“Rollie, I need you to stay calm. We can't get mixed up in a straight up firefight.” Claude said. “I need you to be ready with that Henry when this jumps off.” He pointed to the rifle on Rollie's saddle.
“No worries, boss.”
Claude put his hand on Rollie's shoulder, looked him in the eye and gave him a reassuring smile and nod. “Good man.”
“Besides, with your talents, ain't nobody on that train can stop us.”
Claude's smile faded slightly, but he gave another nod, patted his shoulder with one stiff slap and walked away. Rollie certainly wasn't the brightest one of the bunch, but even he could read Claude's reaction clear as day.
“Is it that other fella?” He asked Claude. “The one they say has been bringin' in all the tough bounties?”
Claude looked back over his shoulder, but remained silent. Rollie continued his interrogation.
“They say that he can walk on the air. That he don't need a horse to get where he's goin'. He's just there when you show up. Like a ghost, or spirit.”
“I wouldn't worry about him.” Claude's voice lost a little of its edge, but it was hardly noticeable.
“They say he's got a mean stare that'll make a man drop his gun out of fear alone. That's some serious eyeball.” Rollie was pretty much talking to himself at this point. “He's big mean bear of a man with the strength to match.”
“Enough.” Sean called out from the horses. “That's crazy talk from cowards too scared to put up a fight. They'll say anything to save face. There's no man out there like that.”
“What about Claude? He ain't exactly like no other man we met before.”
Sean's cold stare shut Rollie up. “Don't work yourself up over some whiskey-soaked stories. We've got work to do.”
* * *
The train was right on time. You had to admire the rail companies. They made their money off of being reliable, but today that's how Claude and his gang planned to make it as well.
“We have about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes before this whole plan kicks into action.” He said. “Is everyone clear on their part in this show?”
Sean grunted his approval, and Rollie was grinning ear to ear, rocking in his saddle. Claude took that as an affirmative.
Claude scrawled out a makeshift map in the dirt, indicating the path of the train, and their intended route.
“Remember, don't push your horses too hard. We've got a good downhill start, and as long as we keep a steady pace, we'll meet up with the band wagon right here. Chances are, someone will spot us, so we need to move quickly to take care of the guns watching over the payroll.
“Rollie, I need you to move forward and take the engineers. No need to shoot them, just make them stop the train. Sean and I will handle anyone foolish enough to skin their pistols.”
The pillar of smoke grew, as the train powered along the rail. As it neared the bend, it let out a long loud howl from its whistle. Steam hissed as the iron beast slowed on its approach, allowing it to comfortably manage the curve.
This was it. Claude raised his hat, ready to signal the ride. Once the train reached his designated starting point, he whipped his hat down, spurred his mustang, and the three bandits rode into action.
* * *
Miles had all the information he needed from the sheriff. He learned about Claude and his two henchmen, as well as the location of the stagecoach that was robbed. He even made note of the odd eyewitness account of the driver, claiming Claude rose from the dead after taking both barrels from his partner's coach gun.
Before heading out, Miles paid for a bed to get some sleep until the sun went down. His plan was to search the area near the stagecoach, figuring it was easier to spot a campfire in the dark, than three dusty figures in daylight against the desert landscape. He figured right.
Miles floated in the air, high enough to spot the flickering fire and three figures hunched around it. It took a bit of doing, but his hunch paid off. His feet touched down lightly, to avoid spooking his mount. He clicked his tongue twice to get the horse's attention, and draped his duster across the saddle. Miles wanted to get close enough to the group to verify that these were the men he was looking for. The duster was just too bulky to allow him to move smoothly through the brush.
The chill in the air kept him alert, as he made his way to the glow in the distance. With slow deliberate placement of his limbs and body, Miles took a prone position on top of a sandstone outcrop, giving him an unobstructed view. He relaxed, focusing all of his attention to his vision. The chirp of the crickets, and rustling of the nearby brush faded away, as the three figures in the dancing light sharpened into focus. He looked right into the face of the man he had crossed the country to find. Claude Curly Wolf Batten.
