Lightning Wolves

by David Lee Summers

  “What are you doing?” shouted Curly Bill.

  “Two things.” Gird looked back at the trail they left through the desert. “First, we just left an easy trail to follow. The railroad tracks will conceal which direction we went from here. The professor used a few locomotive parts, so it’s not too surprising this machine is about as wide as a locomotive. Second, we need coal if we’re going to go much further.”

  “Where do you plan to get the coal?”

  “There’s a chute here on the rail line not far from the San Pedro River Stagecoach Station.”

  Curly Bill nodded. They rode atop the rails for five miles until they came to the chute used to refill locomotive tenders. Gird brought the machine to a stop. Curly Bill’s ears still rang and his nerves stood on edge.

  “Give me a hand.” Gird left the cab and climbed a set of metal rungs built into the machine’s flank.

  Curly Bill followed him up to the top of the Javelina. Gird opened a hatch, then grabbed a rope attached to the coal chute. Curly Bill helped him pull it down and line it up. Coal tumbled down into the Javelina’s storage bin sending up a fine cloud of black dust. Once the bin was full, they released the rope.

  “We need to take on some water as well,” said Gird. “Stay up here while I pull forward to the water tower.” The lawyer climbed down and returned to the cab. As he released the brake, Curly Bill was nearly thrown from the machine. A moment later, they were under the water tank. Gird appeared and helped him fill the Javelina’s reservoir.

  “So, the question is, do we want to lay low for a while before taking this machine back to the Clantons?” asked Gird. “If so, where do we want to go? We could go north to Prescott, or we could go into the Dragoon Mountains, but we’d have to deal with the Apaches right away.”

  Curly Bill’s eyes roved along the railroad track, toward Tucson. “You know, it’s gonna be awhile before this machine shows a real profit through the Clantons’ vision.”

  Gird nodded. “Probably longer than it will as a mining machine.”

  “I was thinking, as well as this machine goes through the side of a mountain, it would go through the side of a building even better...say a bank building.”

  Gird narrowed his gaze. “What you’re talking about is robbery, Mr. Brocius.”

  Curly Bill held his hands out to his side. “What do you call taking this monster?”

  “I’m the Shieffelins’ financier. My money went into this thing. I have a claim I can hold up in court,” said the lawyer.

  Curly Bill couldn’t help but notice the slow, careful way Gird spoke the words. “What if you weren’t seen during the robbery? I need you to drive the machine anyway. You’d never need to leave the cab.”

  “If we rob a bank, we’ll have a posse on our tail before you know it,” said Gird. “Maybe the army itself.”

  Curly Bill shrugged. “I’ve already got the army on my tail for the lightning gun. Why not use the machine while we have it? If things work out with the Clantons, great! We’ll have a nest egg in our new little town. If things don’t work out, we leave the Javelina and the lightning gun with the Clantons, let them sort it out with the law while we take our earnings and go elsewhere.”

  Gird considered that. “All right. I’m in. Let’s go aways up the road and make camp. I know a good bank in Tucson. We’ll strike at first light, before it opens.”

  After they returned to the cab, Curly Bill looked at Gird. “One thing bothers me. If you’re a lawyer, how do you know so much about this machine and the lightning gun?”

  “I also have a degree in mining engineering.” Gird released the brake and the Javelina rolled along the tracks. “I’m a lawyer because when I stake a claim, I like to keep it.”

  “I do believe I’m getting a whole new appreciation for men of letters.” Curly Bill sank down in the cab’s empty chair and brought his hat down over his eyes. “Maybe I’ll have to go back to school and become a lawyer myself.”

  Gird laughed. “You’d certainly make a good one.”

  Curly Bill pushed his hat back with his thumb and chuckled. “Find us a good campsite, partner.”

  <<>>

  “Hey, Ramon,” came a harsh whisper in the darkness. “You awake?”

  Ramon blinked, then rubbed groggy eyes. Sore muscles protested that he had fallen asleep on a straw mat tossed on a wide, wooden bench. The jail cell was still dark. He peered to his left. Faint moonlight drifted in through high, barred windows, giving just enough light to see. Billy McCarty stood next to Luther Duncan in the cell’s open doorway.

