by Jerry Buck
I got up quickly. My napkin ring slid off my lap onto the floor. I said, “It would be my pleasure to share my table.”
“How chivalrous,” she said.
The steward bent down to retrieve my napkin. As he handed it to me, he said in an aside, “Lak I said, suh, you is a lucky gennelman.”
“I was just having a whiskey,” I said to her. “Would you care to join me?”
She smiled at me and said to the steward, “A sherry, please.”
I extended my hand across the linen-topped table. She accepted it in her white-gloved hand.
“I’m Henry Johnson,” I said.
“So happy to make your acquaintance,” she said. “My name is Irene Managan.”
She accepted the sherry from the steward and asked, “Are you traveling on business, Mr. Johnson?”
“Yes, I am,” I said, disturbed at having to lie to a woman. “Been out west looking at some mining property on behalf of my company. Consolidated Industries. We have quite an operation in Colorado.”
“How fascinating,” she said. “Dear me, I’m afraid I was only visiting my brother at Fort Dodge. He’s an officer there.”
Over coffee we made small talk and gazed out at the passing countryside. It was mostly bare, rolling prairie. Occasionally we passed a stand of oak and thickets of Osage oranges. Along the streams, cottonwood grew in small groves.
As I finished my coffee, I said, “I’ve so enjoyed our little conversation, Miss Managan. Too bad it has to end.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Does it have to end? The time passes so slowly sitting alone in my coach.”
Smiling demurely, she added, “I see no reason why we can’t share a seat.”
I said, “It would make the time pass more quickly—and pleasantly.”
“Then it’s done,” she said. “Surely, the railroad won’t object to a gentleman coming to the rescue of a lady traveling alone in the wilderness.”
She offered me a gloved hand, and I escorted her out of the swaying dining car.
“Perhaps we could sit in my coach,” I suggested. “It’s at the rear of the train.”
“A most thoughtful offer,” she said. “And, please, call me Irene. . . Henry.”
Irene kept questioning me about my inspection trip to Colorado. Fortunately, I had once made an excursion into the territory. But I had gone there to bring back a prisoner, not to inspect mines. My memory was a little hazy. Still, it was enough to satisfy her interest.
I hated lying to Irene. It was the first time since the death of Abby that I had paid any attention to a woman. It was purely in a gentlemanly sort of way. Not only was I still in mourning for Abby, but I certainly was not looking for any side adventures to distract me from my mission. Still, she was a difficult woman to ignore. She sat so close to me that I could smell her intoxicating perfume. Once or twice, as she leaned over me to exclaim at some sight on the otherwise featureless plain, her dark hair brushed against my cheek.
Later, after freshening herself up, she took a long look out the window. “Ohio is such a long way to travel,” she said. “I’ll miss your company when we have to part at Kansas City.”
I murmured something noncommittal.
“I don’t know when I’ve—” She stopped suddenly and looked out the window again. “Why, I do believe we’re slowing down,” she said.
My first thought was that Smoot had gotten to the engine. But one look outside showed me the real cause.
“We’re starting to climb a long grade,” I explained.
“How interesting. You mean we can’t go as fast?”
“It’s only for a few miles.”
She smiled gently and said, “Well, if that means I’ll have more time to sit here and talk to you, I shan’t complain.”
I smiled back at her and said nothing.
“Dear me!” she said in astonishment. “We are going slow. Those men on horseback outside are passing us by.”
I spun around, half rising out of my seat, to look out the window.
Three riders galloped next to the right-of-way. They were swinging in close to grab a handrail to board the train.
Irene said, “Why don’t you sit down and relax, Henry. I do believe they’re going to rob the train.”
“What-!”
I felt the gun in my side.
I looked down. She shielded it with her purse.
It was my gun!
She had taken it out of my holster when I turned to look out the window.
Her thumb pulled the hammer back, and it clicked loudly.
Irene smiled again. This time it was the triumphant smile of a cat.
“Now, just sit back and relax,” she purred. “Bill Smoot is just dying to say hello to you—Mr. Ben Wheeler!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Irene pressed my gun into my side and said, “Mr. Wheeler, I do seem to have the drop on you.”
“Yes,” I said grudgingly, “and I seem to have been caught with my guard down.”
“How embarrassing—for you.”
Our voices were normal and calm. I don’t think any other passenger was aware of what was happening between us. It probably wouldn’t have made any difference. They were already terrified at the prospect of being robbed at gunpoint by Bill Smoot and his gang.
“You are a woman of considerable charms,” I said. I wanted to keep the conversation going.
“I guess it was your charm that threw me,” I said. “You’re much too elegant for Bill Smoot.”
She frowned and said, “My only interest in Mr. Smoot is what he can do for my purse. The man is rather uncouth, you know.”
“I hope, for your sake, he sees it the same way,” I said.
“Our association is purely mercenary, I assure you.”
I said, “Now where have I heard that expression before? I know! From a hundred professional women along The Plaza in Dodge City!”
Her eyes flashed and she jabbed the pistol harder into my ribs. “How dare you compare me to those—those—!”
“Painted cats?” I offered. “Perhaps I was wrong. They hold men captive with their charms while they rob them. You would never do that, would you?”
