of tea and sandwiches before I got back to the inn, which she placed in a wooden tray on the table in front of me. “Here you go, Miss,” she said, handing me my sandwich as if it were a piece of cake.
But it wasn’t until I’d finished eating and put away the last bite that I finally realized what a wonderful woman she was. She’d done her best to make my stay comfortable and pleasant.
On my way upstairs, I stopped to speak with the landlady again. “Thank you for your hospitality. Can I buy you lunch sometime?”
“Anytime.”
I smiled broadly as I went up the stairs. It sounded like she really liked me, which was fine with me; it would only add to my growing list of things to do. I decided that when my assignment was complete, I’d pay her a surprise visit.
When I arrived at the office, the sheriff looked surprised to see me. “Where did you come from?”
“The Capitol Building…” I started to answer but then caught sight of the other two men. “You’ve all been expecting me, haven’t you?”
“Of course, we have,” the sheriff replied with a grin. “We can’t let anyone else take credit for this little adventure.”
“What did you find out?” I asked.
“Nothing too exciting,” said the second deputy, who was also a deputy marshal. “Just what we already knew. There are no outlaws hiding in the area or any place nearby.”
“And Billy the Kid is dead,” the first deputy added. “They found his body in Fort Sumner, New Mexico.”
“So why did you call me? I’m not interested in reading the newspapers or taking the law into my own hands.”
“Actually, there is something you could do for us.” The sheriff’s smile disappeared and his tone suddenly became serious. “Did you happen to notice anything unusual yesterday afternoon in the vicinity of our county jail?”
My eyes widened. I’d seen a sheriff’s car parked beside the jailhouse earlier in the day, and the sheriff and one of his deputies were talking with an older man inside the building. Was that man a prisoner? A prisoner who’d escaped?
“Yes,” I said quietly, “I remember seeing one of your deputies and another man talking to someone in the sheriff’s office.”
The sheriff nodded as if he’d expected me to say that. “The other man turned out to be the escapee from Fort Sill. He was trying to get word to his partner in crime.”
***
“You mean that man you saw talking with the deputy was a convict who just escaped from prison? Did he say how he got out of the jailhouse?”
“Not much to tell. They had an arrangement with the sheriff, the deputy, and their accomplice,” the sheriff answered. “They were supposed to pick up a stolen gun from a friend in town and bring it to the courthouse square.”
“But they didn’t,” I guessed.
The sheriff shook his head. “No… Instead, they decided to kill the deputy and steal the weapon.”
“So why are we going after them?” I asked.
The three men glanced at each other in silence, but then the sheriff spoke. “Because they’re wanted criminals. And because they killed a deputy. In most cases, we wouldn’t bother chasing people who have already broken the law by killing a member of law enforcement… But these men are different.
One of them shot and killed Deputy William Witherspoon while he was guarding an open meeting in town yesterday evening. That was enough to make me want to pursue him. We still don’t know which of them pulled the trigger, but either way, we have a right to capture them and hang them.”
A chill ran through me, causing gooseflesh to rise along my arms and legs. These men had killed a law officer. What kind of evil deeds did they plan to carry out next?
The sheriff told me what I could expect on my hunt, then dismissed us from the room so he could give instructions to the deputies, who were waiting outside. As I left, I glanced at the portrait of the first marshal hanging over the sheriff’s desk.
It was an impressive painting of a tall, strong-looking man standing in profile against a blue background. His stern features made me think he might be a very hard man to please, but then he probably didn’t have too many friends, either.
***
In spite of the heat, I decided to ride back to Fort Sumner instead of walking down Main Street. Riding a horse would make me feel better about what I was doing and would also allow me to cover more ground quicker than if I walked.
I rode slowly, allowing the animal to pick its own path across the sandy soil, but eventually reached the outskirts of town where I stopped near the railroad tracks.
As soon as I dismounted, I noticed something strange. There were no horses tied to the railings surrounding the train depot. No animals, except for a few sheep and goats, grazed alongside the tracks in the distance. I remembered that the previous day before we’d taken off on our adventure, we hadn’t seen any livestock nearby. Was it possible they’d all run away?
I stared at the empty lot where the train station once stood, hoping I’d missed something. Maybe it had only been torn down and not demolished. If so, then maybe I could ride down to the tracks and see if there was anything left behind.
After all, I was sure I’d heard the sheriff say something about a wreck involving some boxcars carrying livestock and a freight wagon full of guns and ammunition.
It didn’t matter now anyway, I thought when I spotted a pair of horses tied to one rail and several others grazing in the field below. Even if those beasts had belonged to the men who’d been arrested yesterday, they would never be used again. Horses weren’t like cattle. You couldn’t just throw them into the pen and forget about them until the meat spoiled and the carcasses rotted.
