at dinner presses at me, but there isn’t any conversation between us as we make our way back to our sleeper. I kept my mouth shut in front of the others, but it nags at me and I’m having a devil of a time holding my peace until we are alone.
Some cowboys are still playing a game in which they fling cards into a hat, but half of them are snoozing. The ones awake silently make way for us. Neither Sundance nor the drunken prospector with the treasure map are in sight.
Roger isn’t saying a word, which suits me fine right now, but the moment we reach the privacy of our compartment, I will jump on him for answers. Ever since he complimented me on going from a factory girl to a reporter, it’s been gnawing at me. How did he know that?
I am very interested to hear his answer and I want to be facing him so I can read his eyes as he lies to me. He thinks that because I’m quiet, I didn’t pick up what had to be a faux pas on his part.
He’s in for a surprise. I am going to drill him about how and what he knows about me. And more important, who he is. He says he’s a New York university scholar, but that would make it a long reach to know anything about a Pittsburgh newspaper reporter.
By the same token, if he is a reporter, he could well have heard of me, because female reporters are so rare. And if that is the case, he has some reason for keeping me from knowing; otherwise, he’d simply say so.
His being a reporter is not what’s bothering me. It’s not like I’m following a hot lead on a story that he might steal. It’s that he might have heard about the impetuous girl reporter who ran off to prove she can be a foreign correspondent. Revealing that I’m not actually on assignment from a newspaper, but trying to prove myself, will close “official doors” like Consul General Castillo to me—not to mention that it would be terribly humiliating.
Once in our little sleeper compartment, Roger starts to bury his head back into his book, but I snatch it out of his hands.
“Hey! Give me that.”
“Not until we talk.”
“I was afraid of that. You were too quiet coming back. I knew eventually you would want not just the lower berth but my scalp as well before this trip is over with. Well, you can have my scalp, but not my bed.” He tilts his head forward, offering me his neck. “Go ahead, cut it off.”
“How did you know I had worked in a factory?”
“A factory girl? Ah, my comment at dinner.”
Just as I thought—he’s stalling to conjure up a lie. I can see the wheels turning in his head. He didn’t realize he had slipped up.
“I heard about you through a friend.”
“A friend? I work for The Pittsburgh Dispatch, not a New York newspaper.”
“This may amaze you, but news from the Dispatch is not limited to Pittsburgh. The paper’s read throughout much of that region. My friend happens to have family there.”
“Really. If that’s true, why didn’t you tell me you recognized my name when I told you it?”
He pulls a face and gives me a narrow look, almost squinting, as if he is trying to figure out who and what I am.
“Who do you think you are? A prosecuting attorney? I don’t have to answer your questions.”
“Mr. Watkins, you can answer my questions, or I’ll have you put off this train.”
That causes a temporary speech impediment for him.
“What?”
“I will tell Don Antonio that you have attempted to molest me. That will not only get you put off the train; Mexican men are so chivalrous, they will probably hang you from the nearest cactus.”
He gapes at me for a moment, once again dumbstruck, and then shakes his head. I can’t tell if he is scared or amused.
“You’re not a woman. You’re a devil in petticoats.”
I give him the most charming smile I can manage at a time when I want to strangle the truth out of him.
“Roger … dear friend … I’ve had to fight very hard in this man’s world to achieve what slight success I’ve achieved. Tonight, I found
Some cowboys are still playing a game in which they fling cards into a hat, but half of them are snoozing. The ones awake silently make way for us. Neither Sundance nor the drunken prospector with the treasure map are in sight.
Roger isn’t saying a word, which suits me fine right now, but the moment we reach the privacy of our compartment, I will jump on him for answers. Ever since he complimented me on going from a factory girl to a reporter, it’s been gnawing at me. How did he know that?
I am very interested to hear his answer and I want to be facing him so I can read his eyes as he lies to me. He thinks that because I’m quiet, I didn’t pick up what had to be a faux pas on his part.
He’s in for a surprise. I am going to drill him about how and what he knows about me. And more important, who he is. He says he’s a New York university scholar, but that would make it a long reach to know anything about a Pittsburgh newspaper reporter.
By the same token, if he is a reporter, he could well have heard of me, because female reporters are so rare. And if that is the case, he has some reason for keeping me from knowing; otherwise, he’d simply say so.
His being a reporter is not what’s bothering me. It’s not like I’m following a hot lead on a story that he might steal. It’s that he might have heard about the impetuous girl reporter who ran off to prove she can be a foreign correspondent. Revealing that I’m not actually on assignment from a newspaper, but trying to prove myself, will close “official doors” like Consul General Castillo to me—not to mention that it would be terribly humiliating.
Once in our little sleeper compartment, Roger starts to bury his head back into his book, but I snatch it out of his hands.
“Hey! Give me that.”
“Not until we talk.”
“I was afraid of that. You were too quiet coming back. I knew eventually you would want not just the lower berth but my scalp as well before this trip is over with. Well, you can have my scalp, but not my bed.” He tilts his head forward, offering me his neck. “Go ahead, cut it off.”
“How did you know I had worked in a factory?”
“A factory girl? Ah, my comment at dinner.”
Just as I thought—he’s stalling to conjure up a lie. I can see the wheels turning in his head. He didn’t realize he had slipped up.
“I heard about you through a friend.”
“A friend? I work for The Pittsburgh Dispatch, not a New York newspaper.”
“This may amaze you, but news from the Dispatch is not limited to Pittsburgh. The paper’s read throughout much of that region. My friend happens to have family there.”
“Really. If that’s true, why didn’t you tell me you recognized my name when I told you it?”
He pulls a face and gives me a narrow look, almost squinting, as if he is trying to figure out who and what I am.
“Who do you think you are? A prosecuting attorney? I don’t have to answer your questions.”
“Mr. Watkins, you can answer my questions, or I’ll have you put off this train.”
That causes a temporary speech impediment for him.
“What?”
“I will tell Don Antonio that you have attempted to molest me. That will not only get you put off the train; Mexican men are so chivalrous, they will probably hang you from the nearest cactus.”
He gapes at me for a moment, once again dumbstruck, and then shakes his head. I can’t tell if he is scared or amused.
“You’re not a woman. You’re a devil in petticoats.”
I give him the most charming smile I can manage at a time when I want to strangle the truth out of him.
“Roger … dear friend … I’ve had to fight very hard in this man’s world to achieve what slight success I’ve achieved. Tonight, I found
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