The best plan was to wait for them to catch some shut eye, and take the group down. Miles figured they would post a lookout. His gut told him it would be best to wait for the twitchy fellow, Rollie Greb, to take his turn before moving in.
The trio seemed excited about the day's adventure. Odd, considering their take was some camping and mining supplies. Nothing to celebrate, really. Then Miles noticed that Claude seemed agitated about the piles of blankets, kicking one of them off to the side. Reading their body language and actions, Miles figured that they were discussing something other than the morning robbery.
He watched as they put another pot of coffee on the fire, and gathered around to talk some more. Something was going down, and it looked like they didn't have any intention of sleeping tonight. Worse case scenario. Miles weighed his options, wondering if he could take them down while they were distracted. His body could handle it, but his mind was foggy with fatigue. Flying around for hours, plus focusing his senses the way he did took its toll. With only the quick afternoon nap to recharge, he wouldn't be able to pull it off.
Miles made his way back to his horse, and figured his best chance was to get some more sleep while Claude and crew wore themselves down. Perhaps he could catch up with them at dawn. His vision blurred from the evening's patrol as he hastily threw down his bedroll. Every muscle in his body melted as he sunk into a deep sleep.
* * *
Slowly Miles' awareness crept back, as the muzzle of his horse continuously prodded at his face and neck. Brushing the horse's face away, Miles sat up, trying to clear the fog from his head. His body was stiff, and several joints popped as he stretched and rose to his feet.
The sun was already up a couple of hands high. Miles realized that he may have missed his chance to strike. Wasting no time, he pushed off of the ground, taking flight straight up, looking in the direction of Claude's camp. The fire was already put out, the coals kicked and scattered. There was no sign of anybody nearby.
Miles dropped to the ground, hitting harder than he intended. He grabbed hold of his horse's reigns, calming him down. He left his bedroll and other supplies strewn about his sloppy camp, and leapt up onto the saddle, spurring his steed forward. He needed to get to the abandoned campsite, and find where the three bandits had gone.
There were tracks all over the site. The men were busy that previous evening. Miles saw an area that seemed to have really been kicked, brushed and scattered around. They must have been drawing out plans in the dirt. It was futile to try and decipher the plot from the swirls of dust and rocks. The only thing that Miles could see was a possible direction that the three had headed out. He was not an expert tracker, but seeing the hoof prints heading south gave him a direction to start.
After a few hours, the heat was rising, but Miles needed to keep moving quickly. He left his horse by a small creek for water, and took to the skies. He put his back to the sun, hoping to prevent anyone from spotting his form with a casual glance to the skies. He had to focus on his vision to scan the area, and he needed to have as clear a view as possible.
He spotted three figures, crouched near their mounts. Two of them men watched as the third scratched out something in the dirt.
“What are you up to, Claude?” Mi
les said.
He looked around for any roads or trails that they would be using to stage another ambush. That's when he spotted the rails south of their position, with a train approaching from the east. A three-man train robbery? Was Claude really as powerful and dangerous as the stories claimed. This was a bold move, that not even Miles would have thought them crazy enough to try. The men stood back up and mounted their horses as the train neared. Miles saw that his poor quarter horse was too far to make the distance in time. The Winchester 44-40 was still in his saddle. If he was underestimating Claude's power level, it would be foolish to leave it behind.
As Miles bolted back to the creek where he left his horse, he saw Claude give the signal to begin their charge. Gritting his teeth and pushing harder, Miles hit the ground with a jarring thud, releasing a cloud of dust. He ran to his horse, grabbed the carbine and leapt back into the air.
* * *
The drumming of the hooves was barely audible over the surging rush of the approaching train. The three men spurred their mounts forward. Their hats were pulled low, and they had bandanas covering their mouths and noses to protect from the dust being kicked up. Claude signaled to the others that he was going to make his approach. His horse's gait stretched as he gained speed. Claude reached his hand out and grabbed onto a side rail between two cars in the middle of the train. He leapt off of the saddle and planted his feet onto a secure platform. He looked back to the others, grinning under his bandana.
