“Thanks,” Murtaugh said. “All right, boys, get ready.”
“I hear the train,” Smoke said. “Get ready.”
Smoke and Bobby Lee were behind the feed and seed store that was directly across the tracks from the water tower. They were on the same side of the track as the door to the express car. That way, they would be able to observe any approach to the car.
“I haven’t seen anything, have you?” Bobby Lee asked.
“No, I haven’t.”
“I know they are here, though,” Bobby Lee said. “They have to be here. There is no other place where they will have the train stopped like this.”
The train approached the water tower, its speed already greatly reduced, the wheels and couplings squealing in protest as the brakes were applied.
“We had better get mounted,” Smoke said. “We may have to move fast.”
Smoke and Bobby Lee swung into their saddles as the train rumbled by, then came to a complete halt. It sat there for a moment with the engine issuing loud, rushing sighs as the relief valves opened and closed, emitting large clouds of steam. The steam clouds were so white that, in the dark, they looked almost iridescent.
The fireman came out of the engine cab, climbed up on top of the tender, brought the great water spout down to the tank opening, then pulled on the rope to lift the gate and start the flow of water. Even from here, and even above the puffing sounds of the engine at rest, Smoke and Bobby Lee could hear the splashing of water into a tender that was nearly empty. As Bobby Lee had pointed out, the demand for water at this stop was at its maximum.
“See anything?” Bobby Lee asked.
“Not a thing,” Murtaugh answered the same question that had been put to him by one of his men.
“Maybe Dodd isn’t going to rob the train,” one of the others suggested.
“He’s not going to rob it,” Murtaugh replied.
“What do you mean he isn’t going to rob the train? Isn’t that why we are here?”
“He is going to try to rob the train,” Murtaugh said. “But he is not going to, because we aren’t going to allow it. ”
“Well, if he isn’t going to try it here, where is he going to try?”
“I don’t know,” Murtaugh admitted.
“How far to the next water tank?” Smoke asked.
“It’s all the way back in Lunning,” Bobby Lee said. “Damn, if they are waiting there while we came up here, I’m going to feel pretty foolish. I’m sorry, Smoke, looks like I led you on a wild-goose chase.”
“Don’t worry about it, Bobby Lee. We’ll just do what has to be done,” Smoke said.
“What would that be? If Dodd is waiting in Lunning, there’s no way we can get there in time to stop him. The train will run twenty-five to thirty miles per hour, we would kill the horses trying to keep up that pace.”
“We aren’t going to try and keep up with the train,” Smoke said.
“We’ve lost the opportunity, haven’t we?”
“No,” Smoke said. “The train hasn’t been robbed yet, has it?”
“No,” Bobby Lee said. “If it had been, the express man would have made a report as soon as the train arrived. But nobody came out of the express car.”
“Then it isn’t too late to prevent the robbery.”
“How?”
“Simple,” Smoke said. “We’ll just ride on the train. I’ll get us a couple of tickets.”
“What about our horses? There’s no stock car on this train.”
“We’ll board them here, then take the next train back.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Bobby Lee took care of boarding the horses while Smoke bought tickets. The train was already rolling out of the station when the two men ran down the platform, then leaped up onto the rear mounting step of the last car. There was a porter standing out on the rear platform, and he reached down to help each of them board.
“Thanks,” Smoke said.
“Yes, sir, glad to help,” the porter said. “You gents just barely made it.”
The passage of the train and a twist of wind caused a plume of smoke from the engine to whirl around onto the platform, burning Smoke’s nose and eyes. He coughed and waved his hand. “Let’s get inside,” he said.
“Where should we go?” Bobby Lee asked.
“If we can find a seat in this car, this is where we should be. That way, if Dodd does try anything, he will be in front of us.”
“Good idea,” Bobby Lee said. He saw a couple of seats halfway up the car on the left-hand side. “How about if we sit there?” “Good choice,” Smoke replied.
