The Great Train Massacre

by William W. Johnstone

  “Ned and Ruben, I want the two of you to take off your clothes.”

  “You want us to do what?” Ned asked, surprised by the demand.

  “You heard me. I said take off your clothes, both of you.”

  “What the hell, mister? We’re right in the middle of town! Don’t you know that?”

  “Yeah, but it is dark and foggy, so maybe nobody will see you. And if you don’t have any clothes on, you aren’t likely to follow us, are you?”

  “I ain’t takin’ off my clothes,” Ruben said again.

  “Me neither,” Ned said.

  “Oh, I think you will,” Matt said.

  “The hell you say. There ain’t nothin’ you can say that’s goin’ to make me take off my clothes,” Ruben said.

  “Oh, I think I’m going to be able to talk you into it.”

  “Just how are you goin’ to do that?”

  “I’ll shoot both of you, then I’ll take your clothes off. On second thought, maybe I don’t have to shoot both of you. Maybe I only have to shoot one of you to make an example,” Matt said. He pointed the gun at Ned. “I believe you are Ned, right? Ned, I hate to do it, but if I kill you, I’m pretty sure it will convince Ruben to take off his clothes.”

  “No! No! We’re a’ doin’ it! Take off your clothes, Ruben! I think this fool really would shoot us!” Ned shouted as he began unbuttoning his shirt. Ruben joined him, and a moment later the two men stood before Matt, John, and Mary Beth wearing only their underwear.

  “Mister, you got no call treatin’ us like this,” Ned said. “Makin’ us strip down in front of a woman ain’t proper.”

  “But killing us would have been proper, in your opinion?” Matt asked.

  “Well yeah, I mean, we wasn’t goin’ to strip you down nekkid or nothin’. We was just goin’ to kill you is all,” Ruben said.

  Matt laughed. “You know what? I think that, somehow, that might even make sense in your mind. Drop your clothes down there.” Matt pointed to the same storm drain where he had thrown the two pistols.

  “You’re crazy if you think . . .”

  A moment earlier Matt had eased the hammer down on his pistol. Now he cocked it again.

  “All right, all right, we’re a-doin’ it!” Ned said as he and Ruben dropped their shirts and pants down the drain.

  “Boots, too,” Matt ordered.

  Ruben started to protest, but when he saw Ned drop his boots down into the drain, he dropped his as well.

  “Now, both of you go that way,” Matt said, pointing in the opposite direction from the depot. “If I see you following us, I’ll shoot you both dead.”

  Mary Beth laughed out loud as the two men, barefooted and wearing nothing but their long-handle underwear, started padding off in the opposite direction.

  “Mary Beth, you can laugh about this?” John asked. “Those men would have killed us.”

  “I know that, Papa. But you have to admit, seeing them run off into the night, barefoot and dressed only in their underwear? That was funny.”

  John laughed as well. “You’re right,” he said. “It was funny.”

  “What do we do now, Ned?” Ruben asked. “We can’t go runnin’ around like this.”

  “We’re goin’ to get us some more clothes,” Ned said.

  “I ain’t got no more clothes ’ceptin’ another shirt.”

  “We’ll go to a store.”

  “There ain’t no stores open now, ’n even if there was, we couldn’t go in dressed like this. Besides which, how we goin’ shoppin’ when I ain’t got no money to spend on clothes anyhow?”

  “Ruben, think about it. For the kind of shoppin’ we’re goin’ to do, we don’t want the store to be open, ’n we won’t need no money.”

  “Oh,” Ruben said. “Yeah, I hadn’t thought about that. Oh, ’n after we get some clothes, do you think maybe we could break into Sikes’ Hardware Store ’n get us another gun ’n maybe some bullets?”

  “I would say we are going to have to, wouldn’t you?” Ned replied.

  “Yeah. And that way, we can go back to the boardin’ house without lookin’ like such a couple of damn fools,” Ruben said.

  “We ain’t goin’ back to the boardin’ house. We’re goin’ to finish the job we started out to do,” Ned said.

