Grinning, Perry swung the massive vehicle right at him. The thud of steel ramming into flesh was sickening. Hit hard, Lark was thrown high into the air. Neither Shawn nor Jacob waited to see him land. They both drew. Jacob was fast but Shawn was faster. He slammed three shots into Perry. The impact of the big .45 slugs jolted the man in the driver’s seat and he lost control. Shawn and Jacob dived for the dirt as the yellow car rumbled past them. Shawn rolled and then looked up in time to see the last act of the drama.
The steam car, swerving wildly, kept accelerating all the way along the street, kicking up dust and gravel from its spinning wheels. Perry was still alive, bending over the steering wheel as he tried to straighten his careening vehicle. He slammed into the solitary oak standing at the end of the street, just beyond Lem Grater’s rod and gun store, The resulting crash sounded like a shelf full of crockery and pans hitting a marble floor. For long moments, the mangled car, a single wheel spinning, tick . . . ticked . . . in the sudden stillness, then a sheet of flame erupted as the furnace and boiler exploded, engulfing the vehicle in fire.
Horror piled on horror . . .
Although Parry had taken three bullets, he was a stocky, muscular man and hard to kill, but he was no match for roaring flames and white-hot heat. His shrieks and screams were heard for a long time before his body was charred into a column of cinders so black that only the white of his teeth showed.
It was, as Shawn would say later, a terrible death for any man, but one richly deserved.
* * *
Flora stained Archibald Lark’s face with her tears as she bent over his recumbent body. When she saw Shawn and Jacob walk toward her she wailed, “He’s dead. My Archie is dead.”
Shawn kneeled beside the fallen man and placed his hand on Lark’s chest. “He’s still breathing. We’ll get him to the doctor.”
“Both legs broken. I can see that,” Jacob said. “He’s not going to be walking around for a spell.”
“I’ll take care of him,” Flora said. “I won’t let him out of my sight.”
Shawn asked the men who’d gathered around to carry Lark to Dr. McKearns. “And be careful, he’s got broken legs and maybe other injuries.”
The wounded man was carried away, Flora walking beside him, his hand in hers.
Jacob stared down the street. “Well, look at that.”
“Now that’s what I call mighty strange.” Shawn said.
About fifty Mexicans had gathered around the wrecked steam car, gazing in silent vigil at Caleb Perry’s charred body. The peons stood perfectly still, like meditating monks, and their quietness was made even more profound by the dreadful clamor of a croaking crow that fluttered back and forth above the wild oak.
“Seems like the devil’s come to take his own,” Jacob said.
“And the Mexicans know it,” Shawn said.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
The bodies in the Abaddon wreckage were burned beyond recognition, but Dr. McKearns managed to identify one of them as female. There were seven survivors, including a white man who died three days later. The rest were Mexicans. All were found in the construction bay along with thirty-four dead.
Archibald Lark’s legs were splinted and he was moved to the hotel where Flora March divested herself of boned corset and high boots and bought herself a used but serviceable brown dress and sensible shoes.
“He’s feeling much better, Professor,” she told Shawn, “and wants to talk to you.”
His spurs chiming, Shawn stepped across the hotel room’s pine floor to the bed. “How are you feeling, Archibald?”
“Getting better, thank you,” Lark said. “Flora is taking good care of me and my horse and wagon. Takes a big load off my mind.”
“You just concentrate on getting well,” Shawn said. “How are you fixed for money?”
“I had some saved and have enough, Shawn. But thank you for asking.”
“If you need—”
“I’m fine, honestly.” With Flora’s help, Lark managed to sit up in bed a little. He was very pale and his eyes looked too big for his thin face. “I really thought I could convince Caleb Perry about the evil of his ways. But it didn’t work.”
“Three rounds from a forty-five convinced him just fine,” Shawn said.
“I heard. Flora told me he’s dead.”
“Uh-huh. Now he’s a rug in front of the devil’s fireplace,” Shawn said.
Lark managed a smile. “Shawn, can I ask a favor?”
“Given your present condition, Archibald, I can hardly refuse.”
“You remember that town I told you about down in the Glass Mountains country? A settlement they call Falcon Haven.”
Wary, Shawn said, “Yeah . . . I remember.”
“The people in the town need your help, Shawn. Drusilla McQuillen and her gunmen won’t rest until the respectable folks are all dead or forced to leave. She is a bandit queen and rules like one.”
Shawn said, “This town tamer thing came about by chance, Archibald. I don’t intend to make it my life’s work.”
“I understand,” Lark said. “I should not have asked such a favor of you.”
“Maybe you can find someone else, Archie,” Flora said. “Mr. O’Brien is a very important man and he doesn’t have time for little people like us.”
“All right, Flora, you don’t need to lay guilt on me,” Shawn said. “I tell you what I’ll do, Archibald. I’ll ride down that way and if things are as bad as you say, I’ll see what I can do. I’m not making any promises, mind. It’s my intention to visit England for a while and pay respects at my wife’s grave.”
Lark said, “That’s all I ask, Shawn. Just take a look.”
“As I said, no promises. Some towns are not worth saving. Falcon Haven may be one of them.”
