by Jake Logan
Still, he rode about awhile to be sure no one followed him, then he cut across country, heading north and east to a narrow trail going to the summit of the hill he had chosen. Barely had he dismounted when he saw in the distance a puff of white steam. Seconds later he heard the whistle. He rummaged through his saddlebags for his small telescope. He unfolded it and lifted it to his eye. A few seconds later he found the spot where the steam had risen in a roiling column and traced down to its source.
Without realizing it, he leaned forward, as if trying to get a better look at the train. The whistle had signaled more than its stop. It had released the head of steam powering the locomotive up the hill. Slocum thrust the telescope back into his saddlebags and rode hard, following the ridge. The train was several miles away, but he had chosen well where he would watch. The ridge curled around and finally ran alongside the tracks below. Within ten minutes Slocum was on the steep slope above the stopped train.
“Open up, dammit, or we’ll blow the door off.”
Slocum drew his rifle but was on the wrong side of the train to get a shot at the outlaws hammering on the far side of the mail car. He heard a muffled response from the mail clerk, then more cursing from the outlaws.
“You should have brung the dynamite with you.”
“How was I to know he wouldn’t open up?”
“Blow the damned door off. We’ve wasted too much time.”
“I almost killed my horse getting the dynamite back in camp.”
“Shut up, and blow the door.” The outlaw said even louder, “And I don’t care if you kill the fool inside either.”
“Wait, wait, you really got dynamite?” came the anguished question from inside the mail car.
The small pop warned Slocum that a half stick had been detonated as proof that they did.
“We got plenty more. You opening up?”
The raspy sound of a metal lock opening was followed by the screech of the mail car door being pushed back.
Slocum heard heavy footsteps and incoherent shouts coming from within the car. He made sure his horse was tethered to a low bush, gripped his rifle, then started running for all he was worth. Airborne, he worked his legs hard as if he could gain traction. He flew though the air and barely landed atop the mail car.
“What’s that?”
“Somebody on the roof! I thought Frank was taking care of the conductor and engineer.”
“Get to work,” came the brisk order.
Slocum got his feet under him an instant before slugs ripped through the roof on either side of him. He used the rifle butt to smash into the roof a couple feet to his left to draw fire. Then he jumped right, got to the edge of the car just over the door, and peered down.
He heard movement inside but couldn’t spot either the robbers or the mail clerk.
“I think I got him. Whoever’s on the roof is filled with holes ’bout now.”
Slocum fired the instant he saw a masked face poke around the corner. Unfortunately the outlaw fired at the same instant. Slocum fell backward, then rolled from side to side, dodging the bullets blasting through the wood all around him. He tried to get to his feet but slipped and sat heavily.
“Let’s clear out!”
Slocum flopped on his belly and thrust his rifle out. Three outlaws struggled with a heavy canvas bag. He took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell on a dud. Cursing under his breath, he levered in a new cartridge, but by the time he had cleared the chamber and fired again, the trio of train robbers were galloping back down the tracks. He scrambled around and got off a couple more shots but didn’t come within a country mile of hitting any of them.
He swung down, dangled for a moment, kicked, and landed on his knees inside the mail car. The clerk looked half past dead, his face in a pool of blood, but when Slocum turned him over, the man’s eyes flickered.
“That you on the roof?” he asked.
“I chased them off but didn’t hit a one of them,” Slocum said in disgust. If the first round hadn’t been punk, he would have dropped at least one of them.
“What’d they steal?”
“They slugged me.” He patted his vest and looked frightened. The clerk tried to stand but lost his balance.
“Whoa, take it easy. They clipped you on the forehead. That’s mighty messy but isn’t all that serious,” Slocum said, looking at the man’s head wound. “But it scrambled your brains a mite.”
“Vision’s all blurred.” He searched his vest pockets again, then his arms fell limp at his sides as if the bones had been turned to suet. “They got the key to the safe.”
“This safe?” Slocum reached out and touched a low castiron box with the key still in the lock. “Doesn’t look like they opened it.”
“You mighta scared them off.”
Slocum doubted that. He had taken his sweet time jumping to the mail car roof. If the robbers had the key, all they needed to do was turn it.
“You want to see what they took?” He remembered the canvas bag the trio had struggled with. That much gold would be quite a chore to carry—about as much of a chore as the three had shown with the bag.
“You’re in for a fat reward, mister,” the clerk said. He looked as if he had gone through Antietam and barely survived. His face was covered with blood, his hair matted, and the front of his coat and vest caked. “See? See? The gold’s still here!”
Slocum rested his rifle against the car wall and pulled the heavy bag out onto the floor. It landed with a satisfying thud. He worked the fastener open on the top and peered in.
Bright gold coins reflected their wealth back into his eyes.
“They didn’t get the gold,” he said, shocked. It flashed through his mind how easy it would be to tie up the clerk and rob the train himself. Then he heard a commotion behind him. He turned and saw the conductor and a dozen passengers. Some of them clutched six-shooters and others pointed walking sticks at him as if they held rifles—and they probably did.