“Wait a minute, do you really intend to wreck the train?” Emmett Clark asked after Dodd explained his plan to the others.
“Yes.”
“Why? All you have to do is wait by a water tower. You know the train is going to stop there.”
“This train is carrying one hundred thousand dollars,” Dodd said. “That means it is going to be full of guards, all of them riding in the express car. And every one of them will be expecting us to hit the train at one of the watering stops. They won’t be expecting us to wreck the train. And chances are that after we wreck it, they won’t be in any condition to stop us.”
“You mean they might be killed in the train wreck,” Clark said. It wasn’t a question; it was an accusatory declaration.
“Yeah,” Dodd said. “I wrecked my share of trains and killed my share of people during the war. What’s different about this one?”
“There are innocent people on this train,” Clark said.
“There were innocent people on the other trains I wrecked too,” Dodd said. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“I don’t have any problem with it,” Wallace said. Wallace, Beard and Jackson had joined up with Dodd on the same day Clark took him the newspaper article about the money shipment. “I need money if I am going to get a new start somewhere, and I don’t care what I have to do to get it.”
“Look, Clark, if you don’t want to be a part of this, you can ride out now,” Dodd said.
“What is the breakdown again?” Clark asked.
“There are six of us,” Dodd said. You will each get fifteen thousand dollars, and I will get twenty-five.”
“I don’t like that,” Clark said.
“Then ride out now,” Wallace said. “That will just be more money for the rest of us.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to do it. I just said I didn’t like it.”
“All right, then stop worryin’ about who might get hurt. Ain’t nobody ever goin’ to get out of life alive anyhow.”
“Dodd, I hear the train a’ comin',” Conklin said.
“All right, the palaverin’ is over now. Get back, all of you,” Dodd said.
As the others got back out of sight, Dodd bent down over the detonator generator. A wire from the generator ran to sticks of dynamite that had been carefully placed on a wooden trestle that spanned a gulley forty feet deep and 150 feet long.
Clark watched as the train approached the trestle. He had an inclination to suggest that Dodd blow the bridge now, for doing so would prevent the train from going any farther and might spare the lives of the passengers. But he said nothing because he knew that Dodd was right. With a shipment of money as large as this train was carrying, it would be heavily guarded, and simply stopping the train wouldn’t be enough. They would still have to deal with the guards. Clark drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. His share would be fifteen thousand dollars. He concentrated on the amount he would get from this job. Fifteen thousand dollars.
As the train approached the trestle, Clark thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. It was like a painting, the engine headlamp stabbing forward, the boiler shimmering in the moonlight. Some of the car windows were glowing, but most were dark.
By the orange light of the cab, Clark could see the engineer leaning out the window of the cab, looking forward down the track with the stump of a pipe clamped se
curely in his teeth. It was, Clark knew, the last few seconds of this man’s life, and he felt an intense pain, not only over what was about to happen, but that he was a part of it.
The train moved onto the trestle, and Clark saw Dodd push down on the generator handle. Instantly thereafter, the dynamite exploded in a great, bright flash. A moment later, the sound of the explosion reached Clark’s ears, but even as he was listening to the blast, the trestle began to give way, first the supports that were directly involved with the blast, then the others, upon which the total weight of the train had been transferred. Unable to accommodate the increased weight, the remaining timbers also buckled and the engine, with the wheels still turning, left the bridge.
Back in the rearmost car, Smoke and Bobby Lee were engaged in conversation, and Smoke was telling his brother-in-law about Sally, Pearlie, Cal, and his ranch.
“I’m glad you’ve got a new family, Smoke,” Bobby Lee said. “And Sugarloaf sounds like a great place to live.”
“It is a great place to live,” Smoke said. “You’ll have to come visit me there, maybe stay for a while.”
“Ha. If I found a place like that, I would be likely to stay for years, not just a while,” Bobby Lee said.
