Lone Star 45

Chapter 1

The black, sooty smoke drifted to the heavens as the locomotive thundered through the mountain pass. Dotting the slope on either side of the tracks, magnificent evergreens towered up to the clear, blue skies. On the surrounding mountains, the spring run-off was lacing the snow-capped peaks with dozens of cascading, iridescent waterfalls.

Looking out the window of the Pullman, Jessica Starbuck marveled at the vast panorama that sped past. Keeping her eyes toward the window, she addressed the tall, muscular gentleman sitting next to her.

Quite a change from the Circle Star isn’t it, Ki?

Ki, the half Japanese, half American full-time companion and bodyguard to Jessie, nodded his head. Very majestic.

And as the mountains were impressively majestic, so Jessie was noteworthily statuesque. Her green tweed jacket and matching skirt cloaked her rounded firm figure, and her tawny blond hair fell freely to her shoulders. It was her most striking feature—until one caught sight of her sparkling, bright green eyes. She turned her eyes from the view. But I still like the Circle Star.

There’s no place like home. Ki’s voice had a hint of that plaintive tone that only the truly homeless can seem to manage. Although the Texas ranch was like a home to him, it was still an adopted one. Years earlier, Ki, an outcast in his own country, had been taken in by Alex Starbuck, Jessie’s father. He was hired as a bodyguard, but he had become a friend.

Jessie smiled. You just echoed what Alex often said. Her voice trailed off and she turned to stare out the window. Ki accepted the compliment silently, careful not to intrude on Jessie’s thoughts. Eventually the clickety-clack of the rails brought Jessie from the thoughts of her murdered father back to the here and now. As Ki had taught her, the past, the present and the future are forever entwined. At this moment they were riding the Oregon Short Line to go to the aid of an old family friend.

Did you ever meet Commodore Whiting? Jessie asked Ki.

No, but your father spoke of him often, Ki replied.

He believed the railroads would open the gates to the West. They laid a lot of tracks together, those two.

And now you’re continuing, added Ki.

We’re supplying financial support—

Ki raised an eyebrow. If walking into the middle of a rail war is just financial support—

Why, Ki, I thought after that last dusty cattle drive you’d find the cool northern air a refreshing change.

They were both grinning. Ki added a final cryptic note to their exchange. You always have a way of smelling out the skunk.

Jessie smiled—snarled, actually. The construction of the Wood River Railway, a branch line of the Oregon Short Line was being financed by Starbuck Enterprises. Its completion would enable them to ship their lumber economically from their mills to the cities of the East. But laying the tracks had been going slowly. Sabotage was the presumed cause, and although rail wars were common, Jessie suspected it was more than that. The timbered landscape that glided past focused Jessie’s attention on the need to protect the Starbuck lumber venture. Jessie possessed a sixth sense, and she intuited that this was not a rail war, but part of the continuing battle between Starbuck Enterprises and the Prussian-based cartel that first murdered her mother and then her father and hoped ultimately to gain financial and political control of the United States. When Jessie inherited the Starbuck empire, she inherited the unspoken legacy always to thwart the lawless international syndicate. And Jessie was not one to back down from a fight, especially with the cartel.

She turned back to Ki, but just as she was about to speak, she was thrown from her seat by the sudden application of the train brakes. The squeal of the brakes was quickly joined by the screams of frightened passengers. There was a brief moment of calm as the train skidded to a stop, but it was shattered by a sudden crash. While the impact sent most everybody hurling to the floor, Ki was nimbly getting to his feet. Rather than resisting the jolt, Ki went with the force. By lowering his center of gravity and shifting his balance, a smooth rolling somersault was all that was needed to put him on his feet. He immediately went to Jessie’s aid, but she was already pulling herself up into her seat.

They may be hurt up front, Ki said hastily. No further explanation was needed or given. Ignoring the shocked passengers, Ki raced from the car; Jessie would take care of them. As he dropped down to the roadbed, a powerful explosion nearly knocked him off his feet. Up ahead, jets of steam sprayed the air. The bursting steam boiler practically sealed the fate of the hapless engineer and fireman, but Ki continued to rush ahead. There was always a slim chance someone was thrown far enough to survive the explosion.

When he reached the wreckage, it was all too easy to piece together the gruesome details. The engineer was standing at the controls, his hands locked around the brake stick. His diligent fight right up to the last was the only thing that had saved the train from total destruction. It pained Ki to see such a brave soul crushed dead between the fire wall and tender. And it took only a moment for Ki to spot the lifeless form of the fireman twenty yards away. He was wrapped around the trunk of a tall pine, his neck probably broken.

