"Uncle? Is our journey much longer? I thought trains were much faster than this."
Kurt's uncle looked up from his newspaper, pausing to frown at the 10 cent novel in Kurt's hands. "Trains are faster than any horse-drawn carriage you've ever been in, Kurt. We're travelling far, and this train is slower than the first one from New York. It will take some time to reach your new home."
Kurt fought to keep from glaring at Uncle Thaddeus. He knew, he was painfully aware, that he was naïve and sheltered. His uncle had certainly seen to that, hadn't he? When his parents had passed so many years ago, it was Uncle Thaddeus who was put in charge of his care, and he'd enrolled him in the finest school in New York, a place for pampered high society children to be sequestered so they wouldn't bother their busy and important parents. Kurt couldn't help it that he'd known nothing but that school for twelve years. But he was a man now, just turned 18 and ready to learn more about the world. Including how fast trains went.
"Is it safe, though? To be on this train for so long, what with…the bandit also travelling this way?"
His uncle sighed and looked at him again. "Blaine Anderson may have evaded the law for a time" (That was putting it mildly, Kurt thought – the Anderson gang had run wild throughout the state for years, foiling his uncle's railway and bank plans, shooting up towns, and bedding harlots and barmaids all the while. He knew all about it from his dime novels.) "but he's just a man. And right now he's a man chained up in a train compartment with my best men and no access to any guns. He's a helpless criminal on his way to be tried and hanged."
Kurt cringed at the thought. His mind drifted back to early that morning, when they'd boarded the train, and he had shadowed Uncle Thaddeus when he'd stopped to speak to the bandit. Outlaw Blaine Anderson had looked the part – hair messy, his face covered in dark whiskers, clothes unkempt, irons around his wrists. Kurt had been surprised to note that the novels hadn't exaggerated his handsomeness. In fact, they might have undersold it. He had a steely glint in his eye when he exchanged words with his uncle, a knowing smirk on his lips at his uncle's gloating for finally having captured him. There had been intelligence in those amber eyes too when they flickered over to Kurt, looking him up and down. "I'm as like to get a fair trial as my friend David, with a jury bought and paid for by Thaddeus J. Plankerman," he'd said, smooth voice roughened with bitter amusement, "but to my understanding, we'll be going on the same train. Reckon I'll have to pay you a visit."
"See, he's not so scary without his guns," Uncle Thaddeus had said to Kurt as two men had dragged the outlaw onto the train, more to mock Anderson than anything. Kurt wasn't so sure.
He still wasn't sure, but he went back to his novel. This one was about a handsome sheriff from some small town Kurt had never heard of who saved the townfolk from murdering bandits and swept the school teacher off her feet. Kurt knew the novels were meant for girls to read and his uncle didn't like that he enjoyed them, but his uncle didn't seem to like much about Kurt. And he really did like to read about the brave heroes and sweet romances, as well as some of the more scandalous tales of the lives of bandits. The novels about Blaine Anderson said he left ten ladies with newly broken hearts in every town he passed through. For someone who'd seen and done so little, it all seemed so exciting and forbidden to Kurt. The wail of the train pierced his ears steadily, and his uncle's man, Mr. Colton, shifted uneasily in his seat, peeking out the window now and then.
He'd become lost in the world of his story again when something rocked the train, spilling his uncle's coffee on the floor and making Kurt jump to his feet and then fall back on the couch as the train jolted and started to grind to a halt. He heard explosive noises and yells and he swallowed fearfully.
"What the hell was that?" Uncle Thaddeus exclaimed.
Mr. Colton looked out the window again, his face paling. "Revenge has come a knocking," he said, rushing to the compartment door and wrenching it open, shouting to his officers to get on the roof of the train even as it came to a complete standstill.
"What's happening?!" He said, his voice high and scared.
"I only see four riders!" Uncle Thaddeus proclaimed, annoyed.
"Move, move!" Colton yelled, pulling on Uncle Thaddeus's sleeve and grabbing Kurt by the collar of his lovely woollen frockcoat. "Don't be a fool, Plankerman; help me get the boy out of here!"
Uncle Thaddeus hesitated, his dark eyes calculating, and then he followed after Mr. Colton, tugging Kurt along with him.