The Fortune Hunters by J. T. Edson

they might put this chance meeting to its fullest advantage, the train carried them west towards the forward construction base camp which had been erected to supply the needs of the ever-advancing steel rails.
    Night was falling as the train halted at the depot, if a single canvas walled shack could be glorified by such a grand title. Calamity and Mark were among the first to leave the train and they stood side by side, looking around them.
    A fair sized town stretched before them. It had homes, stores, saloons, a dance hail and a couple of gambling palaces; all of them made of canvas. The railroad had now stretched too far west to make the building of a more permanent town worthwhile at this point. They were well beyond the range where Texas trail drives would come to ship their cattle. So the people erected canvas structures which could be taken down and transported to the next base camp when the present camp fell so far behind the construction that it was useless for its purpose.
    ‘I’ll just go ask the—’ Calamity began, then chopped off her words as she glanced along the train. ‘Ho, ho! I thought they might be along.’
    ‘Who?’ Mark answered.
    ‘Why those three jaspers getting down from the coach ahead? Turning, Mark looked to where a couple of big, burly toughs followed a much smaller man from the far end of the next coach. They all wore derby hats and town suits, but the bigger pair had gunbelts under their coats and tied down holsters. Even though the light was none too good, Mark could tell the two big men had surly mean faces and the shorter carried himself with the swaggering, cocky assurance of a small hombre with plenty of authority and power behind him.
    ‘Who are they, Calam?’ he asked.
    ‘That lil feller’s all I know for sure. His name’s Sam Strogoff and he’s one of Pinkerton’s top men. Other two work for him. I’ve seen them around when there’s been trouble on the railroad afore. And brother, when they left, there’s mostly been heads broken among the trouble-causers.’
    That figured happen a man believed all he heard about the activities of the Pinkerton Agency when handling labour disputes for their employers. Mark, as became a stout Confederate sympathiser, had little respect for Pinkertons, but he kept an open mind as to whether they were as black as a lot of folks painted them.
    ‘Reckon they’re here after Thackery?’ he inquired.
    ‘Could be,’ Calamity admitted.
    ‘Who-all’s the head man up here?’ Mark went on. ‘When we ran the law in Mulirooney last year it was Phil Chaseman.’
    ‘Still is. You’ll know him then?’
    ‘Well enough, Calam. Where do I find him?’
    ‘I’ll take you to him,’ Calamity promised. ‘Just let me go tell the train conductor to keep my gear until I collect it.’
    ‘I’m working this trip, Calam,’ Mark warned grimly. ‘I don’t want to wind up in any saloon brawl. You hear me, gal?’
    ‘I hear you good,’ she replied. ‘And Bill’s told me there’s no job for me happen I make trouble. I like a fight, but I like money good, too.’
    Mark eyed Calamity suspiciously. Like the Ysabel Kid, Calamity was never to be trusted when she sounded as innocent as a church-pew full of choirboys. Dropping a big right hand on her shoulder, his left held his bedroll, Mark gave the girl’s flesh a squeeze which made her wince in pain.
    ‘Just mind you do, Calam girl,’ he warned. ‘Because if you don’t I’ll take down your pants and paddle your bare hide.’
    Rubbing her numb shoulder, Calam looked at Mark in a challenging manner.
    ‘Is that a threat or a promise?’ she asked. ‘And don’t tell me here, wait until later.’
    After seeing the conductor of the train and arranging for the safe keeping of her belongings, Calamity joined Mark. They walked along the railroad track and under a romantic starlit sky, yet they did not speak of romance.
    ‘I’ve found where Thackery’s going to speak tonight,’ she said. ‘Asked