TWICE THE FIGHTIN' AND TWICE THE LOVIN' IN A GIANT SPECIAL EDITION!
SHOOT FIRST, TALK LATER
"One more shot and you're a dead man," Spur barked.
The runner stopped suddenly, turned and pulled the trigger. His weapon didn't fire. He pulled the trigger five more times as Spur walked up to him, his Colt trained on the man's chest.
"Enough," Spur said. "Drop it and keep your hands in sight."
The gunner wilted, let the six-gun fall to the grass and shook his head. "Didn't seem so tough when he told me about the job."
"Killing a man is always harder than it looks, especially for a rotten shot like you. Who hired you?"
"You know I won't tell you that."
"How would I know something dumb like that? You look halfway smart. I might just as well shoot you right here and let the buzzards have their afternoon meal."
The man's eyes grew wide. His hands jiggled around at the end of his arms. He stared hard at Spur. "You wouldn't just kill me in cold blood."
"Tell me now or I'm going to start shooting."
Other Spur Giants from Dirk Fletcher:
WILDERNESS WANTON
KLONDIKE CUTIE
HIGH PLAINS PRINCESS
DENVER DARLIN'
MINT-PERFECT MADAM
TALL TIMBER TROLLOP
PHOENIX FILLY
SOILED DOVE
SOILED DOVE DIRK FLETCHER
This title was previously published by Dorchester Publishing; this version has been reproduced from the Dorchester book archive files.
The big Topeka and Santa Fe engine with a string of 30 freight cars behind it rolled through the northern Arkansas green hills and shallow valleys. The workhorse engine poured its power onto the rails through its eight, red-painted drive wheels.
From his position in the locked express car, Clancy Steffens wasn't exactly sure where the train was. It was against regulations to open either the vestibule doors at the ends or the side loading door, but he moved deliberately to the side opening. Clancy unlocked it and edged it along the tracks two-inches. He stared through the slot until he was sure he knew exactly how far the train was from Fort Smith, then closed the door, locked it and returned to his chair in front of the small desk where he finished the paper work for the run from Fayetteville to Fort Smith.
He checked his watch, then took out the two sacks of registered mail from the locked steel storage bin and left them on the floor. He twirled the knob on the Railway Express safe, unlocking it. He pulled the heavy door open to check and pushed it back making sure he didn't lock it.
He looked at his watch again and trembled. He was average sized, about 35, with fading brown hair and a widow's peak. Clancy squinted slightly but was damned if he'd get spectacles. He wore the required white shirt and tie. His jacket hung on its usual hook. He set his jaw, took one more look at the locked sliding side loading door and then hurried to the far end of the express car putting a high stack of mail sacks and merchandise between him and the side door.
He sat on the floor with his back to the rest of the car behind a solid shield of wooden crates. He had done too much planning to get killed at this late date. He waited.
Outside the train on a wooded ridge, three men also waited near the steepest uphill grade on the run south of Fayetteville.
"She's a comin"' one of the men said. He was the shortest of the three with pale eyes that sparkled and a mask over the bottom of his face. "By damn, this is my fifth train job, but I still want to piss my pants ever' time. So damn exciting I want to hold me up a train ever' day."
The older man, Russ Dolan, was tall and slender with a slouch hat and red suspenders. He snorted through his kerchief mask. "You wait till we through with this one, Sully. Then you can piss your pants all you want. Now get down to your spot and pull the damn string when I give the signal."
Sully ran 30 yards along the side of the ridge and picked up a piece of sturdy cord letting it hang slack in his hand. In front of him, seven loaded rifles had been staked securely to the ground, aimed at the tracks and the triggers cocked ready to fire.
A string ran from each of the triggers through screw eyes in the stakes in a way that a pull on the one long string held in Sully's hand would trigger the seven rifles at the same time firing them all.
They had tested the set up an hour ago and it worked perfectly. Now the rifles were reloaded, cocked and aimed.
