"You blind or stupid or both, Sern?" the leader called. "There's one of you and five of us."
"Six, you mean, boss." The man in the bowler hat with the leather money bag came up out of his seat and backed his way down the aisle.
"I don't care how many of you there are, you're who I want," Adam told the leader. "You're the one I take out first." He took a step forward, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. "Let the woman go."
"In a pig's eye!" the outlaw chided. "You drop your fancy-ass pistols or I put a lead ball through this pretty young gal's head."
The passengers grew quiet as they pressed their bodies to the floor of the train in anticipation of more gunfire.
Jessica could hear the outlaw's pocket watch ticking. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't!" Her green-eyed gaze met the redskinned lawman's. "Don't give up your weapon for my sake. He killed my brother!"
"Shut up!" The masked man gave her a shake.
Jessica could feel the bandit trembling. He was afraid of the Indian; she could hear it in his voice. They could all hear it. "Shoot him and I'll take my chances getting out of the way," she shouted.
The outlaw pulled back the hammer of his pistol. His two partners and the man with the leather money bag were behind him, backing their way out of the passenger car. Jessica could hear the other two accomplices outside the train already mounted on restless horses.
Jessica squeezed her eyes closed. I know I'm going to die, she thought. But if I live, as God is my witness, I'm going to track this man down and make him pay for Mark's death. Bitter tears ran down her pale cheeks. This man will die by my hand.
"I'm not joshing with you! If those fancy pistols aren't on the floor by the time I count to three, I kill her. How's that going to look on your shining record, Sern?" the leader of the bandits badgered. "Two deaths on your hands?"
"Don't!" Jessica cried.
"One . . ."
Adam slowly lowered his Colts, all the while his gaze fixed on the bandit's.
"Two . . ."
Adam dropped his first pistol and kicked it with a snakeskin boot.
"Please," Jessica begged. "Shoot! I don't mind dying. Be a man!"
"Three!"
Jessica's lids fell in anticipation of the shot, but instead of pistol fire she heard the Indian's weapon hit the floor and slide forward.
Her eyes flew open. "Coward!"
The black-masked leader tipped back his head in laughter. "Honorable, Sern," he commended. "But stupid."
Jessica felt the bandit's hold loosen as he raised his Smith & Wesson pistol to fire on the redskinned lawman. "Noooo!" she screamed as she heaved her weight backward knocking the outlaw off balance. The pistol fired and she heard the Indian pitch backward as she and the bandit fell to the floor. Struggling to free herself, she scratched the outlaw's face with her fingernails, managing to dislodge his black bandanna. For an instant, she saw his face before she escaped his grasp.
The leader of the bandits scrambled to his feet, replacing his mask. "Let's go!" he cried with alarm, snatching up Jessica's carpetbag. "Get off the train!"
Jessica spun around in time to see the outlaw taking the money bag from his accomplice in the bowler hat. "Not you, Stevenson!"
"But boss! You can't do this. You promised this was the last time I'd have to be a courier for the railroad. You said I could join your boys."
"I lied." The outlaw shrugged, lifting his pistol. "These good folks know your face and you know me."
To Jessica's horror, the outlaw fired on his own unarmed man. The bile rose in her throat and she turned away. Suddenly none of this seemed real. The dead courier fell in the aisle. Passengers screamed as the bandits lifted their pistols and shot into the air as they made their escape.
For a long minute Jessica leaned over the back of a seat listening to the sounds of the pounding hoofbeats as the murdering outlaws rode off. They had killed Mark and taken everything she owned! No one could do this to her and get away with it! Not after what she'd been through in Tennessee with Jacob Dorchester!
Slowly Jessica lifted her head, wiping her bloody mouth with the back of her hand. At her feet lay the Indian lawman. Her gaze fell to his crown of inky hair. The gunshot wound was superficial; a bullet had grazed his right temple. He was already beginning to come to.
"You were supposed to protect us," she told the unconscious man in a bitter whisper. "You should have saved my brother."
