Dead Man Walking

by Derek Rutherford

  ‘I should have shot that damn engineer,’ Ned Donovan said. He was across the room by another window. His trousers were off and he was picking tiny shards of lead from the back of his left thigh. ‘You try and do the right thing – let a fellow live – and he peppers you with lead.’

  ‘Might be that Little Joe got captured alive,’ Callum said. ‘Wes was.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ Red said. ‘I just got a feeling that’s all. Can’t see how that fellow would have been in my carriage if Joe and Lech were still alive.’ He finished the whiskey, looked at the empty bottle and threw it across the room. ‘We need to know for sure.’

  ‘We going to Austin?’ Callum said.

  ‘Well, we certainly ain’t robbing no more trains. Not with just three of us,’ Red said. He looked across at Ned. ‘Stop picking at your scabs, Ned, and get your pants back on. If my brother’s alive, we have to bust him out of wherever he is before they hang him. If he’s dead we got a feller to kill to make up for it.’

  Chapter Four

  Jim Jackson breathed in the cool morning air. It tasted good. Not just clean, but cleansing.

  Yesterday he had killed two men. He hadn’t thought he would sleep a wink, and yet he had slept well. He couldn’t help but wonder what that said about him, about the man he had become.

  He stood outside the Alamo Hotel and looked left and right. The reason he had come here, the reason he had been on that train, was somewhere in this town was a place where the Penitentiary Board kept all of their records. Hell, somewhere in this town was where Texas kept all of its records on everything. The question was: where?

  He watched two girls walk by – no more than twenty years old, at a guess. They both had books in their hands, smiles on their faces, and a carefree jaunt in the way they walked. Across from the hotel was a square with trees growing in it and mown grass around the roots. A buggy, not unlike the one that Rosalie’s sister Roberta had been driving yesterday, crossed his vision. The buggy was clean and painted black with gold coach-lines. The paintwork shone as if it had been polished to within an inch of its life. The horse pulling the buggy was a grey, well groomed, well fed, and it held its head up as if it knew it was pulling a fine cart in a fine city. It all felt a thousand miles away from the world he had come from, where not so long ago he had stood in a sun-drenched street in a New Mexico border town and had killed a man in a gunfight whilst drunken people roared and cheered. The killing had been a turning a point in his life. That terrible act – an act that had been forced upon him – had hauled him up from the darkness that had enveloped him as a result of his experiences here in Texas and brought him back into a light that enabled him to live again, and ultimately to arrive here, in this very different Texas.

  He walked slowly towards the livery stables, smiling at people, nodding good morning. It was like being back in Illinois. It was civilised. It reminded him of how wild things had been – and still were – if you just headed west for a few days, maybe even just a few hours.

  He became conscious of the gun on his hip. Back in New Mexico you were the odd one out if you didn’t have a gun. Here a few people were looking at him as if he was some kind of savage. He smiled more widely at those people.

  At the stables his horse nuzzled up against him. She was well fed and watered, and the stall was clean. He told her he’d be back later, that he had no intention of staying here any longer than he could. Though even as he said the words he wondered about them. This civilised living . . . it reminded him of home. If indeed he still had a home. All the wildness, the savagery; was that really him? he wondered.

  ‘Happy’ Harry Harvey, the scowling owner of the livery, was in his office when Jim knocked on the door and pushed it open. Happy was counting money and writing numbers in a ledger. He had a thin black cheroot gripped in his teeth and the smoke curled upwards, gathered at the ceiling, and started spreading out. To Jim, it smelled like someone had set fire to an outhouse.

  ‘Yep?’ Happy said, before he’d even looked up. ‘What is it?’ He looked up. ‘Ah, yours is the mare. Fine horse. You want to sell her?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Pity. You want another night?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll let you know later. She looks happy. Thank you.’

  ‘Best livery in Austin. What can I do for you?’ He spoke and breathed and puffed smoke all whilst keeping the cheroot clamped in his teeth.