Sully tensed as he heard the engine coming closer. It probably would be a big freight engine, maybe a Matthias Baldwin built 0-8-0, for this tough uphill grade. It came pounding along the hill, dragging a long string of cars behind it. In another two or three minutes he should be able to see it.
Sully glanced at the other two men. They were spaced down from him and each held a string in his hand that would trip the hammers on his own line of seven rifles staked to the ground in front of him. Twenty-one rifles would fire almost at the same time at the railroad train.
Now he saw Russ, the middle man of the three, put down his string. The plan was to first get the attention of the railroad crew. Russ picked up a Spencer repeating rifle and waited. When the train was 300 yards down the tracks from them, he'd start firing his hand held weapon.
Sully grinned and felt a little wetness in his pants. He struggled with all his might and strained to hold it in. Damn, but this was a wild, wild time for him. This was the big one, a huge payday for all three. After today, he'd take his share and go to Kansas City and live it up with all the forty rod he could drink. He'd have two or three naked girls at a time in his fancy hotel bedroom. Yeah.
He looked north. There she was! He could hear the laboring engine, see the steam and the cinders spewing with the thick black smoke from the stack. The big engine charged around a small bend on the upgrade. Russ said that point was 400 yards down the track. From their position they were only 100 yards to the rails. Fish in a barrel. Sully held his breath as Russ aimed the Spencer at the moving train. He'd try for the engine and then the passenger car windows. Only one passenger car on this mixed lashup.
Russ aimed the Spencer and squeezed off the first shot. The jolting sound of the rifle fire lanced into the soft green stillness of the Arkansas hills. Quickly, he levered another round in and fired. He sent eight rounds into the engine and the passenger car. By that time the laboring Baldwin had the string of cars almost across from them. Russ lifted his left hand, picked up his heavy cord and swung down his left arm.
Sully pulled the cord exactly the way he had the first time. His eyes glowed as all seven rifles in his line fired. The rifles were close enough to the small line of brush on the little ridge so the white smoke from the black powder in the cartridges would be easy to see from the train. His rounds hit the end of the passenger car and three empty cattle cars.
He only half heard the other rifles going off down the line. His were first. Then the others blasted just the way they had planned it. Knute Safire, the third man in their group, dropped his cord, leaped on board his bay mare and spurred hard for the train.
Sully grabbed his own Spencer then and popped rounds at the crawling train a few seconds apart to give a longer firing pattern. Russ pushed a new tube of rounds into his Spencer and alternated shots with Sully to drag out the attack.
Knute spurred his mount across the 100 yards to the train. As soon as Knute got to the train, the two on the ridge stopped firing. Knute raced along the right of way until he could swing up on the slow moving Railway Express car. He had a packsack on his back and climbed to the top of the express car.
He stood for a moment, swaying with the motion of the train. He dropped to his knees once, regained his balance and moved cautiously along the rocking train to the middle of the car. There he
bellied down and took a bundle of dynamite from the packsack.
He had tied a string to it and now let the bomb down on the string over the side of the express car until the dynamite hung directly over the latch on the sliding side door. He tied off the string keeping the bomb in place. Then he pulled up the bomb, inserted a prepared fuse and blasting cap and lit the two-foot long fuse. He gently lowered the bomb back to its position against the sliding door.
He watched a moment. The six sticks of powder remained in place and the fuse burned fiercely. It had a two-foot-long fuse that burned a foot a minute. That allowed Knute time to get back out of the way of the blast and lie down on top of the car.
Right on time, the explosion blasted into the quietness of the Arkansas countryside and blew the express car door inward. The sound of the explosion echoed in Knute's ears as he walked carefully along the top of the car, laid down in the smoke coming from the blast, and then swung down into the railway express car.
The inside of the car was filled with lung searing smoke. Knute waved it aside and saw most of the smoke pulled out of the car through the half open sliding door.
As soon as the two men on the ridge stopped firing at the train, they mounted their horses and rode hard for the struggling train. By this time it was at the steepest part of the uphill grade crawling along at no more than ten miles an hour. They hung back until the bomb went off, then rode up beside the slowly moving train.
