The Last Renegade Read Online Free PDF

and often asking them several different ways.
    One thing Bitter Springs had to recommend it was that Mr. Berg wouldn’t be there.
    The station platform was only as long as the building that housed the ticket office, baggage area, and restaurant. Kellen walked the length of it several times just to shake off the confinement of travel. Passengers who’d left the train with Kellen had either already gone with their waiting party or were being herded back to their coaches after a frenzied meal in the station eatery. The stop at Bitter Springs, like so many others along the route, was not made for the convenience of hungry travelers. They merely benefited every fifty miles or so because the massive iron engines had requirements of their own. Passengers had exactly as much time to eat as it took the railroad tenders to load the coal and fill the water tanks, which usually necessitated a stop just on either side of twenty minutes. Kellen had participated more than a few times in the ensuing rush to order, pay, and consume a meal in the allotted time. The station restaurants made certain their waitresses could take an order quickly and collect the money even faster than they took the order, but getting the meal to the table, if it made it at all, took upwards of twelve minutes, leaving precious little time for consumption. On those occasions that his food arrived promptly, albeit somewhat less than hot, Kellen suspected he profited from a passenger on an earlier train who’d ordered, paid, and then had to leave before his meal arrived. He was philosophical about it, figuring that when he went hungry because the biscuit shooter took her sweet time bringing his meal, someone else would have the good fortune to receive the plate he hadn’t.
    Kellen’s trunks arrived at the same time the last stragglers were boarding the train. Once the porters stepped back on board, Kellen was alone on the sheltered platform. He stood there for several minutes after the engine’s sharp whistle signaled her intention to leave. Even as the great wheels began to slowly roll forward, he remained where he was, observing the passengers at the windows observing him. He recognized Dr. Hitchens, who acknowledged him with gravely set features and a nod, the travelers in his coach who all went to the platform side to get a last glimpse of him but would not meet his eyes, and finally, the woman who had emerged victorious in the bonnet war. She cast him a glance that seemed excessively triumphant given the fact that the hat she was wearing no longer sported the black-tipped ostrich feather.
    Kellen touched the brim of his hat as she passed, his smile narrow and cool. It had the effect of turning her head, this time away from him and in a manner that was not complimentary.
    It wasn’t until the last car cleared the station that Kellen finally turned to face the station. There were no late departures from the train. It was what he wanted to know.
    Kellen ignored the entrance to the restaurant and chose the door for tickets, schedules, and posting mail. The station agent was sitting on a stool behind the counter while he sorted letters from a mailbag that had been left in his possession. He didn’t pause or look up from his work when Kellen walked into the office.
    “Someone expecting you, son?” the agent asked. “Seemed like you were waiting for someone.”
    “Not waiting,” said Kellen. “Saying good-bye.”
    “That so? Looked like you were waiting for someone.”
    Kellen looked over his shoulder to take in the same view the station agent had. The window afforded the agent an unrestricted view of the platform depending on how far he was willing to stray from his stool. Kellen had the impression the man strayed plenty. He wasn’t aware of a station agent from Chicago to Sacramento who didn’t divert himself by watching his passengers when they weren’t looking.
    Kellen turned back in time to catch the agent’s eyes darting to the mail. Clearly the