Cowgirl for Keeps. Louise Gouge M.
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face lit briefly with humor. “That dandy could use a comeuppance, but I wouldn’t wish to offend his friend.” She settled back in the leather seat and gazed out the window again.
Rosamond’s heart ached for Beryl. The middle child in a family of five girls, she’d been every bit a cowgirl like the rest of them until she had been shot during a bank robbery and almost died. Rosamond and the five Eberly girls had grown up riding, shooting, branding—anything a cowboy did. But Rosamond’s family had three grown sons and a passel of hired hands to tend to the many duties around Four Stones Ranch, so her parents agreed to her dream to build a high school for Esperanza. With the Lord’s blessing, they could construct the school this summer and open it in September. Rosamond hoped Beryl’s parents would let her teach rather than return her to ranching.
A well-dressed older couple took the two seats facing the girls. On the trip across the country, other such couples and matrons had offered themselves as chaperones, and these two did the same, engaging Rosamond and Beryl in conversation and keeping at bay undesirable men. The lady smelled of rosewater just like Mother, and the gentleman of cherry tobacco like Father. What pleasant reminders of home. Upon the couple’s arrival, Rosamond saw Beryl relax a little. Perhaps her interest in meeting the young man was generated by a desire to feel safe. Rosamond could find no fault in that. Maybe the Lord would make a way for Beryl to meet the nicer Englishman, hopefully without his arrogant friend nearby to crush her spirits.
For her own part, at twenty-one, she’d given up on romance. None of the eligible men she’d met in Boston had found her personal ambitions compatible with their need for a docile Society wife. Nor did she wish to assume the many responsibilities of a rancher’s wife. Without doubt, God called her to educate the youth of Esperanza; therefore, she’d be a spinster.
The train chugged out of the station and rumbled southward along the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains, where the morning sun illuminated snowy peaks. Rosamond drank in the beloved sights of her home state. Later they passed Pikes Peak, and in time her beloved Sangre de Cristo Range came into view. Her heart skipped. She would arrive home in just one more day.
* * *
After a night in a Walsenburg hotel, Rosamond and Beryl boarded the westbound train for their last day of travel. Rosamond sat on the aisle in the middle of the car and whispered to Beryl. “Don’t look now, but those sissified Englishmen boarded after us.” She nodded toward the closed window. “You can see their reflections.”
Beryl’s face brightened for the first time since they’d awakened that morning. The closer they traveled toward home, the bleaker her mood. Too bad a handsome foreigner was the one to cheer her. To Rosamond’s dismay, her friend did turn. And look. And smile!
“Tst!” Rosamond kept her voice low. “Don’t do that. Remember our lessons in deportment. It just isn’t done.”
“I know.” Beryl sighed. “He started to tip his hat, but his friend stopped him.”
“What?” Rosamond glanced back at the other man. He tilted his head, and surprise crossed his well-formed countenance. He seemed about to smile. With a haughty sniff and lift of her chin, she faced the front. That snob kept his friend from showing a common courtesy to a tender soul like Beryl and then attempted to flirt with her. The very idea!
The train moved forward, and Rosamond’s heart skipped. They’d be home by midafternoon.
“Let’s talk about our plans.” She must divert Beryl’s attention from the Englishmen. Although they’d exhausted just about every subject during their long trip, she never tired of her favorite one. “I’m thankful Father’s already approved the building of the school, but I hope he’ll let me supervise its construction.”
“Aren’t four classrooms too many?” Beryl chewed her lip, and Rosamond reminded her with a quick shake of her head to stop that bad habit. “With only the two of us teaching...”
“I’d really like more rooms, but I think four is a good start.” Rosamond’s heart raced. Soon she’d put her ideas to work. “We’ll need to hire more teachers before you know it. Maybe we should build two stories from the outset.”
Beryl nodded absently. From the way she kept turning her head to the side, Rosamond knew she wanted to look back at the blond man. If propriety didn’t dictate otherwise, she’d have made sure her friend met him before the train reached Esperanza simply to annoy his companion. She quickly dismissed the thought. She’d put aside such spitefulness seven years ago when she’d become a Christian. How could she ask the Lord to bless her endeavors when her behavior didn’t show His love to others? Even to rude Englishmen.
The train began to build up speed for the ascent to La Veta Pass. Rosamond always found this part of the trip exhilarating. Soon they’d be in the midst of the Sangre de Cristos. As a token of promise, fresh, crisp air seeped into the car beneath its front door and around the windows. She inhaled a long, satisfying breath and smiled in anticipation of seeing her dreams come true.
The moment the train began to accelerate, however, it slowed to a halt, the wheels squealing in protest against the iron rails.
“Wake up, Abel.” A woman of perhaps thirty years, seated up front and facing the rest of the car, shook her sleeping husband. “Something’s wrong.” Abel slept on, clearly unconcerned, his head resting back against the front wall, arms crossed, legs stretched out and a wide-brimmed hat pulled over his face.
Beryl grasped Rosamond’s arm. “Why are we stopping?”
“Shh. There, there.” She patted Beryl’s hand. “I’m sure it’s fine. Probably something on the tracks. The men will see to it.” Lord, please let it be something as simple as that.
Instead, gunshots erupted by the engine. Gasping, Beryl seized Rosamond’s forearm in a vise grip. The coach’s front door burst open, and three armed men rushed in. Dressed in rough coats and dusty trousers, with bandannas over the lower halves of their faces, they waved pistols. Outside, other men on horseback held the engineer and fireman at gunpoint. Rosamond couldn’t tell how many were in the gang. She prayed no one would be injured, especially Beryl. She’d almost died in that bank robbery. Indeed, her confidence and fearlessness died that day.
“Hand over your money and gold.” The leader jammed the barrel of his gun under the nose of an old man. “Gimme your valuables.”
The poor man shook too violently to obey, so the outlaw shoved him down on the seat and dug into his victim’s coat pocket, removing a wad of cash secured in a monogrammed money clip.
Another outlaw held out a brown canvas sack as if taking up a church offering. The third man helped himself to the sleeping man’s wallet and the wife’s wedding band and moved down the aisle.
At the front of the car, the sleeping husband awoke and stealthily rose up, tall and broad-shouldered, behind the last outlaw, gun in hand. Rosamond couldn’t let him fight these outlaws alone. She pried Beryl’s hands from her arm and bent down to her tapestry satchel. If she was careful, the outlaws would think she was retrieving valuables. Instead, she wrapped her hand around the handle of her Colt .45 revolver and tucked it into the folds of her skirt. She’d made sure it was loaded before they left the Walsenburg hotel this morning. Now, should she shoot the gun from the closest outlaw’s hand or wait to see what the man up front did? With Beryl shaking and terrified, Rosamond couldn’t decide.
“I say, what a thrilling adventure. A real Wild West holdup, what?” The dark-haired Englishman grinned as the outlaws came closer. “Did you plan it for our amusement?”
Rosamond watched him grip his ebony cane close to his side. With his other hand, he reached into his black frock coat, pulled out an engraved gold watch and swung it on its fob. “Do let me play. Come along, gentlemen, and take the pretty timepiece.” Was he crazy or incredibly brave?
“Pip, pip, old man, such a lark.” The blond Englishman laughed, but like his friend, his posture indicated he was ready for a fight. Rosamond’s opinion of both men rose several notches. Dandies they were.