Ki walked around the front of the engine and froze in his tracks. This horrible incident was not an accident. Lying across the tracks was a pile of timber. It constituted a virtually impassable barrier. With the logs placed very close to the last bend, there was never a chance to stop the train in time.

No, this was no accident, Ki thought. This was cold-blooded murder.

So intent was Ki in his investigation that he failed to hear the approach of three men on horseback. With guns drawn, they entered the back of the coach. Inside, the car was a scene of confusion. Injured passengers were lying about moaning. Scared children were crying and desperately seeking attention. A shrieking baby ignored his mother’s efforts to comfort him. Luckily the car was nearly empty. Only a handful of businessmen and a few families ventured this far along the branch line.

Jessie knelt over an elderly woman and was wiping blood from the woman’s cut brow with her handkerchief. Others were also attending to the needs of the injured.

There was such commotion that the holdup men went unnoticed at first. The leader of the bandits, a heavyset man chomping on a cigar, finally raised his gun and fired a shot. All heads turned.

Everyone back in your seats, now! His voice was thick and heavy.

The stunned passengers were slow to move. The gunman took two steps down the aisle, grabbed a young man, and threw him forcefully back into his seat. As he grabbed a woman and threw her, the other passengers started to move back to their seats.

We’re takin’ up a collection for our Sunday prayer meetin’ and we want all to be right generous. His filthy, tobacco-stained teeth showed briefly as his lips parted in a smile. He nodded to a companion to begin taking the passengers’ money.

Follow directions and no one’ll get hurt, he barked, then turned to the third gunman, a tall lanky fellow, and issued further instructions. Take care of the rear brakeman. The man left without delay.

The collection was going smoothly and speedily. The gunman would press his six-shooter into a man’s face and hold it there until he had emptied the contents of his billfold or money purse into the gunman’s overturned Stetson. Only when he was satisfied would the gunman move on to the next donor.

Meanwhile, Jessie waited patiently for her turn. She had a special surprise strapped to the inside of her thigh, a two-shot, ivory-handled derringer. At point-blank range she could dispose of the one bandit quickly and turn her last shot on the leader before he was wise to what had happened.

But before reaching Jessie, the bandit noticed a figure hunched behind a seat. Pointing his gun, he called loudly, C‘mon out, hands high.

From behind the seat a woman’s voice answered, This man’s shoulder’s broken; he can’t be moved.

Slowly the woman stood up. She had dark curly hair tied back in a bow and equally dark, big brown eyes. She was short and well proportioned with a narrow waist and full, round breasts that pressed against her plain calico dress. More important, she was young and pretty and had an air of defiance that was sure to get her in trouble.

The bandit lowered his gun and approached her. Maybe we got ourselves something extra this time, eh, boss? he said and smiled wickedly.

We ain’t got time for that, the leader replied.

Aw, c‘mon, Smokey, you don’t see a pretty thing like this at Fannie’s.

Shut up! the leader barked.

The bandit was clumsily pawing at the woman’s breasts. It won’t take long and we ain’t had no fun since—

All right, we’ll take her with us, the leader consented.

With a smile that was to be the last of his life, the bandit grabbed the dress, pulling at the neckline. There was a short rip and then a high-pitched whine. He let go of the dress and clutched at his throat. Imbedded deep into his jugular was a small, star-shaped blade, one of Ki’s deadly shuriken throwing stars. He dropped to the floor, a smile frozen on his lifeless face.

Smokey did not hear Ki, nor the sound of the shuriken, but he did see his pal drop. But by then it was too late. Before the bandit had hit the floor, Jessie had her derringer out. There were two sharp cracks. The bandit leader fell over backward, his .45 exploding pointlessly into the roof. In the center of his forehead was a small, black hole. An inch higher, just under the hairline, was another hole.

The sound of a rapidly galloping horse shook Jessie out of her momentary calm. She grabbed one bandit’s Colt and went rushing to a window. The third bandit was making a quick getaway. She took aim, sighting carefully, but Ki was at her side, placing a restraining hand over her arm.

Let him go, he said softly. If they’re cartel men, let this be a warning.

Jessie smiled. Our calling card may force them into the open.

Ki nodded. Any serious injuries? he asked.

