“Colbert and Mrs. Buckner are bound to be here soon,” Smoke said. “Let’s take cover behind that second handcar.”
They did so, crouching down and counting on the shadows inside the shed to help conceal them. Many times over the years, Smoke had waited for a moment that might well bring with it gunplay and sudden death, so he was calm, but the imminent violence made Jones nervous and fidgety.
Then the door began to creak open. Smoke motioned for Jones to be still and quiet. They waited while Colbert forced Melanie into the shed and kicked the door closed behind them.
“You . . . you said you’d let me go back to the hotel when we got here,” Melanie quavered as Colbert pushed her toward the nearest handcar.
“Yeah, but I got to thinking about it, and I’m liable to need help pumping this son of a bitch,” the outlaw told her. “And that bastard Jones didn’t tell me there was another handcar here. Probably trying to trick me. But if I take you along, Jensen and the others will be less likely to follow and give me trouble.”
“You can’t take me,” Melanie pleaded. “My son needs me. Don’t do this—”
Colbert set the case full of money on the other handcar. He turned sharply and backhanded Melanie, then grabbed her and pulled her against him.
“Listen to me, you little bitch. I’m tired of your whining. My men are waiting for me in Reno, and they’ve got a big job lined up. I don’t know exactly what it is, but they told me that it’s worth a fortune, and if I’m not there, they’ll go ahead and steal it without me! I’m not going to let that happen. That’s my gang, and I’m damned if I’m not going to be there leading them when they pull that job.”
“You’re . . . you’re tired of me whining?” Melanie said. Something happened to her then, something that Smoke hadn’t seen from her before. Her eyes flashed with anger as she cried, “I’m tired of you threatening me and my boy!”
Her hand shot up and clawed at Colbert’s face.
He snarled a curse and smashed his fist against her jaw, knocking her back so that she sprawled on the railroad tracks. Spewing filthy names, he started to bring his gun to bear on her.
Until now, Smoke hadn’t had a shot because Melanie was too close to Colbert. But with several feet of distance between them, Smoke seized the chance. He stood up and fired across both handcars. His Colt boomed like thunder as it echoed from the snowshed’s walls and roof.
The slug crashed into Colbert’s side and flung him back several steps. He twisted to meet this new and unexpected threat, but before his gun could come to bear, Smoke triggered his revolver again. This bullet drove into the outlaw’s chest.
Colbert sagged, his eyes wide with shock and horror and disbelief. “Jensen!” he gasped. “You . . . you son of a—”
Smoke’s third shot went through Colbert’s forehead and blew out a good-sized chunk of skull, along with a grisly spray of blood and brains, as it came out the back of his head. Colbert rocked back again and then pitched forward, dead as he could be.
“Good Lord,” Juniper Jones said in the hush that followed on the heels of that gun thunder. He hadn’t needed to use the Winchester he had brought along. “Those dime novels about you didn’t tell the half of it!”
Smoke started thumbing fresh cartridges into the Colt to replace the ones he had fired. As he was doing that, he said, “Go check on Mrs. Buckner, and then we need to get back to the hotel. I’ve got some figuring to do.”
“Figuring? It’s over, isn’t it?”
“Not hardly,” Smoke said as he pouched the reloaded iron. “You heard what Colbert said. His gang is in Reno and is about to pull some sort of big job. That means there’s liable to be plenty of shooting. I have family there waiting for me who might wind up in danger, so I have to find a way to stop it!”
CHAPTER 39
Sally Jensen sat at a table in the dining room of the Riverside Hotel and lingered over a second cup of coffee. From where she sat in Reno’s oldest and best hotel, she could see the large bridge spanning the Truckee River right beside the establishment, and beyond that in the distance the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevadas.
She couldn’t help but wonder where her husband was at this very moment. The last she had heard from Smoke, he had a plan for reaching Reno before Christmas despite the snow-blocked pass in the mountains. If there was one thing Sally knew about Smoke, it was that when he set out to do something, he always accomplished it.