  “You seen how that fella was. You want to go up ag’in him again?” Ruben asked.

  “Yeah, well, he caught us by surprise ’cause there wasn’t neither one of us expectin’ him to do nothin’ like that. But he won’t surprise us a second time,” Ned said. “Fact is, we’ll more’n likely be surprisin’ him, ’cause you know damn well he won’t be expectin’ to see us again. Leastwise, not tonight. But if you don’t want to come with me, you don’t have to. I’ll kill all three of ’em myself and keep all the money.”

  “No,” Ruben said. “There ain’t no need in you a-thinkin’ nothin’ like that, ’cause I’ll be comin’ with you.”

  “Here’s Blum’s Mercantile,” Ned said.

  Forty-five minutes later the two men, now wearing new clothes, new boots, and because they had also visited Sikes’ Hardware, new pistol and holster sets, moved through the night fog toward the private railroad car that was parked on a sidetrack at the depot.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  It wasn’t totally dark now, because the fog had rolled away and the moon was full and bright. As a result, the depot, the tracks, and the railroad cars were all gleaming in a soft, silver light.

  The night was alive with the long, high-pitched trills and low viola-like thrums of the frogs. For countermelodies there were crickets, the mournful sound of a hooting owl, and from the nearby stable, a mule braying and a horse whickering.

  With guns in hand, and staying in the shadows of a string of empty freight cars, the two men moved toward John Gillespie’s private car.

  Inside the private car, Matt was sleeping in one of the chairs, the back of it tipped to a comfortable angle. He woke from a sound sleep, though he wasn’t sure what had awakened him. He knew it wasn’t some sound that had intruded into his slumber.

  But something had awakened him.

  He listened carefully for any sound that was anomalous to the night, but he heard nothing.

  Matt had survived for as long as he had despite being so often a target, because he was able to depend upon a sensory perception that went beyond sight, sound, touch, smell, or taste.

  “Matt, people who live their lives the way we do learn to depend on this feeling, and if you ever get it, pay attention to it,” his mentor, Smoke Jensen, had told him. “It could save your life.”

  Smoke was right. That feeling had saved Matt’s life more than once. And because he was experiencing that sensation now, there was no way he was going to ignore it.

  Slipping on his boots, Matt took his pistol in hand, then eased out the door of the car. He climbed on top of the tender so he would be able to see in all directions. He chose the tender, rather than the car, because if there was anyone out there, he intended to challenge him, and if shooting started, he would rather them direct their bullets toward the coal tender than the car. That way there would be less chance of either John or Mary Beth being hit by a stray bullet.

  That was when he saw them . . . two men coming through the dark, passing for only a brief moment through the greenish glow of light cast by a gas lamp. It was obvious that they were walking toward the car. He didn’t know for sure, because he couldn’t make out their faces in the dark, but he suspected it might be the same two men he, John, and Mary Beth had encountered earlier in the night.

  He could see a sliver of silver flashing dimly from the moon’s reflection on the guns they were carrying. If these were the same two men, somehow they had managed to clothe themselves and acquire new guns.

  “I see you men managed to find clothes and another gun somewhere,” Matt shouted from the top of the car.

  “What the hell? Where did that come from?” one of the men called. Matt recognized Ruben’s voice, which
told him for a fact that the two men approaching were Ned and Ruben.

  “I’m up here, Ruben,” Matt called. “I’m really disappointed in you two. I thought I told you and Ned not to come around again.”

  “Shoot him! Shoot the son of a bitch!” This was Ned.

  The two men shot at Matt, and they came dangerously close. He returned fire and hearing the sound of two men falling, jumped down quickly from the tender. Then with his gun held at the ready, he walked toward the two still forms, his feet making crunching sounds on the cinders that were strewn between the tracks.

  He knelt beside the two men and held his fingers to the neck of first one, then the other. They were both dead.

  “Matt?”

  The call came from John Gillespie, who had stepped out into the rear vestibule of his private car.

  “Get back inside, John, please,” Matt called back to him. “I’ll be right there.”

