Chapter 11 - The Meeting

The little tramp was grateful that Jenny had warned him not to turn himself in to the Sheriff. But now he didn't know what his next move could be. It had seemed clear when he thought about getting the reward money for Violette. But if there was no reward, there was no point in turning himself in. He had so wished to help her…

There was a stagecoach that came into town once a week. But the tramp couldn't wait that long and the Sheriff could easily waylay the stage. Jenny had warned him not to take the train either, for surely Sheriff Smith would have his men waiting at the next station. But the train was his best chance. While the train was stopping to take on water, exchange mailbags and an occasional passenger, Charlie could board the last car. Then he could come out later, before the conductor came to take the tickets and hide on the baggage car platform next to the luggage where he couldn't be seen while the train was in motion. He decided to play it by ear.

It was the dusk just before the dawn when Jenny and Charlie had parted and he kept in the shadows and made his way to the tiny railroad station. He peered in through a window and all was dark. He tried the window and happily, it opened. He climbed in and shut the window after him. He ascended the stairs to the dispatcher's office. The side windows had views of the tracks from both sides and from this height in the tower, the dispatcher could see the trains for miles down the track as they came and went in both directions. He could contact the trains by telephone and issue orders to control train traffic. Charlie would be able to see the train long before it arrived and he could be ready.

The dispatcher should be coming to work soon and there was little in the way of places to hide. The tramp looked through the dispatcher's desk and found what he was looking for, a revolver. He checked to make sure it was loaded. He sat down in a shadowed corner and heard the dispatcher climbing the stairs. He was a tall, thin, old man with scraggly white hair and a navy blue railroad uniform. He sat down in his chair, put on his spectacles and started checking the maps.

"Mister," said Charlie, still sitting in the shadows. He aimed the gun at the dispatcher.

"Who's there?" said the dispatcher, becoming alarmed. He started rummaging through his drawer for the gun which Charlie held.

"I 'ave yer gun, Mister. I ain't 'ere t' 'urt y'…" Charlie spoke in a quiet, soft voice, not wanting to upset the man further.

"What do you want?"

"I jus' wanna ge' on th' nex' train goin' east."

"Why don't you buy a ticket?"

"Ain't go' no money, Mister."

The dispatcher took off his glasses and looked in Charlie's direction. The sun was coming up and he was no longer in the shadows. "Aren't you the little Limey who killed Violette Evans' uncle?"

"Tha's wha' they say…but it ain't true."

"You didn't kill him?"

"The gun went off acciden'ly. It was a unfortuna' event…"

"So why are you running away?"

"Ain't y' seen them wanted posters? Th' one wi' me face on it…"

"Yes…"

"The Sheriff is after me an' the 'anging judge is comin' t' town."

"Heard you were staying at Miss Evans' place."

"I was. Th' Sheriff wants 'er land badly. I wanna 'elp 'er, but …"

The dispatcher nodded. Yes, this town's been ruined by Jedediah Smith, since he's been the Sheriff. Him and his men…real bad sorts. "Don't know if I believe your story, son, but most of those that Jed Smith goes after aren't guilty. I've seen it happen before. Whether you done the deed or not, I can't say, but you won't get a fair trial here. You know though, that if you get on the train, with a ticket or not, Smith's men will be at the next station to take you in. No place to get away."

The tramp wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. He let the revolver droop in his hand. "'Ere's yer gun back, Mister."

"Listen son, I'm going to give you something…" He wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to the tramp.

"Wha's this?"

"Get on the train and hand this to the conductor when he asks for your ticket. I am vouching for you so you get a free ride to wherever you need to go. He'll let you hide away on the train until you're safely past Jed Smith's men."

The tramp was astonished at the kindness of this man."

"I dunno wha' t' say…"

"Just say, thank you, that will be sufficient."

"Thank y', Sir, yer so koind…."

"You know son, Violette employed you out there on her spread…I heard about you helping her try to keep her land from Jed Smith. You wouldn't be doing that if you were an evil sort…like those we have running this town. Most of us are sick of it and we've had people up and leave their homes just to get away from it. Me, well, he hasn't bothered me yet, but you never can tell…"

The dispatcher took a phone call and glanced out of the window down the track. "The eight-ten is arriving…will be pulling in the station - four, five minutes. You'd best get downstairs. Try not to be too conspicuous."

Charlie shook the man's hand heartily, thanked him again and ran down the stairs. He stood in line with a few other people waiting to board the train. He felt hollow inside, as if he were abandoning Violette. He had wanted to help her so much. Several men alit at the station and one of them looked terribly familiar. The tramp was about to board the train, when he looked back at the passengers again. They were now about to enter the station.

Suddenly, on a hunch, he turned around and ran back to the station, following the man who looked familiar. He was a large stocky man with mutton chop whiskers and he was dressed formally, with a silk top hat. He was limping, and using a cane to walk. Charlie tipped his hat and walked backwards in front of the man. "Sir, c'n I talk t' y'?"

They had reached the inside of the station and another man, apparently the large man's bodyguard, put his hand on the butt of his gun in its holster, worn about his waist. "Sir?" said the bodyguard to his employer.

"It's all right," said the stocky man. "Let's sit down."

Charlie and the large man took a seat on one of the three long pew-like seats in the station. "Now what is it you want to say to me, son?"

"Yer Mr. Theodore Evans, ain't y'?"

"Yes, I am. And you are…"

"I'm the man wha' shot y' in Boston…"

"Yes, I remember."

"I thought I killed y'…"

"Obviously you didn't…what is your name?"

The tramp told him his name.

"Well, Charlie, that is why I am here. We have a few things to straighten out."