Nan Ryan (5 page)

He said flatly, “It could have been worse. Last time he and his band were fleeing Texas after a rampage, one of his most feared young braves stopped long enough on this side of the Rio Grande to dunk a poor sheepherder’s head in some hot tallow he had been rendering.”

“Must have been Chief Thunderfoot,” put in one of the other Rangers. “They say young Thunder-foot is even meaner than old Victorio. And that is mean.”

“Amen.”

5

“
It’s not fair! It just is not fair,
” Princess Marlena raged in disbelief.

“Your Highness, where is your compassion?” Montillion gently scolded. “Think of those whose fortunes have drastically dwindled because of this sudden market plunge.”

“Oh, I know, I know. And I am sorry for them, truly I am,” said the princess, pacing worriedly back and forth. “But I don’t see why the market crash had to happen now, of all times.”

“Unfortunate,” Montillion had to agree. “Most unfortunate.”

A long pause. Then the disappointed princess reasoned, “With this unexpected calamity, we will be unable to raise the money we need. Is that not a fact?”

“I’m afraid that the market crash changes everything,” Montillion admitted. “Those who are now quite worried about their own diminished fortunes and uncertain futures will not likely be predisposed to prodigious foreign investments.”

“No. No, of course not,” said Princess Marlena. “We have come all this way for nothing, spending money we did not have to make the journey. All our well-laid plans have been for naught.”

“Come, come. We are not defeated yet, Your Highness,” said Montillion, smiling in an attempt to lighten her mood. “This unexpected setback means only that … ah … well … that we revise our plans somewhat.”

“Revise our …? How can we?” Princess Marlena’s well-arched eyebrows lifted questioningly.

“There is a way,” said Montillion.

As if she hadn’t heard, she murmured, “We were all so confident we could raise large sums here in the Northeast.”

“A great disappointment,” said Montillion.

“Be home by late summer in time for the season with enough money to drain the flooded marble quarries.”

“Early fall is still quite possible.”

“Make the quarries productive again,” she said wistfully.

“And so we will.”

“Save the kingdom and its subjects. I had so hoped that …” The princess stopped speaking, shrugging her slender shoulders.

“Yes, I know,” said her factor. He drew a quick breath and pressed on, “If we are to raise the funds for our insolvent kingdom, we must go out west.”

“Go out west?” She stared at him, incredulous. “Are you insane? In case you have forgotten, I am the princess royal of Hartz-Coburg!”

“I haven’t forgotten, Your Highness.”

“I? Go west? Never!” she announced decisively. “Never, never, never! You cannot expect me to travel to the wild and uncivilized frontier.” Making a face, she added, “Why, there’s no one out there but dirty miners and wild cowboys and dangerous outlaws and blood-thirsty savages.” She laughed sarcastically. “I can well imagine how much money we’d raise among their kind.” She wrinkled her royal nose.

“You might be pleasantly surprised,” Montillion hastily informed her. “I am told that the upper crust of Denver, Colorado, are really quite cultured.” His thin gray eyebrows raised thoughtfully when he added, “Tons of gold and silver have been taken out of the Rockies over the last few decades. Vast fortunes have been made. The city’s population boasts a high percentage of millionaires—some from Hartz-Coburg.”

Unconvinced, the princess shook her head, causing her unbound red hair to whip around her shoulders. “That may well be, but it changes nothing. I simply will not go and that is final!” She jabbed a thumb toward the middle of her chest and told him loudly, “
This
princess does not go west!”

The princess went west.

After further gentle, but relentless, persuasion from her stalwart factotum, the out-of-sorts princess Marlena finally agreed to go as far west as Denver, Colorado.

And not one mile farther.

But as her royal railcar rolled into the Queen City of the Rockies, the princess was overwhelmed by the warm, enthusiastic welcome she received from the enormous throngs crowding Denver’s Union Depot. Many of the rich and prosperous had turned out to pay homage and, at a Brown Palace bond rally the next afternoon, proved to be exceptionally generous. So generous, in fact, the pleased princess changed her mind about traveling farther west. Bond sales, higher than her expectations, were gratifying.

After only twenty-four hours in the city, she summoned Montillion and excitedly told him that she would be more than willing to go on to other western cities.

Montillion was delighted. He wasted no time setting up bond rallies and banquet dates for Her Highness in Fort Worth, Dallas, San Antonio, and finally Galveston, where they would board the royal yacht for the return voyage home.

Exhilarated from her successful week-long visit, Princess Marlena stood on the open platform of her royal railcar and waved good-bye as the train left Denver at sundown. She stayed on the platform long after Union Station and the exuberant crowds had been left behind.

As the train snaked southward, Princess Marlena gazed fondly at the majestic snow-dusted peaks of the towering Rockies bathed now in the purples and pinks of the setting summer sun. The awesome Rocky Mountains reminded her of her beloved Alps. Seeing the huge monoliths of stone reaching to meet the quickly darkening Colorado skies, she could almost pretend that she was at home.

Texas, she felt sure, would be very different from home. But hers was a curious nature, and she was looking forward to seeing America’s largest state.

The gathering dusk soon drove the princess inside where she was served a late light dinner. It was then, while dining, that the princess got a glimpse of her face in one of the narrow strip mirrors of the royal rail coach. She was shocked and horrified to see that the whites of her eyes had turned yellow.

She dropped the heavy sterling soup spoon. It clattered into the gold-crested china bowl, splashing beef-and-barley broth onto the white tablecloth.

