The Great Train Massacre

by William W. Johnstone

  Kelly picked up a pen and wrote a quick note.

  SAW OUR FRIEND THIS MORNING STOP WHAT NOW QUERY

  “Send this,” he said, sliding the note across the counter. “I have some business to attend to. I’ll check back later to see if there is any reply.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  After he left the Western Union desk, Kelly sought out the conductor who would be taking the train from Lincoln.

  “Take a few days off, Andy,” Kelly said. “Enjoy some time with your family. I’ll take the trip on in to Chicago.”

  “Are you sure, Dan? I mean, you’ve made the run all the way from San Francisco. You have to be tired.”

  “I’ve slept. And I had a good sleep last night. I’m not too tired, I’ll take it on in from here.”

  “Yeah, well, here’s the thing,” Andy said. “I admit, I would like the time off, but I’m not anxious to give up the money. The trip to Chicago and back will pay twenty-five dollars.

  “I’ll give you the twenty-five dollars now,” Kelly said. “I’ll get the money back when I collect for the trip.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t understand why you would be interested in even doing something like that. Especially since by giving me the money, you would wind up doing it for free.”

  “All right, I confess, I do have a reason for going to Chicago.”

  “What reason?”

  “Andy, really. Some things should be kept secret between a man and his lady friend, don’t you agree?” Kelly asked with an exaggerated wink.

  “Ahhh, you dog you,” Andy said, though the huge smile spreading across his face ameliorated the words. “All right, take the trip. And you enjoy your dalliance.”

  Kelly held up his finger. “You must promise me, though, that you’ll say nothing about this to anyone.”

  “Oh, not a word, not a word,” Andy replied. “You can trust me on this.”

  “Which track are they using to make up the train?”

  “Track two,” Andy replied. “Where is the private car?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’d just like to see it, is all.”

  “You can see it if you’d like, but right now it’s all the way over on track eight. You’d have to walk through the entire marshaling yard.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, it’s not worth the effort. If you’ve seen one private car you’ve seen ’em all.”

  “That’s my way of thinking. Truth is, I’m a little tired of those folks, anyway. They’re always complaining about one thing or another,” Kelly lied.

  “Yeah, that’s the way it is with rich folks sometimes. All right, if you’re sure you want to do this, I think I’ll just head on back home,” Andy said. He held up the two bills, the twenty and the five. “And, thanks a lot.”

  “Oh, no, I thank you,” Kelly said.

  San Francisco

  Lucas Conroy was very discriminating in taking on contracts. He was not in the business of killing cheating spouses or even vengeance killing. The contracts he took on were much more significant than that. In addition to arranging the assassination of a Russian prince, Conroy had arranged the assassinations of John Slough, Chief Justice of the New Mexico Supreme Court; Louis Cardis, Congressman from Texas; and Edward Holbrook, a delegate from Idaho to the United States Congress.

  He had also arranged the murders of some very important businessmen but none more important than John Gillespie. The problem was, Gillespie was more than halfway to Chicago, and he was still alive. Conroy was certain that Spence would have been able to do the job. But, if the telegram he had just received was to be believed—and he was sure that it was true—Spence had failed.

  The window was open on this warm September morning. Through it, the cry of seagulls competed with the clanging bells of channel marker buoys and the rattling sound of rigging and stays slapping against mast and arms on the oceangoing ships that were drawn up alongside the piers. Over it all could be heard conversations carried on in the dozen different languages of the foreign seamen on the docks. The breeze coming through the open windows carried on its breath the aroma of the sea with an under note of fish.

  With a frustrated sigh over how difficult this job was turning out to be, Conroy sat down at his desk and wrote a telegraph to be sent to Dan Kelly. Because of his careful, prior planning, he had men waiting in Lincoln, as well as other cities along the route. And he had shared his plans with Dan Kelly. He would just activate the next phase of the operation.

  Lincoln, Nebraska

  When Kelly returned to the Western Union desk, the telegrapher came over to see him.

  “Here is a telegram for you, Mr. Kelly,” the telegrapher said, handing him a folded, yellow sheet of paper. “It arrived about ten minutes ago.”

  “Thank you,” Kelly said, taking the message.

  MEET ASSOCIATES AS ORIGINALLY PLANNED

  LC

  With the message in hand, Kelly walked across the street to the Railroad Saloon. This had all been planned out prior to leaving San Francisco. If, when the train reached Lincoln, the job still hadn’t been done, he was to meet three men who would be waiting for him in the Railroad Saloon on this day. Kelly had never met any of the men, but he knew what to look for. All three would be wearing red feathers in their hatbands.

  As soon as he stepped into the saloon, he saw three such men sitting at a table near the stove in the back of the saloon. Because it was warm on this early fall day, the stove was cold, but there hung about it the ghost of smoke and burned wood from its last use.

  Kelly walked over to the table, and the three men looked up at him.

  “We don’t want no company,” one of them said.

  “Oh, I think you’ll want me. Would you three men be Koop, Jackson, and Stevens?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” one of them replied. “Are you Kelly?”

