The Blue, the Grey and the Red

by George G. Gilman

  "Just keep thinking that way and you won't do anything stupid," Hedges said softly as he held the team on a straight course along Main Street towards the village, passing the spur. The leading curve of the sun had breasted the horizon now and strong shafts of yellow warmth were dispelling the remnants of the mist. The many tiny noises of mass humanity coming out of sleep and going about their morning chores formed a discordant concerto of sound, but to the men aboard the wagon its creaking progress was like a continuous thunder roll, masking everything else. And the sun felt like a blazing spotlight, pouring scorn upon their escape attempt.

  "Can't we hurry it up a little, Cap?" Forrest hissed from inside the wagon.

  "Getting nervous?" Hedges answered without turning his head.

  "I don't hear you doing no singing," the sergeant shot back.

  "Takes a worried man," Hedges said. "I ain't that anxious yet."

  They had reached the edge of the village and the sound of the wagon's progress was magnified as it rolled along the deserted street between the blank faced facades of buildings. But the train whistle, although distant, was shrill enough to reach every strained ear of the escapers.

  "Christ, we're early," Rhett exclaimed.

  "Better than being late," Seward told him On a note of rising confidence as the wagon wheels rattled over the tracks and Hedges steered the team into a right turn, halting it within the depot.

  An aging man in South Western livery looked at the wagon with disinterest. It had never been brought into the village before, so he failed to recognize it for what it was. The fact that it was army warned him not to ask questions. The approaching train, rattling down from the north section of the track, whistled again and the note of the locomotive altered as the engineer eased back on the throttle. It hissed into the depot, dragging a line of ten passenger cars.

  "Anderson! Andersonville Prison! Only military personnel alight here."

  The conductor's voice was shrill above the snort and hiss of the locomotive, which had halted several yards short of where the wagon was parked. Hedges, clucked, and slapped the reins, urging the team forward until the seat was, level with the footplate. The fireman grinned cheerily at Hedges and Douglas as car doors opened on the far side of the train.

  "Nice morning," he said brightly.

  "Short one," Hedges answered, bringing his hand away from the back of his neck and thrusting it towards the smiling man.

  The point of the razor entered the man's throat just above his Adam's apple and went in to the hilt. He died soundlessly, with his mouth wide, bubbling foamy blood. On the other side of the footplate the engineer was leaning out, looking down the side of the cars. Hedges stepped across to the locomotive and lowered the fireman's body as Douglas opened the front flap of the wagon.

  "All aboard," he muttered to those inside, and followed Hedges.

  A bell clanged and the conductor shouted. The engineer turned around and froze his expression, waxen in shock. He saw the slumped body of his crewman, the menacing attitude of Hedges with the razor extended, and the cold grins of the men crowding off the wagon and on to the locomotive.

  "Ain't you got a schedule to keep?" Hedges asked softly as the conductor shouted again.

  The engineer began to tremble. Hedges moved up to him, spun him and held the razor hard against the crotch of his coveralls.

  "Ain't cold," Hedges whispered close to his ear, "But there's more than one way to castrate a monkey."

  "Please," the engineer rasped, reaching for the controls. "Anything you say."

  His nervous hands sent too much power to the drive, and the wheels spun on the rails. He fed sand to them and eased his grip on the throttle. Metal found traction on metal and the locomotive inched forward. Hedges watched every move the engineer made, noting the response he received from the straining locomotive. Around him he could sense the slackening of tension from the men as the train snaked out of the depot and the speed built up.

  "Why'd you have to kill my partner?" the engineer asked in shaking tones as the prison buildings and the surrounding military installations slid away behind the speeding train.

  "We know how to stoke the fire," Hedges answered, and looked towards the men.

  They began to feed logs into the glowing firebox.

  "I think we're hauling too much weight," Forrest yelled.

  Hedges leaned from the cab and peered back along the track. The village looked peaceful in the morning sun and in the last few seconds before it disappeared behind an intervening stand of pines, the dead wagon was still undisturbed. But the South Western Railroad man was walking towards it.

  "So get rid of the excess," Hedges told Forrest

  As the Captain continued to peer over the engineer's shoulder, Forrest hefted a sledgehammer from two brackets and climbed up on to the tender.

  "Nobody knows how to drive?" the engineer asked suddenly.

  "Somebody's learning," Hedges told him as the sound of furious hammering rose from behind the tender.

  Swaying precariously between the straining locomotive and the first passenger car, Forrest swung the hammer at the coupling pin. As it came free, the locomotive surged forward, leaving the cars to roll to a halt when their momentum was expended. Forrest climbed back across the tender. As he dropped on to the footplate he put a boot under the dead fireman and tipped him over the edge.

  "He was just dead weight, too," he said to Hedges with a grin.

  "Mister, there's more to driving a train than pulling handles," the engineer whined suddenly.

  "Where's West Point?" Bell yelled.

  "Jesus," Rhett answered.

  "I didn't bring him." This from Scott.

  Hedges glared at Forrest.

  The sergeant shrugged. "He was no use for nothing, Captain. He didn't do nothing 'cept gab and sleep."

