‘You throw me out and you’ll never get in the box,’ Creed shouted, the wind blasting his words away.
Drago glanced at the stones hurtling by below.
‘That should comfort you as you lie all broken and torn by the track for the next few days.’ Drago edged Creed another foot outside. ‘The key!’
Creed struggled, but found no give in Drago’s firm grip. He lunged for the train wall, but his fingers merely brushed it.
With his feet dangling and with no hope of finding purchase, he slumped, then edged his hand to his pocket to extract the key. He tossed it into the car.
Drago chuckled, then hurled Creed after the key.
Creed landed on his side and slid to a halt by the wall. He lay quietly as Drago picked up the key and took it to the box.
Drago glared at Creed as with a short twist of the wrist, he turned the lock then threw the box lid open.
Creed staggered to his feet. ‘This isn’t over, Drago.’
Drago removed the bags and hurled them into the corner of the car. Two wagon riders rushed to them and placed them in the crate.
‘It is for you,’ Drago said. ‘I don’t care if this is your territory. If you come in here again, you’ll leave flung sideways off the train.’
‘What are we doing with the box?’ a wagon rider asked.
‘Show Creed what will happen to him if he returns.’
The men who’d brought the box into the car dragged it towards the door.
‘Wait!’ Creed shouted. ‘That box isn’t mine. It’s the bank’s.’
‘Then just get it out my sight.’ Drago jabbed a firm finger at Creed’s chest. ‘That goes for you, too.’
Creed turned away. Then, with two wagon riders carrying the box behind him, Creed shuffled from the freight car.
Drago muttered a last oath, then slammed the door shut.
When he reached the passenger car, Creed slumped into his seat. The wagon riders threw the strongbox to the floor and with a last sneer at Creed, swaggered back to their car.
Creed rubbed his chin, then his stomach, then settled back in his seat.
Jonah looked at him over the top of his paper.
‘Everything go according to plan, Sheriff?’ he asked.
Creed stretched. He suppressed a wince by forcing a smile.
‘It sure did,’ he said.
Chapter Seventeen
At the back of the first car, Deputy Fairborn watched Sheriff Creed return followed by the wagon riders with the strongbox. He waited until the wagon riders had left, then stood up.
While looking through the windows at the passing plains, he walked casually from the car. He slipped his gun from its holster, secreted it beneath his jacket, then paced over the gap and headed into the next car.
Half-way along the car, he stopped beside a seat occupied only by a fair-haired man and sat beside him. The man shuffled away from him, but under his jacket Fairborn pressed the barrel of his gun against the man’s chest.
‘Howdy, Nathaniel McBain, ex-lawman, ex-bounty hunter, and now ex-outlaw,’ Fairborn said.
‘You know my name, now what of it?’ Nat said while keeping his gaze set forward.
‘I’ve looked into your life and I know you. You were a lawman, but resigned because of the lousy pay. I can understand that. I’m Alan Fairborn, Marren County’s deputy sheriff, and sometimes even I wonder if it’s all worth it.’
From the corner of his eye, Nat glanced at the bulge digging into his ribs.
‘You’ve clearly got problems, but they aren’t my concern, so I’d be obliged if you’d holster that gun.’
‘I’m not.’ Fairborn dug the barrel in another inch. ‘I’ve made understanding your life my concern. You took up with a lowlife, Spenser O’Connor, but you’ve done so much arguing that you’re sick of your partnership, so you might be interested in the deal I’ll offer you.’
Nat shuffled on his seat to move away from the gun.
‘You’ve done plenty of trying to understand me.’
Fairborn leaned towards Nat, digging the gun back in.
‘I have, and you’re thinking about ending your scheme before Spenser double-crosses you and takes all the money. Now might be the time to avoid that happening, Nathaniel.’
‘You don’t know me as well as you think you do. So I’d better introduce myself.’ Nat held out his right hand. ‘I answer to Nat.’
Fairborn glanced at the hand, then with a sigh, edged his gun back an inch from Nat’s ribs.
‘Nat it is.’
Nat flexed his side. ‘Obliged. I believe in something even stronger than the law – a man’s word. I had a deal with Spenser and I’ll stick with it, no matter what.’