Not to any of the passengers, Jessie answered with a smirk. The best thing for us is to head out to the railhead. She gestured to the two dead holdup men, There should be two horses outside. We’ll make it in a few hours, and they’ll have a crew out here by evening.

They turned from the window and headed to the door. Then Ki got a good look at the woman he had saved. Heedless of her torn dress and half-exposed breasts, she was approaching him.

Thank you, she said somewhat shyly. Ki couldn’t help but notice her heaving bosom. My name’s Cynthia. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. I wish I could thank you proper, she whispered in his ear. Her soft breasts pressed against Ki’s chest, and as she stepped back her erect nipples brushed lightly against him, leaving him slightly embarrassed and highly aroused. He nodded politely and then followed Jessie out the door.

Chapter 2

Jessie and Ki made good time. The sun was still high in the sky when they spied the construction camp in the distance. The sight of the dozen large tents came as no surprise, for Ki had heard the rhythmic clang of hammer hitting spike a few miles back; sound traveled far in the thin mountain air.

They had been moving fast, but now Jessie reined in her brown gelding. There was no sense working the horse into the ground, and the slower pace allowed Jessie to study the camp and its rush of activity. Off to the side of some tents stood a half dozen small shacks, probably used for equipment and supplies. There was also a very large lumberyard set behind the camp, and along the tracks was a row of open gondolas on sidings and filled with crushed rock.

But what caught her eye was the syncopated dancelike maneuvers of those laying track. From the distance they seemed like worker ants swarming over an ant hill. Six men, three on a side, would grab a steel rail, run it up to the end of the track, and drop it. There, other men working in pairs would place the spikes and drive them home. Meanwhile, a steady stream of men would rush forth with wooden ties and place them across the gravel roadbed. By the time the last spike was in place, another rail, brought up by six more railbearers, was already in position. And so it went, the railroad moving constantly forward.

Laying of the track was one part of the work. Mule-driven wagons were carting timber into the lumberyard, a hub of equal activity. There, the men were divided into groups who unloaded the raw timber, sawed the wood into ties and posts, and stacked the lumber for later use. Rounding out the business of building a railroad were another twenty men busy crushing rock with heavy mallets.

Jessie turned to Ki. Looks like everything is running smoothly, she said.

If everything were running smoothly, we wouldn’t be here, replied Ki.

Jessie started to give Ki a sharp look. She didn’t need to be reminded of the obvious, but she broke into a smile—once she saw Ki’s raised eyebrows and innocent shrug of the shoulders. There was something almost laughable about such a childish gesture in such a powerful man.

From afar Jessie and Ki had drawn little attention. There was nothing odd about two persons on horseback. Before they set out, Jessie had changed into her riding clothes. She was now comfortably attired in tight, well-worn denim pants and a denim jacket. She wore riding boots of cordovan leather, and a polished holster of matching leather was strapped to her hip. In the holster rested her custom Colt .38, its burnished peachwood handle looking very much at home against her soft, rounded hip. As they approached, Jessie, no longer mistaken by some for a man, turned more than a few heads.

As they passed a loaded wagon, Jessie called out to the admiring teamster, Gil Johnson?

Over that way, ma‘am, in the caboose. He pointed to a caboose set off on the siding. Jessie nodded her thanks and reined her horse in that direction. The teamster continued to stare after her and was nearly thrown from his wagon when it hit a hole.

As Jessie and Ki dismounted in front of the caboose, a tall, broad-shouldered man, his right arm in a sling, stepped out to greet them. He had dark, curly hair and a strong, straight forehead. He wasn’t unduly handsome, but he had an air of competence to him that made him more attractive than his average good looks. Jessie tried to guess his age; his eyes, a warm brown, had a youthful look to them, but his face was lined by experience.

Smiling, he slipped his arm from the sling and extended his hand, Miss Starbuck? I’m Gil Johnson. He saw her concern for his arm and explained quickly, It was coming off tomorrow anyway.

After hearing his voice, Jessie figured he was in his late twenties or maybe thirty. His tanned, rough skin was due more to exposure than age. Jessie, please. She shook his hand. And this is Ki. Gil turned and shook hands with Ki. He’s my assistant and friend, Jessie said somewhat self-consciously. Anything you’d say to me, you can say to him.

Gil nodded and said, Fine. Then, somewhat puzzled, he added, We were expecting you on the freight.

There’s been a slight accident, Jessie informed him.

As Jessie told the details, Ki studied Gil. There was something familiar about the man, something in the eyes. He noticed it first when they