  ‘You know where in town I might get information?’

  ‘What kind of information?’

  ‘Prison information. I’m looking for my brother. He’s locked up somewhere in Texas. I was told if I came to Austin all the records are here.’

  ‘Well they ain’t in this office.’

  ‘Damn, I thought they would be.’

  Happy stared at him. Smoked seeped from the sides of the man’s mouth. For a moment the smoke made it look as if he was smiling. Maybe he was, Jim thought. Maybe that’s as close as he ever gets.

  ‘What did your brother do?’

  ‘He robbed a train.’

  ‘There’s a lot of it about. Surprised they didn’t hang him. The railroad companies don’t take kindly to such things. Much of the time these days they don’t even get to court, know what I mean? Fellow over at the railroad likes to shoot ’em whilst they’re running, I heard.’

  ‘You know where in town I might need to go?’

  ‘For information? Well, I’d have said the Capitol building. They had all the records there. But the place burned down a few years back and they haven’t built the new one yet.’

  ‘That’s the one that’s going up now?’

  ‘Something to see, ain’t it? How long’s your brother been in prison?’

  ‘Ten years.’

  Happy looked through the smoke. ‘And you’re only just looking for him now?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Happy stared at him for a moment. Now he really did smile as if he was seeing inside Jim’s head.

  ‘Wasn’t a family concern by any chance, this train-robbing, was it?’

  Jim said nothing, but he did allow himself to return Happy’s smile.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the paperwork you’re after didn’t go up in flames,’ Happy said. ‘A lot of it did. You should have seen the fire. They were throwing buckets of water on it from the front whilst carrying boxes of paper and paintings and all sorts out the back. You know we have a fire department in town?’

  ‘No, I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Lot of good it did them, the fire department. The building’s on a hill and there wasn’t any way to pump water up there.’

  ‘So where’s the government building now?’

  ‘They have a bunch of offices up on Capitol Avenue, or Capitol Drive, whatever they’re currently calling it. Have a wander up there. You can’t miss them. Ask one of the pretty ladies or the men in suits. Up there they all work for the state.’

  ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘I hope you find your brother.’

  ‘Me too.’

  He saw her before she saw him. She was walking along the front of a large building just down the street from the construction work. She was wearing her bonnet – which is how he recognized her – and appeared to be reading the plaques besides the many doors on the building. About a dozen feet away from him she paused, smiled to herself as if she’d found the building she wanted. Then she noticed him. She jumped in surprise, and smiled again.

  ‘Mr Jackson.’

  ‘Jim, please. How are you, Rosalie? I’m sorry; I never got your surname. I trust Rosalie isn’t too informal?’

  ‘No, no. It’s fine. It’s Rosalie Robertson, by the way.’

  ‘Well, Miss Robertson, what brings you here on this fine morning?’

  ‘A job,’ she said. ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘A job?’ He was genuinely surprised. Interested, too. It had never occurred to him that such a pretty woman, with such fine clothes, and such a way of holding herself would be in need of work.


  ‘We’ve all got to make a living.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘My sister—’

  ‘Roberta.’

  ‘Yes. She’s a clerk here in Austin. She said there were jobs going and that’s why I came to town. It’s worth a try. There’s nothing back west. Nothing I care for anyway.’

  Suddenly there was a whole host of questions he wanted to ask her. Back west. Where was she from? What had she been doing out there? Right now, the way the low morning sun was shining on her face reminded him of the way she had looked when he had first seen her on the train the previous day.

  ‘What’s this building? What’s the job?’

  ‘It’s the Centre for Population and Housing. They’re preparing for another census, so Roberta says. It takes a few years.’

  ‘And Roberta works here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He looked up and down the street. There were dozens of buildings, seemingly hundreds of people.

  ‘What is it?’ she said.

  ‘The reason I’m here. I’m trying to find out about some friends. I have no idea where to go.’

