by Rory Black
‘I know the sort!’ he said in a cold voice. ‘I never did like that kinda person.’
‘He’ll not open up willingly, mister,’ the engineer added.
Adams struck a match and lit his cigar. He blew out the flame and tossed the match away. He returned his attention to the car and inhaled the smoke deeply.
‘You go and tell him that there are seven of us out here and we’ll kill the whole bunch of you railroad boys if he don’t unlock that door and toss out his scattergun.’
The driver nodded. He walked up to the car.
‘Hey, John! There are seven bandits out here and they say they’ll shoot me and the rest of the boys if n ya don’t open that door! You hear me, John?’
There was a long silence before the voice inside the locked car replied.
‘I hear you,’ Parsons said in a cold tone. ‘I figure you and the rest of the boys are gonna die, Herb! Damn shame!’
The two outlaws could hardly believe their ears. The stunned engineer staggered back from the car.
‘He’s willing for you to kill us all!’
‘You were right about him being a damn company man.’ Adams shook his head in disgust. ‘Just for that, I’m gonna let you boys go free and let Buck handle him! John Parsons is in for a real bad surprise!’
The engineer blinked hard.
‘We can go?’
Snake Adams pointed his gun between the last two cars.
‘Yep. But unhook this car from the rest of the train first. Then you can skedaddle out of here.’
The frightened man moved between the cars and did as he was instructed. He then clambered back into the sunshine and wiped the sweat and grease off his hands on the front of his overall. His frightened eyes looked at Adams.
‘Get going, amigo’ Adams gestured. ‘Get this train out of here before I change my mind.’
The driver ran fast for a big man. He did not slow up until he was back with the rest of the train crew. Adams watched as they picked up the limp stoker and dragged him on to the high engineer’s cab. Smoke billowed out of the train’s stack as the long locomotive jerked into action and slowly moved away from its abandoned car.
Mayne and Brewster rode up to their five cohorts and dismounted.
‘What we gonna do, Snake?’
‘How come ya let the train go?’
‘The next train stop is fifty miles from here, boys,’ Adams informed his gang. ‘If they did tell anyone about us being here, we’ll be long gone before any law could reach here.’
The six outlaws stared hard at the solitary car before them.
‘I reckon it’s time we let Coop show us again how good he is with them dynamite sticks he’s got in his saddlebags, boys,’ Adams said, puffing on his cigar.
Coop Starr rubbed his hands together and ran to his horse.
‘I thought that you was gonna let me kill someone, Snake!’ Buck Harris complained.
‘I sure am gonna let you kill someone, Buck.’ Adams patted the cheek of his most deadly follower. ‘Once Coop blows that door off that car, you got a real ornery critter inside it to kill.’
Harris smiled.
‘Can I kill him slow?’
‘The slower the better!’ Adams nodded.
Chapter Seven
The ground shook as a blinding flash sent black plumes of smoke heavenward. Flames leapt like wildcats in all directions. A hundred thunderclaps could not have equaled the deafening blast that filled the area around what was left of the rail car. Coop Starr lay on his back as debris showered down over him and the rest of the outlaws.
Starr managed to ease himself up on to his elbows and brush the smoldering splinters of wood off his burned face. He stared at the car which still rocked on the tracks. Only half of the vehicle remained. The entire door section was gone. As was the roof.
Snake Adams and his cohorts staggered from the cover of the canyon like phantoms. They were all covered in sawdust.
‘What happened?’ Adams shouted as he tried to hear the sound of his own voice over the ringing in his ears. ‘What did you do, Coop? How much dynamite did ya use?’
Starr turned to his companions.
‘Did somebody say somethin’? I can’t hear nothin’ ’ceptin’ war drums!’
Adams slapped the cowboy out of his way.
‘The safe better still be there!’
‘Could be in Wyoming, Snake,’ Kyle Parker commented dryly. ‘I figure most of it’s at least two states away by now.’
Buck Harris stormed past the deafened gang. The blood-crazed outlaw reached what was left of the car and snorted, his eyes darting at what remained of its interior. He drew both his guns and cocked their hammers.
