by Natalie Dean
Then it came to him.
“Tom,” he shouted, sliding up to the man. “We’ve got to get him back on the train.”
“What?”
There was no time to fill his newly found friend in on the extent of his plan. “Trust me. It’ll be safer on the train.”
He didn’t say safer for whom, but he assumed Tom knew. Safer for the people they were sworn to protect.
With a nod, they set off in the direction of the train, forcing people out of their way. Simon felt a little rude, but it was either that or these folks would risk being in the middle of a shootout. He knew which they’d prefer.
They reached the steps, and Tom went up first. Boomer was shoved up next, and Simon followed. All the while, he felt like there was a target on his back. One pull of the trigger, and he could have gone down, but thankfully no gun went off.
He then turned to look out the window from the relative safety of the darkened train and saw Greta making her way toward the side of the building. She had the nerve to walk right past the man whom she’d pointed out. As she did, Simon’s stomach twisted in fearful knots, but then she was past him, and he could breathe again.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Tom asked. He’d shoved Boomer into a seat and the man seemed to be intently listening to their conversation.
“Not yet,” Simon said, inclining his head toward Boomer in a move only Tom could see.
“All right,” Tom said, shrugging. His hand still rested at his hip, where his pistol sat ready to be yanked into action.
“We’re just going to—”
The next moment a door down at the end of the corridor burst open. Both men flinched, but Boomer only smiled. He knew something was happening. But what? What was going to happen now that they had changed the dynamic? They were no longer on the platform, so that had to have changed their plans, but what would they do now?
All of his focus slipped to Tom when, in the next second, the man at the end of the hall pulled out his pistol and shot in Tom’s direction. The tall, lean man jerked to the side and fell behind a row of chairs.
Boomer, seeing an opportunity, began to move from his seat, but Simon slid forward, using the cover of the seats between him and the shooter to clamp his hand on Boomer. Slipping out his extra pair of cuffs, he latched the man’s hands to the seat.
All the while Boomer was protesting and about to shout to the man who had shot at Tom when Simon pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and shoved it into Boomer’s mouth. He coughed and sputtered but couldn’t get it out.
Confident that Boomer was sufficiently incapacitated for the moment, Simon turned his attention back to Tom.
“Tom?” he called out, low. He couldn’t see him from his vantage point. The throbbing adrenaline in his veins made him want to jump out and go to his friend immediately but reason held him back. He had no idea if the men from the platform had joined them on the train now and if he’d be caught in the crossfire if he ventured out into the isle.
“Tom?” he tried again.
“Yeah,” came the soft reply.
“They get you?” he asked, fingering his own pistol, though careful to keep his finger off the trigger until the enemy was in sight.
“Nah,” came Tom’s soft reply. “I just landed funny on my shoulder.”
Simon cringed. If only they could get word to the marshals that were coming. They needed help—and they needed it now.
“You okay?” Tom called out.
“Yeah. Got Boomer secured, but I bet they’ll be coming this way.” He searched though his mind for options. There was one shooter to the left, the farther exit, that had them pinned down. They were close to the back door, but there was no way to get out of it from this vantage unless they took down the other shooter.
They needed a distraction for him. But first Simon had to climb over to the seat next to Boomer so that he could have the man up and ready to run on a moment’s notice. And how to communicate that all with Tom?
“Hey,” Tom said, his voice sounding far away and yet sill loud enough for him to hear.
He looked around, but couldn’t see anything.
Then, as if out of nowhere, a piece of lemon drop candy struck his knee. “What in tarnation?”
He leaned down, careful not to let his head go out into the aisle, and peered through the opening under the seats. He could see Tom perfectly.
Grinning, he nodded at his friend, who began to motion what they would do in order to get Tom into the seat next to Boomer. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be made easier by a distraction. Simon only hoped there was enough trash and spare candy for them to use, because his idea was going to take some ingenuity.
Chapter 11
Greta heard the gunfire and felt as if she’d been the recipient of the bullet. Had someone been shot? And how…she looked back to where she’d passed the man she’d seen slip the note to the prisoner. He was still there. But how…?
Then she saw two other men stalking toward the train. Was this man just the mastermind? Her heart hammered in her chest at the thought of Simon in danger. They were now on the train, likely moving the handcuffed man there so that they would be away from the tumult of people crowding the train station, but what was their next move.
Then she saw more movement on the opposite side of the platform. Two men rode up on strong-looking horses. They had pistoles at their hips and dark stares. She slipped over to an older woman and asked if she knew about the new arrivals.
The older woman winked at her. “Looking to marry yourself off? Don’t worry dear, you’re very pretty. You’ll have no trouble finding a husband.”
Greta blinked. She hadn’t said anything about marriage.
“But yes, they are the marshals, dear.”
Marshals. They were who she needed to talk to, but would they believe her?
