The dry, arid desert-like landscape whizzed past David's window as their train barreled onward. His riding companion was seated beside him, hat in his lap, and eyes closed in a deep sleep. In David's lap was the book he'd brought to pass the time, but whenever he tried to read, he found it difficult to concentrate. This was especially true now.
New Mexico. For them, it was only a stopping point until they reached the end of the rail line. From there, they would hop on another train and make their way to Nevada where word had it Medda was setting up a show in some blossoming city called Las Vegas. They'd probably spend the night here and leave early tomorrow morning. There wouldn't be much time for sightseeing or searching the town.
That didn't mean being here didn't pique David's interests.
That's ridiculous, David said, scolding himself. After all, Jack had been gone for almost a decade. If he'd wanted anyone to know where he was he would have written. But he hadn't. All these years without a letter or anything. Most of the guys from the strike assumed he was dead, that he had set out for Santa Fe, but along the way his smart mouth had gotten him into trouble and for once in his life he couldn't talk his way out of it.
After Jack had left, David had gotten on with his life, as had many of the other boys. It was almost as though Jack had been the glue that bound them together. David had continued his studies, earning himself excellent marks in school. His studious nature and marvelous ambition had caught the eye of a Mr. Edward Thatcher, a local doctor who had a fortune to his name. He recognized that David could do great things with his life, but his family lacked the proper funds to send him to a prestigious university. So Mr. Thatcher had made an offer. He would take David under his wing as an apprentice, all the while paying for his schooling. After he graduated, David would work for him as a doctor, effectively paying off his debt. The Jacobs' had been overwhelmed by the man's generosity and David hadn't hesitated to say yes.
He smiled sadly. That past January, Mr. Thatcher had died of a heart attack. Having been a confirmed bachelor, Thatcher had left half of his estate to various charities and the other half to David, along with his business. It was then that a face from the past had popped into his life…
"I'm sorry, but we're closed for the day," David said as he heard the door open. It had been a difficult week for him, what with the death of his benefactor and dear friend. Between making the arrangements for the funeral, sorting out the estate, and still treating patients, David was in no mood to work overtime. "If you leave your name and number, I'll be sure to see you early tomorrow."
"It looks like David has come a long way since slaying Goliath."
The voice made his hair stand up on end, but in a good way. He hadn't heard that voice in…how long? "Denton," he said before even turning around. Sure enough, there stood the newspaper man who had become a friend to him and every other newsie fighting the great fight against Pulitzer. His hair was beginning to grey around the roots and crows feet crinkled along his eyes, but he still had the same mild and kind demeanor he'd always had.
"How are you, David? Or should I say Dr. Jacobs?"
"I'm always David to my friends."
After the strike had ended, Denton had returned to his work for the New York Sun. Despite the positive outcome for the newsies, Denton had still been made a War Correspondent, something he and the newsies assumed was punishment for his aiding in their win. But Denton hadn't minded; he'd been happy to see a positive outcome for them in their struggles.
"How are things around here?" Denton asked, stepping further into the room. "I've been everywhere around the world these days and all I kept hoping was that I'd come back to New York."
"Things are the same," David said. "Les just got married this past November. His wife's father owns a small deli and Les works there. Sarah and her husband are expecting their third child soon. Ma and Pa are still going strong. And I'm working here."
Denton nodded. "And what of the other newsies?"
David shrugged. "We lost touch. Last I heard Racetrack got a job at the tracks and I think I've seen Mush working on one of the new railroads. Everyone else is a just a ghost of the past."
"Maybe," Denton said. "But some ghosts come back."
"What are you getting at?"
Denton dropped a notepad down on the table in front of David. On it were written the names of almost every newsboy to have taken part in the strike. Some names were circled, others had stars next to them, and one or two were crossed out. "It's been almost ten years since the strike, David, and I've convinced the Sun to let me run a story about it. I want to track down everyone who made a difference in the strike and see where they've gotten today. Remember Specs? He got himself a nice job working in a library in Pennsylvania. Spot married some fisherman's daughter and spends most of his days out on the water. Crutchy took over the Lodging House after the former owner passed on."