“You are family, Bobby Lee. You are welcome as long as you—”
Smoke’s reply was interrupted by a loud crashing sound. The car came to an abrupt halt, and he and Bobby Lee, along with several other passengers in the car, were thrown from their seats.
His attention fixated on the events unfolding before him, Clark watched as the engine plummeted downward, moving slowly as if time had been suspended, until it hit the ground below. The boiler exploded, and bits and pieces of the engine and the first two cars were blown high into the air, chunks of wreckage seeming to hang in place for a long moment before tumbling back down, many of them falling dangerously close to Clark and the others.
The other cars were dragged down into the gully, the first two telescoping, with one car sliding into the other, the remaining cars buckling and breaking before coming to a smashing rest. As the sound of the gushing steam and explosion drifted away, nothing was left but the wails and cries of the injured.
Smoke banged his shoulder on the seat in front of him, then barked his shin painfully as he was thrown to the floor. Even before the sounds of splintering wood, breaking glass, and twisting metal subsided, there were the screams and shouts of surprise, fear, and then pain from the other passengers in the car.
“Bobby Lee!” Smoke shouted. “Are you all right?”
Bobby Lee was lying facedown in the aisle. Getting up slowly, he turned toward Smoke, and Smoke saw blood coming from a wound over his eye. Closer examination of the wound, however, showed that it appeared to be superficial.
“What happened?” Bobby Lee asked.
“We’ve had a train wreck,” Smoke said. “I think Frank Dodd has just hit the train.”
“Let’s go,” Dodd called to the others. “Let’s get the money and get out of here.”
The others started toward the wreckage, but Clark hung back.
“Come on, Clark!” Dodd called. “That is, if you want your share of the money.”
“My God,” Clark said under his breath. “What have we done?”
Clark had come too far and sunk too low to back out now. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he joined the others as they hurried toward the wreckage.
* * *
“Help me! Help me, mister, help me!” a man said, lying under a twisted mass of wreckage. His right leg was grotesquely twisted almost all the way back.
Clark stumbled over something and looking down, saw that it was a severed head. When he saw the pipe, still clenched in the teeth, he realized it was the engineer’s head.
“Oh, my God!” Clark said.
“Hurry up!” Dodd called. “Let’s get the money and get out of here!”
When they reached the express car, Clark saw that the messenger and all three of the guards from the Western Capital Security Agency were dead, but the safe was under the bulk of the overturned car. It was going to take all of them several minutes to pull the wreckage aside so they could reach the safe.
“We’re never going to get this out of here!” Conklin complained.
“Get to work! Stop complaining and start moving the wreckage aside!” Dodd ordered. “We don’t have all day!”
Smoke and Bobby Lee managed to work their way out of the last car by pushing through a large rent in the side. At first, the scene that greeted them was unbelievable, wreckage strewn about everywhere, men, women, and children lying dead, dying, or badly injured. The moans and cries created a terrible din in the night air.
Bobby Lee pointed to some men who were standing in a pile of wreckage that was once the express car. They were working intensely, throwing aside pieces of timber in a desperate attempt to get to something underneath. Smoke thought they must be trying to rescue someone and he started toward them, but Bobby Lee grabbed his arm.
“Smoke!” Bobby Lee said. “That’s Dodd and his gang!”
“Dodd!” Smoke shouted.
Upon hearing his name called, Dodd, without hesitation, pulled his gun and fired.
That was the opening shot of a deadly battle, with Smoke and Bobby Lee on one side, and Dodd, Clark, and the others on the opposite side. The surviving train passengers, dying, wounded, and unwounded, had orchestra seats while the muzzle flashes of rapidly firing pistols illuminated the faces of eight desperate men. For fully thirty seconds, the roar of pistol fire overcame even the wails and cries of the wounded.
Smoke and Bobby Lee stood side by side, exchanging fire with Dodd and the members of his gang. Gradually, the flashes grew fewer, and the exchange of gunfire slackened as, one by one, the would-be train robbers fell in their tracks from well-placed .44-caliber balls.