“Thank you,” she said to the woman, who merely patted her hand. Walking past the man again, feeling bold as she did, she made her way through the crowd to the marshals. She wasn’t sure what she would say, but she’d try her best to make them hear her out.
They had dismounted, and she was able to slip up to the first one, nearly stepping in his path so that he would look down at her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re here on business.”
“I know,” she said, which she could tell shocked the man. “There has been trouble.”
The marshal’s eyes narrowed. He was older than Simon by several years, his lined face showing signs of wear from rough weather and an even tougher job.
“How do you know that?”
“I am friends with Marshal Brown.” She thanked the Lord she remembered his last name. “They took the prisoner—I think that’s who it was?—onto the train to get away from that man.” She turned and pointed at the man leaning against the building.
This time though, rather than remaining invisible, the man locked eyes with her. His brow furrowed, and his gaze turned ominous.
“Ma’am, I’m not sure what you’re trying to do, but this is official U.S. Marshal Service business, and we really don’t need—"
“Please, sir,” she said, giving him her most genuine expression. “I’m not making any of this up.” She then went on to explain how she had confiscated the note, and how it had told a time and what the other two marshals had done after she’d told them. While the man didn’t look completely convinced, he did seem to begin to believe her.
When he looked back to where the ominous man had been standing, his gaze clouded. “He’s gone,” he said, more to himself and his fellow marshal, who had joined them part way through her storytelling. “We’ve got to get on that train.”
“Thank you, Miss,” the other man said. He was a bit younger but looked no less experienced. She knew she had to trust that they would help rescue Simon and the other man, but would they be able to do it without casualties?
She again thought of the shot that had already been fired. Was Simon laying somewhere in the train, bleeding to
death? Though she’d only known him a short while, she could say—without a doubt—that he had become very special to her. Now, she just had to trust that these men would do their jobs and everything would work out.
If not, she didn’t know what she would do.
* * *
Simon sucked in a deep breath and counted, making the words exaggerated with his mouth though they were silent.
“One. Two.” He sent up a quick prayer that this would work. “Three.”
The next instant he sent a wad of trash flying in the direction of where the shot had come from toward the end of the hall. He also sent the lemon drop flying against a window to the opposite side of the platform. It landed against it with a hard, cracking sound. A shot rang out, followed by the sound of breaking glass.
The next instant, he heard the whoosh of Tom, as he launched across the aisle and into the seat next to Boomer.
“You okay,” Simon said breathlessly.
“Never been better,” Tom said, his words heavy with sarcasm.
“That was a close one,” Simon said, but Tom didn’t respond. He didn’t expect him to. It wouldn’t help them to be distracted by conversation or to think about their own mortality.
Though, if Simon were honest, it felt like he had even more to live for now. Greta wasn’t married to that awful man. In fact, she’d renounced her engagement to him—hardly a marriage—and she was waiting for him to find her when this whole, awful ordeal was over. The thought both energized and terrified him. He didn’t want her near, but he wanted to see her first thing when this was done. He wanted to know what had happened, how she had come to America, and who the jerk had been that lied to him.
But all of that would have to wait. They had to find a way off this train.
“U.S. Marshals. Come out with your hands up, and you’ll be shown mercy.”
Simon felt relief, sweet and pure. They were here—the reinforcements. The relief soon turned to worry. What would they do? Would they try to barge onto the train and face the real possibility that they’d be shot? Or would they try to negotiate? Neither sounded like good options to Simon, but he and Tom had limited mobility and even less visibility.
“Give us Boomer, and we’ll let your men leave,” a gravelly voice shouted back. Simon could tell it came from the man at the end of the train that had them pinned down.
“What makes you think you’ve got any room to negotiate?” a voice cried out.
“That’s Jake,” Tom whispered to Simon through a crack in the seats. “He’s the marshal in town here. A good man with guts.”
Guts were good, but would they get them out alive in this situation? Simon wondered.
Boomer made a muffled sound, Simon’s handkerchief still wadded in his mouth, and Tom gripped him by the shoulder. “Hush. You’ve got no need to be talking and giving away our location.”
Simon’s insides hurt from all of the clenching he was doing. His knees ached too from his position on the floor, but it was better than sitting up and getting shot at.
“Let’s try this again,” Jake said, his voice now almost directly outside the window behind Simon. “You come out, and we don’t come in shooting.”
Simon’s eyes went wide, and he heard Tom gasp. Would they really?
“And risk shootin’ yer men? I don’t think so.”
Boomer grunted in agreement with his compatriot. Simon wanted to punch him in the jaw, but his knuckles still hurt from when he’d gotten Greta’s ex-fiancé in the jaw not more than an hour ago. Had it really only been that long?
Where was she now? Was she all right?
Thankfully, the shooting was confined to the train car at this point, which meant the windows hadn’t fared well but the people around the station would be safe. That’s what really mattered. He prayed that Greta was among those that had been ushered away.
“Hey,” a voice said from close by.