"Kloppman," David said, recalling the kindly man's name. He remembered hearing he'd died. "Denton, how'd you find all of this out?"
"I'm a reporter," he replied with a grin, "it's my job to stick my nose in other people's business."
David grabbed his coat and nodded his head to the door, indicating that Denton follow him out. As he locked the door behind him, he said, "It sounds like it'll be an interesting story. I'll have to keep an eye out for it."
"Well, it's not complete. I mean, I've found most of the boys. Some still live in New York, some have moved. Some have wives and families and a couple are dead. But I'm still missing some people, including the two key players in the entire thing. Though, I've found one," he added, gesturing to David.
"Good look finding the other," he replied wryly.
"I heard Jack left a year after the strike."
"He did. Packed up his things and hopped on a train."
"You sound bitter."
"I'm not bitter. Jack didn't owe me anything and I would never ask him to stay if he didn't want to. I'm worried."
"Why?"
"Because I haven't heard anything from him all of these years."
"And you think he might be dead?"
David nodded. "I'd rather not go snooping only to find something I don't like." He slipped on his coat and put on his hat. "If Jack is still alive, he obviously has reason to not have written all of these years. If he's not alive…" he trailed off. "Let's just say I'm happy with my life and don't need any more bad news. It was nice to see you again, though, Denton. I look forward to reading the story," he said, brushing past the older man on his way out.
"I'm going out west to meet up with a ghost from the past." Denton's words stopped him in his tracks. "I thought you might like to come."
"Why?"
"Because you're as much a part of this story as I am."
"No, I mean why are you going out west? Who are you meeting?" He was on edge. Was Jack alive? Had Denton known all this time? Why had Jack written to him but not to David?
"Medda, Blink, and Bumlets." Denton's answer deflated him. "After Irving Hall closed, she put together her own show and took it on the road. Blink and Bumlets signed on as dancers and crew men."
David smiled at that. Of all the boys he'd known, those two had seemed the most likely to try careers in show business. Blink craved attention and Bumlets had always had a flair for dancing.
"She's set up out there," Denton continued. "I think she's in Utah this week, but next week she'll be in Nevada. She invited me to come along and asked that I bring you too."
"You don't need me there."
"It would be nice to have a companion. Besides, I'm sure Medda, Blink, and Bumlets would love to see you again."
David shook his head. "I've got a life set up out here. I have responsibilities and a job."
"You can't take some time off? I'm sure there are other doctors who can take your patients, at least for a little while. Meanwhile, we'll head out west and visit. I hear it's nice out there, the kind of place you want to see at least once before you die."
The idea did sound tempting. David couldn't remember the last time he'd gone out of state nor did he think he'd ever taken a real vacation. He'd seen picture of the western part of America. It was barren and hot, but beautiful all the same. Imagine seeing a cactus up close or being able to look up at night and see nothing but a sky full of twinkling stars.
"I'm not saying you should do this for me," Denton told him, "but for yourself. I get the feeling that when Jack left he took with him everything he ever taught you. Yes, he did teach you a thing or two," Denton said after David shot him a puzzling look. "Don't think I didn't notice how you were so much more relaxed and how you had the guts to not do everything by the rules. Now you've reverted backwards."
"And how would going out west change things?"
Denton shrugged. "Maybe it wouldn't. But don't you at least want to try? What if he is out there? So what if he's never written to you? At least you'll know for sure. Isn't knowing better than constantly wondering?"
David was silent. Then, he gave his old friend a curt nod and walked off without a word.
Obviously he said something that struck a nerve, David thought. I wouldn't be sitting here on my way out west otherwise.
The next day David had called on Denton. He'd simply asked when the train left and how long they would be gone. Now, here he was, in New Mexico and on his way even further. It was a bit exciting, but David wouldn't admit that.
"How much longer?" Denton asked. He'd just woken up and was rubbing his eyes.
"Not sure," David said, consulting his pocket watch. "I'd guess maybe another hour. I'll ask someone at the station where the closest lodging is. Then I'll probably sleep until dinner." He gave a wide yawn for good effect.
Denton was skeptical. "You slept last night just fine. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were taking precautions to avoid possibly running into someone."
"Who me? Afraid of running into someone?" David asked sheepishly. "I just want to pace myself. I'm not sixteen anymore."