“I am very tempted to pull this trigger myself and deny Mr. Smoot the pleasure!” she said, biting off the words.
For the first time since she had gotten the drop on me with my own gun, I smiled.
I said, “Go ahead, pull the trigger—if you think it’ll do you any good.”
“What do you mean?”
“Without bullets a pistol is just another piece of iron,” I said. “I think you’ll find all the chambers empty.”
She turned the gun slightly so that she could inspect the chambers. They were indeed empty.
“Damn you! ” she cursed. She threw the gun down, seized her handbag, and began fumbling at the drawstrings.
I pulled a tiny derringer out of my coat pocket and aimed it at her.
“This what you looking for?”I asked.
“I—you—damn!” she sputtered. “What are you doing with that? Give me that! It’s mine! ”
“Forgive me for going through a lady’s purse,” I said, “but I took it out when you went to freshen up. I also emptied my pistol.”
“How did you know?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t. It’s not unusual for a lady to carry a derringer. In fact, it can be downright prudent. But I had a pretty good idea Smoot was going to attack the train. And I also had a pretty good idea he would have somebody on the train to take care of me. Since you seemed to be paying a lot of attention, you were the likely candidate.”
At that instant a drunken cowboy, his hat pulled down over his face, reeled down the aisle. Suddenly he threw back his hat, and in a flash had a Remington .44 in his hand.
I nearly shot him with the derringer before I realized it was Dusty!
Irene, reacting to what I had said, spat out a curse. “You bastard!” she cried.
Dusty’s jaw dropped as he looked at h
er. Finally, his voice trembling with shock, he said, “Ma’am, I never heard a lady utter a blasphemous word in my life before. My mother would die of mortification if she even heard such a word. You must be a scarlet woman.”
Irene looked at Dusty, then at me. She asked, “Are you sure this one’s weaned?”
‘‘Dusty, what the hell are you doing on this train?” I said as I recovered my revolver from the floor and reloaded it.
“Gosh, Mr. Whee—I mean, Ben, I figgered y’might need help,” Dusty stammered, starting to blush. “I mean, I loved Abby, too, and I got a duty to perform just like you do. First night on the trail I hightailed it back to Dodge. I left Mr. Finlay a note. I wouldn’t want him thinkin’ I was ungrateful or anythin’ or maybe sneakin’ back to see Lily. Then I saw you git on th’ train this mornin’, so I got on, too.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t sure if I should be grateful or annoyed. But I was touched by Dusty’s concern and his feelings for Abby.
“I seen she had th’ drop on you, but, gosh, Ben, I couldn’t shoot no lady.” His blush deepened. “Wal, I see now she ain’t no lady. No lady would say what she jes’ said.”
“Where’d you get this hayseed?” said Irene, fuming.
I knew I had to act fast. I shucked my coat. Everyone could see the badge pinned to my vest.
I said, “I’m a special deputy marshal and this woman is in cahoots with the gang fixing to rob this train! Dusty, I want you to stay and watch her. I’m going outside.”
“I’m goin’ with ya,” Dusty said. “Y’gonna need help.”
“I don’t wanna have to worry about looking after you,” I said.
I was sorry to hurt Dusty’s pride, but I didn’t want him going up against experienced desperadoes.
I got my bag from the luggage rack, shoved the extra pistol into my belt, and dumped shells into my vest pockets. Each gun had only five rounds, with the hammer on an empty chamber. I didn’t want to risk accidentally shooting myself while scrambling on top of the train.
As I reached the car door, Irene screamed at me, “I hope Bill Smoot gets you! I hope he shoots you dead!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I looked through the window in the door at the end of the coach. The platform appeared to be empty. I couldn’t see anybody.
Gun in hand, I cautiously opened the door and stepped onto the platform. I was immediately struck by the noise of the wheels on the tracks, and the wind carried wisps of sooty smoke past the car.
I leaned over the side and took a quick look forward and to the rear. I couldn’t see anybody in either direction. I tried the other side and still saw no one.
I couldn’t even see the riders or their horses. Smoot and his men had to be aboard the train.
Over the roar of the clacking wheels and rushing wind, I heard a noise overhead. I pressed back under the overhang.
A man leaped over the yawning space between the two cars, heading for the front of the train.
I reached around the side of the forward car and grabbed a rung of the ladder to the roof.
I swung out and dangled over open space.
The wind tugged at me, and my feet hung close to the ground rushing past me below. I pulled one foot up, found the bottom rung by feel, hooked a booted toe onto it, and hoisted myself up.
Hand over hand, I climbed up until I could see over the top of the car. I looked first to the rear. It was clear. To the front I could see the man who had passed me a moment ago. Ahead of him was another man.
Their backs were to me. Apparently they were headed for the locomotive to stop the train.
Where were Smoot and his other gunmen? My guess was they were as close to the express car as they could get. I knew they weren’t in the last passenger car, which was directly ahead of the express and baggage cars.
So they were probably in the caboose.
The express car was firmly bolted shut, and there was an armed guard inside. Smoot would want to stop the train and take his time breaking in.
