Ironhorse

by Robert B. Parker

  Virgil thought about that, then shook his head.

  “Better off with them sequestered on this train,” Virgil said.

  “’Spect that’s right.”

  “Is,” Virgil said.

  “Don’t want them spread out,” I said, “holding the governor and his wife as hostage.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  I stepped on the grab-iron ladder toward the edge of the coach. I took a few steps up and edged up just a little, looking back over the top of the train. It was dark, but there was enough light to see there was nobody coming at us. I dropped back to the platform.

  “Keep lookout for me,” I said. “I’ll make sure the engineer keeps us on the move, get my eight-gauge while I’m at it.”

  Virgil nodded and climbed the ladder, looking back over the coach with his Colt at ready. I climbed the ladder on the tender and made a fast trip to the engine cabin.

  13

  VIRGIL CAME DOWN from the coach ladder when I returned with my eight-gauge. The train was now in a full crescent bend, moving slowly upgrade. The cars were stretched out behind us, trailing off to the left in a semicircle, and the lighted windows of the cars shined brightly in the dark night. We could see all the way back to the caboose.

  “There’s more to this,” Virgil said.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Don’t know exactly,” Virgil said, shaking his head slowly, “but this ain’t Vince, Dean, and the others’ territory.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Virgil looked at the cars circled behind us.

  “Think Dean’s lying?” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “’Bout what?”

  “Don’t know,” Virgil said. “It’s all he knows how to do.”

  “Reckon it’s hard for him not to.”

  “Been doing it so long,” Virgil said, “he’s grown particular to it.”

  “He’s not very good at it.”

  “No,” Virgil said. “He ain’t.”

  I looked to Dean, and thought about what Virgil was saying.

  “I suppose it’s just a matter about how much he’s lying about,” I said. “And about what.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What do you speculate?” I said. “You think they are down here for something else?”

  “They knew the governor was on board,” Virgil said.

  “Think they targeted the governor?”

  “They’re after something else.”

  “Vince and the bunch are a back-shooting bunch,” I said, “capable of doing bad things, but I wouldn’t figure they’d have the smarts for doing an ambitious job that requires too much thinking.”

  “Me neither.”

  Virgil looked at Dean standing facing the door at the other end of the coach.

  “Me neither,” Virgil said again and reentered the coach.

  He walked halfway down the aisle and stopped.

  “Dean?” Virgil said.

  “What?” Dean said.

  “What are you boys doing down this far?” Virgil said.

  “What do you mean?” Dean asked.

  “Next time you answer with a question,” Virgil said, “me or Everett will throw you off this train. Turn around.”

  Dean turned and faced Virgil.

  “I will ask you a few questions,” Virgil said, “and you’re gonna answer me straight.”

  “Wha—” Dean stopped, afraid he was about to ask a question.

  “You boys are outside of your whereabouts,” Virgil said. “How come this train, this far?”

  “I told you.”

  “What else ain’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t get sidetracked with your lies, Dean.”

  Dean shook his head. “I ain’t lying.”

  “This was not Vince’s idea,” Virgil said. “Coming down this far and robbing this train, was it?”

  14

  DEAN LOOKED AT Virgil with a blank look on his face. His knees worked toward each other like he needed to pee. Dean’s face was wet with sweat.

  “Was it?” Virgil said.

  Dean slowly shook his head.

  “Whose idea was it?”

  “I don’t rightly know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t rightly know?”

  “Vince tol’ us, but I ain’t sure who tol’ Vince.”

  “No.”

  “No? I mean, I swear! I don’t know! We was in Wichita Falls, we just moved a bunch of cattle for a cow-calf outfit there. Vince’s horse came up lame, and he peeled off ’fore the rest of us. He said he met a fellow playing Seven-Up at the Bluebell Pool Palace. A Yankee. It was the Yankee’s plan.”

  “You’re lying to me, Dean.”

  “No!”

  Virgil took a few steps toward Dean and stopped.

  “I ain’t lying! It’s the truth!”

  “A Yankee?” Virgil said.

  “Yes!”

  “What’s his name?”

  “That I don’t know! Vince was the one who met him. Vince said this Yankee knew about trains. About this train, I swear . . . the rest of us was just doing what Vince tol’ us to do.”

  “What did Vince tell you to do?”

  “To ride down to Paris. Board a long train with a bunch of cars. This train! He said ’cause of the land run happening in the Indian Territory that there would be a lot of people on the train going that direction with money and we’d make a lot of money.”

  “What else?”

  “That was it,” Dean said. “I swear.”

  “What does this Yankee look like?”

  “Don’t know. Never saw him.”

  “You don’t know his name? You never saw him?”

  The Adam’s apple in Dean’s skinny neck moved up, then dropped down.

  “That’s right.”

  Virgil walked a few more steps closer to Dean and stopped.

  “You did not come down here to rob wallets and watches,” Virgil said.

  Dean backed up a bit, hitting the door. He was dripping with sweat. Drops were falling from the tip of his nose.

  “Did you, Dean?”

  Dean blinked hard a few times and shook his head.

  “No.”

  “Go on,” Virgil said.