Simon jolted and looked around, his gun poised and ready.
“Down here.”
The sound was coming from beneath the seats. Praying that it wasn’t a trap, he bent down like he had when Tom threw the candy at him. There, to the right by the steps that led out to the platform, he could just make out a face.
“You Simon?” the man said.
He nodded, unsure he trusted his voice.
“I’m Deputy Matthew Puller. Pleased to meet you.” He nodded to Simon, and for the briefest of moments, Simon wanted to laugh. The young man sounded so...polite.
“You got a plan?” was all Simon could say in reply.
“Working on one. You’ve got a smart lady out here.”
His blood ran cold. Lady? Greta? “Send her away!” His voice was almost too loud. He couldn’t afford to attract attention to their exact location.
“Don’t worry, we did, but she filled us in on what was happening.” The young man disappeared from view for a moment then leaned back. “Looks like they’ve got you pinned down with two men on the opposite end. They have a man sighting down this way and another at his back facing the steps leading up. It’s a good position.” The young man almost sounded appreciative, but Simon knew he didn’t mean it like that.
“Give me a few minutes.” The young man offered a terse nod then leaned back again.
Simon wracked his brain for some ideas. He moved up, careful not to allow his head above the seat line. They were pinned down, and the only way this could end with the current dynamic was in a shootout. One that more would lose than win, he’d wager.
His neck was killing him, and he rolled it to the right then the left. Then, as he rolled it back, his eye caught on something.
He had an idea, but they’d need a distraction.
When Matthew stuck his head back into the train, Simon offered him a smile this time. “I hope one of you likes heights.”
Matthew’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded. “Whatever it takes to get the job done.”
Simon allowed a small smile. He liked this man already.
Chapter 12
Greta watched the scene unfolding from her distant vantage point. She stood in the shadows of the building directly to the west of the train station and wondered with deep-set anticipation if Simon would be all right.
Her mind filled in all of the worst-case scenarios where Simon was concerned, but she had to put a stop to those. She wanted him to be safe, more than anything, but she didn’t want it to be because she would be lost without him. She wanted it because no criminal should go free, especially none that planned to harm innocent people in the way desperate men usually did.
Licking her lips, she felt the tension between her shoulder blades and wondered if Simon’s life was always like this. He was a deputy for the U.S. Marshal Service, so it stood to reason that he would be in dangerous situations, but were they all as terrifying as this?
She clenched and unclenched her hands and watched as one of the marshals began to climb up the end of the train car nearest her. So they were going to use the roof to get at the men who had situated themselves down in the junction between the car Simon was in and the next. She’d seen the glinting sunlight off of one of their pistols and heard the shattering glass. She could only hope that no one was injured, but would it remain like that?
Greta bit her lip and smoothed her damp palms against her dress. She was going to pass out from nervousness before anything even happened.
But, as she said that, she noticed movement from the opposite end of the train car. Squinting against the bright light, she tried to see what—or who—it was.
As the shape moved further forward, she gasped. It was one of the men she’d pointed out to Simon—one who had been lurking in the crowd. With Simon in the train car though, there was no one to point him out to the new marshals on the scene.
Worry coursed through her and twisted her stomach into knots. She watched as the man came further down the line of train cars. With another audible gasp, she realized the marshal he was moving toward wouldn’t be able to see him from wh
ere he stood, angled against the hot metal of the car but with his back to the man.
The next instant Greta was moving toward the scene. Part of her shouted a warning that she should stay away, but the other part of her pushed her forward. She couldn’t stand by and watch as an innocent man was ambushed; it wasn’t right.
Sneaking around herself, she took up a position behind a few towering crates of goods. She was able to just peek out and see the marshal as well as the man coming up behind him. Then, taking in a deep breath and praying that God would protect them both, she shouted out toward the marshal.
“Behind you!”
For a moment, everything stilled, and she thought that he was going to ignore her, then in a rush of movement ,the marshal turned and pointed his gun at the man. He moved as if to draw a weapon, but the marshal fired.
Greta jumped and slipped back behind the crates. She didn’t want to see if the bullet hit its mark, but when she didn’t hear another shot she assumed it had.
Sickness flooded through her. This was terrible—the absolute worst way for her to end her trip to Dry Gulch. Then again, though a strange thought for this moment, she realized she’d rather be waiting on Simon than for Daniel to belittle her.
That settled her nerves a little. In His own way, the Lord had delivered her from one terrible thing, and while she was not exactly free from this situation, she believed He could continue to work things out.
A shout from the car brought her attention back to the train. “Give us Boomer, and we’ll let your marshals go free.” It was followed by a cackle.
“I think you’d like to know one of your men is out of this game.” This came from the marshal outside of the train car. He had his pistol held up, as if ready to fire again.
When Greta peered around the crate again, she avoided looking behind him, but he offered her a small nod of thanks before he attempted to send her away with the flick of his free hand.