The Majestic 311

by Keith C. Blackmore

  Nathan exhaled, the scarf capturing his polluted breath. He’d expect nothing less from a piece of shit like Eli Gallant. The man was a complainer, a tormenter, and an instigator, and Nathan again wondered why and how it was Leland who brought Gallant and his buddy Gilbert into the plan.

  But then he remembered the guns.

  Eli had brought them guns. A lot of guns. Got them all from Yankee gun runners down in Montana. Say what you will about the Americans, but they made the best guns, far superior to anything available north of the border. Even the vaunted North West Passage Police Force were said to be upgrading with American firearms, as their current selection was of a poor and unreliable design.

  Nathan was equipped with a Winchester Model 1873, which held fifteen rounds. He wore a pair of Colt Navy 1852 revolvers on his hips, and he was given enough ammunition for both rifle and revolvers to feel like he was going to war.

  “Good thing you’re up front,” Nathan heard Milton say to Eli.

  Silence then, but everyone knew Milton had picked a fight.

  “Whattaya mean by that?” Eli demanded.

  “I mean exactly what I mean. Good thing you’re up front.”

  “You sayin’ something there, peckerhead?”

  “What he means,” Mackenzie spoke up, “is that it’s best you head to the front of the train and stay away from the passengers. You’re liable to hurt someone.”

  “Oh no,” Eli said, picking at that bone. “That ain’t what he said. He didn’t say that at all. Trouble is, I know what he said. Well let me tell you something, Milton.”

  “Eli,” Leland warned.

  A poisoned-looking Gallant flustered, let off steam, and gradually simmered back down.

  The eight riders became quiet again.

  “What if the train stops on the other side of the mountain?” Milton asked, breaking that alpine stillness. “Do we go get it?”

  “No, we do not,” Leland answered. “We wait right here until it comes through. That part of the plan doesn’t change. The train will push through any snow covering the tracks. Especially if it is indeed outfitted with a plow, the likes of which Mackenzie has described. To tell the truth, I would very much like to see such a device.”

  Eli sighed in unchecked disgust.

  “Wouldn’t want to go through all that snow,” Nathan said quietly. “All the firepower I’m carrying. Feels like a ton.”

  “You can dump it, if you wish,” Leland Baxter said. “After we rob the train. Once we deal with whatever security might be on board.”

  “Shame,” Mackenzie said. “Too bad you couldn’t find out if the military was gonna be on that thing. Or the Northwest police. And how many.”

  “Shame indeed,” Leland agreed. “Which is why it’s better to have more than enough ammunition. We can thank Eli and Gilbert for that.”

  That note of gratitude didn’t placate Eli Gallant. “Have enough,” he sneered. “I swear, Leland. You have a way of understating things. Damn right we have enough. We’re ready to start a goddamn war here. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Leland. Each and every one of you sonsabitches are paying me for what you’re carrying after the fact. You hear me? And that’s ammunition included. I don’t care if you shoot one goddamned shell or one hundred. You’re paying for every brass nugget you got on you. You’re all paying. Hear me? I ain’t taking none of it back. Too much trouble bringing it all up here in the first place.”

  “I’ll pay what you’re owed,” Leland said. “Have no worries of that. We all will. Soon as we rob the train.”

  That brought on a series of assurances from the other men.

  “Didn’t hear you, Nathan,” Eli pointed out.

  Nathan didn’t answer right away. “I said I’d pay you back not a week ago. And that’s all I got to say on the matter.”

  Eli didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he looked at Leland and said, “I have a question.” The hard case actually raised a gloved hand.

  The men waited for Leland Baxter to respond. He sighed heavily. “Go ahead.”

  “Why the hell am I up front?” Eli demanded. “You don’t think I can handle a car full of Northwest police? Or soldiers for that matter?”

  “On the contrary,” Leland explained with the patience of Job. “I think you’re more than capable of handling whatever security has been assigned to that train.”

  “So why am I going up front?”

  “What I don’t think you’re capable of, Eli Gallant, is controlling the passengers between us and the payroll car. I think you’d be every bit as short of temper and disagreeable as you’ve been these past few days riding up here. Which is why I chose you to control the engineer.”

