“Will you take Pearlie with you?” Monte asked.
“Yes. He has the same commission from the governor that I have. Beside, Pearlie is a good man to have in a pinch.”
“What about Cal?”
“Don’t think for one minute that Cal wouldn’t give his eyeteeth to go. But I don’t think he’s quite up to it yet.”
“How is he coming along?” Monte asked. “I haven’t seen him since the day you brought him back into town, all shot up.”
“He’s doing very well; he’s on his feet and moving around. The truth is, if I gave it another couple of weeks, Cal would probably be ready to come with Pearlie and me. But I don’t think we have another couple of weeks. I think we need to go back right away, before Prescott is able to recruit any more men.”
“Who? Who is Prescott?”
“That’s Hannibal’s real name,” Smoke said. “He is Enid Prescott, and he comes by all his military talk honestly. He is a West Point graduate, and he was a captain when he got cashiered from the army.”
Smoke told them everything that Julia had told him, but without giving away where and how he had come by the information.
“Ha!” Louis Longmont said. “I was right then, wasn’t I? When I read his very first letter to the editor, I told you that he was a frustrated, would-be army officer. Only thing is, I was thinking he had probably applied for West Point or for a direct commission, but had been denied.”
“You were right, Louis,” Smoke said.
Louis picked up his wine glass and smiled at the others. “Never underestimate the intelligence of a Frenchman,” he said.
“You aren’t a Frenchman, Louis, you’re a Cajun,” Gillespie said with a jibe.
Louis put his hand across his heart. “Dans mon cœur, je suis Français, donc, mon ami, je suis Français,” he said.
“Now, how in the hell are we supposed to know what you just said?” Gillespie asked.
“In my heart, I am French. So my friend, I am French,” Louis translated.
Ten Strike
Hannibal was reading an article in the Sorento Sun Times that had caught his interest. The article told of a shipment of one hundred thousand dollars, by train from Kansas City to a bank in Denver. It would be, the article said, the largest amount of money to be shipped by railroad in over a year.
“Yes!” Hannibal said aloud. He circled the article, then tore the page out of the paper and put it in his pocket.
If he would reduce the number of men sharing in the take to ten and he took three shares, he would come away with thirty thousand dollars. And with thirty thousand dollars he could return to Virginia as a wealthy man. It was very unlikely that anyone there would be aware of the shame of his dishonorable discharge, and nobody back there would have any idea of his time as an outlaw.
He would have enough money to buy a tobacco farm and maybe marry a society woman, just to spite the woman he was married to now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ten Strike
Hannibal had spread a map out on the table and called Rexwell over to show him what he had planned for the next mission.
“Here, between Byers and Bennett,” he said, pointing to the map. “The train must cross Kiowa Creek, and this is where we will hit it.”
“We’ve never robbed a train before,” Rexwell said.
“We’ve never had a take of one hundred thousand dollars before, either,” Hannibal replied.
“Did you say one hundred thousand dollars?” Rexwell asked with a gasp. “That is a hell of a lot of money!”
“Yes. It is enough that when we divide the money up after this take, I intend to disband the gang. All ten of us can go our own way with enough money to last for nearly a lifetime.”
“Ten? There are sixteen of our men left.”
“I plan to use only eight men. That will be ten, counting you and me. Ten men will be more than enough to do the job.”
“What about the others?”
“We will select the eight that we want to use,” Hannibal said. “But we will tell them they must not share that information with anyone else. Then, I will say that I’m breaking up the gang and everyone must go out now to be on their own. One week later, we will meet in Bennett. I will give further instructions then.”
After Hannibal and Rexwell discussed the merits and shortcomings of every remaining man in the Ghost Riders, they chose the eight men they would use: Bart Jennings, Emerson Case, Cole Simpson, Fred Martin, Marv Michaels, Josh Adderley, Walt Breslin, and Gus Kimball. They were called in one at a time, Jennings being the first.
“Jennings,” Hannibal said. “I am putting together an elite cadre, and I am limiting it to only eight men. The eight men I am choosing have been selected for their courage, loyalty, and skills. You are one of the men I have chosen . . . that is, if you agree to become a member of the cadre.”
“Well, yeah,” Jennings said.
“Do not tell anyone else about this conversation.”
“All right.”
“I am going to team you up with Mo Edwards.”
“Uh, Hannibal, I know you are the commander and all, but could you team me up with someone else? Edwards is one of the most worthless sons of bitches I’ve ever run across.”
Hannibal smiled. “That is exactly why I’m teaming you up with him. I will be teaming each of the elite eight men up with one who wasn’t selected. After I dismiss everyone, you and Edwards, and the other men and their counterparts, will ride away in teams of two. Once you are alone, you will kill Edwards, then come back here for further instructions.”
“All right,” Jennings said.
“When I dismiss you, I will be giving each of you one hundred dollars apiece,” Hannibal said. “After you kill Edwards, the one hundred dollars I gave him will be yours.”
“You won’t have any trouble killing Edwards, will you?” Rexwell asked.