  “What? How?” Ramon sat up and peered around the gloom for his glasses.

  Luther stepped forward and helped him.

  “Let’s just say I’ve had experience with some jail cells in my times. Certain ones are easier to open from the inside than others.” Billy grinned. “These ain’t so bad.”

  Ramon nodded as he pulled on his boots. “So, we’re out of our cells. What do we do from here? There must be guards posted all around the building?”

  “There’s one man half-asleep outside this room. I think we can take him real easy,” said Billy. “It’s about one in the morning. There don’t seem to be very many people out on patrol. This is a stockade, not a full-blown prison, so most of the guards are out on the perimeter instead of inside the gates.”

  Ramon nodded. Boots and glasses now on, he walked to the end of the hall where he looked through some bars mounted in a wooden door. As Billy said, a guard dozed at a desk. “Okay, what do we do now?”

  Instead of answering, Billy waved Ramon and Luther against the wall, then pounded on the door, bringing the guard fully awake. He looked around and Billy waved at him. The guard pulled a gun, grabbed a set of keys, and threw open the door.

  “All right you, I don’t know what you’re up to, but back to your cell,” said the guard.

  Billy turned around and put his hands up. As soon as they were past, Ramon sprang on the guard from behind and Billy ducked. The guard dropped the gun. Luther leapt forward and picked it up, then aimed it at the guard, who put up his hands, as if to surrender, then turned his head to shout. Ramon threw a right hook and knocked the guard into the wall.

  “That won’t keep him out for long,” said Billy.

  Ramon rubbed his chin. “Let’s get him into a cell.”

  “I think his jacket’s just about your size, Mr. Duncan,” said Billy.

  Ramon bent down and removed the soldier’s jacket, then tossed it to Luther. For good measure, he also took the key ring from his belt. As the reporter donned the jacket, Ramon took the soldier’s arms and Billy took his feet and they carried him into an empty cell and closed it behind them. “How do we find Fatemeh?” asked Luther.

  “That’s easy,” said Billy. “Just look for a woman guard.”

  The three left the cellblock, and entered the room where they’d been separated from Fatemeh. They passed through the door where she had been taken and found themselves in a hallway lined with even more doors. Luther opened the first one and found a room lined with bunk beds filled with sleeping soldiers. He eased the door shut.

  “They must be quartering soldiers here, getting ready for the battle,” said Ramon. They continued down the hall, checking doors as they went. More rooms held sleeping soldiers. Others held supplies. A locked door stood at the end of the hall.

  “Could be anything,” said Luther, “including an officer who doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Billy rapped lightly on the door. When no one answered, he tried again, just a little louder.

  “Who is it? What do you want?” called Fatemeh from within.

  Ramon cupped his hands to the door. “It’s Ramon, we’re here to get you out.” He looked at Billy and held out his hands. “Any idea how we do this without waking a hallway of soldiers?”

  Billy grinned. The hinges were the type with decorative ball caps on each end. He reached up and unscrewed one cap on each hinge with his fingers, then nodded to Ramon. Together
they hefted the door up and off the hinges. They looked back to make sure no one had heard, then set the door down. Ramon stepped into the room and took Fatemeh into his arms. They kissed deeply and she held him, as though afraid to let him go.

  “They gave you nicer quarters than they gave us, Miss Fatemeh,” said Billy.

  Ramon and Fatemeh looked up. Sure enough, she had a nice bed and a desk. The only things that indicated her lack of freedom were a chamber pot and a window with iron bars that seemed more decorative than escape proof overlooking a field. The Golden Gate was visible beyond. Ramon and Fatemeh walked over to the window, hand-in-hand. She pointed. “They have mechanical owls in the field below.”

  Ramon peered through the window and shrugged. “The only problem is that I don’t know how to fly one.” He looked back at Luther. “Do you?”

  The reporter shook his head.

  “Then we need to get down to the water,” said Billy. He stepped up beside Ramon and Fatemeh, then pointed. “I see boats tied up to a pier down by the waterfront.”

  “That’s where we need to go, then,” said Ramon.

