DisPLACEd: The Iron Horse

Chapter Eleven

The workers shuffled out of their tents and sleeper cars, making their way towards the work stations. They squinted their bloodshot eyes, the sunlight glinting harshly off the metal tools. Semi-controlled detonations and the clanging of progress sent shockwaves through their heads. Three strokes was the number determined for a properly installed nail in the railbed, and each man stuck to it, unable to bear more noise than necessary. Even the motivational work songs were lacking lustre or - more often than not - weren't sung at all.

Durant stepped out of his caboose, perfectly presented in a suit and tie. Though it was his usual attire, the edges were crisper, and his hair more tamed. Jack Casement - also donned in a suit - approached him, the two then walking side-by-side towards the station.

"You were right, sir. The men are all at their positions but seem incapable of mustering enough energy to cause trouble."

Durant kept his eyes forward and his shoulders back. He wasn't a tall man, but had mastered the art of commanding attention. "Good. And the decorations?"

"Excellent, sir," Jack said, giving a wave of his hand.

The final touches had been made on the station earlier in the morning. Red, white, and blue streamers hung from the wooden poles, bordering the path the visitors would take once they departed the train. Even the small office on the other side of the balloon loop had some bunting on it. No matter where the visitors looked, they would get an eyeful of American pride.

Standing on guard a little to their left were the four soldiers that had been hired as the personal security guards of the visitors and executives of the Union Pacific railroad. Collins and Newell carried Remington M1867s, a gun close to those they used in the war. If anyone even tried to sneak up on them, they wouldn't have long to regret their choice. Nathaniel stood with his hands clasped to his Winchester Model 1866 rifle. It was like another appendage. His younger brother Bartholomew - Barty - was his complete opposite, packing a Colt Dragoon Revolver, and, his personal favourite, his Bowie knife.

"And where is our little Indian friend?" Durant asked, making a show of looking around. The sound of a horse galloping closer drew their eyes westward. "Ah, speak of the devil." Upon Jack's quizzical look he added, "Only a figure of speech, naturally."

The soldiers moved to stand with two on either side of the railroad executives, fingers on triggers.

Nakos sat strong and proud on the chestnut brown horse. His long black hair bounced off his shoulders as he moved with the beast as one. His beige garb would have made him blend with the dusty background had it not been for the colourful beads he wore in long loops around his neck. He brought the horse to a halt in front of the group, immediately hopping down. Everything about him was a stark contrast to Durant and Jack. Where they were older, he was young. Where they wore suits, he wore traditional clothes that uncovered segments of his skin, revealing his tribal tattoos.

Durant cleared his throat and held out his hand. "Hel-lo," he said, making sure to enunciate for the 'foreigner'. "I am Dur-ant."

Nakos stared at him, giving nothing away.

Durant, embarrassed and seeing his greeting would go unreturned, brought his hand back. "I take it you will be ready to go when our guests arrive?"

Nakos gave a single nod.

Durant looked to Jack, leaning in and whispering. "Can I assume he knows his role?"

"He's been helpful in the past."

"Good." Durant straightened and reached into his jacket's inner pocket. He removed a fob watch, flipping open the lid.

Within moments, a chugging and whistling sound pierced the air. In the distance, speedily approaching, plumes of black smoke billowed into the sky. The conductor blew the whistle, signalling all to move out of the way.