“That’s Bloody Bob Brandice they’re talking about,” I said. “With the pouch and knife.”
“None other.”
“That’s not good news.”
“No,” Virgil said. “It’s not.”
“Can’t think of worse news, really,” I said.
“’Specially for those within an arm’s length of him intent on living,” Virgil said.
Virgil was a man of solid resolve, a man who did not hold a grudge. There was no reason for such nonsense. He took one moment at a time, one situation at a time, and had no reason to haze his focus by allowing feelings to be part of a task at hand. Feelings get you killed, Virgil always said, but the thought of Bloody Bob Brandice primed the hell out of Virgil’s intentions and sharpened the bead of his aim. If there was any one association more disturbing, more unfortunate, more nagging, to conjure up than Randall Bragg’s gang it would be Bloody Bob Brandice, and now it appeared we had them both to deal with.
“Thought the son of a bitch was in prison,” I said.
“Evidently, he ain’t.”
“He got life.”
“He got out,” Virgil said.
“He’s not part of Bragg’s outfit,” I said.
Virgil shook his head.
“Don’t seem likely.”
“Don’t think he’d be part of anybody’s outfit,” I said.
Virgil shook his head.
“Don’t either,” he said.
“He’s not capable of taking orders, riding with an outfit.”
“Even if it was his own outfit,” Virgil said.
“He’s nothing but a hard case. A murderous loner.”
“He is,” Virgil said. “Even murderous loners got a price.”
“Hired assassin, you think?”
“Might be,” Virgil said.
“He’s no Yankee.”
“Far from it.”
“Don’t make much sense,” I said.
“No, it don’t.”
“Got Bragg’s outfit to sort out,” I said. “And now Bloody Bob.”
We thought about that for a moment.
“Don’t get much worse,” I said.
“It don’t,” Virgil said.
Virgil shook his head some. Then he looked back through the door to Abigail and Emma.
“It by God don’t.”
“What do you figure we do?”
Virgil leaned out over the platform rail and looked back behind us.
“Go after him,” I said.
Virgil looked back to me.
“We do,” Virgil said. “Sooner we get to him. More lives will be spared.”
I looked back through the coach to the rear door.
“We open that back door we’ll have a gun or two pointed at us, hammers back,” I said.
Virgil looked to the ladder. He got close to it and looked to the door window, gauging if he could be seen through the window.
“We go back over the top,” Virgil said, “come down on the platform between the first and second cars, staying tight to the ladder, they won’t see us. Least not through the door window they won’t.”
I looked at Virgil, looked at the ladder, and thought about what he was saying.
“We won’t be expected from the top,” Virgil said.
“I suspect you are right, and if they’re on the platform we’ll see them before they see us.”
Virgil nodded.
“All right, then,” Virgil said. “We go.”
19
I FOLLOWED VIRGIL back into the coach. He called out to the dandy as he walked halfway down the aisle.
“Captain Cavanaugh, keep your eye to that door,” Virgil said. “Shoot anybody who opens it.”
The dandy saluted.
Virgil looked at the sodbuster, Ness, and pointed him toward the front of the coach.
“You, Ness,” Virgil said. “Like you to come up here with me.”
Ness turned, saying something to his wife.
Emma stood up in front of me as I turned to walk back to the front platform.
“What will you do?” Emma said. “What are you planning?”
She was close to me. So close I could feel the warmth of her breath on my face.
“Virgil and I have been doing this kind of work for a long time,” I said. “At this very moment all I can readily allow is we don’t have any plans on quitting.”
Emma didn’t move. If anything, she moved slightly closer to me, just looking in my eyes.
“Here,” I said.
I handed her one of the pistols I had picked up.
“Take this,” I said. “Keep it at ready.”
Emma looked at the pistol. She took it in both hands, then looked in my eyes again.
Virgil and Ness started back toward me.
“If you feel the need to use it,” I said. “Use it.”
Emma kept looking in my eyes as she took a step back. I offered her my most reassuring look and stepped out onto the platform. The rain was falling steadily now. Virgil followed me out, followed by Ness. Virgil turned to Ness. He spoke fatherly-like to him.
“Everett and me are going back over the top of this car. Mix things up a bit. What I want from you is, climb this ladder after us, position yourself with Everett’s eight-gauge there. Everett, hand him that brush hog.”
I handed Ness the shotgun, unbuckled my shell belt, and draped it over his shoulder.
“Keep watch,” Virgil said. “Any one of the robbers get around us somehow, tries to come over the top of this car, send them lead from this side-by-side.”
“Yes, sir,” Ness said.
“I can count on you to do that?” Virgil said.
“Yes, sir,” Ness said. “You can.”
Virgil looked at me and tipped his head sharply to the ladder.
“Let’s go,” Virgil said.