  All together, the three left the room. Luther tried the door at the end of the hall. It led to a staircase that ran along the back of the building. They took the stairs down to the ground floor. As they reached the door to the outside, someone upstairs shouted for people to wake up. The guard Ramon knocked out must have regained consciousness. They ran across the grassy field. As they did, alarm bells sounded and lanterns sprang to life. They reached the pier and found a rowboat tied to the dock. Ramon and Billy gingerly climbed aboard.

  “Have you ever rowed one of these things before?” asked Ramon.

  “Yeah, I once went paddling down the Rio Grande out of Mesilla,” said Billy. “I like boats.”

  Ramon reached up to help Fatemeh aboard. Just then, a gunshot sounded. Ramon, Fatemeh and Billy ducked low as she climbed into the boat. At that point, they realized Luther had fallen. He lay on the dock, blood pooling under his left shoulder. Fatemeh scrambled back out of the rowboat and put her hands on the wound, staunching the flow of blood.

  Ramon started to follow her, but she looked up. “You two get going. Find out what you can.”

  “But what about you and Luther?” shouted Ramon as Billy settled in at the oars.

  “I’m a woman and Luther’s wounded. We’ll be okay, but I won’t leave him.”

  Ramon fell back into a seat as Billy pushed away from the pier. A bullet whistled by and splashed in the water. Another smacked the boat’s gunwale, sending up a spray of wooden slivers. They were over a hundred yards from the pier and fog rolled across the water. Ramon could just make out shadows joining Fatemeh and Luther on the pier. Ramon ground his teeth and considered jumping in the water and swimming back.

  “Can you take one of these oars, Ramon?” asked Billy. “This isn’t exactly easy.”

  Ramon turned around and blinked at Billy as though he were a stranger.

  “You need to find out what the Russians are up to. That’s what she wants you to do. She’ll be okay until we get back.”

  Ramon frowned and shifted onto the bench next to Billy, then grasped an oar. It took them a few tries to coordinate their strokes, but they soon made progress toward the Russian side of the bay.

  <<>>

  Curly Bill, sitting atop the Javelina, cradled the lightning gun’s wand in his lap while he watched the sun rise. His stomach growled from hunger and he was parched from thirst. His ears still rang from the long rumbling ride north, but he was ready to go into Tucson and rob the place clean.

  With a stretch and a yawn, he remembered going off to fight for the Confederate Army. Although he’d been little more than a kid, he spent many nights stalking Yankees, feeling hungry and desperate. After the war, he went home to find shortages that kept him hungry. He was fed up with other people having the good life while he had little more than the shirt on his back.

  Curly Bill climbed down from the Javelina and shoved Gird awake. The lawyer rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?” He lay on a tarp they found in the Javelina’s storage compartment.

  “Time to get moving,” said Curly Bill. “Sun’s up.”

  “We got some coffee? Something for breakfast?”

  Curly Bill’s laugh was bitter. “We ain’t got nothin’ and we won’t have nothin’ till we finish today’s business.”

  Gird frowned, but sat up, shook out his boots and put them on. After getting to his feet, he went behind a mesquite bush to relieve himself. When he returned, he folded up the tarp and placed it in the storage area. He opened another door in the Javelina’s side and turned a spigot. He drew a small amount of water from the boiler and wet his parched lips and tongue. Curly Bill frowned, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that. He held out his cupped hands and Gird briefly opened the spigot again. The water had the sharp tang of iron, but at least it was wet and his mouth felt a little better afterward.

  Gird climbed into the cab to start the fire. Curly Bill walked around the camp’s perimeter, looking for any signs of a dawn ambush. Walking around to the front of the Javelina, he saw the small town of Tucson, like a ripe fruit ready for plucking. Behind him, the Javelina rumbled to life. Smoke curled away from the stack at the machine’s rear, drifting off into a clear, blue sky. Gird stuck his head out the door. “All right! We’re ready to roll.”