Because of that, she expected to see him come strolling into the hotel at any moment.
Instead, four other men entered the dining room and started across it toward the table where Sally sat. Luke and Matt Jensen were in front, followed by Luke’s sons, Ace and Chance. The men were talking among themselves and laughing quietly over something.
Sally smiled at them. It would be hard to imagine a more formidable quartet. Each of them had lived a life packed with adventure and danger. Yet none of it had hardened them . . . well, not too much. Luke’s profession as a bounty hunter had left him with some rough edges. But all the Jensens were gentlemanly and chivalrous around her and, in Sally’s estimation, had genuinely good souls.
“That brother of mine hasn’t shown up yet?” Matt asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
“If he had, he’d be right here,” Luke said. “You know Smoke is never very far from Sally if he can help it.”
Matt grinned. “He’s the smartest of all the Jensens, you know. He’s the only one who has a beautiful wife.”
“Or a wife of any kind,” Luke said dryly.
Chance said, “I’m not sure that makes him so smart. A married man doesn’t have much choice except to settle down, and I’m not ready for that yet.”
“You never will be,” Ace muttered, while Matt laughed and said, “You try telling Smoke that he’s settled down. I’d like to listen in on that conversation.”
The others all sat down to order coffee and a late breakfast. The morning had dawned sunny but extremely cold in Reno. Off to the west, clouds still hung stubbornly over the peaks, but to Sally they looked like they were starting to break up at last.
Ace and Chance had reached Reno first, followed in fairly short order by their father and uncle. All of them had had a very pleasant family dinner with Sally the night before. Now they were just waiting for Smoke to show up, along with Louis and Denise.
Worry nagged at the back of Sally’s mind. She knew the weather had been terrible up there in the mountains. The Donner Pass was blocked by snow. Smoke planned to take another route and travel by stagecoach, but it was quite possible that he had run into obstacles.
Her confidence in her husband’s ability to handle whatever problems fate threw at him was almost boundless, but it wouldn’t have been natural if she wasn’t a little bit concerned.
All that would evaporate the instant Smoke strode in, gathered her in his arms, and kissed her.
Sally was more than ready for that to happen.
Two waiters were kept busy bringing out platters of flapjacks, biscuits, steaks, bacon, eggs, and hash browns for the Jensen men, along with pots of coffee. Best known for fast guns and quick fists, Jensens also had hearty appetites. When the meal was finally done, they leaned back in their chairs and stretched out their legs, letting the food digest in peace.
“I believe I’ll walk down to the train station in a bit,” Luke commented. “There’s an eastbound coming in, and watching a train arrive is always a pleasant diversion.”
“Might be somebody interesting getting off,” Matt commented. “I’ll come with you.”
“It’s something to do until Smoke gets here,” Ace added.
Sally smiled at them. “None of you like to just sit around and take it easy, do you?”
“A fella likes to be up and doing something,” Luke said. “That’s just the natural way of things.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you. I’ll be fine here at the hotel.”
Chance said, “I’ll stay, and we can play cards, Aunt Sally.”<
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Ace frowned and told his brother, “Don’t go trying to promote a poker game.”
“Who said anything about poker?” Chance asked with an innocent look on his face. “I was thinking more of bridge. I’m sure we can get up a nice, enjoyable game of bridge with some of the other guests.”
“All right,” Ace said, “but no wagering.”
Sally laughed and said, “I’ll make sure we don’t get involved in a shootout over cards.”
“Don’t sell my brother short,” Ace warned her. “If there’s a way to get in trouble over a game of bridge, Chance can find it!”
“At least watching a train come in ought to be nice and peaceful,” Matt said.
* * *
Magnus Stevenson finished tying Sadie Andrews’s hands behind the rungs on the back of the kitchen chair where the girl sat. Sadie had cried for the first couple of days Stevenson and Jim Bob Mitchell had held them hostage in the Andrews home, but now her tears had dried up and the gaze she turned toward Stevenson was cold and filled with hate.