One of his Bisley pistols lay in the aisle. Its handle was inlaid with shiny black stone. Onyx, she thought. She picked it up, shifting it from hand to hand. The sound of the frenzied passengers faded in the background. "It was your duty," she whispered, half-crazed with grief. "These men can't do this and get away with it."
Stepping over the prone lawman, she walked through the front door of the car and leaped to the ground. The bright noonday sun pierced her eyes as she made her way down the track to where the cattle cars were. With a slow deliberateness she lifted the iron bar and swung open the door. Tucking the lawman's prized pistol into the waistband of her leather riding skirt she pulled herself up onto the floor of the car. From a storage box in the corner she retrieved a bridle and saddle. Locating one of the two Appaloosas she and Mark had brought with them, she mechanically saddled up as she'd done a thousand times before.
A moment later Jessica was astride. She gave a click between her teeth and the mare whinnied. Sinking her heels into Hera's flanks, they sailed out of the cattle car hitting the hard, dry ground with a bump. Wheeling around Jessica flew past the passenger cars and headed north in pursuit of the outlaw and his gang.
Chapter Two
Adam Sern struggled against the depths of unconsciousness. Even though breathing came easily, he felt as if he was below the surface of a body of water. He could hear the train passengers talking in hushed voices. A woman sobbed. He felt the hard flat floor of the train car beneath him . . . but he couldn't will his limbs to move.
I've been shot, he thought.
Memories of the train robbery flashed through his head. Goddamn the Union Pacific Railroad and their ninny-headed executives! They hadn't trusted him. They'd honestly thought he was the man informing the Black Bandit of the railway payroll deliveries. They'd lied to him, telling him the payroll would be on the following day's train. He hadn't been prepared. By the time he'd reached the dead engineer and run through the cars to where the Black Bandit was, it was too late. The boy was already dead. . . .
Slowly, Adam lifted his hand to his temple and felt the sticky blood oozing from his wound.
"He's comin' to," someone murmured.
Adam lifted his eyelids and tried to focus. He struggled to sit up. A blinding pain seared his head.
Billy grasped the lawman's arm and helped him to sit upright. "You all right? Danged lucky I'd say you were. We thought you was dead for certain."
Adam cradled his head in his hands. "They're gone . . . which way?"
"North."
Kat offered Adam an uncorked flask of whiskey. "Here you go, drink. It'll put the wind back in your pipes."
Adam shook his head. "Water if you can find it. And something to staunch the bleeding." He applied pressure to his temple with his fingertips. Blood trickled down his cheek. He was damned lucky. The bullet had only grazed his head instead of hitting him square between the eyes as the Black Bandit had intended. Thank God the outlaw was a poor marksman. His men usually did his shooting for him.
Adam slammed his balled fist on the floor in frustration. He couldn't believe that murderer had slipped through his fingers again. "Goddamn it!" He glanced up at Kat who was still leaning over him. "Pardon, ma'am."
Kat gave a dry chuckle. "I've heard worse, said worse on occasion." Someone handed her a cup of water and she brought it to his lips.
Adam accepted the tin cup and sipped from it. The warm water slid down his parched throat. "You said they went north?"
"That's right." Billy pulled off his hat to scratch his head. "The funny thing is, that girl
went with 'em."
Adam looked up. "What? What girl?" Somehow he knew. An image of a slight woman with haunting green eyes flashed through his head. He'd only seen her for a moment, yet those eyes, that face, was seared in his memory.
"Hush your mouth, Billy," Kat chided, beginning to bind Adam's head wound with a strip of white linen. "She wasn't with 'em!"
"I said, what girl?" Adam repeated sharply.
"She was sitting behind us. She said her name was Jessica Landon. The dead boy was Mark. She was talking to my wife just before them outlaws held us up."
Kat glared at her husband. "They killed her brother! She couldn't be one of them!"
"How do you know, Kat? You talked to her for half an hour. How do you know that kid was really her brother? The courier was with 'em. He's deader than a doornail. Maybe the girl was in cahoots with them, too."
Kat shook her head, turning her attention back to her patient. "I'm telling you, lawman, Jessica wasn't with those murdering thieves. She was a nice girl. She and her brother were headed for Washington territory like us. She was going to plant an apple orchard."
