Part 15 (1/2)

”I know that, boy. I just want you to remember her. She was on that train.”

”What train?”

”The one derailed at the Little Blackfoot. Killed the engineer, killed the fireman, killed a drummer named Kelley, and it killed this here girl. Velna Oramo. Broke both of her mother's legs, not to mention her heart. Hurt a lot of other people, but it's the girl's death that got the Northern Pacific riled, got everyone in Helena wanting blood. She was nine years old.”

”You should run the photographer who took that picture out of Helena,” Gene Hardee said. ”Takes one sick. . . .”

”He's no fiend,” Bitterroot said. ”Pictures like that make things personal, shows Montana what . . .”

I'd heard enough. ”I don't know this girl. I don't know anything about that accident. I. . . .”

”Wasn't no accident, Hawkins. That train was derailed on purpose.”

Now, I understood. I dropped the photo. Waited for Bitterroot Abbott to finish.

”Your pard, John Henry Kenton was seen. Been identified. He stole a pickaxe from a railroad tool shed. Was overheard at the Crabtown Saloon saying he'd get even with the railroad. Said the N.P. never should have brought in barbed wire. Kenton's a murderer, Hawkins. A vicious, terrible murderer . . . four times over. A child killer. I'd hang him four times. I'd hang him forty times. He'll only hang once, but I'm after him, and you know me. I don't trust lawyers, and judges, and hangmen. And I figure you might know where he is.” He pointed at the photograph by my dripping boots.

”Well?” he said.

I let his words sink in, but couldn't say anything. I'd close my eyes, and see that girl. I'd imagine the wreck. My stomach got all twisted.

Gene Hardee broke the silence. ”Tommy O'Hallahan? Was he seen in Helena? At the Little Blackfoot?”

I wasn't sure I wanted to hear Bitterroot's answer. ”No,” the gunman said. ”Kenton was alone. n.o.body knows what become of the other boy. Reckon folks would remember a face like his.”

Abbott told us more. Kenton watched the wreck. The fireman lived long enough to describe him and the big sorrel horse he was riding. Other witnesses on the train and at the Crabtown Saloon gave a judge enough reason to issue a warrant for John Henry's arrest.

”The N.P.'s put up a five hundred dollar reward for Kenton,” Abbott said, ”and the residents of Helena added to that pile another five hundred. I aim to collect it. So I'm asking you once more, Hawkins. Where's Kenton?”

”Forget it, Abbott,” Gene Hardee said. ”Major MacDunn ordered Kenton off this range. Kenton's not here. Haven't seen him since Tristram Gow fired him. Jim Hawkins has been here, working hard. Boy helped save my hide when I busted my ankle in that first bad storm to hit us.”

Abbott stared at me, but finally he nodded. ”All right. The Bar DD was on my way. Figured I'd ride over to Gow's place.”

”Gow wouldn't have anything to do with that!” Hardee pointed at the photograph on the floor.

”Well, I aim to collect that reward. Likely that dead girl's parents will offer even more than the thousand bucks already on Kenton's hide.”

”It's just an arrest warrant, Abbott,” Hardee said. ”He hasn't been found guilty, yet.”

”The man's guilty in my eyes. But no matter. What about the other one? The one-eyed kid, the boy who helped tear up all that wire by the river. He around?”

Holding my breath, I was thankful that Abbott looked at Hardee when he asked that question, and when Hardee answered.

”He's not here. You're welcome to stay, see for yourself. Ish, Melvin, and the rest of the boys should get back before dusk.”

Abbott's eyes whipped back to me.

”What about you, Hawkins? You seen . . . ? I disremember his name.”

”Tommy,” I answered. ”Tommy O'Hallahan. No, sir, I haven't seen him since . . .” I shrugged. Not altogether a lie, I reasoned, and just hoped Walter Butler would keep his big mouth shut, prayed that Abbott wouldn't ask Walter anything. He didn't. Didn't even look at Walter Butler.

”All right.” Abbott picked up the photograph by the puddle of snow melt, started to put it back in his sack, then walked over to my bunk, found my war bag, and shoved it inside, deep. ”I'll let you keep this, boy,” he said. ”In case you see that Texas rawhide again. I might even be inclined to give you a bit of that reward if you tell me something I need to know. Something that helps me find Kenton.”

”He's probably already in Canada,” Hardee said.

”If he is, I'll find him,” Abbott said. ”Marshal Kelley's posting me at Great Falls, so if you hear anything about Kenton, you get word to me there. I'll find him wherever he is.”

”Why'd you lie about Tommy?” I asked Gene Hardee after Bitterroot Abbott rode out of sight.

”Didn't lie,” Hardee said with sad smile. ”O'Hallahan ain't here. He's at the Sun River Caon line shack.” With his pocket knife, he carved off a piece of chewing tobacco, and put the quid in his mouth. ”I'm not fond of Abbott,” he said after a moment, ”and I'll give O'Hallahan, after all he's been through, the benefit of a doubt. For now. But we'll need to keep our eyes open for Kenton. I'll ask O'Hallahan a few questions when he comes down for Christmas. But, Jim, if you run across Kenton, you light a shuck. Don't talk to him, just ride away.

Man's gone loco.” I think it was the winter.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Christmas came and went, but Tommy never showed. That weighed heavy on poor Mrs. MacDunn. She fretted over Tommy about as much as I did, but Gene Hardee and Ish Fishtorn a.s.sured her that he likely lost track of the days. Wasn't no calendar at that line shack, or he simply had his hands full trying to keep the cattle out of the freezing river. Besides, the weather wasn't so inviting for a sixteen-year-old boy to ride those umpteen miles through snowdrifts and a miserable wind just for roasted goose and Sally Lunn bread. I hoped Tommy just wanted, needed, to be alone.

On Christmas night, it started snowing again, and it kept falling for two days. The wind wailed, and, when the storm finally broke, Gene Hardee sent Busted-Tooth Melvin up to the Sun River to check on Tommy. He said it was for Mrs. MacDunn's sake, but I suspect he worried over Tommy, too.

While we were waiting for Busted-Tooth Melvin's return, we got another visitor, and I didn't know what kind of welcome Major MacDunn would give Tristram Gow.

Never been much of a hand as a farrier, but Hardee had me shoeing horses with Old Man Woodruff. That's where I was when the rider come up. Upon hearing the major cussing, me and Woody put down our tools, and walked out of the barn, and into the wind.

”I warned you about setting foot on my land, Gow,” Major MacDunn said.

Mr. Gow sat atop a big brown gelding, and he looked terrible, slumped in the saddle, and, when he removed his goggles-he had cut a little slit in them, protection from s...o...b..indness so he could see-I saw how bloodshot his eyes were, how pale he was.

”Please . . .” he began.

”Gow!” The major gripped the b.u.t.t of the Bulldog revolver he'd stuck in his waistband.

”Please.” This time it was Mrs. MacDunn doing the begging.

The wind moaned through the cracks in the barn walls.

”It's Melvina,” Mr. Gow said, choking back a cry of anguish.

The snow started falling, light at first, then steady. I remembered Camdan's ma, a frail, weak sort, recalled the time we'd spent at the 7-3 Connected, her fretting over the fact she might have to take to the root cellar, her always bothered by the constant wind.

”Come inside, Tristram,” Mrs. MacDunn said, and the major barked a terrible oath, but Mrs. MacDunn ignored him, still speaking to Mr. Gow. ”You look terrible.”