Читать книгу Dead Men Don't Lie - Jackson Cain - Страница 20

Chapter 10

Eléna spread a thin gray mattress on the floor of the flatbed train car and covered it with a sheet. Seating herself at the head of the mattress with her legs spread out and a dark pillow on her lap, Antonio gently placed Rachel on the mattress, easing her head onto Eléna’s pillow. Rachel’s face was flushed with fever. Eléna wiped her brow with a cool wet washcloth.

“You sure you want to ride on the flatcar?” Antonio asked.

“The air will be better here than in the boxcars,” Eléna said.

“If we catch a rainstorm or banditos attack, the boxcars will provide more protection.”

“Then we’ll carry Rachel into a boxcar.”

Eléna looked down at Rachel and emitted a long, slow sigh. She was even more worried about the skull fracture than she had been back at the house. The fractured temple was depressed, which meant, according to Dr. Pérez, that it was putting pressure on the brain. A surgeon, he had said, would need to do a craniotomy to inspect the condition of both the brain and the protective tissue enveloping it. The surgeon would then have to remove the skull segments, reassemble them, and put the jigsaw puzzle pieces of patchworked cranium back into place. Eléna and Dr. Pérez only knew of one doctor and one hospital within a radius of a thousand miles that could conceivably perform the operation: Dr. Frank Ryan at El Hospital del Rancho—Rachel’s father.

No way it could be done in Mexico.

Eléna glanced at her pocket watch. She had inherited it from her grandfather. A B. W. Raymond, it was a big railroad watch with a white face and roman numerals marking the minutes. She’d especially loved the anachronistic IIII, which represented the numeral 4. Since it was a railroad watch, it was the right timepiece for their trip. In fact, it was time for the train to pull out. As if on cue, the wood-fueled locomotive, which stood four cars ahead of them, screeched three long whistle bursts. Slowly but with increasing frequency its engine chugged, lurched, and strained, black smoke billowing out of the diamond-shaped stack. Gradually, the wheels rotated, and the cars jerked into motion.

The train was thankfully taking off on time—something of a miracle in Mexico. Eléna took that as a good omen. She needed the train to depart on time. The clock was running out on Eléna and her patient. In thirty-six hours the train would hopefully pull into a rail stop, which was a one-hour wagon ride to the Ryans’ rancho. She would contact Katherine Ryan when she got there. She had been afraid to wire Katherine, telling her that she was bringing her daughter home, for fear that prospective kidnappers might intercept the message. Rachel would bring a queen’s ransom down here.

All Eléna could hope was that she’d find a wagon and horses at the train station.

* * *

Time was so precious she’d sold her cantina in under three hours—in the same amount of time Antonio needed to book their train, then borrow a wagon and horses in which to drive them to the train station. She had packed hers and Antonio’s rucksacks, two large canvas bags, and three two-gallon water bags. She did it as quickly as she could, since they were desperate to make the two p. m. train to the Arizona Territory.

Her brother-in-law, Alfredo, had been trying to purchase her cantina for years, and now she’d sold it to him. He was stunned that she would pull up stakes, abandon virtually all of her possessions, and leave Sonora in such a hurry. She knew she was selling her establishment at fire-sale prices but she told Alfredo that she did not care. He was so insulting that it took every ounce of self-control to keep from shouting at him:

“Chingo tu madre, puto. I’m going to Rancho del Cielo.”

But she and Antonio could not tell their destination to anyone.

* * *

Now her only fear was that they wouldn’t get to the Rancho in time to help Rachel. She wanted to scream at the fireman and engineer to throw more kindling into the firebox and get that damn train moving.