  “I am.”

  “What’s this about? We were told to wait here until you came and that you would tell us how we could make some money. And how come you’re late? We thought you would be here yesterday.”

  “We had some problem with the train,” Kelly explained. “Do you mean to say that you haven’t been told what is expected of you?”

  “No. The only thing we was told was to wait here until you showed up,” the same man replied. He, it appeared, would be the spokesman for the three. “I figured you would know what we was supposed to do.”

  “Which one are you?” Kelly asked.

  “I’m Jackson, this is Koop, and this is Stevens.”

  “I, uh, don’t know anything about you men,” Kelly said. “But I assume that you are good for the job, or you wouldn’t have been selected.”

  “What is the job?”

  “You are to . . .” Kelly stopped and looked around the saloon to make certain there was no one close enough to overhear him. “Kill someone,” he said.

  Jackson laughed. “Is that all?”

  “Is that all? My word, isn’t that enough?”

  “It ain’t like we ain’t none of us never done it before,” Jackson said. “Who are we supposed to kill?”

  “A man and his daughter.”

  “A man and his daughter? That don’t sound too hard,” Koop said.

  “It may be more difficult than you think,” Kelly said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “There is a bodyguard watching over them.”

  “A bodyguard? You mean one bodyguard?” Jackson asked.

  “Yes.”

  Jackson laughed. “One bodyguard. Well, don’t you worry none about it, Kelly. There are three of us. I expect we can get through one bodyguard all right. Don’t you fellers think so?”

  The other two men laughed.

  “Yeah,” Stevens said. “Don’t you worry none about there bein’ a bodyguard.”

  “What’s the name of the people we’re supposed to kill?”

  “Mr. John Gillespie. And, as I said, his daughter as well.”

  “John Gillespie? Seems to me
like I’ve heard that name before,” Stevens said.

  “That’s quite possible. Gillespie is an extremely wealthy industrialist.”

  “Industrialist? What’s that mean?” Koop asked.

  “It just means that he’s very rich.”

  “Where do we find this man Gillespie, his daughter, and the one bodyguard?” Jackson asked.

  “He is traveling in a private car, which at the moment is waiting to be attached to the Chicago Limited. I just saw him in the depot, but I’ve no doubt he will return to the car before it is attached. I suggest that you be there to meet them. Right now, it’s sitting on track number six.”

  “Track six? That’s way the hell over there, ain’t it?” Koop asked.

  “Would you rather do this job in front of a lot of people?” Kelly asked.

  “No. I guess you’re right. Best to be away from everyone,” Koop agreed.

  “I have to get back to the depot. If you are going to do this job, you need to get over there as well.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “Darlin’, I’m a little tired,” John said to his daughter. “I think I would like to return to the car. Do you mind?”

  “Papa, you’re getting old,” Mary Beth teased. “That’s all right, I guess it’s a daughter’s job to take care of her father when he gets old. All right, we’ll go back.”

  Matt started out with them.

  “Matt, you don’t have to come with us if you don’t want to. Why don’t you stay here and look around a bit. You can join us when the train is ready to go. That way you won’t have to walk as far,” John said.

  Matt shook his head. “No, sir, I’m being paid to see you safely to Chicago, and I intend to do just that.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that the danger is all over now. Seeing Slade and Jones has convinced me that Fred Keaton is the one who has been behind these attempts on my life all along, and Drew is contacting the sheriff to take care of that. I don’t expect we’ll have any more trouble.”

  “Are you forgetting about Spence?”

  “No, I haven’t forgotten him. I mean, how can I? He broke into my daughter’s room last night. But I think if he was a would-be assassin, and not merely a thief in the night, then he, too, was probably sent by Keaton. So, I think we need have no further fear of any of Keaton’s hired men.”

  Leaving the depot building, the three walked out under the high roof of the car shed. Here, they could smell burning coal and wood as the smoke and steam swirled around them. Trains were arriving and departing, and they could feel in their stomachs the heavy rumble of locomotives rolling by.

  “There’s the car,” John said. “What do you say we relax, and even though it’s midmorning, have a glass of wine?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Matt said.

  Matt helped Mary Beth onto the step, then stood back as John climbed up. It seemed like the courteous and gentlemanly thing to do, but a few seconds later, he regretted his action, because when he stepped into the car behind them, he saw that both John and Mary Beth were holding their hands up. There had been three armed men waiting in the car for them.

  “Who are you men?” John asked.

  “What do you think, Jackson? Think we should tell ’im who we are?”

  “Stevens, you dumb son of a bitch! What do you mean, usin’ my name?”

  “You just used my name,” Stevens replied. “Anyhow, what difference does it make? They’re all three goin’ to be dead soon.”

  “We don’t have your name,” Matt said, pointing to the one who had not yet been identified.”

  “The name is Koop. Lon Koop, not that it matters to you. Like Tim just told you, you’re goin’ to be dead soon.”