  Eli absorbed that. “All right, but what if the payroll car has more men than you figured on? What then?”

  “Well, in that case, I’ll send you on back. To help suppress the security detachment. Until Jimmy has time to persuade them otherwise. With the dynamite.”

  That quieted the men, each and every one of them.

  The last man comprising the gang of train robbers was James “Jimmy” Norquay, a Metis buffalo hunter out of Tail Creek, a small Albertan town burned to the ground some twenty years ago and never rebuilt. Jimmy didn’t say much, spoke only when spoken to, and generally stayed off to one side of Leland as if waiting to be called upon for some fell purpose. When he did speak, it was calm and measured, his words inflected with a slight English accent, hinting at a childhood spent in residential schools. Word was—and Nathan learned this from Milton—that Leland and Jimmy had actually met at one of those residential schools and became good friends, which sort of made sense. Nathan remembered his interview for this outfit. He remembered the little back room of that trader’s post where he first met Leland Baxter, where half-filled spittoons gleamed in the shadows and the air stunk of spilled whiskey and sour piss. Shorty Charlie Williams stood shotgun outside that closed door, but when Nathan went inside, Jimmy was right there, standing all still and such, right behind Leland, who sat at the only table.

  That was the first time Nathan had to apply to a gang, and the first time he met Leland Baxter and his two henchmen.

  Nathan shifted in the saddle and rubbed his nose in his scarf. He had nothing against the Metis, but Jimmy honest-to-God disturbed him in some supernatural way, and it took everything he had not to reveal that unease. Knowing that Jimmy possessed one dozen sticks of dynamite underneath that cattle hide coat of his didn’t truly alleviate that unease. Dynamite was… unpredictable. To Nathan anyway. He’d heard plenty of stories of the material exploding at very inconvenient times, resulting in missing body parts and untidy deaths. Leland assured him that it was fresh dynamite they carried, bought from the Grand Old Powder Company itself, and that he need not worry about the sticks going off until needed.

  Nathan had believed Leland at the time.

  He also suspected Jimmy’s silence was a result of having all that dynamite strapped to his person. Like most of them, Jimmy had his scarf pulled up around his face, rendering his profile stoic and mysterious. The man was bearded underneath, however, with a good head of hair, and a look about him that spoke of a quiet intellect.

  Nathan figured he wouldn’t be much for talking either, if’n he had to carry those Godforsaken firecrackers tight to his ass.

  “Listen,” Eli said in a rare moment of reason. “All grumblin’ aside. I think it’s best me and Gilbert are back there. Just in case there is a carload of soldiers on board. Chances are, they’ll cut loose on poor Mackenzie and Milton. And none of us needs to see or smell Milton shittin’ his britches when the lead starts flyin’ past his head. You need someone willin’ to get harsh, and harsh pretty damn quick if you get my meanin’.”

  “Why don’t you—” an annoyed Milton started to say.

  “—You make a good point,” Leland Baxter interrupted.

  Milton and Mackenzie traded looks as if just hearing something profoundly unfair.

  “You aren’t gonna listen to that
bastard, are you, Leland?” Milton asked.

  “He raises a fair point.”

  Milton and Mackenzie traded looks again.

  “You aren’t gonna change the plan, are you, Leland?” Mackenzie asked.

  “I don’t wanna change the plan,” added Milton.

  “We’ve already planned to look after them passenger cars,” Mackenzie heaped on.

  “Herd them all into one, nice and quiet like,” Milton heaped on further.

  “All I said was he makes a good point,” Leland said. “And he does. Controlling the passengers is all well and good, but perhaps it’s best to have Eli and Gilbert go on ahead of you. Just in case.”

  “Well shit, he changed the plan,” Milton muttered in disgust. “All because of you.”

  Nathan didn’t know if Eli Gallant was happy or not, but he suspected the contrary bastard was.

  “Give me a moment,” Leland said. He thought it over.

  Eli nodded eagerly at Gilbert, as if they were about to receive a ruling in their favor.