‘Where are ya, little man?’ Harris screamed at the car.
Suddenly a pile of smoking planks moved at the end of the car. Harris raised his leg and placed his boot on the metal step. He hoisted himself up and then stood on the blackened floor. He aimed both guns at the moving pile of lumber.
‘I see ya! C’mon out!’
The woodpile fell aside as the railroad guard got back to his feet with his scattergun in his hands.
Both barrels spewed out their deadly venom. Two barrels of buckshot hit the outlaw. A bloodied Buck Harris was lifted off his feet by the sheer force of the shotgun blast. Countless lead pellets had ripped most of his face off, but the outlaw did not notice. He was dead long before his limp body crashed on to the blackened floor of the car.
Adams span on his heels.
His Colt .45 cleared its holster in one swift smooth movement.
Before railroad guard John Parsons had time to push two more shells into the smoking barrels of his hefty scattergun, Adams fired.
The outlaw stood like a statue and watched as his deadly accuracy hit Parsons in the side of the head. A cloud of blood and brain-matter burst out from the back of the railroad guard’s skull.
Adams twirled his gun on his index finger and holstered it before the body fell into a crumpled heap. He turned and looked into the faces of his stunned followers.
‘I reckon Buck’s dead, Snake,’ Ben Lynch said.
‘Yep. Good and dead.’ Adams nodded as he pulled his tight kid gloves on once more.
‘And that guard looks dead as well,’ Parker added. Snake Adams sighed heavily.
‘I’m surrounded by geniuses.’
‘What ya mean?’ Lynch leaned forward.
‘They both had their heads blown apart, Ben. What else could they be, but dead?’
Coop Starr hit the side of his head with the palm of his right hand in a vain attempt to clear his still ringing ears.
‘I’m deaf!’ he shouted.
‘It’s ya own fault, Coop,’ Adams shouted even more loudly. He started towards the wrecked car through the debris that still fell like snow over the arid landscape. ‘Next time count them dynamite sticks before you light their fuses.’
Starr looked at the other outlaws.
‘What he say? Did he say anything?’
The five men trailed Adams to the rail car and watched him climb up on to the still smoldering wreckage. He looked down on Buck Harris’s body stretched out with a bloody mess where his face had once been before turning his ice-cold gaze on the railroad guard. Adams spat and then stepped over the chunks of green wooden fragments until he located the safe. His gloved hands brushed it clean.
‘Is the thing ya looking for inside that safe, Snake?’ Parker asked.
‘The thing you reckoned was worth more than money?’ Lynch smiled as he stared up at the emotionless Adams.
Adams did not reply. He knelt down beside the iron safe and turned its dial back and forth three times. He then pushed the lever down. He pulled open the three-inch-thick door and retrieved its meager contents. His men looked at the pile of papers in his hands.
‘How come ya knew the combination to that safe, Snake?’ Brewster asked.
‘I paid good money for it, One Ear!’ Adams snapped. He studied the papers in his hands and dis
carded all but one brown envelope. He tore its flap and looked inside. His lips carved a smile across his face. He folded the envelope and placed it inside his shirt.
‘What ya got there, Snake?’ Brewster asked curiously. He stared at the grinning features of his leader. ‘Looks like nothing more than a scruffy old envelope to me!’
Adams nodded.
‘Yep, One Ear. That’s exactly right. It is an envelope. But it’s what’s inside the envelope that makes it valuable!’
Ferdy Mayne scratched his head.
‘Ya talkin’ in riddles.’
The five outlaws watched curiously as he jumped back down on to the debris-littered sand. He patted his shirt.
‘This ain’t no riddle, Ferdy. This, my dusty friends, is pure dynamite! What’s in here is worth more than a bucketful of gold nuggets!’
‘Did ya say dynamite, Snake?’ Coop Starr shouted.
Adams rolled his eyes and started towards their horses.
‘C’mon!’ he snorted.
‘Where we headed, Snake?’ Lynch asked.
