Read Online The Cassidy Posse by D. N. Bedeker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: D. N. Bedeker
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annoyed. Now you have immigrants outright stealing strays to feed their families, and the owners of the big outfits want blood. I’m afraid to go there. I’ve been hearing rumors about the cattlemen preparing a special train in Cheyenne for an outright invasion. Something bad is going to happen.”
“You know, this must have been what that rascal Sam T. Clover has been writing about over at the Herald. He’s been going on about an insurrection in Wyoming.”
“Well, you could very well have more than one story to cover,” Phinias said, nervously straightening his tie.
“When it rains it pours,” sighed Patrick.
The train suddenly lurched and the irritating screech of steel against steel could be heard above the usual rattling. Mike was returning to his seat from finishing his perfunctory morning cup of coffee. He fell against a middle-age woman and mumbled an apology.
“Cheyenne,” Mike announced just before the conductor shouted it out for all to hear.
“Oh, this is where I get off,” said Phinias, half rising from his seat in anticipation. He began nervously gathering up his sample case and valise. “Are you and your uncle getting off in Cheyenne to eat?”
“Yeah,” said Mike. “They dun’t seem tuh want to serve duh common folk in duh dining car.”
“You’ll have to hurry at the Harvey House at this station,” Phinias warned as they followed him down the aisle. “They only give you ten minutes and you have to pay in advance. If you don’t get your order before the train starts back up, they just keep your money and you’re out of luck.”
“Everbody’s got uh con tuh separate yuh from yer money,” Mike concluded.
They watched Phinias struggle with his bags as he exited from the wooden platform, then they fell in step with the hungry collection of travelers headed for the dining room. There was a prominently displayed sign posted at the entrance that declared: THE BELL RINGS TWO MINUTES BEFORE THE TRAIN STARTS. Forewarned, Mike quickly muscled his way through the crowd to the serving bar and ordered two rolls and two cups of coffee. The porter asked to be paid in advance and Mike warily gave him the money with a strong admonition to be quick about it.
While they waited for breakfast, three hard cases with big cowboy hats and long dusters sauntered in, and the pushing throng parted for them like Moses at the Red Sea. An Eastern dude got up from one of the few prized stools that surrounded the serving counter and moved away. The trio hooked their cowboy boots into the brass rail and stared the room down confidently. The shorter one in the middle seemed to be in charge. He wore a big Stetson with a red lone star on the side. There were hushed whispers about them being from the special train. A porter started to set aside their order to wait on the cowboys, but felt Mike staring at him and thought better of it. The shorter cowboy took note of the delay and eyed Mike with a curious smile. He peeled back his duster to reveal a holstered Colt strapped to his leg. Mike looked at him, unimpressed, and taking his coffee and rolls in hand, disappeared into the crowd.
As they stood by the doorway looking out upon the switching yard, a well-tailored gentleman from New York pointed out a rail passenger car sitting on a siding alone with all the curtains drawn closed.
“What’s it all about?” asked Patrick.
The New Yorker looked at them narrowly and said, “There are some very influential people back East that are not very happy about the current state of lawlessness in Johnson County.”
Mike took a closer look at the rail yard and his policeman’s instincts sensed trouble. There was the bustle of tense activity that surrounded a military expedition. Grim-faced cowboys loaded horses into three stock cars while heavily-armed men stood in small groups inspecting each other’s firepower. Winchester rifles were being openly displayed and admired by men that were obviously not going hunting.
“You know, this must have been what that rascal Sam T. Clover has been writing about over at the Herald. He’s been going on about an insurrection in Wyoming.”
“Well, you could very well have more than one story to cover,” Phinias said, nervously straightening his tie.
“When it rains it pours,” sighed Patrick.
The train suddenly lurched and the irritating screech of steel against steel could be heard above the usual rattling. Mike was returning to his seat from finishing his perfunctory morning cup of coffee. He fell against a middle-age woman and mumbled an apology.
“Cheyenne,” Mike announced just before the conductor shouted it out for all to hear.
“Oh, this is where I get off,” said Phinias, half rising from his seat in anticipation. He began nervously gathering up his sample case and valise. “Are you and your uncle getting off in Cheyenne to eat?”
“Yeah,” said Mike. “They dun’t seem tuh want to serve duh common folk in duh dining car.”
“You’ll have to hurry at the Harvey House at this station,” Phinias warned as they followed him down the aisle. “They only give you ten minutes and you have to pay in advance. If you don’t get your order before the train starts back up, they just keep your money and you’re out of luck.”
“Everbody’s got uh con tuh separate yuh from yer money,” Mike concluded.
They watched Phinias struggle with his bags as he exited from the wooden platform, then they fell in step with the hungry collection of travelers headed for the dining room. There was a prominently displayed sign posted at the entrance that declared: THE BELL RINGS TWO MINUTES BEFORE THE TRAIN STARTS. Forewarned, Mike quickly muscled his way through the crowd to the serving bar and ordered two rolls and two cups of coffee. The porter asked to be paid in advance and Mike warily gave him the money with a strong admonition to be quick about it.
While they waited for breakfast, three hard cases with big cowboy hats and long dusters sauntered in, and the pushing throng parted for them like Moses at the Red Sea. An Eastern dude got up from one of the few prized stools that surrounded the serving counter and moved away. The trio hooked their cowboy boots into the brass rail and stared the room down confidently. The shorter one in the middle seemed to be in charge. He wore a big Stetson with a red lone star on the side. There were hushed whispers about them being from the special train. A porter started to set aside their order to wait on the cowboys, but felt Mike staring at him and thought better of it. The shorter cowboy took note of the delay and eyed Mike with a curious smile. He peeled back his duster to reveal a holstered Colt strapped to his leg. Mike looked at him, unimpressed, and taking his coffee and rolls in hand, disappeared into the crowd.
As they stood by the doorway looking out upon the switching yard, a well-tailored gentleman from New York pointed out a rail passenger car sitting on a siding alone with all the curtains drawn closed.
“What’s it all about?” asked Patrick.
The New Yorker looked at them narrowly and said, “There are some very influential people back East that are not very happy about the current state of lawlessness in Johnson County.”
Mike took a closer look at the rail yard and his policeman’s instincts sensed trouble. There was the bustle of tense activity that surrounded a military expedition. Grim-faced cowboys loaded horses into three stock cars while heavily-armed men stood in small groups inspecting each other’s firepower. Winchester rifles were being openly displayed and admired by men that were obviously not going hunting.
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