Someone banged on the door and when Flora answered it, Jacob stepped inside. He nodded to Shawn and then said to Lark, “So, how is the invalid?”
“Feeling much better, thank you.”
Jacob laid a tin container with a wire handle on the bedside table. “Got this made up at the restaurant for you. It’s sumbitch stew like my pa’s Chinese cook makes for the ailing. There’s heart, liver, sweetbreads, tongue, beef tenderloin, marrow-gut, onion, and plenty of hot sauce in there. Get you back on your feet in no time, Archie.”
“If it doesn’t kill him first,” Flora muttered.
Jacob shook his head. “Nah, it will make a man of him.” He turned to Shawn. “I’m moving on, brother. Manuel Cantrell is a free man and I’ve done what I came to do.”
“Where are you headed, Jake?” Shawn asked.
“Well, when I was home, the Colonel told me that he bought shares in a diamond mine in the Cape Colony in South Africa. He asked me to head over there and look after his interests for a year or two.”
“And you’re going to do it?”
“I’ve never been in Africa before so I reckon I will. There’s good big game hunting at the Cape, buffalo and lions and the like, or so I was told. Seems like as good a place as any. You?”
“I figure I’ll spend some time in England, visit Judith’s grave and get reacquainted with her family.” Shawn saw Lark staring at him, disappointment on his face, and said, “But first I’ll ride down to the Glass Mountains. I hear it’s real pretty country down that way.”
Jacob nodded. “A while back, a feller by the name of Morgan Ashmore was raising hob in that country. You heard of him?”
“I might have heard the name.”
“Morg and me found ourselves on opposite sides a time or two and went around. But nothing ever came of it,” Jacob said. “Probably just as well, He’s fast on the draw. But he isn’t one to stay in a place long. Probably moved on by now.”
Shawn nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Flora, you make sure Archibald eats the stew now, you hear? Put hair on his chest.” Jacob turned to Shawn and hugged him close. “I’m riding on now, brother. If you’re ever in darkest Africa . . .”
&n
bsp; “I’ll surely look you up, Jake.”
Then Jacob was gone and as always, when he parted from his brother, Shawn wondered if it was the last time he’d ever see him.
* * *
Shawn O’Brien rode out of the livery and then swung toward the burned-out shell of the Abaddon foundry. He sat his horse and stared at the wreckage that marked the end of one man’s mad dream. The overturned locomotive still blocked the railroad track and a couple workmen stood looking at it, scratching their heads, trying to figure how to salvage a steel and iron monster. One of the workmen turned and saw Shawn and gazed at him with open curiosity. Shawn raised a hand and waved. The man didn’t wave back.
Shawn’s horse was eager for the trail and shook his head in irritation at the inactivity, the bit chiming like a bell. After patting the big stud’s neck, Shawn swung around and headed down the street, oddly busy at that time of day when the sun was high. He rode at a walk and people watched him as he rode by, but no one smiled or waved or said so long.
He reached the end of street and open ground stretched ahead of him, shimmering in the heat. A single Mexican, ragged and skinny, stood at the edge of town and as Shawn passed he removed his straw hat and gave a little bow.
Shawn O’Brien smiled. For the Town Tamer that was thanks enough.
Turn the page for an exciting preview!
USA Today and New York Times Bestselling Authors
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
with J. A. Johnstone
A train full of killers. Two passengers marked for death.
And one legendary mountain man. Matt Jensen is in for
the ride of his life. And it may be his last . . .
RICH MAN, DEAD MAN
After surviving a brilliantly plotted murder attempt,
the richest man in San Francisco is looking to hire
the best protection that money can buy. Enter Matt
Jensen, who, for the princely sum of $5,000, agrees
to escort millionaire John Gillespie and his very
fetching daughter on a railway journey from Frisco
to Chicago. There’s just one catch: the world’s
deadliest killers are coming along for the ride . . .
In Provo, Utah, a knife-wielding assassin leads
Jensen on a life-or-death chase across the roof of
the train. In Cheyenne, Wyoming, a ruthless pair
of hired guns climb onboard, ready to kill anyone
who gets in their way. And in Omaha, Nebraska,
three more cutthroats join the party. It doesn’t take
Matt Jensen long to realize this is no ordinary job.
It’s a one-way ticket to hell . . .
MATT JENSEN, THE LAST MOUNTAIN MAN THE GREAT TRAIN MASSACRE
On sale now, wherever Pinnacle Books are sold.
CHAPTER ONE
Onboard the Western Flyer
The train was heading south on the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. It was a little past four in the morning, and from Spruce Mountain the train was a symphony of sight and sound. Red and orange sparks glittered from within the billowing plume of smoke that was darker than the moonlit sky. Clouds of steam escaped from the drive cylinders, then drifted back in iridescent tendrils to dissipate before they reached the rear of the engine. The passenger cars were marked by a long line of candescent windows, glowing like a string of diamonds.
There were ninety-three passengers on the train, counting Matt Jensen. Matt was more than just a passenger, because he had been hired by the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad to act as a railroad detective. It wasn’t a permanent job, but the D&RG had been robbed too many times lately, and because Matt had worked with them before, they offered him a good fee to make one trip for them. They didn’t choose the trip arbitrarily; they had good information that the train would be robbed somewhere between Denver and Colorado Springs.
