DisPLACEd: The Iron Horse

Chapter Nineteen

"Two breaks a day," Jake read from the scrap of paper.

"No," Dan replied.

"Credit at the Dance Hall when their daily pay is late."

Dan chuckled. "Good one, but no."

Jake gulped and took a deep breath before reading the last of Eli's demands. "Pay at the beginning of the week, and deeds to the land along the extended route available at a discounted rate."

The force of Dan's laugh almost unseated him. "They cannot be serious."

"They are, sir. Eli has-"

"Eli has lost his mind," Dan spoke, all sign of jocularity gone.

"Mr Casement, this is a negotiation. You can't say no to their demands and not offer any suggestions."

"I suggest they get back to work, or they will never seen a dime again." Jake opened his mouth to speak, but Dan hurriedly continued. "If we give into them on any terms, we will look weak."

"But they're right. Durant is elongating the route to get more money for himself."

Dan chuckled nervously. "Did they tell you that?"

Jake could see through the act. He spoke a bit more forcefully. "Tell me the truth."

Dan considered his words carefully. "This is a business. It's as simple as that."

"So that's a yes?" Jake shook his head.

"Long after the railroad is built, do you think anyone will remember those little details? No one will remember who hammered what, what the weather was like, or if the track was more curved than necessary. The only thing that matters is that it gets done, and it won't unless those men get back to work." Dan leaned back in his chair. "So you better come up with something."

Jonathan stood across from the station, leaning against a wooden pillar. He watched the men in the picket line as they joked with each other, yelling out sneers aimed toward the cabooses. There was no uniformity to their actions, loosely blocking the tools with their big bodies.

"Hey Johnny, whatcha doing?" Ryan stopped beside him, bouncing on his heels.

Jonathan looked at him, only considering answering. His expression was set, his mouth drawn in a thin line. "Nuthin'."

"Is everything OK?"

"Fine." It was more of a noise than a word.

Ryan shrugged and turned to leave.

"How long d' ya think the strike'll go on for?" Jonathan asked over his shoulder.

"I don't know. Depends how stubborn Eli and Durant are. You said Eli was your friend; what do you think?"

Jonathan thought about it, his eyes going back to the picketers.

The bottle shattered over the man's head, sending a spray out into the air. He dropped to the floor, his skin further cut by the fallen glass. It had been a day of heavy drinking - and not paying - for Eli and his men. The fallen man's friend took revenge, delivering a nasty right hook to the jaw, knocking him out. A passing dance hall worker became the next victim of testosterone. Another bar patron grabbed her wrist and swung her into his body, he roughly stroked her cheek while she struggled.

Kate instantly appeared at her girl's side. "Let her go Leroy." She didn't need to raise her voice, her tone enough of a warning.

Leroy let go with a flourish of his hands and the girl retreated. "'Scuse me ma'am." He gave a mock bow.

"She's has a name." Harley weaved her way through the crowd.

"Yeah but nobody knows it," he laughed.

Before Harley could continue, a hand slapped Leroy on the back of the head. "Quit being an ass Leroy and get out on the line." Eli shoved him toward the exit. "Sorry 'bout that Kate. Won't happen again."

Kate didn't pretend to believe him, turning and walking back to the bar.

Harley followed behind her. "Why'd you let them get away with that?"

"I've been in business a long time. I know how to handle myself and protect my girls."

Harley nodded. "What did he mean about your name?" She asked, picking up a rag and helping Kate wipe down the counter, "It's literally on the building."

"It's not my real name. 'Cattle Kate' is what they call women who rustle cattle. That was me until..." She stopped, fighting her thoughts that tried to take her back to a harder time. "Now I work with another kind of animal."

"So, what is your name?"

"It doesn't matter."

"We won't work, we say no, Dodge and Durant, have to go!" The men's chant echoed out into the night. Their words dissolved into grunts and yells, the more inebriated in the crowd drowning them out.

Three men diverged from the main group, their feet taking them sideways when they wanted to go forward. They spoke too low for Jonathan to hear. He had not moved from his spot across the dirt path from the picket line. Ambling towards the rail-line, the moon broke through the clouds enough so that Jonathan could see the tools held in their hands.

The main group laughed and cheered them on, riling them up further.

They approached the track, immediately bringing their tools down, sending out a fierce clang. Over and over again they battered the metal. The track dented and bent, undoing hours of hard work.

"Run!" The cry sent the men into an instant scramble. Seconds later a black powder charge exploded. Metal, grass, and dirt shot high into the air. Those nearby who were too drunk to escape were thrown to the ground, lucky to escape with their lives and limbs. The shockwave rattled the windows of the nearby cabooses. A roar of triumph erupted from the men, each thrusting a tool or fist into the sky.

"We won't work, we say no, if you cross our line, you'll have to go. We won't show, we want our dough, Dodge and Durant, have to go!"

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