"Did they have a horse for her?" Adam questioned Billy.
"I don't know. She left after them. We didn't see her mount. She ran off the train, disappeared for a minute or two, and then suddenly she was ridin' by like her tail was on fire."
Adam nodded, deep in thought. Nothing would surprise him about this Black Bandit. Adam had been trying to catch him for months. He was sly as a grandfather fox.
"Um"—Billy offered Adam the pistol he'd retrieved off the floor—"here's your gun. Real nice."
Adam took back his pistol. The weight of it felt good in his hand. "There should be another."
Billy bit down on his lower lip. "She took it."
"The girl?"
Billy nodded. "For a minute I was afraid she was going to shoot you there on the floor."
Adam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You think you can take a horse from the cattle car and ride along the tracks to the next stop?" Slowly he got to his feet.
"I reckon I can." Billy straightened proudly.
"You get to Loco and tell them what happened. They'll send another engineer out and someone to check over the engine before they start her up again." Adam glanced at Kat as he ran his hand over the neat bandage she'd wrapped around his head. "Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate it."
"That ought to stop the bleedin'." She wiped her hands on her apron. "But you need to see a doctor just the same. You don't want an infection spreading. We had a horse that died with a scratch on its ear. The infection went straight to its brain."
"Next day or so, I'll have it looked at." Adam slid his pistol into its holster. He felt unbalanced without the other.
"Next day or so? What are you talkin' about? They ought to have this train moving by tonight, hadn't they?"
Adam pulled his leather hat up off his back and pushed it onto his head, covering the bandage. "I'm not riding in with you. I have to go after them."
"And leave us here alone?" a passenger cried.
"You'll be safe enough. You've certainly got no fear of robbery and the Indians are peaceful around here."
"Peaceful with their own kind," the man grumbled.
Adam shot him an icy glare and the man backed off. "Anyone got a canteen?" Adam asked quietly.
A knapsack was offered by one of the passengers. Another brought forward a battered tin canteen filled with water. Adam thanked both donors and swung the leather straps over his shoulder. "Come on, then." He signaled Billy with a wave of his bronze hand. "Let's get two horses from the cattle transport. We'll return them to their proper owner later. The railroad can reimburse the owners for their trouble."
In the cattle car Billy saddled the nearest horse, but Adam took his time, checking out first one and then another. He chose a spotted Appaloosa stallion from the rear of the car. The animal had the finest lines he'd ever seen. Whoever owned the magnificent beast knew his horse-breeding. Speaking softly to gain the skittish horse's confidence, he saddled him up.
Outside the cattle car, Adam and Billy mounted. Adam offered his hand. "I'm Adam Sern. They'll know my name in Loco." He looked away. "I'm sorry for what happened back there on the train."
Billy accepted his hand and pumped it. "Billy Wiedenhoeft. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sern. But it weren't your fault. These trains is always gettin' robbed."
"My job was to protect that boy."
"I'm tellin' you, the way I see it, it couldn't be helped. The boy spooked the one in the black mask and his gun went off. I don't even know if he shot him on purpose. If you'd been there you couldn't have done anything. None of us could."
Adam withdrew his grasp from Billy's. "Can you take care of the boy's body? I'll try to get back to Loco, but it just depends on which way the bandits go."
"I'll take care of him and any belongings that were theirs."
Adam nodded, brushed the brim of his hat in salute, and rode off.
The bandits' trail was easy enough to follow—five men on horseback, followed by a lighter rider, ten minutes behind them. The green-eyed girl . . .
Adam rode hard. He was a good three-quarters of an hour behind them. The hot sun beat on his neck. The pounding of the Appaloosa's hooves on the dry, cracked earth reverberated through his body filling him with a strange exhilaration. Out here, alone in the open spaces, he felt whole. Here there were no accusing eyes, no bitter prejudices. It was only out here that it didn't matter that he was a half-breed.
Adam's mother had been a teacher, an Ojibwa maiden. His father had been a Philadelphia physician who had traveled north into Canada to doctor among the native Americans. He had made a six-month journey and stayed fourteen years. A smile crossed Adam's solemn face. There had been nothing but happiness and laughter in his mother's village. The Ojibwa had no prejudices. It made no matter that he was half white. Adam's father was adopted into the tribe and Adam was a child of the People.