I climbed the ladder and peeked back over the roof. It was difficult to see much, but I could see well enough to know there was no one in sight. I hoisted my body to the roof, and Virgil followed. I started moving toward the rear of the coach and quickly realized it was a hell of a lot easier walking in the direction the train was traveling than walking in the direction from which the train came. I figured Virgil felt the same as he grabbed a handful of the back of my coat, stabilizing himself as we walked slowly with the strong wind and rain pushing at our backs. The rain started coming down harder and harder as we moved slowly, one solid step at a time. When we got toward the end of the coach we crouched low. As we got closer we dropped to our bellies and inched up so we could see between the cars. The rain started coming even harder, and water was rushing by us, channeling off the coach and onto the platform.
No bandits were on the platform. I quickly slid myself toward the platform ladder and, shrouded in water, dropped down the ladder and onto the platform. I stood off to the side of the platform and could see the door window of the rear coach was completely fogged over.
I looked up and motioned for Virgil to come down the ladder.
For having a busted knee, Virgil’s ability to maneuver always surprised me.
Virgil positioned himself sideways and slid one leg down to the ladder, followed by the other, and, in an instant, he was now on the platform beside me and we each had a Colt in each hand with their hammers back.
I ducked under the window and positioned myself on the opposite side of the door from Virgil.
From inside the coach, a hand wiped the fog from the window and a pair of bandit eyes peered out. With Virgil and me off to each side of the door and the bandit keeping watch on the front coach door, we were unseen.
The water was falling off the front coach and pouring over the top of us like a waterfall, making it difficult to see, but I could see Virgil well enough to see him nod Go!
20
IN AN INSTANT, I swiveled back a step and kicked the door right under the brass lever, knocking the bandit on the other side backward. He raised his pistol, but I shot him first. Virgil shot a skinny ba
ndit behind him who managed to clear leather with his pistol. Vince had just entered the rear door but was backing out. Dean was with another robber, five rows from the rear of the coach. He had another revolver and got off a shot as he backed up. The bullet pinged off the ceiling. Virgil’s shot hit Dean in the chest. The fourth bandit also got off a shot, but it hit the back of the seat just to my left, and I sent two shots to him and he fell back. Vince got his Hopkins & Allen pointing at me. He fired a shot that registered just above my head. Then he ducked back out the rear door before I could get a clear shot. Virgil shot just as Vince closed the door, and we could hear Vince yell, “Goddamn it! Goddamn it!”
The coach was full of blue smoke, and except for the cowering and stunned passengers, the car was now empty of gun hands.
A fearful freckle-faced woman clutched a preacher holding up a tattered Bible like it was a shield as Virgil and I moved down the aisle.
“I’m Marshal Virgil Cole; this is my deputy, Everett Hitch!”
“God bless you,” the preacher said as I followed Virgil. “God bless you!”
We moved swiftly down the aisle. An old fellow with a beard stood, offered his hand. “Much obliged, Marshal.”
“Sit down!” Virgil said. “Stay seated! Everybody stay seated!”
The old man promptly sat down.
“We got them on their heels,” I said. “They’re backing up.”
“They are,” Virgil said.
We stepped over Dean and the other robber’s body. I thought about what Virgil had said to Dean. Virgil was a man of his word. He kept his promise to everyone, including Dean. He gave Dean a chance to be counted, but Dean did not take it, and now he was dead.
When we got to the rear door, Virgil shifted to one side and I shifted to the other. Virgil edged his body over so he was not in front of the door and lowered himself to where he was sitting back on his heels. He opened the loading gate on his Colt and reloaded.
“If it weren’t for that telegram you received in Laredo,” I said, “we’d be riding through hill country, watching dancing girls in San Antonio, taking our leisurely time getting back to Appaloosa. Fact, though, we’ve wound up on a train, chasing some of the meanest no-goods we’ve ever come across.”
“It’s what we do, Everett,” Virgil said. “We’re lawmen.”
I opened the loading gate on my revolver and dumped the empty casings.
“Beside that fact,” Virgil said, “we got unsettled business with the lot of them.”
“That we do,” I said as I reloaded bullets back into the Colt’s chamber. “Some point, though, I ’spect you’ll be telling me about that damn telegram?”
Virgil didn’t say anything. He slowly cracked open the door.
21
I DID NOT see what Virgil saw until he stood up and opened the door wider. Vince was nowhere in sight, and the door of the next coach was wide open. Even though the hard falling rain blurred our vision, there wasn’t anyone moving about. Virgil moved out, and I followed onto the platform. We took post on each side of the door of the next coach, and again we were under a deluge from the pouring rain. I peeked around the door and saw no gunmen. Toward the rear of the coach a woman was kneeling over a man lying in the aisle. I stepped in the car, followed by Virgil. We trained our pistols on everybody and nothing.
An older man sitting at the second-row aisle started shouting, “We’ve given you all our money, just leave us!”
Another passenger, a chubby man sitting across the aisle, held his hands in the air.
“Don’t hurt us,” he said. “Please!”
“We are not here to harm you,” Virgil said. “We’re here to protect you!”
Again, Virgil told the passengers who we were. A young fellow wearing spectacles pointed toward the rear door.
“One of them came running back through here! Bleedin’ like a stuck pig!”
“Where was he shot?” I asked.
“Side of his head! He had his hand over his ear! He yelled at the others to go back, and they ran out the back door!”