“Wait, Clarence, wait,” the clerk said to the conductor. “He stopped the robbery. This man’s a hero. He saved the shipment!”
Slocum could only smile weakly when the conductor and the passengers let out a cheer. He had prevented the robbery, and he had no idea how that had happened.
10
“He’s a hero. He saved my life. Those men were killers and would have . . . killed me!” The mail car clerk stood on the railroad depot platform haranguing a large crowd gathered to see what the fuss was about. Slocum tried to edge away, but the station agent gripped his arm hard and held him in place.
“Don’t go runnin’ off,” the agent said. “We need a hero right about now.”
“I’m not your man,” Slocum said, but the station agent made sure he stayed. The clerk came over and grabbed Slocum’s hand and raised it high, as if he had just won a bareknuckles fight.
“This here’s the one. He saved me!”
“And he saved the gold shipment,” the station agent said.
This made Slocum a mite uneasy since he had seen the outlaws struggling with a heavy canvas bag. There had been the one remaining in the safe but he thought the thieves had taken at least one before he had run them off.
“You sure about that?”
Both the agent and Slocum turned to see the marshal with his deputy, Sid, at the edge of the platform.
“Sure as I can be about anything, Marshal,” the agent said.
“The crowd’s all ready to get liquored up in celebration,” Atkinson said, looking disgusted. He motioned to Sid to follow them around to keep the peace. Anytime the Leadville citizens celebrated, fists flew and shots were fired. “I want to look over the car.”
“Sure thing, Marshal,” the agent said.
“You, too, Slocum. You turn up in the damnedest places.” He rested his hand on his six-shooter, as if he was ready to throw down on Slocum.
They went to the car.
“You go through everything that happened, and don’t leave out the smal
lest detail,” the marshal ordered. He moved to the side of the car, where he wouldn’t be in the way.
Slocum recounted what he had done. Now and again, the marshal looked up at the holes in the roof and then at the dried bloodstain on the floor. He paced back and forth, then knelt by the safe door. He rapped it with his knuckles.
“Can see why they forgot to bring along dynamite. A can opener’d be all you’d need for this safe.”
“It wasn’t a good idea letting the mail clerk keep the key,” Slocum said.
“No, it wasn’t. I don’t have any say-so when it comes to shipping the gold or mail. That’s up to the railroad executives back in Denver, them and federal officials, who don’t give two hoots and a holler about such things.” He grunted as he pulled the canvas bag containing the gold coins from the safe and dropped it to the floor. He pawed through the coins inside, then dropped them back and closed the bag.
“From what you say, they had plenty of time to steal the coins. But they didn’t. You have any ideas about that, Slocum?”
“Marshal, I just heard the news.” Elena Warburton climbed into the car amid a flurry of petticoats and ruffles. She looked flustered, and Slocum could understand why. The Pinkerton Detective Agency was responsible for protecting the shipment.
“Seems your man here, Slocum, saved us all a powerful lot of trouble. He kept the robbers from taking the shipment. Reckon that puts him in line for a big reward.” Atkinson looked hard at Elena, who seemed even more flustered at the idea Slocum had prevented the robbery. “Doesn’t it?”
“Why, yes, I suppose so.”
“There’d be bloody hell to pay if the miners lost their payroll. Last time that happened was nigh on a year back. The former marshal got his head bashed in with a crowbar trying to explain. They burned down the bank and some thought the whole town was going up along with it. Yes, ma’am, your man Slocum saved the day.”
“You’d better get the gold to the bank, then,” Elena said.
“You authorize the reward for Slocum?” Atkinson asked.
“I’ll send the telegram to Denver immediately.”
“I’ll come along with you,” Slocum said.
Atkinson laughed. “I can see why you don’t trust her,” he said. “But you got witnesses. And the clerk, why, he’d swear on a stack of Bibles that you saved his life and prevented the robbery.”
“You sound skeptical, Marshal,” Elena said.
Atkinson shook his head.
“Just curious that Slocum happened to be Johnny-on-the-spot the way he was. How’d you come across a robbery a couple miles outside town?”
“Just went for a ride, Marshal,” Slocum said. “It was too nice a spring day to spend drinking away it away.”
“Wish more of Leadville’s fine citizens thought that way. There’d be fewer drunken fights.” He cocked his head to the side, and scowled. “Sounds like a dustup brewing as we speak.”
“See to getting the shipment to the bank first, Marshal,” Elena said.
“Of course I will. That would be a shame if Slocum here saved it from robbers but I lost it.” Atkinson grunted as he picked up the heavy bag of coins and perched them on his shoulder. He staggered a step, got his balance, then dropped from the railcar to the ground and headed for the bank.
“I misjudged you, John. I . . . I’m sorry.”
“Let’s go to the telegraph office,” he said. Slocum looked into the empty safe and came to the conclusion that had gnawed away at him since the robbery.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you when we get away from here.”
The clerk led one more cheer as Slocum and Elena made their way past the edge of the diminished crowd. Slocum waved and then pushed Elena through the crowd and back into the street so they could go to the telegraph office.