‘Rio Concho!’ Adams spat. ‘Rio Concho!’
Chapter Eight
The three determined horsemen galloped out of the high brush and reined in at the awesome sight before them. Deadman’s Flats was well named. It dared and taunted all those who set eyes upon it to try and cross its vast expanse. None of the trio had expected the desolation which greeted their sand-burned eyes. Dust drifted over the riders as they sat and stared out at the barren landscape ahead of them.
There was no life to been seen anywhere on the arid plain which stretched off into the heat haze. No trees, not even a blade of grass. No living creatures of any description. Not even in the sky.
They had trailed the hoof-tracks of the seven outlaw horses south for weeks through a half-dozen climates to reach this unholy place. For Snake Adams and his deadly cohorts had left a hill of corpses back in the high country.
Too many corpses for even the mainly lawless territories to ignore. The fearful citizens of Waco had enlisted the help of the most renowned lawman west of the Pecos. They had paid him $1,000 in gold. Marshal Casey Layne was the only man who had a chance of catching the notorious gang before they vanished across the border into Mexico.
The hoof-tracks seemed to head across a land that none of them wished to cross. The ground was dark and dead. They knew that to follow Snake Adams and his gang across this windy plain might leave them in the same condition as the land itself.
Dead!
United States Marshal Casey Layne rubbed some of the grime from his face with the tails of his bandanna, sighed heavily and turned to his two deputies. Josh Walker and Tray Donner were seasoned lawmen like the big man they followed, but even they had never faced anything so devoid of life before.
‘That ain’t no place to ride over without a couple of full canteens, boys,’ Layne said, easing himself up off his saddle. ‘Reckon old Snake and his gang have gotten the better of us this time.’
‘But how could them outlaws make it across that darned plain, Marshal?’ Walker asked.
‘Must have had themselves a few spare canteens, Josh,’ Layne replied. ‘I figure Snake planned this.’
‘Ya mean that stinkin’ low-life son of a bitch led us here so we’d die trying to follow him?’ Donner snarled.
Marshal Layne glanced at the deputy.
‘I’m not sure, Tray. I ain’t even sure he knows that we’re doggin’ his trail. Snake Adams might have himself some business out there.’
‘Ya reckon there might be a town out there?’ Walker asked.
‘Could be, but I kinda doubt it,’ the marshal replied.
‘He must be headed someplace important to risk riding over that hunk of death.’ Donner shrugged. ‘There ain’t nothin’ out there to be seen ’ceptin’ black sand.’
‘Just ’cause we can’t see it, that don’t mean there ain’t nothing out there, Tray.’ Casey Layne toyed with his reins. ‘Snake ain’t never bin the sort to commit suicide. If he headed that way, there has to a reason. There just has to be.’
‘If we head back to Waco without his carcass in tow, there’ll be a lot of folks asking for their money back, Marshal.’ Donner rubbed more of the grime off his face.
‘I know!’ Layne agreed. ‘I hate being outwitted by a back-shooter like him.’
Suddenly something caught the attention of the experienced marshal. Layne turned his horse and pulled the brim of his hat down to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun. He screwed up his eyes and focused on the distant hills. A smile crept over his weathered features.
‘Lookee yonder, boys!’ Layne pointed a gloved finger. ‘Do you see that smoke?’
The deputies eased their lathered-up mounts around and squinted hard.
‘Yep. I see it. Must be a house over near them hills, Marshal!’ Donner said.
Walker shook his head.
‘That ain’t no darn chimney on no darn house, Tray. That smoke’s movin’. Movin’ fast.’
Donner stood in his stirrups.
‘Ya right. It is movin’, Josh!’
‘That’s a train, boys!’ Layne said. He sat back down on his hot saddle. ‘An honest to goodness train out here in the middle of nowhere!’
Donner cupped his hand above his dust-covered eyebrows.
‘Damn! Ya right, Marshal. That is a train. What in tarnation is it doin’ here?’
‘Who gives a darn what it’s doin’ here? The fact is that it is here,’ the marshal said.