  Curly Bill climbed into the Javelina’s cab and Gird released the brake. The machine rolled forward. Gird kept the fire stoked at a moderate level and the speed lower than the day before, so Curly Bill felt like he could hear himself think. He ran through the plan in his mind, considering things that could go wrong and anticipating what he’d do under those circumstances. The Javelina seemed the least certain thing. He couldn’t run it without Gird, so the attorney would stay in the cab. The next uncertain thing was the lightning gun. How many more shots did he have? He didn’t really know.

  Curly Bill frowned, thinking he liked the power these newfangled devices gave him, but the uncertainties discomfited him. If this robbery worked out, he would make a point of getting to know these tools better.

  An hour later, they reached the outskirts of Tucson. Richard Gird stoked the boiler and opened the steam valves. The Javelina lurched forward and barreled into the town’s streets. Men and horses scrambled to get out of the lumbering giant’s way. Curly Bill looked out the side window and caught the expressions on people’s faces. He laughed at their fear and confusion.

  A moment later, Gird released the clutch that started the rotors at the front of the Javelina spinning. They plowed through the bank’s front wall. Gird stopped the rotors and continued a few feet forward. Satisfied that the roof wasn’t going to cave in, Curly Bill hopped out of the cab and pointed his lightning gun at a teller who had frozen at the sight of the monstrous machine tearing through the brick wall.

  “Anyone else here?” called Curly Bill over the Javelina’s rumbling and chugging.

  “Just the bank president,” said the teller.

  “Get him! We need all the help we can get.” Curly Bill looked around and spied the safe. He climbed up to the control cabin and pointed that direction. Gird smiled and nodded.

  The Javelina rolled forward and ripped through the vault door. Gird rocked the Javelina’s head from side to side, to enlarge the hole, then turned off the rotor. Curly Bill waited a few minutes for the dust to settle, then jumped from the cab again. The teller and the bank president kneeled behind a desk, watching dumbfounded.

  Curly Bill pointed the lightning gun at the men. “Into the safe. Bring all the money you can carry.”

  The teller nodded quickly, but the bank president hesitated a moment. Curly Bill fired an arc of lightning and incinerated the desk. The president rushed after the teller. Curly Bill stepped through the rubble to the Javelina’s side and threw open the doors to the compartments within. Soon, the teller and the bank president appeared with bags of coins. Curly Bill tossed them into the bins atop the bricks and
rubble from breaking into the building.

  “Stop right there and put your hands where I can see them!”

  Curly Bill whirled around and fired the lightning gun. He caught a brief flash of a sheriff’s badge on a man’s shirt before he was vaporized into black ash. A few bystanders who had gathered across the street to gape through the hole in the wall at the robbery disappeared. Curly Bill turned around and aimed his gun at the teller and the bank president. “Let’s keep that money coming this way!”

  The teller and manager delivered more bags of coins, and Curly Bill continued to toss them into the ore and debris bins. The bins were only partially full by the time the vault had been emptied. He licked his lips and longed for a saloon between Tucson and the Clanton ranch. “All right, you boys stay in the vault and you won’t get hurt.” They nodded rapidly. Curly Bill closed the doors on the Javelina’s side, then climbed back in the cab. Gird backed the machine onto the street, then turned at the first corner they came to. The street was narrow and the Javelina clipped the post holding the overhang above the boardwalk. It collapsed behind them in a cloud of dust.

  They turned two more corners until they returned to the main street. Curly Bill smiled at how their arrival had torn up the streets. There was nothing that could stop them and Tucson didn’t have a sheriff anymore, but certainly someone would get up a posse and come after them. As they neared the edge of town, they passed a saloon with several men and ladies gathered on the porch. He opened the Javelina’s door. “You folks got any whisky for a pair of Robin Hoods?”

  “Thievin’ Scoundrels is more like it!” called one man.

  “I got somethin’ for you, Sugar,” called one of the saloon girls. She tossed a bottle end-over-end at the Javelina. Curly Bill caught it neatly out of the air and tossed a gold coin back her way. He closed the door and sat down on the chair in the cabin. “Now there’s a treat! Cactus Wine! A mix of tequila and peyote juice. That’ll keep us goin’!”

  “Well you’re going to need to take a turn shoveling coal if you want us to keep going. My arms are tired,” said Gird.