"And you think I am?"
Before their conversation could continue, the train lurched forward violently, causing them to fall from their seats along with most of the other passengers. Luggage fell every which way and David could hear shouting nearby.
"Are you okay?" Denton asked as he righted himself. David nodded.
"What's going on? Are we derailed?"
"Doubtful. The train just seems to have stopped. Might be obstruction on the railway."
The door to their car flew open and four men stepped on, each holding a gun in one hand and a sack in the other. They donned large cowboy hats and their faces were covered from the bridge of the nose downward with bandanas. David had read about such men and he was suddenly very nervous.
"Shaddup!" one of the men shouted to the passengers. "This is a hold-up! We don't want to hurt any of you, but don't think we won't. Now empty your pockets and bags into my associates' sacks and we won't have any trouble, understand?"
The other three men began walking down along the aisles, holding their sacks open toward the frightened passengers. No one attempted to fight them, figuring it easier to comply. What were a few material items when weighed against one's own life?
When one of the men arrived to their row, David and Denton begrudgingly handed over their money, watches, and other items of value. David could have money wired to them when they got off at their stop, though it would take some time.
"Hurry up!" the ringleader bellowed to his men. "Stop your dillydallying!"
"Hey, we're moving fast as we can!" one of the men dared retort.
David glanced out the window. There were four horses—likely belonging to the robbers-- tied to the handle of the train's stairs. Once they'd relieved all passengers of their belongings, they would jump atop the horses and make their getaway before the conductor, who was probably unconscious from a hard blow to the head, had a chance to recover and call for help. At least, David hoped he was just unconscious.
"Let's get going!" the ringleader shouted. His three goons reconvened at the head of the car. He tipped his hat to the passengers. "Thank you, ladies and gents, for you cooperation!"
But before they could step through the door and make their escape, the back door of the car slid open and two more men stepped on. They too wore wide-brimmed hats, but their faces weren't covered. Each had a rifle in his grasp and pointed it at the robbers.
"Drop the guns, boys!" one of the men yelled.
"It's the Pinks!" cried one of the robbers.
"I said drop your guns!"
"You're outnumbered, swine! Now be good and put your guns down so nobody gets hurt."
The passengers, seeing that they were now in the line of fire between the two gun-toting groups of men, had all hit the floor, shielding themselves from stray bullets. Denton and David were pressed against the wall of the train, out of sight from both the robber and the "Pinks."
"Come on, Roberts. I know you're still nursing that bum leg from the last time I hit you. I can tell by the way you walk. Just put the guns down and we won't have to kill you."
David frowned. That voice sounded like one he hadn't heard in years. He crawled forward carefully and tried to peek around the seat.
"David!" Denton admonished in a harsh whisper. He grabbed him and pulled him back. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"Didn't you hear him? Didn't you hear his voice?"
That was when a series of shots rang out, followed by screams echoing all around them. It was impossible to tell who had shot whom and if anyone was hurt. The cries of other passengers didn't help matters. David heard the door at the front slam closed and he risked a peek.
The robbers were gone, probably in the process of mounting their horses and making a clean getaway. David crawled forward and stopped. There was blood staining the carpet and the wood of the door. He smiled. Maybe it hadn't been such a clean getaway.
"David!"
He turned and saw Denton standing over two bodies lying on the other side of the car. He rushed over, pushing through the throng of curious passengers. Seeing the threat had fled, many of them had come out of their hiding to investigate.
"This one's dead," Denton told him, pointing to a fair-haired man who had a bullet wound in his chest. "But this one's still got a pulse. Looks like he could use a doctor."
David knelt down and lifted the other man's head. Then he let out an audible gasp. He couldn't believe his eyes. The unconscious man who lay before him had a scraggly beard and mustache and his darkened hair hung rebelliously in his face. But David knew that face. He removed the man's hat and brushed the hair out of his face to get a better look.
There was no doubt in his mind; the man was Jack Kelly.
AN: This fic is a work in progress and it was purchased by a Newsies fan during the LJ Help Chile auction. The prompt for the story came from her and she requested that I post it elsewhere so she could keep better track of it, so here it is!