  Matt picked up the two pistols, then walked back to the car. By the time he stepped inside, John had lit a lantern, and both he and Mary Beth were standing there in the soft light. There was an expression of concern and curiosity on both their faces.

  Mary Beth was wearing a nightgown, which was unbuttoned low enough that Matt could see the gleam of the rise of the bare tops of her breast. It was a most agreeable sight, and Matt had a sudden memory of having seen much more of her when he had walked in on her in the bath.

  Mary Beth had caught the glance, and realizing that she was showing a bit more of herself than she had intended, she slid two of the buttons through the holes, somewhat restricting the view. Matt couldn’t help but notice a small smile playing across her lips as she did so and realized that she must be sharing the same memory.

  “Were they the same two men who accosted us earlier tonight?” John asked. His question brought Matt’s attention back to him.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought it might be them. Are they dead?”

  “Yes,” Matt said. “I had no choice.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, and please believe me, my question wasn’t a challenge. What do you think we should do now?”

  “Now? I think we should all go back to sleep. In the morning we can go to the sheriff and tell him what happened and where he can find the bodies.”

  “Yes,” John said. “I think we should do that.” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “The number of men killed just keeps piling up, thanks to me.”

  “What do you mean, thanks to you, Papa? I’m the one who has actually killed someone.”

  John put his arms around Mary Beth and pulled her to him. “And that’s my fault,” he said.

  “You can’t be blamed for any of this,” Matt said. “All you are doing is going to Chicago. All these men have brought about their own deaths.”

  “I know, and when I’m thinking reasonably, I realize that. But sometimes my thoughts go beyond reason.” John sighed. “Please, Matt, do not construe my . . . self-recriminations as any kind of disapproval of you. I know well that if you weren’t traveling with us that Mary Beth and I would have been killed a long time ago.”

  “John, if you didn’t have doubts about all this, you wouldn’t be human,” Matt said. “You would be like me. Long ago I learned to put such feelings aside, and now I live in a dark place that I wouldn’t recommend for anyone. We’ll go see the sheriff tomorrow morning.”

  “I know the sheriff in this town, and he knows me. When we go to see him, I’ll explain everything. And I’ll tell him why I am here in Assumption.”

  “No, I don’t think you should do that,” Matt said.

  “No?”

  “Oh, you can tell him you are here to see Mr. Morris. After all, you own the mine and he works for you, so that would be expected. But I don’t think you should tell him that you suspect Morris. And I don’t think you should even tell Morris the real reason for your visit.”

  “Why not? If you think I shouldn’t tell Morris, or anyone else, I won’t of course. But why do you think I shouldn’t?”

  “If Morris is behind this, he’ll give himself away as soon as he sees you. You said yourself, you would be able to tell whether or not he is the guilty party, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did say that.”

  “And if he is behind it, who is to say that the sheriff isn’t in on it as well? We should tell the sheriff as little as possible, make him think that we believed the two men had come to rob us.”

  “Yes,” John said, nodding his head in agreement. “Yes, I think you are right, that is a good idea. I shouldn’t tell the sheriff any more than I have to, and I won’t let Morris know that I suspect him.”

  When they stepped into the sheriff’s office the next morning, they saw him sitting on a stool near the only occupied cell of the three that made up the jail. The sheriff and the prisoner who was the occupant of the cell were both drinking coffee. In addition, they were playing a game of checkers through the bars.

  “Now, damn it, Stu, you touched that man, and that means you have to move it,” the sheriff said.

  “No, I didn’t touch it, Henry,” Stu said. “All I done was put my finger real close to it, but I didn’t touch it.”

  “You know, I can keep you in jail for lyin’ just as easy as I can for being drunk in public,” the sheriff replied.

  “I wasn’t drunk in public. I was drunk in the saloon. I was sleeping in public.”

  “You were passed out drunk. Now move that man, or I’ll add three more days to your sentence.”

  “Go ahead. I eat better in jail than I do anywhere else.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t get any whiskey here.”