“Summon Doctor Hondrich!” the frightened Marlena cried out, rising so quickly her chair toppled over backward. Her trembling hands flying up to her face, she screamed, “Something terrible is happening to me!”

By morning when the train was just outside Raton Pass, Princess Marlena’s entire face was the color of a lemon peel. When she tried to eat a bit of breakfast, she experienced excruciating pains in her lower stomach.

Dr. Hondrich, as he had done repeatedly throughout the long night, went again into the royal bedchamber to examine his patient. Hovering just outside the door, Montillion and the baroness Richtoffen waited anxiously. Both jumped when the door abruptly opened and Dr. Hondrich stepped out.

“The princess has,” announced the royal physician, “come down with a case of yellow jaundice.”

“Dear Lord in heaven, no,” murmured Montillion and the baroness in unison.

“There is no doubt in my mind,” said Dr. Hondrich firmly. “She must have at least three weeks of total rest and quiet.”

“But the bond tour …” Montillion lamented. “Advance word says they are certain to love her in Texas, and we have not sold nearly enough bonds. Anticipation is presently high. A delay would be disastrous.”

The physician sympathized. “I know, but there are times when providence changes our—”

“Doctor Hondrich, you must understand, the house of Rothschild advance man has set firm dates for the sales rallies and—”

“Be that as it may,” interrupted the physician, “I am warning you that unless the princess has rest, quiet, and the proper diet, well—” he shrugged and added gravely, “jaundice
can
kill.”

A soft sob escaped the lips of Baroness Richtoffen. Dr. Hondrich laid a comforting hand on her thin shoulder and said, “Do not worry. We will not allow anything to happen to Her Royal Highness.” He smiled then, and urged them to action. “Now, go in to your mistress and offer her the comfort she so desperately needs.”

Nodding, the worried lady-in-waiting slipped into the royal bedchamber, closing the door behind her.

“A shame about the bond tour,” Dr. Hondrich sympathized with Montillion, “but it simply cannot be helped.”

Ever resourceful, Montillion rubbed his chin and replied thoughtfully, “Perhaps there’s still a way to keep the dates … to address the rallies …” He stopped speaking. His eyes flashed and the down-turned corners of his mouth lifted. To the puzzled physician, he said, “I have a new plan.”

“A new plan?”

“I shall inform the engineer to change our route at once! Instead of going directly to Fort Worth, we will take the ailing princess to Cloudcroft, New Mexico. It’s a remote mountain village nestled high in the cool pines, less than a hundred miles from here.”

“What on earth would be the purpose of that?” The physician frowned. “The princess would surely be better off in Fort Worth than—”

Shaking his graying head, Montillion interrupted, “In Cloudcroft there is an abbey of Benedictine nuns who operate a small sanatorium. Don’t you see, it’s the perfect place for the princess to recuperate in privacy and total secrecy.” Excited, Montillion rushed away, with a warning to the physician that no one must know.

“But how can we possibly keep it quiet?” Dr. Hondrich trailed after him. “With her tour cut short, the parades, the rallies, everyone will …” The doctor sighed. “And it’s the princess alone that the Texans want to see.”

“And see her they shall,” said Montillion.

“But,” the doctor flushed, “the deadly jaundice …”

“The bond tour will proceed on schedule,” said Montillion, enigmatically. “Leave everything to me.”

6

“
And I can assure you
, we will make it well worth your while,” Montillion said, addressing the satinrobed, red-haired saloon performer.

“Why me?” she asked, yawning sleepily.

It was the middle of the afternoon, but the red-haired entertainer had been sleeping when Montillion walked into the near-empty saloon and asked if he might be granted a brief visit with the Queen of the Silver Dollar. Told she was resting and could not be disturbed, he had calmly informed the ham-fisted man tending bar that he would wait.

And he had.

Finally, at just past three o’clock, a door opened on the wide second-floor landing above, and a woman shouted irritably, “Where’s my breakfast?”

“Keep your shirt on,” the bartender bellowed back. “It’s comin’.”

Montillion quietly slipped upstairs behind a dour-looking girl carrying a covered breakfast tray. Outside the saloon singer’s door, he smiled at the servant, took the tray from her, and said, “I will take care of this.”

Relieved that she wouldn’t have to endure the abuse of the singer/actress who was beastly until she’d had that first cup of coffee, the serving girl nodded eagerly and hurried away. Balancing the tray on a gloved palm, Montillion knocked.

“It’s open. Come on in.”

He entered the gaudily decorated room and blinked. The shades were pulled against the hot June sun, and it took a moment for his pupils to adjust.

“And just who the hell are you?” came a voice from out of the shadows.

Squinting, Montillion spotted a young, very pretty woman seated before a vanity mirror. She wore a robe of shiny black satin that was carelessly open over her crossed, shapely legs.

She twisted about, glared at him, and, supposing he was a newly hired kitchen servant, said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Pour my coffee!”

Smiling, Montillion obeyed. Then as the ill-tempered entertainer sullenly sipped the strong, black coffee, he introduced himself and hurriedly told her why he had come to see her. And as she listened, her eyes began to widen, her interest piqued.

When he quickly explained that all she had to do was impersonate the ailing princess for two or three weeks, she asked again, “But why me?”

He smiled and handed her a small framed tintype. “As you can see, you bear a striking resemblance to the princess—and you speak English with an accent.” Before she could say anything else, Montillion quickly told her everything she needed to know.