“Hell no,” Jennings replied with a little laugh. “And the one hundred dollars is just a bonus. I never have liked the son of a bitch anyway.”
After Jennings left, Hannibal and Rexwell met with the other seven they had selected and gave them the same instructions. Then Hannibal called everyone together.
“Men, I want to thank each and every one of you for all that you have done. But our losses have been too heavy in the last few weeks, and we failed in our last mission. I fear that we no longer have enough men remaining to carry out the type of operations that we have been conducting.
“One of the best things about operating as we have, is that none of you are known by the law. The only reward posters out are for the Ghost Riders, as a body, and for me, as an individual. And I am known only as Hannibal, which I am sure most of you have gathered by now is not my real name.
“As soon as I dismiss you, I will give each of you one hundred dollars, at which time you are free to go. You need have no fear about going into any town in the entire state. One of the things I am most proud of is how I have managed to protect your identity. As you leave here, I want you to leave in pairs, at least until you are certain that nobody is following you.
“Goodbye, men, and good luck.”
For a moment the men stood in place, as if not quite understanding that they had just been dismissed. Then, the eight men that Hannibal and Rexwell had selected, paired up . . . each of them picking the man who had been assigned to them.
“Come on, Edwards. Let’s go somewhere and get us a bottle and a woman,” Jennings said.
“What are you teamin’ up with me for?” Edwards asked. “I always had the idea you didn’t like me.”
“Hell, with a bottle and a woman, what’s there not to like?” Jennings replied?
Hannibal and Rexwell watched as the men rode off; then they went back into Hannibal’s quarters. There, Hannibal took out a bottle of whiskey and poured two glasses.
“A frequently used army toast is ‘to absent comrades. ’ In this case, to absent comrades takes on a whole new meaning,” he said with a smile, as h
e held the glass out toward Rexwell.
“To absent comrades,” Rexwell replied.
One week later, Hannibal, Rexwell, and the eight men he had kept with him were waiting at a railroad trestle on Kiowa Creek.
“The dynamite is planted,” Jennings and Case said.
“We have to time it just perfectly,” Hannibal said. “If we blow it too soon, the engineer might see it in time to stop. It is imperative that the engine be derailed.”
It was nearly midnight, and there was only a sliver of a moon. From where they were all waiting, they could barely see the trestle.
In the distance, they heard a train whistle.
“Get ready,” Hannibal said. “Once it is derailed, shoot anyone who comes out of the train.”
By now they could hear the loud puffs of steam, and as the train came around a curve, about half a mile away, they could see the beam of light cast forward from the mirrored reflector of the gas head lamp.
“Wait,” Hannibal said as the train drew closer.
Rexwell was holding a match at the ready.
“Now!” Hannibal said.
Rexwell lit the fuse, and it gave off a line of sparks as it quickly worked its way to the trestle.
There was an earth-shaking boom and a brilliant flash of light as the dynamite exploded. The engine plunged over the gap left by the dynamited trestle, then went nose down into the creek, which was about fifteen feet below.
The steam boiler burst with another loud explosion, and a huge cloud of white steam gushed up from the engine.
The coal tender and the express car also plunged down the embankment, and the express car turned over onto its side, with the door down.
“Damn!” Rexwell said. “How the hell are we going to get into the express car now?”
“What do we do, Hannibal?” Jennings asked.
“The only thing we can do now,” Hannibal said. “We’ll rob the passengers. I want two men in each of the cars; one will go in the front, the other in the back. Let’s move quickly while they are still disoriented from the crash.”
The ten men moved onto the cars, some of which were derailed, but all of which were upright. Because it was the middle of the night, the first three of the five cars were made into sleeper berths, and the sleeping occupants had been thrown from their berths. There were several injuries as a result.
Hannibal and Case boarded the first car, Hannibal from the front and Case from the back. As soon as they stepped into the car, they could hear the moaning of the injured. Hannibal fired into the roof.
“I’m going to be coming through the car asking for all your money,” he said. “And I will kill anyone who doesn’t comply.”
It was dark in the car, the gimbal lanterns having been extinguished in the wreck. The darkness worked to Hannibal’s advantage because no one could see him until he was right on them. All of the passengers were too disoriented to resist, and he and Case, who was on the car with him, collected from everyone.
The two train robbers in the last car were less fortunate. That was a day car, it had not left the track, and the lanterns had not been extinguished.
“Ghost Riders!” someone shouted, seeing the red armbands.
“This is a holdup!” Marv Michaels shouted. “Have your money out as we come—”
That was as far as he got before being shot by three of the passengers, who had figured out what was going on and armed themselves. They also shot Josh Adderly, the robber who had come in through the rear door of the car.
Ten minutes later, Hannibal, now outside and mounted, fired three shots into the air, the agreed upon signal to recover. Only six more men returned.
“Where are Michaels and Adderly?” Rexwell asked.
“I think they was both shot,” Kimball said.
“Move out!” Hannibal ordered.