My first task was to keep the train moving. That would at least slow down Smoot.
I scrambled onto the top of the car and started after the two men going for the locomotive.
The catwalk running the length of the car was narrow, and the car rocked sickeningly from side to side. I had to lean into the wind, which tore at my clothes and tugged at my body. Smoke and hot cinders swirled around me. They obscured my view of the men ahead of me, but they also gave me some protection.
Between each car was a thirty-inch open space that had to be leaped. One miscalculation and I would land under the train’s wheels.
All things considered, I’d prefer to be in the middle of a stampede.
I could no longer see the men in front of me. They’d probably reached the locomotive. If so, I’d better prepare for a sudden stop that could pitch me right off the top of the train.
I hurried to stop them.
I leaped onto the dining car and ran along the raised platform. Two more passenger cars and I would be at the wood car and engine. I had to keep the train moving. I had to keep Smoot off balance.
As I sprang from the dining car to the next passenger car, I could feel the void between them sucking at my feet, beckoning me to destruction beneath the wheels. The track and roadbed between the two cars raced by in a blur.
My high-heeled cowboy boots landed hard, and I fought to keep my balance. The car lurched. I thought at first the two desperadoes had reached the locomotive and the train was stopping. But apparently it was just a bad piece of track.
I remembered the tightrope walker I had seen in that circus so long ago in New Orleans. I kept my arms out, shifted my weight from side to side, and kept my balance.
I was on the forward passenger car. The wood tender and locomotive were directly ahead. I could smell the engine’s greasy heat. Its big stack spewed a column of thick black smoke that fell back upon the car in a choking, eye-stinging cloud.
Suddenly, in the swirling smoke, a head rose at the front end of the car.
It was one of the bandits, and he had a gun leveled at me over the roof. I knew it had been too much to expect that I wouldn’t be spotted.
CRACK!
A bright orange flame flashed at the end of his gun barrel.
But I was flying forward in a sprawling dive. His bullet whined over my head.
My own gun was out, and I fired two rounds before I landed on the roof of the car.
My shots went wild, but it forced him to duck.
I landed on the car roof with a thud, half on the raised walkway, half off. The extra gun tucked into my belt bruised my stomach.
I clung to the top of the rocking passenger car. It would be a simple matter to lose my grip and go sliding off the sloping side.
My .45 was aimed where I guessed the man’s head would appear.
He didn’t show himself.
I waited a moment longer. He still didn’t appear, and I began to grow uneasy.
Suddenly shifting my weight, I rolled over onto my back. I brought my gun down and aimed it toward the rear of the car.
Paydirt! The man had apparently run through the passenger car to get behind me.
CRACK!
A ball of lead gouged out a shower of splinters where I had been a moment before.
The man was climbing onto the roof of the car.
I fired two quick shots. Then another.
He loosened his grip on his gun, and it twirled on his trigger finger. His eyes opened wide in surprise and fright. Then he fell, clinging desperately to the sloping edge of the roof. The scream that escaped his throat was unearthly. His fingers clawed at the roof, but they could find no purchase. He slid off into oblivion.
It wasn’t the same bandit who had fired at me from the front of the car. They were trying to catch me in a crossfire!
I rolled back onto my stomach.
The other bandit was standing up in the swaying wood tender, trying to steady himself long enough to take aim.
There was a click as the firing pin struck the empty chamber.
Damn! There wasn’t time enough to get the extra gun out. But I was going to try anyway.
I saw the bandit aiming at me.
I was still pulling the gun from my belt.
Everything seemed to slow down.
I heard the explosion of gunfire!
He couldn’t miss at that range. I would soon see Abby again.
Instead, the bandit threw his arms wide, his head flew back, and he toppled backward out of sight.
“You awright, Ben?”
I turned to see Dusty emerging from the smoke. His gun was in his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I dint mean to shoot him before you could, but I dint like the way he was aimin’ at ya.”
“Dusty,” I said as I got to my feet. “You saved my life again! I was out of bullets. ”
“Gosh! You mean y’ain’t mad ’cause I shot ’im ’fore you could?”
“Mad? I love you!”
“Wow!”
I wasn’t going to get caught short again. I loaded both guns with six rounds.
The bandit Dusty killed was sprawled on top of the wood car.
Dusty turned pale when he saw him.
“I never kilt nobody before, ” he said. “ ’Cept that Injun. My stomach doan feel good.”
I said, “I hope you never feel good about killing a man, Dusty. But sometimes it’s necessary. You saved my life, remember that.”
He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I know,” he said, choking back a sob. “I’m right proud I saved yore life. But killin’ a man’s nothin’ I’m ever gonna brag on.”
“I think you got the right idea,” I said.
I hailed the fireman as I leaped into the tender. Dusty jumped down behind me.
He threw up his hands and cried, “Don’t shoot, mister!”
I pointed to the badge pinned to my vest.
The fireman started to lower his arms, but he wasn’t sure. The engineer looked back nervously. He kept one hand on the throttle.
“Special deputy,” I said loudly over the noise of the huffing, puffing engine. “Marshal Earp in Dodge City sent me to guard the money shipment in the express car.”