The sleeve of his coat puffed out, pushing Claude off balance, forcing him to grab onto the rail with his other hand. The sharp crack followed a split-second later. The stunned gang leader struggled to determine what had just happened, as he did his best to get his feet back under him. Rollie and Sean were caught off guard by the sudden gunshot that rang out, and looked up to see a man standing on top of the train. Rollie drove his horse forward to help Claude, as Sean drew one of his pistols and put a shot clean into the stomach of the mysterious figure. The man dropped to his knees as the cloud of dust and ripple of his coat showed that the shot found its mark.
Claude realized that his plan was falling apart, so he jumped onto the back of Rollie's horse as the two slowed to meet up with Sean.
“What happened?” Claude asked, pulling his bandana down.
“Some crazy lawman must have seen us coming.” Rollie said.
“He was standing on top of the train.” Sean said, as he calmly tucked the bandana under his chin. “I put a hole in his stomach, so he'll have a story to tell for a short while.”
“Only one man?” Claude asked.
“S'all we saw up there, boss.” Rollie answered. “He ain't up there no more.”
“We just stirred up a hornets' nest. We gotta get moving, boys.” Claude whistled to call his horse as the train continued to slow.
* * *
Miles lay in the dirt looking up at the clear blue sky. The shot struck him right in the gut. He stood and brushed himself off, examining the hole in his abdomen. The bottom three buttons popped off as he pulled his shirt open. He had never taken a shot that clean before. Usually the bullet would strike bone or a larger muscle group and just leave a bit of a scrape.
He pulled a small knife hidden in his boot and dug the lead ball out. It had gone in almost fully to the first knuckle on his fore finger. He would definitely have to keep an eye on this Wickwire fellow.
The train creaked and hissed as it came to a full stop. The caboose passed Miles, giving him a clear view of the three men looked on in stunned silence.
Miles addressed the men, and glanced down, brushing the trickle of blood from his exposed stomach. “That was some shot, my friend. Looks like you've earned the 'wheel gun' moniker.”
Rollie shot a panicked look at Claude, as he jumped into the saddle. Sean held the reign of his horse in one hand, as the other hung by his hip, loose and ready for action. Claude glanced toward the front of the train and then back at Miles. He let out a sharp whistle, and pulled the reigns to point his mount in the opposite direction. The three men fled the seen, full gallop.
Miles tucked his shirt back in as best as he could. He put his knife away, picked up his Winchester and crouched slightly. Eyes skyward, he pushed off the ground and felt the rush of the wind as he gained altitude.
There weren't many places they could go, but he had to figure since things had gone so bad, they would probably make their way back to the previous camp. He went back for his horse, and decided to meet them there.
* * *
Claude pushed his mustang as hard as he could before its stride started to falter. He felt that they had put enough distance between them and the mystery bounty hunter Rollie seemed spooked about last night.
“Let's stop here.” Claude said.
They dismounted and tied the horses up near the small creek they had passed on the way to the train.
“Was that him?” Rollie asked, more shaken than normal.
“Who?” Sean asked.
“The bounty hunter. The one that could even give Claude some trouble.”
“Hobble yer lip.” Claude said. “We don't need your yellow streak making a bigger deal out of all this.”
“Sean shot him clean in the gut. He weren't no worse fer wear than when you take a shot like that.” Rollie shot back.
Before Claude could answer with the back of his hand, Sean spoke up. “Boss, look at this.” he was pointing to an area nearby with a small dugout crater that looked like something hit pretty hard. “Looks like someone settled here, and walked to the creek.
They followed the trail to the small waterway. Claude crouched down, examining what looked like boot and hoof prints. His heart jumped and began pounding like crazy. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise.
“Well that makes things easier for me.” A voice chimed in, and all three men whirled around.
