of knowing what would happen,” Ellie assured him.
“Makes no difference,” he replied. “A lawman has to be prepared.”
Ellie changed the subject by asking Sophie if she knew Goldie Krenshaw.
“Yes, of course. Her room is down the hall from mine.”
“I used to be her roommate,” Ellie said. “We’re still good friends.”
Once they’d finished breakfast, Clay picked up his hat. “Thank you kindly for everything, Mizz Chaney. Doc.”
Sophie stood and picked up her plate.
Ellie stopped her. “You run along now.”
“Thank you for your generosity. It was a pleasure meeting you and your family.”
Ellie touched her arm. “I’m sorry about the circumstances, but I’m glad we met.”
“Be waitin’ out front,” the marshal said.
Sophie glanced at his broad back in the leather vest and followed slowly. Her skirt was an inch or so too short, revealing her boot tops and stockings, and she felt awkward.
“Your clothing is in here.” Ellie handed her a bundle. “I’m afraid it smells like smoke.”
“Not a worry,” Sophie assured her. “Our laundry is done for us, as you know. I’ll instruct them to throw it away if it smells too bad.”
Dr. Chaney was standing near the front door when they reached it.
She thanked him again. “I’ll bring your payment around tomorrow.”
“No need. The marshal paid.”
She raised her gaze to his.
He shrugged. “Told him you wouldn’t be happy.”
He opened the door and she preceded him out to where the marshal waited.
Sophie glanced from the horse and buggy to the stone-faced man. “I could have walked.”
“I’m sure you could’ve, but I brought a rig so you wouldn’t have to.”
Secretly glad she wouldn’t have to parade down the busy streets of Newton with her boot tops and stockings on display, she let him assist her to the springed seat.
The Chaneys waved from the porch of their home as the buggy drew away.
“Nice folks,” the marshal said.
He had told her he would make things right with Mrs. Winters and the manager, so Sophie was going to have to let him do that.
“Breathin’ easier today?”
She nodded.
Horses and vehicles lined the street they turned onto. The wood platforms and bricked area in front of the Arcade were crowded with passengers waiting to get back onto the two trains that stood on the tracks, smoke bellowing from the stacks on the black steam engines.
“Looks like we’ll have to leave the buggy here and walk,” Clay said. He stopped and helped her down.
The train crews had eaten and were the first allowed back into the cars. Passengers crowded in close behind them.
Clay took Sophie’s hand and blazed a path through the tight gathering. “Looks like you just missed a big rush.”
“Undoubtedly there’s plenty of cleanup before the next arrival,” she replied.
He said something else, but loud voices distracted her. In a language Sophie understood perfectly, two braves were arguing with a man in a black jacket and a bowler. She identified the man right off as a fakir, a man who picked pockets and sold worthless tickets and land deeds to unsuspecting travelers.
The plains Indians were drawing attention from the crowd.
“That man…the one there.” She pointed him out to Clay. “He doesn’t look like a passenger, does he?”
“Which one?”
“The one with the hat who’s arguing with those Sioux.”
Clay maneuvered them closer. The Indians were talking among themselves now. Clay shrugged. “There does seem to be an argument.”
Shit, shit, shit, Sophie thought. Why wasn’t he picking up on what was going on? Convinced he’d catch on in a minute, she bit her tongue. The Indians were digging into their pouches now, and Sophie couldn’t waste another minute. “He’s one of those men who sell fake vouchers to the passengers.”
Clay shouldered his way through the crowd to confront the man she spoke of. He spotted Clay, slapped his hand on his bowler, and turned to flee. Clay waded through the crowd, but the man had disappeared, impossible to find.
Before he returned Sophie quickly explained to the dark-skinned brave who wore a flannel shirt with fringed deerskin pants that they shouldn’t trade their money for papers. There wasn’t a word in their language for lie. “No food vouchers. You buy food with your coins.”
“Did you give him any money?” Clay asked, coming up to them.
The man replied, but Clay only frowned. Another Indian beside him added something as well.
“No money was exchanged,” Sophie told Clay. “You chased him off before he got their money.” She pointed to the pieces of paper in their hands. “No good,” she said with a hand gesture and took the papers. “The marshal will take these.”
The Indians spoke among themselves and Sophie drew Clay away.
“How did you know what was going on?” he asked.
“I’ve seen that man out here before.” She hadn’t of course, but she knew his kind.
A woman placed her hand on Sophie’s arm. “Kathryn? Kathryn Fuller?”
Sophie recognized her immediately as someone with whom she’d had dealings in another city. Shit, shit, shit! Her pulse increased at the surprise, even as she shrugged off the woman’s touch. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“But I was certain. You look just like the woman. Your hair is different…and your eyes now that I look more closely. Look, Robert, isn’t she the spitting image of Mrs. Fuller?”
The tall thin man at her side peered at Sophie through gold-rimmed spectacles. Sophie heart hammered. Would he recognize her, whip a poster from his pocket, scream “aha!” and ruin her new life? She concentrated on appearing bored and inconvenienced.
“There is perhaps a vague similarity.”
Relief flooded over Sophie. Perspiration had formed under her clothing.
“Come dear, our train will be leaving shortly.”
“Excuse us now.” Clay took Sophie’s arm and led her away.
That had been another close call. Sophie was like a cat with nine lives, but the stress was wearing and those lives were quickly getting used up. When she showed up in the busy dining hall with the marshal, all attention diverted to them. Mrs. Winters quickly whisked them away from the prying eyes of customers and employees. Minutes later they stood in Harrison Webb’s office, the small wood-paneled room smelling of lemon wax.
“A night away without a pass is cause for immediate suspension, Miss Hollis.” Mrs. Winters wore her haughtiest look. “It’s inappropriate behavior for one of Mr. Harvey’s employees. Especially if you are in some sort of trouble with the law.”
“Hold your horses.” Clay stopped her cold, then turned to Harrison. “How’re you doing?”
“Not complaining,” the man replied with a nod.
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Winters stiffened. “We have an errant girl here.”
“You