Wire Rope Express

By Tony Masero

Utah 1861
Up in the high reaches of the Humboldt Mountains a woman has come begging for rescue. Her shepherd husband and two sons are lost to her. But winter is coming and the risks are great, the party must evade a band of Indian renegades and get down from the mountains before the snow sets in and they are cut off. What the posse discovers appears straightforward at first sight but things start to unravel as further discoveries are made and the guilty party suddenly becomes as elusive as melting ice.
High and dry on a snow-covered plain, trapped and held at bay by a deadly band of renegades, there is only one chance for escape and resolution and it comes to them in the lean form of their leader, the one-time hunter and trapper, Steven Stephens.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Masero
• Release date: Aug 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463465844

Tony Masero

It’s not such a big step from pictures to writing.And that’s how it started out for me. I’ve illustrated more Western book covers than I care to mention and been doing it for a long time. No hardship, I hasten to add, I love the genre and have since a kid, although originally I made my name painting the cover art for other people, now at least, I manage to create covers for my own books.A long-term closet writer, only comparatively recently, with a family grown and the availability of self-publishing have I managed to be able to write and get my stories out there.As I did when illustrating, research counts a lot and has inspired many of my Westerns and Thrillers to have a basis in historical fact or at least weave their tale around the seeds of factual content.Having such a visual background, mostly it’s a matter of describing the pictures I see in my head and translating them to the written page. I guess that’s why one of my early four-star reviewers described the book like a ‘Western movie, fast paced and full of action.’I enjoy writing them; I hope folks enjoy reading the results.

Book preview

WIRE ROPE EXPRESS

Tony Masero

(WRITING AS TRAVIS FORD TAYLOR)

Utah 1861

Up in the high reaches of the Humboldt Mountains a woman has come begging for rescue. Her shepherd husband and two sons are lost to her. But winter is coming and the risks are great, the rescue party must evade a band of Indian renegades and get down from the mountains before the snow sets in and they are cut off. What the posse discovers appears straightforward at first sight but things start to unravel as further discoveries are made and the guilty party suddenly becomes as elusive as melting ice.

High and dry on a snow-covered plain, trapped and held at bay by the deadly band of renegades, there is only one chance for escape and resolution and it comes to them in the lean form of their leader, the one-time hunter and trapper, Steven Stephens.

Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

Copyright © 2019 by Tony Masero

Cover Illustration by Tony Masero

Smashwords Edition

Chapter One

When Supervisor James Campbell awoke that morning he looked out of his tent with dread.

Snow had fallen. It was late in the season and the desperate attempt to find timber in this tree-less stretch of Utah’s Humboldt Mountains was pressing. If not found, the construction work would have to wait until next spring and he had a wager with his opposite number in the east that he would complete in time to meet their deadline.

There had already been enough trouble with the men on this expedition. They were wary and on the edge of mutiny as they did not want to get trapped in the mountains during winter snowfall. It had taken some cajoling words and strong moves on Campbell’s part to get them to go this far.

Campbell looked over the cold campsite from his tent flap. Nothing moved and the high mountain plateau seemed to be inhabited solely by a collection of scattered graves, eerie mounds of white without headstones and giving all the appearance of a silent cemetery. Campbell’s breath steamed in the cold air and speckles of frozen moisture freckled his beard and mustache. He swallowed to clear his dry throat.

‘Rouse up! Rouse up!’ he called loudly, his voice echoing off the rocks in the frosty air.

Slowly the white plain before him shivered and cracked open and the dead came to life, throwing off their snow-covered blankets and rising to stamp about impatiently as they waited for a breakfast fire to get started.

Six inches had fallen overnight and just to complicate matters the horse teams had fled down the mountainside during the night.

Campbell called the Indian over to him. Buck Private was the leader of the Shoshone stockmen and had earned his name from the military jacket and forage cap he wore. More association with the army was lost though as the outfit was decorated Indian-style with feathers and beads. As he approached, Buck Private made a sorry attempt at salute by drawing himself up forcibly, sticking his chest out and raising flickering fingers to his eyebrow. Campbell subdued a smile at the extravagant attempt and ordered him to send his braves out and fetch back the missing animals, with an affirming nod the Indian loped off to obey the order. They were a trusted bunch and Campbell felt comfortable with the Shoshone who still found the magic of the white man’s task too difficult to grasp. It was Buck Private who had first struggled with their explanation by coining the phrase in his native tongue, ‘We-ente-mo-ke-te-bope,’ translating out as ‘Wire rope express’ or words to that effect.