  “All right,” Leland announced. “I’ve decided. Eli and Gilbert will go forward with Jimmy. Gilbert will herd the passengers to the front of the train, well and away from the payroll car. Once that’s done, Gilbert will return to Eli and Jimmy and hold at the last car they’ve cleared. I’ll be along once the train’s stopped, and with a little luck, we’ll take the payroll without a drop of blood spilled.”

  “Why do we haveta move the passengers to the front, anyway?” Eli wanted to know.

  “Hostages,” Leland Baxter said. “If we approach from the rear, the Northwest police or soldiers or whoever is in the payroll car will be between us and them. All the reason why we’re waiting here, on this grade, for the train to emerge, slowly as she climbs, traveling at such a speed to easily board her from the front. My hope is, if we gather up the passengers quietly, we can use them as leverage, to make the security force surrender themselves.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  Leland paused for effect. “Then we inform them of our dynamite. And our willingness to use it. And that whatever they’re being paid to protect the payroll isn’t worth their lives.”

  Milton shook his head, not pleased with his new role of babysitting.

  “How many might be on that train, y’figure?” Mackenzie asked.

  Leland thought about it. “About twenty passengers to each car. That seems comfortable. Roughly four cars. Say, eighty people, thereabouts.”

  “And no idea about soldiers or police?”

  “The payroll train is a guarded secret. A large contingent riding the train would give away that something of importance is on board. My sources say no more than ten men, including an officer and junior officer. And ten men is plenty deterrent, if needed.”

  “What about this source of yours, Leland?” Eli asked. “You never did say what happened to him.”

  “That’s right. I didn’t.”

  That ended the conversation right there. As patient and authoritative as he might be, Leland Baxter wasn’t one to fool around once he settled upon a course of action. And he’d never flinch about pulling a trigger. Nathan respected that. The man might’ve been a lawman in a past life.

  The pack of eight waited, the winter night chilling them despite their extra layers. The stars continued to shine, unhindered by any significant cloud, their sparkle growing even more pronounced as the night wore on, if such a thing was possible.

  “You sure that train is comin’ tonight, Leland?” Eli wanted to know.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Because it sure would be a goddamn shame if we humped all the way up here and got the night wrong.”

  “There’s ice on them tracks,” Mackenzie said. “So no train’s come by here in a while.”

  “Well, shit, Mackenzie,” Eli growled. “That snow might’ve blown down there earlier this day. We’d have no way of knowing. A good snow squall could blow through here and dump five feet of snow in five minutes. That’s guaranteed.”

  Nathan had to admit, the man had a point there.

  “The train’s coming tonight,” Leland assured them all. “We’re just early is all.”

  “We’re just freezin’ our peckers to our saddles, is all,” Eli muttered. “Jesus Christ Our Savior. I bet we missed her.”

  Leland didn’t dignify that with an answer.

  “That would be goddamned hilarious if’n we did,” Eli continued. “Missin’ the very train we came to rob. Holy shit, I’d laugh. Long and loud. All them careful laid plans gone to hell. And we’re up here with only the grub and water we carried.”

  They did have a few pack mules back at the campsite with extra supplies, but Eli’s thoughts placed a flicker of concern in Nathan’s mind.

  Leland, however, maintained his silence, staring as if his spine was somehow a length of iron.

  “Heard some stories,” Milton began, his words low and wicked, “where some folks who’d been trapped in the winter wilderness, hadta draw straws, to decide who got eaten first. So the others could survive.”

  “Goddamn figured something like that’d be on your mind, Milton,” Eli remarked. “Who’s gonna be the one to eat your pecker?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Milton shot back.

  “You were sure as hell gettin’ around to it.”

  “Be quiet,” Leland got in. “All of you. Right this instant.”

  Silence ruled again, but Nathan figured it wouldn’t last long. Not with this group. They’d only been together a short time, and the peace was holding, but the trek up and into the mountains had stressed them to a point where some of the men were probably wondering if the reward was worth the effort.

  That included Nathan.