Stevenson had to chuckle. Sadie looked like she would gladly take Mitchell’s knife and carve the outlaws’ cojones right off. He bet she’d do it if she got the chance, too. An adolescent girl was a bad enemy to have.
“There,” Stevenson said. “I didn’t tie you too tight, did I?”
“Why do you care about that?” Sadie asked. “You’ve been threatening to kill us for days. Why worry about making the ropes too tight?”
Mitchell was finishing up the job of tying Rebecca Andrews into another chair. He grinned and said, “Better go ahead and gag that one. She’ll be cussin’ your ears off in a minute.”
“I’m not worried about that, but yeah, we’ll have to gag them. Otherwise they might start yelling and somebody passing by could hear them.”
“Best not waste any time. The others will be gettin’ ready about now. These two pretty ladies better hope ol’ Carl ain’t thinkin’ about tryin’ any sort of double cross. ’Cause we’ll be back to see ’em if he does.”
Mitchell leaned over Rebecca’s shoulder and ran his hands over her breasts, causing her to shudder. Stevenson frowned. He hadn’t been able to keep Mitchell from pawing both of the prisoners at various times, but at least he had stopped there, despite his continued threats to molest them further. Stevenson didn’t feel any real sympathy for the hostages, but he had never seen any point in evil for its own sake. Getting their hands on that four hundred grand was all that really mattered.
Stevenson cut a piece off the tablecloth, wadded it up, and shoved it into Sadie’s mouth, being careful that she didn’t bite him as he did it. She might take off a couple of fingers if he gave her the chance. Then he tied the gag in place while Mitchell was doing the same with the girl’s mother.
They left the Andrews house through the back door, after taking a good look through the kitchen window to make sure nobody was around. It would look suspicious if anyone spotted two strange men sneaking out of the house in the middle of the morning.
Once they had walked a short distance along the alley behind the houses, they cut through a narrow passage to the street. The air was crisp and very cold.
Stevenson said, “I sure thought Frank would be here by now.”
“Could be something happened to him,” Mitchell said. “We know he got Deke’s telegram, but there’s no telling about anything after that.” He nodded toward the mountains. “I’ve heard folks talkin’ about how bad the weather’s been up there. Frank might be stuck somewhere, waitin’ for it to clear up.”
“Well, that’s just too damn bad, because we can’t wait for him. If he meets up with us later, he can take over for the next job. I’ve got to say, Deke’s actually come up with a pretty good plan for this one . . . as long as Andrews cooperates.”
“He ain’t gonna double-cross us now,” Mitchell said. “Not with those two honeys waitin’ for him at home.”
Up ahead was the bank where Carl Andrews worked. It was open for business, but on Christmas Eve not many people were going in and out of the place.
As Stevenson and Mitchell drew even with it, Mitchell sat down on a bench in front of a hardware store, drew his knife from its sheath, and took a piece of wood from his pocket. He had been whittling on it for a while and had fashioned it into the rudimentary figure of an Indian chief. He whistled a sprightly little tune as he resumed work on it.
Stevenson looked around, spotted Otis Harmon across the street, looking in the window of the store next to the bank. That happened to be a dress shop, and nobody was going to believe that the cold-eyed gunman was actually interested in the gowns displayed there, but Harmon didn’t have to fool people for long. The cash was supposed to arrive on the train in less than half an hour.
Mahoney and Hopgood were nowhere in sight, but Stevenson wasn’t worried about that. The plan called for the two of them to enter the bank through the rear door—which Carl Andrews would make sure was unlocked, if he knew what was good for him and his family—and they would get the drop on the guards. Then Stevenson, Mitchell, and Harmon would come in from the front to close the jaws of the trap.