  Dean took a deep breath.

  “Well, we was getting the money, everybody’s money, like I tol’ you,” Dean said. “But . . . um, there’s supposed to be some loot on board.”

  “Loot?” Virgil said.

  Dean nodded.

  “A bunch of loot,” Dean said.

  “How do you know this?” Virgil asked.

  “That’s what the Yankee tol’ Vince,” Dean said. “Vince tol’ us there was a lot of money being carried on this train.”

  “What else do you know, Dean?” Virgil said.

  “Honest to God, nothing!” Dean said.

  “Don’t go using words like honest and God. They don’t sit well by you,” Virgil said. “Makes me think you are lying to me, Dean.”

  “I ain’t lying,” Dean said. “All I know is Vince said we was gonna rob a train carrying a bunch of loot, that’s all I know. That’s what the Yankee told him, and Vince said when we all got off back there where we was supposed to get off that we was going to divvy up! That’s all I know!”

  “Turn around, put your nose to that door.”

  Dean just looked at Virgil.

  “Now,” Virgil said.

  15

  DEAN WAS FACING the door again. Virgil walked back up the aisle to where I stood by Emma and Abigail. They were seated in the front row. Lightning lit up the interior of the car as Virgil turned to face them.

  “Do you know if your father was carrying a large amount of money?” Virgil asked.

  Emma looked to Abigail. Abigail shook her head.

  “Not that we are aware of,” Emma said. “No.”

  “Where were you and your parents traveling?” I said.

  “We are headed to our
grandmother’s home,” Emma said. “In Kansas, near Wichita. Father, Mr. Lassiter, and Mr. Hobbs were going elsewhere on business.”

  “Who are Mr. Lassiter and Mr. Hobbs,” Virgil asked.

  “Friends of our father,” Emma said.

  “You know where they were headed?” I said.

  “No, I’m not sure, business meetings with businesspeople,” Emma said.

  “I know this is not easy for you,” Virgil said, “but try and tell Everett and me what led up to you being in this predicament.”

  Emma looked to her sister and then to Virgil.

  “Well . . . I was sitting in a chair at the front of the carriage across from our berth, reading. Abby was sleeping. You were asleep, weren’t you, dear?”

  “Yes,” Abigail said.

  “And the others?” Virgil said.

  “Father, Mr. Lassiter, and Mr. Hobbs were playing cards on the center table,” Emma said, “and Mother was in her berth.”

  “Go on,” Virgil said.

  “The conductor walked in from the rear of the carriage. He was talking to the Pinkerton man. The conductor’s back was to me. I think the conductor was telling a joke or something, because they were laughing. Then a hard-looking man stepped through the door, behind the Pinkerton man. He had a big knife. The Pinkerton man was stabbed.”

  “What about the other Pinkerton guard?” I said.

  “He rushed to his partner’s aid and then the conductor shot him,” Emma said. “He just shot him. . . . It was loud.”

  “What about your father?” Virgil said, “and the other two?”

  “The conductor told them to keep their hands up,” Emma said.

  “The conductor?” I said.

  Emma shook her head.

  “I have to say, I don’t think he was the conductor,” Emma said. “He was wearing a conductor’s cap, but . . . I don’t know, he and the man with the knife threw the Pinkerton men from the train. It all happened so fast.”

  Emma stopped talking. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she started to cry. Abigail grabbed her hand. They both were crying.

  “Okay,” Virgil said. “Okay . . .”

  Emma stiffened up, determined to continue. “The man with the knife pulled Mother out of her berth. He was mean and rough with her. He put the knife to her throat.”

  Abigail spoke up: “The conductor, or whoever he is, told Father to get his luggage down.”

  “Then there were gunshots,” Emma said.

  “That’s right,” Abigail said.

  “There was gunfire coming from the car behind us,” Emma said, “and then a big Irishman came running through the rear door.”

  “He was followed by two other men,” Abigail said.

  “The Irishman told the conductor there were lawmen on board,” Emma said, “and they’d shot two of their men.”

  “Then what,” Virgil said.

  “The conductor told him to go back and kill them,” Emma said. “Kill the lawmen.”

  Lightning cracked loudly. Abigail jumped. Emma grabbed my hand. Bright light briefly flooded the coach.

  Virgil looked to the ceiling. He called to Ness and the dandy as he pointed up.

  “You hear something?”

  Ness looked to the dandy; the dandy shook his head. Ness looked back to Virgil and shook his head.

  16

  I STEPPED OUT onto the platform to have a look back on top of the coach to make sure there was nobody trying to crawl their way forward. I climbed the ladder and peeked over the top, looking back behind us. It was dark, and the only thing I could see was the light coming from the interior of the cars shining on the trees passing by. I felt a drop of water on my face, followed shortly by another drop and another. A distant flash of lightning briefly illuminated the whole of everything for me, the train, the trees. There was nobody, at least for the moment, on his way to ambush us. The sprinkling continued as I came down the ladder and reentered the coach.

  Emma was talking but stopped when Virgil looked at me.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Rain coming though.”

  Virgil turned his head slightly, listening for a second, then looked back to Emma.