From the Big Rock Journal:
GHOST RIDERS ROB TRAIN IN ARAPAHOE COUNTY
Lacking fifteen minutes of midnight on Tuesday last, a band of outlaws, believed to be the Ghost Riders, dynamited a trestle across Kiowa Creek. The resultant explosion wrecked the train, killing the engineer, fireman, and express messenger. The express car turned over, door-side down, so that the robbers were unable to access the safe, which contained a shipment of one hundred thousand dollars going from Kansas City to a bank in Denver.
The only option left for making their perfidious deed profitable was to move through the cars, robbing the passengers. This they did, shooting six of the passengers in the process, five of whom died. It is believed that their take was quite small. They also lost two of their number, the outlaws killed by armed passengers.
Sugarloaf
“Why can’t I go with you?” Cal asked.
“Cal, you’re a good man, and if you were fully recovered, I wouldn’t think of going without you,” Smoke replied. “But to be honest, if you went with us now, you would be more of a hindrance than a help. There would come a time when either Pearlie or I would have to cover for you. And that could put all of us in danger.”
Cal was quiet for moment before he responded.
“You’re right.”
“Smoke do you have any idea where this Hannibal is?” Sally asked.
“No,” Smoke said.
“Julia has something she would like to propose to you.”
“I know Enid,” Julia said. “I imagine I know him better than anyone. He is a very self-centered person, as I am sure you have gathered from the letters he has written to the newspapers. He likes to be in control, and when something happens that he can’t control, he gets very upset.”
“So, what do you have in mind?” Smoke asked.
“I want to write a letter to the newspapers. I think if I expose him, it will make him angry enough to do something very dumb, perhaps even dumb enough to get him caught.”
Smoke smiled.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, do that.”
LETTER TO THE EDITOR
Dear Editor:
My name is Julia Prescott. I am married to the man who calls himself Hannibal and who is the head of the band of murderers known as the Ghost Riders.
Hannibal’s real name is Enid Prescott, formerly Captain Prescott of the U.S. Army, Second Dragoons, Fort Laramie. It is to my shame that my husband was reduced to the rank of private, then dishonorably discharged from the army for stealing army rifles and selling them on the civilian market.
Ironically, Enid is a West Point graduate, a fine school with the motto of “Duty, Honor, Country.” Enid Prescott failed to do his duty; he was, and continues to be, a dishonorable man, and he is at war with his country.
I know that this disreputable man reads the newspapers and especially the letters to the editors, as he has penned so many of them himself. Therefore I am using this letter as a means of communicating directly with him.
Enid, if there is one iota remaining of the West Point cadet who was so full of promise and idealism, the cadet with whom I fell in love, please stop the killing. It is not too late for you to recover some of the honor you once had.
With hope that you will do the right thing,
I remain,
Your wife, Julia Prescott.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Seven hundred and two dollars? That’s it? That’s all we got? What happened to the one hundred thousand we were supposed to get?” Kimball asked.
“You saw what happened,” Rexwell said. “How were we supposed to get into the car?”
“I won’t take my full share,” Hannibal said. “We will divide this money equally, and with Michaels and Adderly both dead, that gives us almost eighty-eight dollars apiece. But don’t worry, I will come up with another plan for us. One that will be most profitable.”
Hannibal relaxed his rules slightly and allowed the remaining six men, of the eight he had chosen, to go into town. That left only him and Rexwell at the mine.
“Do you have any ideas?” Rexwell asked.
“Nothing at the moment. But I will come up
with something.”
“Uh, Captain Prescott?” Rexwell said.
Hannibal looked up quickly. “What did you just call me?”
“I called you Captain Prescott,” Rexwell said. “Is that your name, sir?”
Prescott closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thank you for not sharing that information with any of the others. How long have you known?”
“I didn’t find out until this morning,” Rexwell said.
“This morning? How did you find out this morning?”
“It’s in the paper,” Rexwell said. He walked over to the table and picked up the Sorento Sun Times. It had been there for some time, but Prescott had not yet gotten around to reading it.
Prescott read the letter to the editor, then slapped the paper down hard. He knew for a fact that news of the Ghost Riders had appeared in newspapers all over the country. Like Jesse James, Billy the Kid, and other famous outlaws, Hannibal had become a national celebrity. He didn’t mind the celebrity as long as nobody knew his real identity, but because of his notoriety, this letter would appear in newspapers all over America, including Virginia.
That meant that any plans he might have ever had about retiring in anonymity in Virginia were no longer possible.
“That bitch!” he said. “I should have killed her when I had the chance. I have no idea where she is now, or I would still do it.”
“I know where she is,” Rexwell said. “She is in Big Rock.”
“What? How do you know that?”
Rexwell pointed to a line above the letter.
From the Big Rock Journal.
“I’ll be damned,” Prescott said. Looking up, he smiled. “We’re going to Big Rock.”
Site of the train wreck
Smoke and Pearlie were there as a steam-powered crane worked to clear away the engine, tender, and express car. A large hole had already been cut in the upward-facing side of the overturned express car, and it was then that the rescuers learned that the express messenger had been killed in the crash. The money was still there though, and it was removed and taken to Denver, its original destination.
Bloodshed of the Mountain Man Page 24