Adam's smile fell.
But then the measle epidemic had come when he was twelve, spread by a load of moth-eaten blankets brought by a well-meaning missionary. Adam's beautiful mother had died in his father's arms. Heartbroken, his father had cared for those villagers, still struggling against the dreaded disease until he, too, fell sick and died. Adam had remained untouched. When word reached his grandparents in Philadelphia, they sent for him and a new life began. Adam shed the clothes of an Ojibwa boy and became a man. He was educated in the finest boy's school in Philadelphia, and then sent to Harvard University to pursue a career in law.
Adam sunk his heels into the Appaloosa's hindquarters. Years had passed and still these memories were painful. The bandits' trail turned east toward Brigham City. Crossing a small dry streambed, Adam rode on.
It wasn't right. He had graduated at the top of his class, yet he had never been treated as an equal. His grandfather's money had bought him an education, but never acceptance. The older he became and the more serious the Indian uprisings in the West became, the more Adam was shunned.
Then Adam's grandfather had died and Adam had not been permitted to take the bar exam. He was found unacceptable due to his "mixed racial heritage." The words echoed in his head. He had been so angry he'd left Philadelphia for the cool forests of his birthplace. But there, among the Ojibwa, he had not found his peace either. He had been too long in the white man's society. He missed libraries, newspapers, contact with the outside world.
So, now here he was, working for the Union Pacific Railroad, mostly on the Central Short Line, guarding their passengers and valuables. He gave a groan. He wasn't guarding them too damned well, was he?
Adam slowed the Appaloosa to a walk, giving him a breather. He was gaining on them. The woman, Jessica, as she called herself, was slowing down. It was obvious by her tracks that she was beginning to have a difficult time keeping up with the others. Adam wondered why they hadn't waited for her, though the Black Bandit certainly wasn't known for his kindness. He
seemed to have little loyalty among his men. New men joined his gang frequently as older ones were either killed or just disappeared and were presumed dead.
Adam took a sip from his water can, patting the stallion's neck. He could see from the tracks that the woman had separated from the rest of the bandits and was continuing north. The outlaws were headed northwest. The question was, who did he follow? It took only a moment to decide and then he was riding at breakneck speed again. Jessica Landon . . . he'd catch up with her and find out where the bandits were headed. He'd arrest her, take her back to Loco, notify the railroad of what was happening, and gather provisions. Then he'd track the Black Bandit and bring him to justice.
Jessica slid off Hera's back, resting against her for support. "God, it's hot out here," she murmured. Dropping the horse's reins, she walked a few feet, covering her brow with her hand to ward off the glare of the sun.
She gave an exasperated sigh. "So which way did they go, Hera? The land was flat and seemingly godforsaken. I know I was just behind them, but now I'm confused. These don't look like the same tracks I was following."
The mare nickered in reply.
Jessica turned back. "Little help you are." She dropped her hands to her hips. "They can't be too far from here, but which way?" She was near to tears. After all that had happened back in Tennessee—Papa's death, Jacob—things were supposed to be going right now. Moving west was a new start. Mark had been certain they would find success in Washington.
The thought of Mark and his broken body made Jessica stiffen with anger. Her anger, her desire for revenge, was all she had left. If she thought about her brother now, she'd crumble.
"Well," Jessica said aloud. "I guess we'd best backtrack. We've got to find water, too." She was beginning to realize that it had been foolish to run off half-cocked without water or provisions. Out in this heat a man could die in a day.
Suddenly she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a horse and rider appearing out of nowhere, racing toward her. She hurled herself into the saddle. "Hah!" She sank her heels into Hera's flanks, whipping the reins. Dust flew as the mare dug her hooves into the brittle earth and leaped forward rearing on her hind legs. Jessica leaned over, threading her trembling fingers through the Appaloosa's mane as the animal galloped away. She didn't know who was pursuing her . . . one of the bandits maybe.
In Close Pursuit Page 2