  “Who sent you?” Matt asked. “Who wants Mr. Gillespie dead?”

  “We want him dead,” Jackson said. “Enough talkin’.”

  “Damn, Jackson,” Stevens said. “Look at that woman! We wasn’t told nothin’ about how purty she would be. You think maybe we could save her to last, so’s we could have a little fun with ’er?”

  “Yeah,” Koop said. “What do you say, Jackson? That seems like a purty good idea to me.”

  “I’d rather be dead,” Mary Beth said defiantly.

  “Oh, don’t worry, girlie, you will be, right after we’re finished with you.”

  Matt had been following the conversation, but more important, he had been watching the eyes of the three men. Mary Beth was proving to be the perfect distraction, because all three were looking at her with lust-filled eyes.

  Matt knew that the moment was right, and he drew his pistol and fired three quick gunshots, shooting so quickly that all three of the assailants died before they even realized that they were in trouble.

  Mary Beth screamed and jumped, but the scream died in her throat when she saw that all three gunmen had collapsed in front of her. Matt fired only three times, because that was all it took. Not one of the three would-be assassins managed to get off a single shot.

  “My God!” John said, even as the gun smoke from the three discharges hung before them and burned their eyes and noses. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life!”

  “Are both of you all right?” Matt asked.

  “Yes,” Mary Beth said. “At least I am now.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” John said.

  “Do you know any of these men, Mr. Gillespie?”

  John looked closely at the three men who were now lying on the floor of his private car.

  “No, I don’t. I’ve never seen any of them before.”

  “You think they might have been working for Keaton?”

  John shook his head. “No, I don’t see how. By now I expect Keaton is either in jail, or is, at least, trying to explain to the sheriff why he sent three men to kill me. Four if you count the man last night, but now I’m not so sure that we should count him or these three. I think it must be someone else, someone other than Keaton.”

  “Who were the men you said you suspected? Morris, Keaton, and who was the third one?”

  “Mitchell. Donald Mitchell.”

  “Tell me about Mitchell.”

  “At one time Donald Mitchell owned the Nebraska Stockyards in Omaha.”

  “Omaha? How far is Omaha from here?”

  “It isn’t too far at all,” John said. “We’ll be there in less than two hours.”

  “You listed three men as possible suspects, and Mitchell was one of them. Tell me about him.”

  John began telling the story.

  Nebraska Stockyards, Omaha, two years earlier

  Donald Mitchell was sitting at his desk, and he looked up hopefully and expectantly when his assistant came into the office.

  “What do the sales numbers look like?” Mitchell asked.

  “They look like nothing,” Mitchell’s assistant told him.

  “Nothing? What do you mean, nothing?”

  “I mean the packing plants all want Herefords. Nobody wants longhorns anymore.”

  “Somebody has to want them!” Mitchell shouted in alarm. “Carter, I have ten thousand head here, ready to be shipped out to the meat packers.”

  “Oh, we can sell them. But nobody has agreed to pay more than five dollars a head for them.”

  “Five dollars a head? That’s less than we paid for them!”

  “I told them that, and they laughed and said we paid too much.”

  “What are they paying for Herefords?”

  “Thirty-five dollars a head.”

  “Damn,” Mitchell said. “We paid seven dollars and fifty cents per head for the longhorns. We stand to lose twenty-five thousand dollars if we sell.”

  “If we don’t sell, we’ll lose everything,” Carter said. “We can’t afford to just keep them here. We have neither the space nor the food. We’ll have to destroy the herd.”

  “We had to do that two years ago when we got in some cows with Texas fever, remember?” Mitchell replied. “We haven’t even fully recovered from that yet.”

  “Then the
only thing we can do is sell the herd at five dollars a head,” Carter said.

  “No, I won’t do that. There has to be some other way.”

  Two days later, John Gillespie came to visit Mitchell. “I will pay you seven dollars and fifty cents a head for every animal you have, and I’ll make up the loss you suffered from Texas fever two years ago,” John said.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I want to buy your company.”

  “How much will you pay me for it?”

  “Like I said, I’ll take these cattle off your hands, and I’ll cover the loss from two years ago. And I’ll keep you on as manager.”

  “That’s it? You don’t intend to pay me anything for the company?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “I’ll be in the Morning Star Hotel, if you change your mind.”

  Aboard the private car

  “I gather Mr. Mitchell changed his mind,” Matt said.

  “Yes, that same night.”

  “You paid him everything you agreed upon. What makes you think he might be the one who wants you dead?”

  “Since I bought the company, we have been dealing with Herefords and Black Angus exclusively. And now the company is making a great deal of money, more than it has ever made in the past.”

  “Is Mitchell making money?”

  “Yes, he’s making a lot of money, a lot more than he was ever making when he owned the company.”

  “But you think he might resent that?”

  “Well, I didn’t think he resented it, because as I say, it has worked out very well for him. But I also felt the same way about Morris and Keaton. It was Drew Jessup who suggested it could be one of those three.”

  “Why would he suspect them, if you don’t?”