  The Captain's hooded eyes moved over each haggard, unshaven face and saw in every one an expectation of his anger. "So how was he different from you?" he hissed.

  "Pressure's falling!" the engineer croaked.

  The men, at a command from Forrest, hurried to feed logs into the firebox.

  "What about it?" the engineer wanted to know.

  Hedges withdrew the razor, wiped the blade on the man's denims and slid it back into the pouch. "You're more use than some I know," he said, turning to look out over the country speeding by. "That buys you a ticket to ride."

  "Captain?" Rhett called after a half-minute of silence among the men.

  "Yeah?"

  "I reckon the Union Army is west and north of here, sir. We're heading south. How we going to get back?"

  They were steaming through country which reminded Hedges of Iowa. There was cotton on the fields instead of wheat and the plantation houses were more ornate and less functional than the farm buildings of the Middle West. But, now that the horrors of Andersonville were left behind, Georgia looked tranquil and untouched by the ravages of war.

  He sighed. "We'll get back," he said, too softly for the men to hear. "How, is another story."

  *****

  It took Edge all afternoon to track down the marshal after he had retrieved his money from Emmeline Greer. Information was not hard to come by for the word had been spread that Red Railston was no longer a power behind a badge and there were many who had suffered under his dictatorial rule.

  The trail led north from the city, along the Oceanside boundary of the Garden of Eden. At first Edge followed horse tracks in the sand, but Railston was a big man and he pushed his mount too hard. He had left the animal to die from exhaustion in the surf. Edge ended its terrified pain with a bullet from the Winchester before heeling his own horse forward, following the heavy imprints of the man's boots.

  The endless sky above the infinite ocean was becoming tinged with pink when he saw his quarry, hobbling in useless haste far ahead. He demanded only a steady canter from his horse and asked for no more speed even when Railston heard his pursuer, twisted his head for a look back and broke into an ungainly run.
To one side the ocean barred escape while the solid height of a cliff face was an insurmountable barrier in the other direction. Railston could only go forward and he kept going until his legs finally folded beneath him and he pitched into the sand.

  Edge, his burnished face an impenetrable mask of hardness, rode a few more yards and dismounted. Railston turned his head and Edge could see the grains of yellow sand clinging to his sweat-run face.

  "If you stay down, you won't have to fall when I kill you," Edge called to him across the regular pounding of the surf.

  He had halted, some ten yards short of where Railston lay. He stood with his legs apart, body twisted in a half turn to present a narrower target to the marshal.

  "You got turned loose," Railston said breathlessly. "Let it be."

  Edge released the reins of his horse and the animal moved up the beach, searching for grass. "You railroaded me, Railston. You slugged me and put me behind bars. You shouldn't have done that, feller." His right hand closed over the butt of the holstered Colt.

  Railston licked his lips and spat out sand. He got unsteadily to his feet. His hat was tugged by the wind off the sea and he reached up to hold it in place. Edge snatched out his gun and fired. Railston looked at the blood spouting from his hand, then down at the sand where his severed thumb lay. The pain reached him and he screamed. "Christ, you didn't even give me a chance!"

  "No better one than you gave me," Edge told him and squeezed the trigger again. The bullet drilled a, hole through the wrist of Railston's good hand.

  "Hold it!" A voice cut across the pounding surf.

  Railston was helpless and Edge risked a glance over his shoulder. Paxton was riding towards him at a gallop. When Edge returned his attention to Railston, he saw that the man had taken several backward steps. Blood from his wounded hands dripped down to form patterns in the wet sand at the tideline. Railston moved again and water rushed in around his boots, splashing up his legs to leave dark patches on the pants of his high-priced suit.

  "You won't shoot me with Paxton around," the marshal said, his face twisted by pain but his voice ringing with confidence.

  Behind the man the sky turned from pink to deep red as the sun made contact with the horizon.

  "You want to bet on it?" Edge asked, aiming the Colt.

  Railston took two further backward steps and made a pathetic attempt to reach for his guns. But his useless hands merely brushed the carved butts.

  "You lose," Edge muttered and shot the man in the center of the forehead. His dead weight fell backwards and made a great splash that sprayed Edge with salt water.

  Paxton side-slid his horse to a halt and sprang from the saddle. ''I told you to hold it!" he yelled at Edge in high pitched anger.

  Edge didn't turn' to look at him. "He went for his gun."

  He watched the body of the dead man get tossed by the broiling surf, lost it for a few moments, then saw it again, floating easily on the gentle swell further out. Then a current of the outgoing tide took a grip on Railston and sent him, floating like a fat log, towards the vast crimson pool where the sun dipped into the ocean.

  Paxton's tone became flat and devoid of fury. "He's so full of meanness, he should have sunk like a stone."

  Edge shook his head as he turned to look for his horse. "Come morning, maybe. Right now Red sails in the sunset."

  EDGE: California Kill & Steele: The Violent Peace

  Available Soon!

  Don’t forget the Complete Edge Mini-Series

  Now Available from Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

  Visit the author at: www.gggandpcs.proboards.com

  For the latest information about Edge & Steele release dates, visit West World Designs.

  westworlddesigns.com