DisPLACEd: The Iron Horse

Chapter Eight

"Brilliant," Durant released a melodramatic sigh. "That's all we need."

"Sir?" A voice called out from a back room of the caboose.

Thomas C. Durant, the physician-turned-railroad-financier and promoter stood in the middle of the room, a small piece of telegram paper scrunched in his hand. "Companies no longer content with our progress reports, and now demand catered visits and photography sessions before pledging their support." His voice rose and he raised his arms as if he were orating to his fellow businessmen. "Don't they understand the importance of our endeavour? That we can't stop to cater to the fancies of pompous asses!"

A young Mexican man took a step into the room. "Señor Durant, your bath is ready."

"Excellent." Durant ceased his tirade and strode from the room.

Embers floated into the air, carried away on the wind from the small camp. Eric, not accustomed to the chill of the American west at night, huddled closer to the fire, munching on his portion of dried beef.

"I'm calling it a night." Dodge pushed himself to his feet and shuffled off into his personal tent.

It had been a busy day of riding, calculating, and planting surveyor flags, but their leader looked more weary than expected. The occasional cough emanated from his canvas covering, echoing out over the empty grassland. With nothing else to do, Eric retired to his much-smaller shared tent. As he laid down he couldn't help but feel vulnerable. There was no night-watch to warn them of an incoming attack, and no real weapons besides Dodge's six shooter. The call of an animal startled him, and he fumbled about, getting his legs tangled in his itchy woolen sheet. Despite the disturbance, his tent mates failed to rouse. He squeezed his eyes shut and levelled his breathing. He had survived the middle ages, he could survive the American west.

Eric emerged from his tent, hunched over and groaning. They had arrived at their campsite just after sunset the night before, so as he stretched, he gasped in awe at the sight before him. The grassland disappeared into the horizon, mountains rising up in the distance, looking like a snow-capped border on the earth. Though there was a light morning drizzle, the view was not marred at all. He stood with the two other surveyors, one just returning from his morning ablutions.

"This your first time out west?" The man closest to him asked. From brief introductions the day before, Eric remembered his name was Herman. He was an inch or two shorter than Eric, but stockier. His beard was coming in, a ginger spraying of hair covering his chin.

Eric nodded. "Yeah. It's beautiful."

Herman turned, taking a deep breath, sucking in the crisp morning air. "It's funny. We get to see it like this, only to prepare the way for the train and civilisation. Won't look like this for long." There was a hint of sadness to his words, but it was overlaid with resignation.

Dodge burst out of his tent and darted for a nearby mound. He immediately bent over it, hurling what little he had had for dinner.

"What's that?" The other surveyor - Charlie - asked Herman, giving him a nudge with his elbow.

"What do you think that is? He's sick." Herman rolled his eyes.

"Not him, you chucklehead!"

They all turned and followed where Charlie was pointing. In the distance, cresting a hill, was a dark form barrelling towards them. An especially dark cloud migrated out of the way of the sun, sending a ray down to light the morning traveller. He was hunched over his horse, his face red from exertion as if he was the one galloping with a charge on his back.