James Campbell stood and blew into his fists to warm them as he watched the camp come to busy life. He was a tall and spare man, not unprepossessing to look at and whilst often of good humor was not above putting a stern face on if the situation arose. He carried a Colt Army revolving pistol in the belt worn over his jacket and a brand new ‘seventeen’-shot Henry rifle (‘seventeen’ as he always kept an extra .44 rimfire in the chamber) and the weapon was never far from his grasp. He had brought the party of fifty hard-working laborers in twenty-six wagons along with two-hundred and twenty oxen and a few saddle ponies on a difficult journey across the plains and once past the mountains they were in a stone’s throw of completing this stretch of what would become the first transcontinental telegraph line.

There had been a summer wildfire up here where they had camped and the stunted pine populating the plateau below the crest was fire hardened and perfect for the telegraph poles they needed and once breakfast was over, Campbell soon set the men to work.

Campbell was proud of his mission, within months and even whilst the dreadful Civil War still raged in the east, here was the opportunity to bring the whole of the nation together with a unifying strand of wire. Where once the isolated state of California would have to wait four months to receive news, when the wire laying was completed it would take only minutes to transmit messages.

The whole show would cost a cool half million dollars at completion but at the end of it, for the extravagant price of a dollar a word; messages would traverse the entire continent. War news and political speeches, business transactions and advisement, precious personal communication and warnings of dangers, along with pleas for the desperate in need of help, they would all travel the line in brief bursts of Morse and bring about swift response where necessary. It was a dream Campbell was much enamored of.

No doubt the present stagecoach mail services and the pony express would fall by the wayside but that was the price of progress. Many forts and way stations along the stagecoach routes would have a telegraph operator and word would be passed on swiftly down the line. True, there were dangers for the fragile line, in the very snow that Campbell observed now, the weight of which could bring down a wire, then there were tempests and storms, bison rubbing against the poles and overturning them, and the native tribes once they understood the logistical benefit of the telegraph to the white men. That was why Campbell had tried to keep on their good side along the route and been generous with presents of food and clothing.

His greatest benefit had been the red men’s ignorance of the wire’s effect and their superstitious nature. Campbell remembered the time they had been laying wire during a rainfall and electrical storm out on the plains and a passing band of Sioux had been inveigled into helping by one of the gloved workers aloft on a pole. In the charged air one bold brave had taken up his offer and grasped the wire to lift it, a combination of wet underfoot and his bare hands had given the Indian such a shock that he had howled in pain and run off back to his companions cursing the devil wire. Word had spread amongst the tribes and now they all approached the line with a certain caution, passing under the looping strand as centrally as they might between poles and then at as fast a lick as they could manage.

But even the whites were not above misunderstanding the workings of the telegraph. At one office Campbell had initiated, the locals had gathered to see the new device in action. And Campbell, sometimes the joker, had received a message from the head of the line and transposed it before placing the written note in an envelope. After which he pretended to post the note in a slot under his operator’s desk like a regular post office clerk, the watching crowd saw him begin to send on the Morse machine and instantly rushed outside to the telegraph posts in order to see the letter go flying along the wire. Failing that, they reckoned it was rolled up tight and travelled to its destination inside the wire. It had taken some explanation before the townspeople had taken the dupe in good spirits and joined in the laughter.

Campbell was distracted from his musings by a call from one of the woodsman, a brawny and sometime obstreperous character called Will Hastings who led the lumberjack team. Hastings came carrying his double-headed axe in one hand and pulling a mule’s rein with the other. Hunched over and shivering on the animal’s back was a young woman who looked near frozen and very much the worse for wear.

‘Captain!’ called Hastings. ‘Found this here lady in the woods, says she’s been searching for us.’

‘Indeed,’ said Campbell, stepping forward and looking up at the snow dusted rider. ‘James Campbell at your service, ma’am,’ he