Andrews had explained that Cameron and Nickerson, the two mine owners involved in the four hundred thousand–dollar transaction, had decided not to bring the cash in under heavy guard. That would be liable to draw attention, and they wanted to keep the deal as quiet as possible until the money had changed hands and was locked up safely in the bank’s vault. So there would be only a couple of extra guards, as well as the two normally on duty in the bank.
The gang would have the guards outnumbered, and they didn’t expect trouble from anyone else in the bank. As soon as the money showed up and was inside, Stevenson would signal Mahoney and Hopgood and the real job would begin.
When it was over, the five of them would be rich men. Earlier, talking to Mitchell, Stevenson had mentioned the gang’s next job. Now, as he thought about it, he realized there might not be a next job. Each man’s share would be eighty thousand dollars. That was plenty for them to live in comfort for the rest of their lives if they wanted to. No more trading shots with lawmen and outraged townspeople. No more running from posses. No more cold, hungry nights on the trail.
The others could do what they wanted, Stevenson thought, but as far as he was concerned, today would be the last day of his career as an outlaw.
* * *
Matt, Luke, and Ace turned up the collars on their sheepskin coats as they walked toward the railroad station. The wind blowing down from the mountains was cold enough to turn a fellow’s cheeks red and take his breath away. Good weather for Christmas. Reno had streetlights, and decorated bells hung from the poles and swung back and forth, making festive music.
The sound of a train whistle blended with the ringing bells. Matt said, “Sounds like we’re just in time. That westbound is about to roll in.”
A few other people were walking toward the depot, intent on either boarding the train or greeting passengers who were disembarking. The westbound would be turned around in Reno’s roundhouse and become an eastbound, and that practice would continue as long as Donner Pass was closed.
The three Jensens went into the station lobby, which seemed a little warm and stuffy after being outside. They moved across the big, high-ceilinged room to the doors that led out onto the platform. The big Baldwin locomotive was already in sight along the tracks, with black smoke billowing from its diamond-shaped stack. Drivers clattered, brakes squealed, and steam hissed as the locomotive rolled past the platform and the train ground to a halt.
Ace leaned a shoulder against one of the posts holding up the awning over the platform while Matt and Luke sat down on one of the benches. The three of them watched as porters put steps in place and passengers began to climb down from the cars.
Idly, Ace glanced along the length of the train and then frowned as he watched several men unloading a small trunk from the express car. Two porters were on the ground while two more lowered the trunk to them so
they could transfer it to a wheeled cart. From the way they all handled the trunk, it was rather heavy, although not so much that it was a real burden.
That wasn’t particularly unusual, and it wasn’t what really caught Ace’s eye. What made him look twice were the two men standing by while the trunk was unloaded. Both wore holstered pistols. One man carried a Winchester while the other had a double-barreled shotgun tucked under his arm. Ace didn’t see any badges on their coats or vests.
While it wasn’t unusual to see armed men on the streets in the early days of this new century—all the Jensens were packing iron—it wasn’t nearly as common as it had been even a few years earlier. And men as heavily armed as these two seemed to be expecting trouble. The way they constantly turned their heads and regarded their surroundings in hawk-like fashion confirmed that.
“Matt, Luke,” Ace said quietly. He always called Luke by his first name, rather than “Father” or “Pa,” and so did Chance. When the brothers had first met Luke none of them had been aware of the relationship between them, so they still thought of him that way.
“What is it?” Matt asked as he looked around.
Ace straightened from his casual pose against the post. “See those two fellas down there by the express car? You notice anything about them?”
“They appear to be armed for bear,” Luke said as he joined Matt in gazing along the train toward the men Ace had mentioned.
The porters began wheeling the cart around the end of the depot. The two armed men went with them.
“Whatever they’re doing, it’s none of our business,” Luke said.
“Maybe not,” Matt said, “but it’s more interesting than watching family reunions and lonely traveling salesmen who are away from their families for the holidays.” He came to his feet. “I say we go take a look.”
“There’s no profit in it.”
A High Sierra Christmas Page 31