keep
expenses down, but when we get there can we get two hotel rooms, real hotel
rooms with hot baths?”
“No.”
Aislynn thought
she heard wrong. Johnny didn’t say “no” to her. Astonished, she questioned him,
“Why not?”
“Cheyenne is the
roughest town in the West. There are thousands of men sittin’ there with
nothin’ to do but get into trouble. You are not doin’ anything alone.”
Searching for a
way to get what she wanted, she asked, “Can we stay together, like in Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t think
I’m fast for making such a suggestion, do you?”
Johnny pulled
his head back and looked down at her, “Fast? Aislynn, if you were in a race
with a tortoise, the tortoise would win.”
She pushed
against his chest, “You don’t want me to be fast, do you?”
“Only when
you’re lyin’ next to me.”
Chapter 8
Aislynn and
Johnny pulled into Cheyenne on April 5 th . As their train rolled up
to the railhead, they could see the army of the Union Pacific Railroad pulling
out. Once on the street, they found the townspeople abuzz. All talk centered
around surviving the ten thousand graders and track-layers who had been holed
up against a cold, snowy winter waiting for spring to move out and complete the
UP’s transcontinental railroad. The workers had found plenty of diversions,
losing their pay to the gangs of gamblers, saloonkeepers, whores and swindlers
who followed the railhead on its westerly course. Cheyenne’s sober, solid
citizens, who stayed behind to maintain the roundhouse and repair shops, hoped
they were gone for good. Johnny and Aislynn watched residents wave goodbye as a
thousand horse and mule teams, groaning and swaying under the weight of camp
equipment, dug in their hoofs and wagoned west toward Sherman Summit, the
highest point on the rail line, 8,235 feet.
Aislynn and
Johnny picked their way along the muddied, snow-lined boardwalks to 16 th Street and the Ford Hotel. Two stoves and hanging kerosene lamps wearing
reflector shades lit the large dining room. Three well-dressed men were eating
quietly at one table, while four others gambled boisterously in a corner. They
were dressed in rough clothes and each had a gun resting on the table. Aislynn
turned to Johnny, pleading to leave, but Johnny pulled out her chair and said,
“We’ll be fine.”
The first thing
Aislynn noticed about the gambler facing her was how his eyes scanned the room
like twin beacons searching for danger. They were pale eyes, frozen in a
permanent squint and set in a face lined like a cobweb. He had a huge moustache
hanging on his face. His hands were large and strong with veins protruding
through the dark, weathered skin. He held cards in one hand while the fingers
on his other twitched against the table. His long blond hair hung on the
shoulders of his buckskin shirt.
Her eyes were
drawn to him, and when he smiled at his companions’ banter, she recognized he
had been handsome in his youth. Her ears caught tales of scouting for the army,
skirmishes with Injuns while erecting the telegraph lines, and riding shotgun
on the Wells Fargo stages carrying payrolls. When her gambler spoke, his soft
voice seemed to crawl over slivers of glass to escape his throat. Although his
hushed words were as raw as his exterior, Aislynn found herself leaning across
her table to eavesdrop on his comments.
“Aislynn?”
Johnny recaptured her attention. “It seems to me in this company, it would be a
good idea to mind your own business.”
“I am.”
“There’s plenty
of trouble available; let’s not look for any.”
Aislynn jumped
out of sleep when something solid hit the wall next to their bed. The impact
made the thin wooden barrier shake, sending sawdust down on Aislynn’s face.
Johnny sat up holding Aislynn’s small pistol in his big hand. Something bounced
against the wall a second time and a woman’s voice cried, “Please stop!”
Aislynn gasped,
“We have
expenses down, but when we get there can we get two hotel rooms, real hotel
rooms with hot baths?”
“No.”
Aislynn thought
she heard wrong. Johnny didn’t say “no” to her. Astonished, she questioned him,
“Why not?”
“Cheyenne is the
roughest town in the West. There are thousands of men sittin’ there with
nothin’ to do but get into trouble. You are not doin’ anything alone.”
Searching for a
way to get what she wanted, she asked, “Can we stay together, like in Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t think
I’m fast for making such a suggestion, do you?”
Johnny pulled
his head back and looked down at her, “Fast? Aislynn, if you were in a race
with a tortoise, the tortoise would win.”
She pushed
against his chest, “You don’t want me to be fast, do you?”
“Only when
you’re lyin’ next to me.”
Chapter 8
Aislynn and
Johnny pulled into Cheyenne on April 5 th . As their train rolled up
to the railhead, they could see the army of the Union Pacific Railroad pulling
out. Once on the street, they found the townspeople abuzz. All talk centered
around surviving the ten thousand graders and track-layers who had been holed
up against a cold, snowy winter waiting for spring to move out and complete the
UP’s transcontinental railroad. The workers had found plenty of diversions,
losing their pay to the gangs of gamblers, saloonkeepers, whores and swindlers
who followed the railhead on its westerly course. Cheyenne’s sober, solid
citizens, who stayed behind to maintain the roundhouse and repair shops, hoped
they were gone for good. Johnny and Aislynn watched residents wave goodbye as a
thousand horse and mule teams, groaning and swaying under the weight of camp
equipment, dug in their hoofs and wagoned west toward Sherman Summit, the
highest point on the rail line, 8,235 feet.
Aislynn and
Johnny picked their way along the muddied, snow-lined boardwalks to 16 th Street and the Ford Hotel. Two stoves and hanging kerosene lamps wearing
reflector shades lit the large dining room. Three well-dressed men were eating
quietly at one table, while four others gambled boisterously in a corner. They
were dressed in rough clothes and each had a gun resting on the table. Aislynn
turned to Johnny, pleading to leave, but Johnny pulled out her chair and said,
“We’ll be fine.”
The first thing
Aislynn noticed about the gambler facing her was how his eyes scanned the room
like twin beacons searching for danger. They were pale eyes, frozen in a
permanent squint and set in a face lined like a cobweb. He had a huge moustache
hanging on his face. His hands were large and strong with veins protruding
through the dark, weathered skin. He held cards in one hand while the fingers
on his other twitched against the table. His long blond hair hung on the
shoulders of his buckskin shirt.
Her eyes were
drawn to him, and when he smiled at his companions’ banter, she recognized he
had been handsome in his youth. Her ears caught tales of scouting for the army,
skirmishes with Injuns while erecting the telegraph lines, and riding shotgun
on the Wells Fargo stages carrying payrolls. When her gambler spoke, his soft
voice seemed to crawl over slivers of glass to escape his throat. Although his
hushed words were as raw as his exterior, Aislynn found herself leaning across
her table to eavesdrop on his comments.
“Aislynn?”
Johnny recaptured her attention. “It seems to me in this company, it would be a
good idea to mind your own business.”
“I am.”
“There’s plenty
of trouble available; let’s not look for any.”
Aislynn jumped
out of sleep when something solid hit the wall next to their bed. The impact
made the thin wooden barrier shake, sending sawdust down on Aislynn’s face.
Johnny sat up holding Aislynn’s small pistol in his big hand. Something bounced
against the wall a second time and a woman’s voice cried, “Please stop!”
Aislynn gasped,
“We have
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