  Emma continued. “The conductor man told Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Lassiter to get off the train or he’d tell the man with the knife to cut Mother’s throat.”

  “And they did that,” I said. “They got off?”

  Abigail and Emma looked at each other and nodded.

  “It . . . it was so awful,” Abigail said as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Does your father always travel with Pinkertons?” Virgil said.

  Emma looked to her sister, and they shook their heads.

  “As far as I know, this is the first time,” Emma said.

  “Daddy generally has security,” Abigail said. “Just not the Pinkertons . . . I think they were maybe Mr. Hobbs’ men.”

  “How was it you and your sister were brought forward?” I said.

  “Another man came from the front, a big heavyset man. He said that the train had passed where it was supposed to stop,” Abigail said. “He said he had seen two men jumping into the engine cabin.”

  “The conductor man became incensed and yelled at the big man. He told him to take us, me and Abby, and to use us to get control of the engine,” Emma said, “with whatever means necessary.”

  “And he brought you here,” I said, “to the first car?”

  “Yes,” Abigail said.

  “He did. There were other men, too,” Emma said.

  Virgil pointed to Dean. “That skinny fellow there,” he said. “Was he one of them that brought you to this car?”

  “No,” Emma said. “He was already here when the others brought us forward.”

  Virgil looked at me. Then he walked back toward Dean.

  “Dean,” Virgil said.

  “What?”

  “Turn around.”

  Dean turned to face Virgil.

  “Who came on this train posin’ like he was the conductor?”

  Dean didn’t reply.

  “Answer me.”

  “I don’t know ’bout no conductor.”

  Virgil walked closer to Dean.

  “How were you boys split up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How many in each car?”

  “Oh, um, three of us in each car.”

  “Who was in the Pullman?”

  “I don’t know,” Dean said. “I was just tol’ by Vince to get in this first car and holler robbery at five-thirty.”

  “Go back there and tell Vince to come up here,” Virgil said.

  “Huh?”

  “Tell him I need to talk with him,” Virgil said. “Tell him he’s got one chance to back out. He gives himself up right now and I’ll be nice. He don’t, I won’t.”

  “I’ll do that,” Dean said and turned toward the door.

  “Dean?” Virgil said.

  Dean looked back at Virgil.

  “Tell him if he don’t, me and Everett will kill the lot of you. All of you together, a few at a time, or one by one. Makes no difference.”

  Dean turned toward the door.

  “One more thing. Do like I tell you, you might have a chance to be counted. You don’t, you’ll be dead like the others.”

  Dean swallowed hard.

  “I’ll go get Vince.”

  Dean moved to one side out of the center of the aisle and called out loudly, “It’s Dean! I’m coming out! If y’all is there! Don’t shoot! I’m coming out! It’s Dean!”

  Dean opened the door a little. Then he opened it a little more, just enough for him to get through. There was no gunfire, just the partially open door, and without incident Dean left, closing the door behind him.

  17

  VIRGIL SPOKE TO the dandy and Ness as he walked back up the aisle toward the front of the coach.

  “You two keep your guns pointed at that door and be ready to shoot,” Virgil said.

  “Thought you told that man to have ano
ther man come and talk with you?” Ness said.

  Virgil shook his head.

  “There is not gonna be anybody come through that door interested in talking,” Virgil said. “Just be ready.”

  Ness and the dandy trained their pistols to the door.

  Besides the fact Virgil was tired of Dean’s stupidity and his inability to offer much in the way of worthy information, his ploy of releasing Dean was only to buy us time. He knew it would give Vince and the others some fat to chew on as they figured out what they should do.

  “What did he, this conductor, look like?” I asked.

  “He was rather tall and slender,” Emma said. “He wore spectacles and had a thick drooping mustache.”

  “I’m not certain, but he might have been crippled,” Abigail said. “Or injured. His left arm seemed limp.”

  “And he was educated,” Emma said. “He spoke very proper.”

  “What about the other man with the knife?” I said. “What did he look like?”

  “Well . . . he looked as if he were a trapper,” Emma said.

  “Yes,” Abigail said. “He was wearing full buckskin with fringe.”

  “His hair was long,” Emma said. “Shoulder length. He had a long beard, and he wasn’t wearing a hat.”

  “He had one of those beaded parfleche pouches on his waist, like Indians carry,” Abigail said. “But he was not an Indian.”

  “No, he spoke English,” Emma said. “His voice was very rough and raspy.”

  Virgil looked at me. He narrowed his eyes slightly.

  Emma looked at Virgil and back to me.

  “I know you will do everything in your power to help us,” Emma said, “and for that we will be forever grateful.”

  “It’s what we do,” Virgil said.

  Virgil walked out the door. I turned to follow Virgil to the platform, and Emma reached out, taking my hand.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  I looked at Emma’s hand holding mine, then looked into her eyes. She squeezed my hand and remained looking at me for a time. I touched the top of her hand in my hand, then walked out the door.

  18

  THE SPRINKLING HAD now turned to light rain as I stepped out of the coach and joined Virgil on the platform. He wasn’t pacing, but he wasn’t still.