  ‘You think Roberta could help?’

  ‘I just need a pointer.’

  ‘I can ask her.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘After what you did for . . . all of us. I mean, are you OK? I never asked yesterday.’

  ‘I’m fine. I won’t say it was nothing, but I’m OK.’

  ‘What are they going to do? Are you going to get a reward? Will you have to go to court for their trial? The ones you didn’t. . . .’

  ‘I don’t know yet. I imagine so – regarding the court. I doubt there’ll be any reward.’

  ‘There darn well ought to be.’

  He smiled. He liked the way she swore on his behalf. He wanted to tell her that he wasn’t planning on staying in Austin long enough to have any involvement at all in the aftermath of the train robbery, but he held his tongue.

  ‘So, who are your friends?’

  He looked at her, held her gaze. He wasn’t sure if she didn’t blush slightly. ‘You may think less of me when I tell you.’

  ‘I would never think less of you.’

  ‘You don’t know me.’

  ‘I think I do.’

  ‘There are five of them.’

  ‘OK. I’m good with names.’

  ‘You don’t need to write them down?’

  ‘I’m good with names. My sister says I’m perfect for this job.’

  ‘OK. Hans Freidlich—’

  ‘How do you spell that?’

  He spelled it out.

  ‘Next one.’

  ‘Leon Winters.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘John Allan. That’s Allan with an A. I mean, not at the start but at the end. Well it starts with an A as well.’

  ‘I know what you meant.’ The edges of her eyes crinkled when she smiled. ‘Next.’

  Patrick Reagan. And William Moore.’

  She repeated all the names.

  ‘Did I get them right?’

  ‘Yep.’

  She repeated them again.

  ‘And these men,’ she said. ‘Your friends. You want to know where they are.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Would they have completed the last census?’ There was a glint of humour in her eyes.

  ‘I doubt it. They’re all in prison.’

  ‘You?’ she said.

  ‘I was, too,’ he said. He knew that when she started digging – or when her sister started digging – they would find out what these men had once been. And, by connection, what he had been.

  ‘I’m a good man,’ he added. ‘Even back then, I was a good man. You know, they used to call me the Gentleman Train Robber.’

  It was as if the whole street had disappeared and only the two of them remained. She was looking into his eyes and for a moment he thought she was going to throw the names back in his face – metaphorically – and declare him as bad as the men on the train, as bad as the men that had robbed her sister previously, and had caused so much fear in their lives. But she didn’t. She held his gaze and he could almost see her mind working, trying to figure out this man who had saved her, and others, who had risked his life for them.

  She said, ‘I have to admit you’re an intriguing man, Mr Jackson.’

  ‘Jim, please.’

  ‘I think Mr Jackson suits the moment better.’

  ‘Do you now think less of me?’

  ‘I knew from the very first moment I saw you that you weren’t an office clerk.’

  ‘Will you see if you can locate my friends?’

  ‘There’s a steakhouse along the road they say is divine. It’s Lansdale’s Steakhouse. How about I meet you there at seven o’clock this evening?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an interview to go to.’

  ‘Thank you, Rosalie. Good luck with the interview.’

  She smiled and turned away, but as she did so he heard her whispering the names of his old friends quietly.

  Ben Adams stood on the corner of Brazos Street. It was a beautiful morning. Fresh clean air, a good clear sky, and an easy feeling in his bones. The sort of morning it would be nice to be sitting quietly in a carriage on a train heading west when some young kid figured train robbery an easy way to make some money. Adams let his right hand rest on the Colt strapped to his thigh. Dead or alive, it was always good to bring in a train robber. Kept the passengers – both current and future – happy and, more importantly made the likes of Maxwell Higgs realize just how vital it was to employ someone such as Adams. It had been a bit quiet recently and the fact that he and his men had missed that robbery yesterday, well, that was the only cloud on the horizon of this otherwise fine day. At least this Daniel Flanders – whoever he was – had been there.