‘And it’s headed toward them big red mesas!’Walker added with a nod of his head.
All three lawmen looked to where the locomotive appeared to be headed. The high mesas seemed to be almost the color of blood as the afternoon sun bathed the ancient rocks. Even though they could not see any sign of tracks, they knew that the only route possible would be between the high rocks.
Like a man with a mission, Marshal Layne gathered up his loose reins and steadied his tired mount.
‘C’mon, boys! I figure we can head it off before it reaches them mesas!’
‘Why’d we wanna do that, Marshal?’ Walker asked. ‘It’s headed in the opposite direction to where we wanna go.’
‘Trains got water on ’em, Josh! We need us a lot of water if n we’re gonna keep trailing Snake and his boys!’ Layne answered. His horse reared up eagerly. ‘Once we’ve commandeered us a whole load of water off that train, we’ll head on after Snake again!’
‘We’d better ride fast!’ Donner said.
‘Darn fast!’Walker nodded.
‘Faster than we’ve ever ridden before!’ Layne snapped. He used the long ends of his reins to whip the tail of his eager horse.
The three riders spurred hard and drove their horses on towards the high majestic mesas. Dust hung in the still air long after they had left the edge of the deadly plain.
Layne and his two deputies now had a race to win. They had to reach the train and somehow stop it before it disappeared for ever into the twisting canyons and gulches which carved their way between the towering rocks.
Chapter Nine
Iron Eyes awoke suddenly. Even seriously wounded, his instincts were razor sharp. His head turned and vainly he attempted to see through the hay which was piled over him. There was someone climbing up the wooden ladder from the floor of the livery stable to the loft. The bounty hunter remained motionless under the hay and listened to the heavy footsteps as they drew closer and closer to his hiding-place. The boards creaked under the weight of the unseen visitor.
His backbone could feel every step.
Whoever it was, Iron Eyes told himself, he was getting closer with every beat of his pounding heart. A hundred thoughts raced through the mind of the wounded man.
How long had he been asleep up here? The sun still filtered through the cracks in the wooden loft door, but was this the same day?
The boards groaned beneath him.
Who was it?
Who had climbed up here?
Had someone eventually found the trail of blood he had left in his wake?
Maybe it was the deputy he had seen crawl into the shadows below him before he had fallen asleep. Perhaps the man with the star pinned to his shirt had become curious to know what was up in the stable loft.
So many questions. So few answers.
Iron Eyes went to turn over, and failed. He was starved of strength. He had never felt so weakened in all his days. It made no sense to him. He had been hurt far worse than this in the past and still managed to summon the dregs of his spirit to help him fight.
Where had it gone?
His head fell back on to the boards. Sweat poured from his skin like raindrops. He tried to fight the clouds which fogged his mind. Then he recalled the bullet in his shoulder. His eyes glanced to the wound. It had stopped bleeding but was hot. A thousand branding-irons could not have created such heat.
His mind drifted back to the man who was still approaching.
Was it the deputy?
Maybe it was someone whom he had not even thought of yet.
If it were one of the deputies or the town’s menfolk whom they had enlisted to help them in their search for the bounty hunter, could he risk shooting him?
To fire his gun inside the livery would be fatal! A shot would alert every man in Rio Concho where he was hiding, Iron Eyes thought.
The fever filled his mind once again. The Bowie knife! That was the answer. He had to use the lethal Bowie knife! That was the silent way to kill one’s prey! Iron Eyes tried to reach down to his boot, but it was impossible. His fingers clawed at his pants’ leg but there was no way he could find the handle of his deadly Bowie knife.
Then he felt the boards under his spine bend. The unknown man’s legs came into sight beside the head of the prostrate figure.
He stopped walking.
Twenty inches separated them.
Iron Eyes stared at the footwear of the man. The boots were well worn. The heel was off the left boot and had not been repaired. These were not the polished boots of the deputies who had thrown him into jail, he thought. Iron Eyes remained perfectly still. Only his eyes moved.
He strained to see more, but could not.