Matt accepted the assignment but under the condition that no one on the train, except the conductor, would know about him. He had boarded the train in Denver as a passenger, taking a seat, not on the Pullman car, but in one of the day cars, doing so to keep his official position secret. He had turned down the gimbal lantern that was nearest his seat, which allowed him to look through the window without seeing only his own reflection. At the moment he was looking at the moon reflecting from the rocks and trees when the train suddenly ground to a shuddering, screeching, banging, halt. So abruptly did the train stop that the sleeping passengers were awakened with a start.
“Why did we stop in such a fashion?” someone asked indignantly.
“I intend to write a letter to the railroad about this. Why, I was thrown out of my seat with such force that I could have broken my neck,” another passenger complained.
Because Matt could see through his window, he saw some men outside, and it gave him a very good idea of what was going on. He pulled his pistol and held it close beside him, waiting to see what would happen next. He didn’t have to wait but a short time before someone burst into the car from the front door. The train robber was wearing a bandana tied across the bottom half of his face, and he was holding a pistol, which he pointed toward the passengers.
Although the passengers were shocked and surprised at this totally unexpected interruption of their trip, Matt was not. He had been told to expect a train robbery between Denver and Colorado Springs, and it was now obvious that the intelligence had been correct.
“Everybody stay seated!” the train robber shouted. He was holding a sack in his left hand, and he handed it to the passenger in the front seat.
“Now, if you are churchgoing folks, I know you understand what it means to pass the plate. Just pretend that this sack is the plate that gets passed around in church, only don’t hold back on your donations like you do with your preacher. Gents, I want you to drop your wallets into the sack. Ladies, if you got ’ny jewelry, why that would be appreciated, too.”
“Look here, what gives you the right to . . .” a man started, but before he could finish the question, the train robber turned his gun toward him.
“This gives me the right,” he said.
Another gunman came on to join the first. “How is everything going?” he asked.
“Nothing I can’t handle. Is everything under control out there?”
“Yeah,” the second gunman answered. “We’ve got the engineer covered, and we’re disconnecting the rest of the train from behind the express car.”
“How will I know when you’re pullin’ the express car away? I mean, what if you fellas leave and I don’t know you’re gone? I’ll be stuck back here.”
“We’ll blow the whistle before we go.”
“There’s no need for you to be worrying about that. You two won’t be going anywhere,” Matt said.
“What? Who said that?”
“I did,” Matt replied. “Both of you, drop your guns.”
“The hell we will!” the first gunman shouted as he fired at Matt. The bullet smashed through the window beside Matt’s seat. Matt returned fire, shooting two times. Both of the bandits went down.
During the gunfire, women screamed and men shouted. As the car filled with the gun smoke of the three discharges, Matt scooted out through the back door, jumped from the steps down to the ground, then fell and rolled out into the darkness.
“Walt, Ed! What’s goin’ on in there?” someone shouted from alongside the track. “What was the shootin’ about?”
“I’m afraid Walt and Ed won’t be going with you,” Matt called. Matt was concealed by the darkness, but in the dim light that spilled through the car windows, he could see the gunman who was yelling at the others.
“Drop your gun and put your hands up!” Matt called out to him. “I’ve got you covered.”
“I’ll be damned if I will!” the train robber replied. He realized he was in a patch of light, so he moved into the shadow to fire at the voice from the darkness. He may have thought he would be shielded by moving out of the light, but the two-
foot-wide muzzle flash of his pistol gave Matt an ideal target, and he fired back. A bullet whistled harmlessly by Matt, but Matt’s bullet found its mark, and the outlaw let out a little yell, grabbed his chest, then collapsed.
Matt stood up then and moved toward the side of the train to try and get a bead on the one who had been separating the express car from the rest of the train. One of the passengers poked his head out to see what was going on.
“Get back inside!” Matt shouted gruffly.
The passenger jerked his head back in quickly.
The train robber peered cautiously around the corner, trying to see his adversary.
“Mister, you are the only one left alive,” Matt called out. “And if you don’t drop your gun and come out here with your hands up right now, you’ll be as dead as your partners.”
“Who the hell are you?” the outlaw called back.
“The name is Jensen. Matt Jensen.”
“Matt Jensen?” The outlaw’s voice suddenly took on a new and more frightened edge.
“That’s my name.”
There was a beat of silence, then Matt saw a pistol tossed out onto the ground. A moment later the would-be train robber emerged from between the cars with his hands in the air.
“We can go on ahead, Mr. Engineer,” Matt called up. “It’s all over now.”
“Yeah, but the track ain’t clear,” the engineer called back down from the cab window. “Look ahead, ’n you’ll see what it is that made me stop so fast.”
Matt saw that a tree had been felled across the track.
“We’re goin’ to have to get that cleared away before we can go on.”
By now the conductor, hearing the conversation and realizing that the danger had passed, came down to see what was going on.
“I’ll get some volunteers to clear the track,” the conductor promised.
“You think you can get enough people to volunteer?”
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