  “That’s true,” Stu said, reaching down to move the man being questioned.

  “Sheriff Goodbody?” John said.

  The sheriff looked around and, for a moment, showed some curiosity as to who had addressed him. Then, he recognized John, and a broad smile spread across his face.

  “Well, I’ll be, if it isn’t the man who saved our town,” he said, standing and approaching Gillespie with his hand extended. “Hello, Mr. Gillespie, what brings you to Assumption?”

  “Oh, I’m on my way to Chicago, and I thought I would just drop in and pay a visit to Ray Morris.”

  “Well, sir, I’m sure Mr. Morris will appreciate it,” Sheriff Goodbody said. The sheriff looked, curiously, at Mary Beth and Matt.

  “Oh, where are my manners? Sheriff, this is my daughter, Mary Beth, and my friend, Matt Jensen.”

  “Mrs. Jensen?” the sheriff asked.

  Mary Beth laughed, the laughter a pleasant sound. “No,” she said. “I’m not married.”

  “Oh, Miss Gillespie, please forgive me.”

  “Don’t be silly, there is nothing to forgive.”

  “Mr. Jensen,” the sheriff said, extending his hand.

  “Sheriff,” Matt replied, taking the proffered hand.

  “Henry,” John continued, clearing his throat. “I have another reason for coming to see you.”

  “Oh?”

  “My private car is parked on a sidetrack down at the depot. During the night two armed men came around, apparently to rob me. Mr. Jensen engaged them in a gunfight.”

  “I see. And you want me to find out who did it and put them in jail?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” John said.

  “What do you mean, it won’t be necessary?”

  “I know who they are. At least, I know their first names. Ned and Ruben.”

  “Ah, yes, that would be Ned Stone and Ruben Harrell. And you are right, they most likely were coming to rob you. They aren’t either one of them worth the cost of a rope it would take to hang them. I’ll see if I can find them for you.”

  “They will be easy enough for you to find,” Matt said. “They are both lying down at the rail yard, about a hundred feet or so from Mr. Gillespie’s private car.”

  “Lying there? You mean they are dead?”

  “Yes,” Matt said. “I killed them both.”

  �
��I assure you, Henry, Mr. Jensen fired in self-defense. Ned and Ruben shot first.”

  “All right, I’ll get Mr. Dumey down there to pick them up. If you’ll both sign a statement as to what happened, I’m sure it will go no further than that. Like I said, they were a couple of ne’er-do-wells.”

  “What about a man named Muley?” Matt asked. “Do you know anything about him?”

  “Muley? Why are you asking about him?” the sheriff asked.

  “The two men I shot, Ned and Rubin, mentioned him. Do you know Muley?”

  “Yes, I know Muley. His real name is Martin Sullivan.”

  “Sullivan?” John asked. “Look here, Henry, are you talking about the union boss?”

  “Yes, that’s right, you do know him, don’t you? He’s the one that near ’bout broke the town with his infernal strikes. That is till you come along ’n bought the mine.”

  “There’s no union trouble now, is there?” John asked. “I mean, if there is, Ray hasn’t mentioned it.”

  “Oh, there’s no real trouble, but that doesn’t mean that Muley Sullivan don’t keep the miners stirred up all the time. He’s always tryin’ to make trouble, but the miners is all mostly satisfied with the pay ’n the workin’ conditions now, so they don’t always listen to him. Sometimes Sullivan gets a little rough with them, and when he does, he’ll often use Stone and Harrell to enforce his policies. Well, I suppose I should say he used them, since they’re dead now.”

  “Where would we find Sullivan?” Matt asked.

  “What do you want him for?”

  “I just want to ask him a few questions.”

  “Look, Muley Sullivan is not a very friendly man, and some of the shenanigans he’s pulled with the miners have come very close to breaking the law. But so far he’s managed to stay on the right side of the line. Barely, I admit, but he hasn’t done anything I could get him for. And just because Stone and Harrell may have mentioned him, doesn’t really mean anything.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Matt said.