“You are mighty eager for that reward,” she said. She turned a bit frosty again. Something about accepting a reward for what he had done didn’t set well with her. And it didn’t with Slocum either. He told her why.
“I don’t care if you recommend a reward or not. That wasn’t a robbery,” Slocum said. She stopped and spun to stare at him.
“Explain yourself.”
“I think it was a robbery but not like the mail car clerk thinks. I saw the outlaws with a heavy canvas bag that looked identical to the one in the safe.”
“But there was only the one bag of double eagles.”
“I want you to get an answer from your Denver agent about what was put on the train.”
“Mr. Pullman himself would have supervised the shipment.”
“Get details about the canvas bag he shipped the coins in,” Slocum said.
“Why?”
“I think the purpose of the robbery wasn’t to steal the coins and ride off but instead to substitute counterfeit coins for the real ones.”
“So nobody would know they were stolen?”
“It’s a better scheme than having a youngster like the Eakin kid swindling coins one or two at a time.”
“There was twenty thousand dollars’ worth of coins in the shipment!”
“And if I’m right, they’ve all been replaced by fake coins.”
The whistle on the train sounded and then wheels sparked against the tracks as the engineer pulled out.
“The train is returning to Denver,” Elena said uneasily. “Nobody checked the passengers.”
“I’m the only one who can identify the counterfeiter I saw with Eakin, unless you got a good look at any of them when they were trying to kill us down in the valley.”
Elena started to speak, then clamped her mouth shut.
“I didn’t think you got any better look at them then than I did.”
“So they have the coins?”
“And the fakes are in the bank now with nobody questioning if they are real.”
“It’ll look as if the Pinkerton Detective Agency substituted the coins in Denver. Our reputation will be ruined.”
“Only if we don’t get the real shipment back.”
“You could be wrong.”
“Can you risk it?” Slocum asked.
Elena almost ran to the telegraph office and sent the message to her partner in Denver.
“I can’t believe Mr. Pullman would do anything crooked. He is so . . . infuriatingly proper.”
“He wouldn’t need to be in on the robbery,” Slocum said. “The counterfeiters are clever sons of bitches. They make good fakes, but getting them into circulation is hard if you try to do it one coin at a time.” He went on to tell her about watching the counterfeiters working in the blacksmith’s shop to tap out more of the coins.
“They needed to coat them when they finished stamping the coins,” Elena said thoughtfully. “That’s not difficult if you can get a fire hot enough to melt gold.”
“I’d lay odds that the coins are on the way back to Denver,” Slocum said. “It’s a bigger town and from there they can scatter throughout the West with their loot.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Anyone capable of a robbery like this would want to repeat it. Not here perhaps but somewhere else. They’d use a few of the real double eagles to coat more lead planchets.”
“There’s never such a thing as ‘too much’ for a crook,” Slocum agreed. He’d had his taste of this in the past when he had ridden with outlaw gangs. Easy money was as addicting as riding the dragon. If the first robbery went off without a hitch, then a second was planned right away. Soon enough, planning fell by the wayside and the bullets started flying. These counterfeiters were successful but had shown they would kill.
Slocum considered the train robbery and realized they were more dangerous than the usual gang of cutthroats. They had needed the mail clerk to be left alive to brag about not losing the gold shipment. Any hint that they had switched bags would set a posse on their trail instantly. As it was, Slocum thought they had simply boarded the return train for Denver and were well on their way to spending twenty thousand dollars in stolen coins
.
“Miss, here’s your reply,” the telegrapher said, pushing the flimsy yellow sheet toward Elena and giving Slocum a look that showed how puzzled he was.
Slocum glanced over Elena’s shoulder. He reached down and pointed to the information that struck him the hardest.
“Pullman said the bag he put on the train had been marked 17. The one I saw was 23.”
“Why didn’t they get this right?”
“They didn’t know Pullman’s code,” Slocum said. “This means your partner isn’t in on the theft. Otherwise he would have told them the right number so they could match it up.”
“That’s a relief. He’s an overbearing, pompous—” Elena cut off the diatribe. “It’s good that he is still working for the best interest of the company.”
“Telling the banker he’s got a shipment of counterfeit coins isn’t going to help matters,” Slocum said. “It’s as bad one way or the other. Telling everyone he has bogus coins or just refusing to pass them to the miners—either way will cause a riot.”
“I can’t let the bank hand out the coins!”
“The only way I see to get out of this is to fetch back the real gold.”
“But they’re on the way to Denver!”
“Telegraph your partner and let him know.”
“He can’t arrest them. How would he prove to the authorities that the men with the coins haven’t come by them legally?”
“Have him do some detective work, find the counterfeiters, and then I’ll take care of getting the coins back.”
“You?”
“I have a reward coming. I might as well earn it.”
“You feel badly about taking the reward when the shipment was actually stolen?” This thought caused Elena to brighten and a smile to curl the corners of her lips.
Slocum had to wonder at her.
“You might say that,” he told her. She took his arm and for a moment he thought she was going to kiss him in front of the telegraph clerk.
“I have another telegram to send. To the same party. Josiah Pullman, Denver.”