  “Well,” Eli started up again, perhaps restless with the cold quiet, “I tell you all one thing. I ain’t stayin’ up here too much longer. Either that goddamn train shows up soon or me and Gilbert head on back to the campsite. See if’n we can’t fire up a can of beans or something. Get some tea goin’. The rest of you shitty assholes can stay up here and—”

  Leland’s hand went up, and much to Nathan’s surprise, Eli not only saw it, but he shut up.

  But only for a second. “What?” he asked.

  Then he heard it.

  As did Nathan, and everyone else in the gang.

  Distant, but unmistakable. Floating through the mountains like the voice of a lonesome ghost.

  A train whistle.

  2

  The Interview

  The town wasn’t really a town. Wasn’t even a village. It was one long strip of a frozen mud puddle filled with shattered ice and generously pickled with horseshit, which got Nathan wondering. There weren’t many horses on the road. In fact, he didn’t see any. There were exactly three small houses on the right side of the road and two others on the left. Smoke rose from chimneys, which reminded Nathan of crooked, hand-rolled cigarettes, the kind forgotten in breast pockets but discovered a few days later, still serviceable, but with a few strands sticking out here and there. A few bare elm trees nestled in between the houses, their limbs white with snow and no doubt beautiful in any other season. Probably beautiful under a sunny winter sky for that matter, but not today, not with heaven’s dark, bloated guts hanging low and promising to drop a blizzard upon the scrawny settlement at any given moment. Nathan couldn’t see any townsfolk, but he felt eyes on him, from the windows, where the sun rendered the darkened glass as fine as mirrors. There weren’t any faces pressed up against the glass, but they watched him all the same, sauntering through atop a brown gelding.

  Nathan steered the horse through Main Street, or what he considered Main Street, and spotted his destination. Wasn’t hard at all, just like the telegram said. Small town south of the Canadian Pacific Railroad, a few houses, and one trading post at the very edge, the last thing you’d see on your way to the Rockies. The mountains loomed over the hills and treelines in the distance, their great craggy peaks hidden in that ominous January gloom brewing ove
rhead.

  Nathan didn’t rightly care. He’d found the trading post. Saw that it was still standing, and that its chimney issued smoke. A big red barn leaned up against the shop, making the establishment the biggest structure around these parts.

  He stopped at a deserted hitching post, where the previous night’s snow still coated the wood, and slid off his horse’s back. There was no splash when his boots hit the ground, only the contact of his heels sinking into half-frozen dirt. Nathan pulled down his scarf, revealing about three days’ worth of stubble on a somewhat square face. He had thought about looking for a shave once in town, but upon seeing the state of the place, he decided that wasn’t going to happen. He’d be fortunate just to have a warm wash.

  Hell, he’d be lucky if he found a room for the night. As it was, with only three dollars left to his name, he had a strong suspicion he’d be sharing the barn with his horse. And whoever else was bunking down for the night.

  He stepped up to the front door, eyed the faded sign that read “SWYER’S TRADING POST!” and took firm hold of the latch. He pulled the door open and a miasmic stink of tobacco smoke and juice, spilled whiskey, and God-only-knew-what-else stopped him in his tracks. Nathan stepped inside, wincing as if he’d just nailed his thumb with a hammer.

  Sparse light somehow bled through windows in need of a scrubbing, illuminating the interior in a dreary gloom. A pot-bellied stove with a respectable stack of firewood spread heat into the place, and for that, Nathan was deeply grateful. Three square tables, rough and old, with chairs were arranged around the stove. A wide lane separated the drinking area from a log counter. A crooked wooden sign that read “TRADING POST” hung over one section and had a couple of sparsely stocked shelves behind it to back up that claim. Further down the log counter were two barrels, on their side at about waist-high, the knobby spigots well out of reach of any long-armed bastard thinking to stretch across the counter and serve himself. The sign “BAR” hung prominently over the barrels, laying to rest any mystery as to the contents. Nathan noticed that the BAR sign was much larger than the TRADING POST one, as if vying for the customer’s attention. Brass spittoons, grazed by dusty sunlight and in need of a lavation, were positioned at either end of the counter. Nathan imagined even the flies avoided the receptacles.