Inside the express car, Knute fanned away the acrid smelling smoke and fumes from the dynamite blast and found the safe. He had to make this part look like a real robbery. He taped two sticks of dynamite from the packsack to the safe dial and lit the foot-long fuse. Then he ran to the end of the car and sat down across from Clancy.
They eyed each other a minute, then Knute motioned. Clancy leaned forward and Knute slammed his big fist into Clancy's eye knocking him against the wooden boxes, scraping his cheek and bringing up a gout of blood.
"Sorry, Clancy, but you know this has to look good."
When the two sticks blasted, Knute had his hands over his ears. The sound in the closed car was like a dozen strikes of lightning on an outhouse with you inside.
Knute shook his head to clear it, then stood and ran for the safe. A moment later the two riders from the ridge came alongside the half open sliding door, with Russ leading Knute's horse.
Knute tossed the two registered mail sacks to Sully who took them, turned and rode away to the north. Knute used a leather glove and pulled open the hot, blackened handle of the safe door and grabbed the two small boxes marked with green tape. They were five inches tall and just the size of a $20 Federal banknote. Nothing else of value was in the safe.
He pushed the boxes of money inside his backpack and ran to the side door. Russ handed him his horse's reins and he stepped down to the walking horse's saddle, and dropped on board. They rode to the rear of the passenger car. There they swung from horses to the steps and pushed open the door into the parlor car with their six-guns held high in warning.
"Nobody move and nobody gets shot," Knute barked.
He saw the person he wanted halfway down the aisle. As Russ covered the angry conductor and worried passengers, Knute caught the arm of a blonde girl sitting on the aisle.
"Miss, you got to come with us. There's someone who wants to see you."
The girl screamed. "No, no. I won't go with you. Leave me alone."
Knute laughed, pulled the blonde girl from the seat, tossed her over his shoulder and ran with her up the aisle. The girl wailed and cried and bellowed at him, but Knute kept going.
Russ sent one .45 round into the wooden trim at the top of the car and everyone ducked.
The girl wailed again. "I won't go with you. Put me down. Put me down this instant!"
The two men ignored the girl and stepped into the vestibule between cars. Russ jumped off the slow moving train, hit the dirt and rocks but maintained his feet. By then the train labored along at less than five miles an hour up the steep grade.
Knute stepped down with the girl still on his shoulder. The girl screamed again, beat at his back with her small fists and screeched as they walked along the side of the passenger car. They saw their horses grazing on bits of green grass on the right of way, and hurried in that direction to the north. There were only empty cattle cars in the train beside them now. The popping of two sixguns was well behind them and way out of range.
Two minutes later, they were at their horses. The girl screamed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Giving you a free ride on my horse. You want to sit in front of me easy or do I bend you belly down over my saddle and haul you along that way?"
The girl grinned. "Hey, how did I do? Did we convince them?" She was a little over twenty, Knute figured, pretty, with a slender build and good sized breasts. He always looked at a woman's hooters first.
"I'd say you did damn fine," Russ said coming up behind them. "Everyone on that train is gonna think you was taken off there against your will."
The girl smiled. "Still wish you'd brought a horse for me. This means one of you gives me your horse and then two of you guys have to ride double. Which horse do I get?"
Russ nodded at her and handed over the reins to his chestnut mare. She stepped into the stirrup as if she had done it before and swung up to the saddle. Her dress billowed showing a shapely leg almost to her crotch.
She grinned. "You like that leg show, don't you?"
Knute grunted. "Hell, you know we do. We just ain't allowed to show it or we get our asses kicked. We best get moving."
Russ mounted behind Knute and they rode north, away from the direction of the train. They galloped along the right of way for a quarter-of-amile, then eased the horses down to a walk and headed deeper into the hills and woods to get out of sight. Soon they couldn't even hear the hard working engine on the tracks now far to the south.
"Told you it would go smooth as Tennessee sippin' whiskey on a hot afternoon," Russ said. The others yelped and agreed.