“How many others,” I asked.
“Two other men.”
The young fellow pointed back down the aisle to the woman kneeling over the man and spoke quietly: “They shot that lady’s husband ’bout a half-hour ago. He tried to put up a fight when they wanted his wife’s ring, and they shot him. She’s been sittin’ over him, talkin’ to him, but he ain’t alive.”
We moved down the aisle with our pistols pointed toward the rear door.
“Everybody just try and remain calm,” Virgil said.
When I got to the woman kneeling over her husband, she turned and looked at me. Her face was streaked with tears. I showed her the badge on my vest but kept my gun pointed toward the rear door.
“We are here to help,” I said.
The man she was leaning over was sure enough dead. His eyes were open. He had a bullet hole in his cheek, and behind his head, a puddle of blood pooled in the aisle floor. She looked to her husband.
“It’s going to be okay now, darling,” she said. “Law officers are here now to help us.”
I moved on toward the door. Lightning flashed again, and the coach’s interior brightened for a brief moment. I glanced back to Virgil. He reached out his hand to the woman kneeling over her husband.
“Be better if you took a seat, ma’am,” Virgil said.
The woman looked at Virgil as if he were something curious, unrecognizable. Then, in almost a moment of haste, she took his hand.
“There you go,” Virgil said. “Just stay seated, that’d be best.”
Virgil moved on.
“Everybody!” Virgil said. “Just stay in your seats!”
A tall gent wearing expensive but tattered clothes leaned out into the aisle. He pointed to the dead man and spoke to Virgil.
“This is my trade. Name’s G. W. Tisdale, mortician. I tried to console her, tried to let her know her husband was with God, but she has her own agenda,” he said. “Women often do.”
“Might need your services in a bit,” Virgil said. “Right now, stay seated, don’t do nothing.”
Virgil’s focus remained in the same direction his Colt was pointing, the rear door, as he moved next to me.
“Next car is the Pullman,” I said. “The governor’s car.”
“Yep,” Virgil said. “Providing him and his wife are still among us. No guarantee. No telling what to expect with Bloody Bob on board.”
“What do you want to do going in there,” I said. “How do we go about it?”
“Just gonna have to be quick,” Virgil said. “And shoot straight.”
“Won’t be our first time.”
“No,” Virgil said. “It won’t.”
Virgil positioned himself on the right of the door. I was on the left. I nudged behind the doorjamb, lowered myself to one knee, cracked opened the door, and what was in front of me was on one hand predictable but on the other unfortunate.
22
I STOOD UP and swung the door open wider for Virgil to see what I saw. The back half of the train, from the first-class Pullman car to the caboose, had been disconnected and, along with the governor and his wife, was rapidly drifting away from us.
“Good goddamn,” Virgil said.
Lightning cracked across the dark sky, and we could see the Pullman. It was at least one hundred feet behind us now. I could see someone. It looked like Vince, but I was not sure. He was getting up off the platform from closing the angle cock air valve on the coach brakes.
“They closed the air valve on the brakes,” I said. “We’re not slowing. They obviously closed us off first.”
I got on my knees to open the valve.
“What are you saying, Everett?” Virgil asked.
I reached for the valve and it wasn’t there.
“Got no lever,” I said. “The son of a bitch!”
I stood up and looked back. The cars were no longer visible. They had vanished as we continued forward.
“He closes that valve, Virgil, he overrides the automatic safety brakes. Without a lever, our valve stays closed and it does the same damn thing, overrides the brakes and we keep going. They keep going south, we keep going north.”
Virgil shook his head slowly, and the rain swirled up around us as we powered ahead.
“We’ve been traveling on an uphill grade ever since we crossed the river leaving Texas,” I said. “By them bypassing the safety brakes, they will roll freely downhill. Using the handbrakes to control their speed as they go.”
“So the air brakes,” Virgil said, “work disconnected from the engine?”
“According to George Westinghouse, they do.”
“George Westinghouse?”
“The fellow who invented the air brake.”
Virgil just shook his head, looking south into the dark night.
“The air line runs from the engine all the way back,” I said. “If that line loses pressure, the brakes close automatically on any coach that is disconnected, and that coach—”
“—stops by itself,” Virgil said.
“Yep, that’s right,” I said.
“Next thing you know they’ll be putting wings on these damn things and we’ll be flying around like birds.”
“Well, there’s one thing for certain those robbers will be thinking, Virgil.”
“The farther away from us, the better for them,” Virgil said.
“Yep, they are going to roll back as far as they can go,” I said.
“You think they planned this somehow?” Virgil said.
“Hard to figure,” I said. “Must have. Might have been a backup plan. Seems likely, more than likely, one or some of them are train hands, know what they’re doing.”
Virgil shook his head.
“What do you figure we do?” I said.
“We get up to the engineer. Get this train that’s rolling forward to get going backward,” Virgil said. “En este momento.”
23
VIRGIL WASTED NO more time with words or thought. He started moving forward up the aisle at a quick pace, and I followed. He spoke to the undertaker as we stepped over the dead man: “Take care of this fallen fellow. And be diligent about it.”
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