  Today’s job was to find Flanders.

  Higgs had been right – the man hadn’t spent the night in the Washington Hotel despite the offer of free bed and board. No one matching his description had even been in the Washington. It wasn’t a surprise. Indeed, Adams felt the muscles in his shoulders and neck twist and turn and tighten. It was as if God was telling him to be careful, that there might be more to Flanders than either he or Higgs knew.

  Adams pulled a pouch from his pocket and started making up a cigarette. He kept one eye on the Washington Hotel across the street. Not because he expected Flanders to turn up there, but just because it was a main street and there were a lot of folks walking by and per chance he might see a tall man, handsome, with a dark beard – not too long – with grey in it, a blue jacket that wouldn’t be any good in a rainstorm or winter, and a dark brown hat. The fellow would have bright blue eyes, a Colt on his right hip, black boots with spurs, and a fine-looking grey mare. That was how Higgs had described Daniel Flanders, and you never knew when you might get lucky and just see the feller walking by. Even in a town the size of Austin it could happen.

  By the time he had finished his smoke, no one of Flanders’ description had walked by. It looked like it was going to have to be him that did the walking. The grey mare was the key. There were what, ten, livery stables in town now? Or was it eleven? Hell, that might even be some that he didn’t know about; the place was growing so quickly. But it was a safe bet that Flanders’ grey mare was in one of them.

  Time to start walking.

  Chapter Five

  The two dead men were strapped to boards in a room at the Houston and Texas Central Railroad station building. The boards were propped upright against one wall, and a dozen bricks had been placed against the bottom of each plank to prevent them sliding down. The room had windows along one side and the midday sun shone through, catching the dust motes in the air and making it appear as if lights were being shone on the dead men. Both men had been stripped to the waist. They had sunken chests, thin arms, and white skin. The one on the left had two bullets hole in his chest. The one on the right a single bulle
t hole in his throat. There was no blood on the bodies and the men’s eyes were closed.

  ‘They look like they’re sleeping,’ a boy said.

  ‘The big sleep,’ someone said from behind him.

  A grey-haired woman added, ‘There’s no sleep to be had where those fellows have gone.’

  The Railroad had invited everyone to view the bodies. ‘See what happens to folks who think they can rob the customers of the Houston and Central,’ Maxwell Higgs had said over and over again as the queues formed at the station.

  A photographer was setting up his camera and magnesium flash pan in front of the two corpses, and Higgs had a couple of employees hold everyone else back to allow him to get a clear and steady shot. The queue grew so it stretched out of the station building. The photographer took his shots and, with the magnesium smoke still hanging in the air, Higgs then allowed people to go right up close and gaze at the bodies.

  ‘Take a good look,’ he said. ‘We at the Houston and Central have your safety at heart. We have men on every train protecting you from bandits like these. Come on. Take a good look. And son,’ he looked at the boy who had made the sleeping remark, ‘you study hard and get yourself a good job one day. Maybe right here at the railroad. Don’t ever think of becoming a train robber. No sir.’

  Red Kelly, his eyes bloodshot from riding through the night, his coat and hat and boots dusty for the same reason, stood in the doorway and said to Callum Short, ‘They killed Little Joe.’

  ‘I can see him.’

  Red turned to go. ‘I don’t need to see no more.’

  Callum caught his arm. He whispered, ‘You need to pay your respects. You’ll regret it if you don’t.’

  Red stared at him. He pulled his arm away from Callum’s grip, but he stayed in the queue.

  ‘Ringo, too,’ Ned Donovan said. He appeared even more tired than Red. The ride through the night from their farmhouse to Austin had been just as painful as actually getting shot in the butt. He’d ridden standing in his stirrups for as long as he could. When his calf and thigh muscles complained too much he’d sit down and then all the shotgun pellet wounds started complaining even louder. So he’d stand up again. Over and over. Up and down.