The woman's pretty face took on a questioning look. "You sure you got everything right? You know what to do and where to go?"
"That we do, pretty lady. They just didn't tell us that you'd be so beautiful."
"Let's hope that my father will be as easy to convince as those passengers were back there. Do you men know who I am?"
"Exactly. You're Amy Hellman. We know exactly who you are. Do you know who we are?"
She turned and stared at Knute who still hadn't taken his mask down. "I don't know your names yet, but you can take your masks down. It would look suspicious if anyone happened to see us, a hunter or somebody on the run."
They dropped their masks and she looked at each one. "Sully-you're the one with the mailbags, youngest one of the three. I can't figure out which one of you is Russ."
He held up his hand.
She smiled. "Pleased to meet all three of you. Now let's make a little better time so we can get where we're going. Riding this horse isn't my most favorite activity."
Amy Hellman rode well. She had soft blonde hair cut short and sassy around her face. Her brown eyes sparkled and dimples dented her soft pink cheeks. She was five-three and weighed no more than a hundred pounds.
She shook her head and looked over her shoulder at Knute again. "I was so relieved when I heard those first rifle shots. I didn't know when it would happen. How long until we get to where we're going?"
"A while yet," Russ said. "We have to find a nice quiet spot to check our mail for today."
They found a spot of dense brush half an hour later and stepped down from their horses. Amy went up to Sully and grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him. He was so surprised he nearly fell down.
She caught one of his hands and pushed it under her blouse on her bare breasts.
"Sully, riding that damn horse has got my little cunnie so hot she just won't wait another minute. She needs a good quick poking and I don't care what they told you. Right here and right
now Sully, before I just explode."
Two days later, Spur McCoy dropped off the Atcheson, Topeka and Santa Fe passenger coach in Fort Smith, Arkansas. He had been in Kansas City finishing a case when his boss, United States Secret Service Assistant Director General Wilton D. Halleck, sent him a telegram.
As usual, the man responsible for assignments and operations of the Secret Service worked quickly. The senior U.S.Senator from Arkansas had received a telegram two days ago detailing a serious train robbery that involved loss of government money, two sacks of registered mail, and a kidnapping. He requested immediate federal help.
Spur McCoy, one of the best Secret Service men in the West, drew the assignment and had a telegram to that effect later the same day.
The wire was short and direct:
TO. SPUR MC COY, HOTEL CLAYMORE, KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI. TRAIN ROBBERY YESTERDAY NEAR FORT SMITH, ARKANSAS. FEDERAL MONEY AND REGISTERED MAIL STOLEN FROM EXPRESS CAR, DAUGHTER OF ARKANSAS GOVERNOR KIDNAPPED. TRAVEL AT ONCE TO LOCATION. CONTACT JUDGE ISAAC PARKER FOR DETAILS. REPORT SOONEST. SENDING, GEN WILTON D.HALLECK. WASHINGTON, D. C.
Spur McCoy had grinned when he saw the name of Isaac Parker, the famous hanging judge of Fort Smith and the terror of the Indian Territories 100 yards across the Arkansas river. He'd never had much to do with the hanging judge, but now it looked like he'd have the chance to work with him.
He found a hotel, the Wentworth, that was right on the river and had a private dock where small craft could tie up and discharge passengers from downriver and the state capitol at Little Rock.
Spur McCoy was a big man, standing taller at six-feet two-inches than most of the men he met. He kept his weight to a slender and tough muscled 185 pounds. He was well tanned from spending so much time in the outdoors, had dark hair, no beard or moustache, and green eyes. He usually wore a flat brimmed, low-crowned black hat with a string of Mexican silver pesos around it.
He had first been assigned the western section of the country by the Secret Service since he was the only field agent who could ride a horse and had experience on a cattle ranch. He was a crack shot with hand guns and rifle, an excellent horseman and had a smattering of skill with the oriental martial arts. He was also a graduate of Harvard University near Boston and had done his duty for the North in the Civil War as an army captain.
Spur Giant: Soiled Dove Page 1