Errant pistol shots whizzed by Smoke’s ears, or hit the ground, sending up tiny fireballs before careening away with a high, keening sound, missiles of death in the darkness. Smoke felt, rather than saw or heard, Bobby Lee go down beside him, and he responded by shooting and killing yet another of Dodd’s gang.
Finally, the last of Dodd’s gang went down, and the shooting stopped. Smoke stood in place for a long moment afterward, holding a smoking pistol as the final echoes of gunfire rolled back from the nearby Excelsior Mountains. Now, even the cries of the injured had quieted, and as Smoke stood there, the only one doing so, it was as if someone had arranged a giant and very macabre tableau.
Suddenly, and totally unexpectedly, Dodd sat up and pointed his pistol at Smoke. Smoke reacted quickly by pulling the trigger on his own pistol, but the hammer fell on an empty chamber.
“Well, now,” Dodd said. “Look at this. Ain’t I the lucky one, though?”
The outlaw pulled the hammer back, but before he could fire, another shot rang out and a black hole appeared in his forehead as he fell back.
Thinking it might have been Bobby Lee, Smoke looked down at his brother-in-law, but saw only open and opaque eyes, looking up in their death stare. Bobby Lee was dead.
“I owed you that, Mr. Jensen.” The voice came from one of the outlaws with whom Smoke had just done battle. Looking toward the sound, he saw that one of the other outlaws had managed to raise himself up onto his elbows. It wasn’t until then that Smoke recognized him.
“Clark?” Smoke called out. “Emmett Clark?”
Clark coughed before he answered, and as he did, his cough spewed out blood.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he said.
“You were riding with Dodd?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand. If you were riding with him, why did you shoot him?”
“Like I said, I owed it to you. Call it a matter of honor,” Clark said, and with another spasm of coughing, he fell back with one final, gasping breath.
When Smoke returned to Sugarloaf, he learned that both Pearlie and Cal had won everything in their events at the rodeo. In addition, Pearlie had won �
�Most Outstanding Cowboy,” which came with a prize of a silver-studded saddle. Pearlie let it be known that he planned to give the saddle to Smoke. Smoke told Sally that he didn’t feel right taking the gift, but Sally convinced him that it was very important to Pearlie, so Smoke agreed. With great pomp and ceremony, Pearlie presented the saddle, and Smoke saw that Sally was right. There was genuine joy in Pearlie’s face when Smoke accepted it.
For the first several days after returning, Smoke was a bit pensive, thinking not only about the events of the previous few weeks, but also about the fact that Bobby Lee’s death had severed the last living connection to Nicole. At first, he found the thought rather melancholy, but the more he contemplated it, the more he was able to find peace with the idea.
The door to that part of his past was forever closed.
Smoke had been back at Sugarloaf for three weeks when he received a letter that had no return address, but was postmarked from St. Louis, Missouri. Not until he opened it did he see that the letter was from the young woman he had met in Cloverdale.
Dear Mr. Jensen:
I want to thank you, very much, for everything you did. You answered my telegram on behalf of Bobby Lee, and, like a true friend, or as I later learned, a true brother, you came to help him. And while Bobby Lee was killed, he was at least spared the humiliation of being hanged for a crime he did not commit.
I also want to thank you for giving me the reward money, though there aren’t words enough to express the depth of my gratitude for that gesture. The money has enabled me to leave the life I had begun and start anew. To that end, I have returned to St. Louis where I intend to, when the time is right, reestablish contact with my father, Thaddeus Culpepper.
You may be surprised to learn, Mr. Jensen, that my father is a very wealthy man, so I feel guilty about having taken the reward money from you. I assure you, though, that the money was put to immediate and good purpose. And I promise, that once I am reestablished, I will give every cent of the money you gave me to a worthy charity.
Shootout of the Mountain Man Page 24