Miles stood with a smirk on his face as he tied his horse back up to a nearby tree. He had just reached the area and was about to head toward the gang's old campsite when he heard the approaching horses.
“Claude Batten, I'm here for you.” Miles held the wanted poster up. “I've got a choice between dead or alive, but let me just say, I'm going to go with the easier of the two. I suppose that's your choice to make.”
Rollie moved up placing himself between Claude and Miles.
“Look, son, there ain't no bounty on you two that I know of. I don't mind leavin' ya here full of holes, since I won't be missing out on a reward.” Miles pointed at Rollie and Sean with the same hand holding the poster.
Sean circled out to the right as Rollie approached with his Henry repeater in hand. Claude took a few steps back, keeping his man in the middle. A cowardly act. Miles drew his pistol, a beat up .38 rimfire. It wasn't anything special, but he figured he would play the part of bounty hunter still. He kept the gun pointed in Sean's direction, but he focused on Claude in the back.
Sean, Rollie and Miles stood their ground at three points of a triangle. Claude was an outsider watching it all play out. He moved toward his horse to get the double barrel shotgun still tucked into the holster on his saddle.
Miles did his best to roll the poster back up with one hand, crumpling it in the process. He tucked it back into his belt and flipped his wide brimmed hat back, letting it hang behind him by the straps. “What's next, boys.” he asked.
Sean pulled both of his revolvers out with one smooth practiced draw. Miles did his best to pull the hammer back, but a quick shot from one of the Navy revolvers caught him right in the center of his hand, sending the gun twirling to the ground.
“Son of a –”
Miles' exclamation was cut short by a blast from the Rollie's rifle. The bounty hunter staggered back clutching his chest, as Rollie worked the lever and put his next shot right above the left eye of the unofficial lawman, dropping him to the ground. The two gun fighters approached cautiously. After all the stories they heard about this man, and knowing what Claude was capable of, they didn't want to
take any chances.
Sean kicked the revolver into the brush and moved over to the horse tied to the tree. Rollie kept his rifle trained on the man laying on his back. Had this happened before he met Claude, it may have shocked Rollie to see that the man was still alive. Miles rubbed his head where the bullet struck, with the hand that Sean put a lead ball through. Or at least it would have gone through the hand of a normal man. The only evidence of the shot was what looked like a small scoop taken out. More of a cut than a hole. Claude, still unsure of this new foe, approached cautiously.
Miles sat back up slowly, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. “So that's your answer, huh?” he trained his eyes on the lever of the repeater. A few short seconds later, Rollie yelped in pain, and tossed his rifle aside. The trigger and lever had a faint cherry red glow, as wisps of smoke rose from the weapon.
The sound drew Sean's attention as he brought his guns back up. Miles sprang to his feet with unnatural ease, as if he were pulled up by marionette strings. He grasped Rollie by the neck and pulled him close, using him as a shield between the other two bandits.
“Listen fellas, I'm still open to the option of your surrender.” Miles said.
Claude's shotgun barked his reply as the buckshot caught Rollie in the ribs. As his body slackened, Miles pulled the pistol from the bandit's hip, and tossed him at Claude.
Sean's dual revolver's cracked repeatedly as Miles answered back, fanning the hammer and putting six bullets in the expert shooter's torso. Several rounds from Sean's pistols found their mark square in Miles' chest, but he shrugged off the pain during the exchange.
He caught some movement out of the corner of his eye as Claude tossed Rollie's body to the ground and unloaded the second barrel. Miles half slid and half flew to the side, reaching his horse. He pulled the Winchester carbine as Claude broke his shotgun open to reload it.
As the shotgun snapped shut, Miles acted faster. Cranking the lever of his carbine, he fired round after round, punching holes into Claude's body with .44 caliber bullets. The gang leader fell to the ground, gasping for breath, with a steady stream of blood tracing a path down both cheeks to the ground. Miles stepped on the man's shotgun, pinning his hand underneath as he took his time reloading the Winchester.
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