I rode down to the tracks, stopping to check the nearest one for tracks. When I found nothing, I climbed down to look along the ground. It was dry and dusty here, but otherwise unremarkable, just another place to rest your tired bones on this prairie.
Then, as I stepped closer to inspect the tracks, I realized they were fresh. The dust had barely settled when those wagons passed through. They were still traveling west—to where?
After studying the tracks for a minute, I looked around to see if I could find any sign of the men responsible. Then I returned to the tracks, bent down, and picked up a single pebble. It must’ve rolled along the ground from somewhere else, but it had ended up in front of my feet and seemed to belong there.
I put the rock in my pocket and continued to examine the ground, searching for more clues as to where they might have gone.
Suddenly, I spotted two small stones jutting out of the dirt in opposite directions. One was slightly larger than the other. Had I dropped one of them when I landed or had one of the wagons hit it? Or had one of the animals kicked it?
I leaned down and brushed away the loose dirt. There! A tiny hole had formed underneath the larger stone, almost as if someone had thrown it there purposely. Was there any significance to this? Did it have to do with the men being captured?
My heart began to beat faster as I examined the rocks. I knew little about geology and didn’t have time to dig deeper into my knowledge base. What was important now was finding their trail. If I followed those rocks, perhaps I’d learn where they went after leaving town.
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice said softly from behind me. “Are you looking for a certain person?”
Startled by the man’s sudden appearance, I turned toward him. It took a moment to recognize him as one of the deputies who escorted me back to the hotel room earlier in the day. He was tall and thin, his hair cropped close to the scalp so that it looked like a buzz cut even though it wasn’t.
He wore the same uniform as the other lawmen and sported the gun on his hip that I’d noticed while I waited outside in the hall.
But why was he asking me these questions now? I thought back to my conversation with Sheriff Daugherty, wondering how much the deputy really knew.
“No,” I answered quickly. “Why? Are you looking for somebody?”
The question was rhetorical. We both knew there were no people named Tom or Sam, nor did I know any of the other names he mentioned.
He smiled at me as if we shared a secret. “If you’re looking for someone to help you get around, then I can offer you an escort.” He paused briefly before adding, “We’ll take turns, of course. I won’t let you walk alone, not in this town.”
There were a number of things wrong with this statement. Why did he think I wanted company? And if I needed someone to show me around town, why not ask me directly instead of implying that I should feel grateful for his assistance? But most importantly, I’d already decided that I wouldn’t be staying long enough to need a guide. So what was the deputy’s point?
He must have read my expression because he held up a finger. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling again. “I’m not accusing you of anything. Just making sure I can give you whatever assistance you require.” His eyes narrowed for a moment. “You seem like an honest sort to me, so I’m offering my services freely.”
I didn’t understand his words or his actions. Did he think I was a thief? Was it possible he didn’t know me? No, he must have watched me ride into town today.
As soon as we reached the hotel, he pulled off his hat and wiped his face with a handkerchief. Then he walked over to where I stood on the porch, his boots crunching on the gravel beneath us.
“May I have the pleasure of escorting you?” he asked, his deep baritone voice soothing and friendly.
It was clear from his manner that he believed he was helping me. Yet, he made no mention of our earlier conversation. Maybe he’d forgotten. That was certainly possible since it was only minutes ago. But it seemed more likely that he’d been sent here to make sure I was all right. It was also possible that Daugherty had ordered him to keep a close eye on me.
When he spoke again, his tone grew more formal and his words more pointed: “Sheriff Daugherty told me you were staying at the hotel. Would you mind telling me your name and where you hail from?”
“Actually,” I responded, “I’m waiting for a train to take me north.”
His expression changed, almost as if he were surprised by my answer. “I see. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” I replied, wishing I could tell him more, but unwilling to reveal my true identity yet. “Do you happen to know when the next train is scheduled to arrive?”
“Not exactly. But tomorrow morning should be good. The last one left yesterday afternoon.” He glanced up at the clouds above us. “If you’re willing to wait until tomorrow, I might be able to check for you.”
“Would that be all right?” I asked.
He gave me a nod. “I’ll come back and speak with you later, Miss …?”
“Just call me Emma.”
“Emma. Of course.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Thank you very much for your time, Miss …” He glanced at the sheriff’s office. “Didn’t the sheriff send you in here?”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“Then you may want to ask for me—Sheriff Daugherty.” As we started down the stairs, the deputy said, “I don’t think there are any trains running tonight, but you can always try calling out to the engineer. It doesn’t hurt to ask.”
Sheriff Daugherty wasn’t inside the station building, which meant he was probably still at the saloon. I hadn’t seen either of them at the hotel earlier, so I wondered how long they’d been there. Had the sheriff been listening outside my room while I spoke with him?
My curiosity about their motives suddenly became much stronger than my desire for answers.
The End