Fairborn snorted. ‘He’s a lowlife and always will be. You were a lawman, and you could be again.’
‘I’ve got no desire to be the kind of man that goes against his word. If Spenser turns on me, that’s his problem and I’ll deal with it.’
‘If he turns on you, you’ll be dead before you get that chance.’
‘I’d sooner die as a man who keeps his word than save my life by breaking it.’ Nat slipped down in his seat and swung both his feet on to the opposite seat. With deliberate slowness, he raised a hand and pulled down his hat over his eyes. ‘Now unless you’ve got any reason to arrest me, I’d be obliged if you’d take that gun off me and let me get some rest.’
‘I’ve got all the reasons I need to keep a gun on you. I reckon you’re planning to break the law.’
‘For a man who claims to understand me, you’ve forgotten plenty. I’m not breaking the law.’ Nat raised his hat a mite. ‘I do have reason to believe that Clayton Bell will raid this train, and when he does, I’ll recover whatever he steals.’
‘You’ve got plenty of information, and plenty of intent.’ Fairborn withdrew his gun and holstered it.
‘Information isn’t a crime and neither is intent.’ Nat lowered his hat and shuffled down deeper into his seat.
‘They aren’t, but I’ll tell you this as a deputy sheriff to an ex-deputy sheriff.’ Fairborn looked at Nat until he raised his hat again. ‘I’m watching you. If Clayton Bell raids this train, I’ll stop him long before you do. You can join me and work on the right side of the law, but if you don’t, I’ll deal with you just like I’ll deal with Bell.’
Fairborn turned to rise, but Nat took his arm and pulled him back into his seat.
‘As an ex-deputy sheriff to a deputy sheriff, I’ll tell you this, I’ve got no reason to see you hurt.’
‘That sounds like a threat to me.’
‘It isn’t. You think you’re clever finding me.’ Nat nodded forward. ‘But I’m way ahead of you, and way ahead of Sheriff Creed and that slimy bank clerk.’
Fairborn gulped, covering his momentary discomfort with a quick rub of his forehead.
‘I don’t care that you’ve seen us. The only thing that should be on your mind is that I’ve seen you.’
‘Maybe, but it’s a pity that that’s the only thing on your mind.’ Nat nodded his head back. ‘Because I’m also way ahead of Bell’s men in the next car.’
Fairborn winced, unable to hide his surprise. ‘How many?’
Nat produced a small smile. ‘Two men, Deke Pewter and Kyle Samuels. Just before you came in here, they walked down the car to look in on you and your sheriff. Then one of them threw a kerchief out of the window. That was a signal.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
Nat raised his jacket to reveal the gun on his hip, then laid his jacket back down so that he left his gun exposed. He fixed Fairborn with a firm gaze.
‘Because I don’t want a lawman to die from what I’m doing. I want the money, but not if it means endangering men like you. That you can trust.’
Fairborn nodded. ‘I believe you, but it still doesn’t change the way I feel about you and what you’re doing.’
‘I never asked that it should.’
Fairborn glanced over his shoulder at the
door to the next car.
‘As you seem to know plenty about this raid, are you going to tell me when you reckon it’ll start?’
Outside, a gunshot blasted. Everyone around Fairborn and Nat gasped and jumped to their feet to peer through the windows.
‘I’ll let you guess,’ Nat said.
Fairborn stood up. He drew his gun, then peered through the car windows. On the right, a snake of riders was galloping down an incline towards the tracks.
Fairborn glanced at Nat who’d shuffled into his seat so that he was lying flat with his hat covering his face. In irritation Fairborn batted the hat from Nat’s head, but Nat’s exposed face was smiling.
‘Settle down, Deputy,’ he said. ‘There’s no use getting all flustered.’
‘I have my duty.’
‘Ignore it. Bell has too many men. They’ll steal the cash shipment.’ Nat yawned and stretched his arms, then settled down. ‘But Spenser and me have a plan to get it back. Just leave us to do our work.’
‘You may think you’re doing good, but you’re worse than Bell. At least he hasn’t got a conscience.’ Fairborn sneered. ‘You had one, except you sold it for ten per cent.’
When Nat picked up his hat from the floor and swung it on his head, Fairborn dashed for the door. Outside, the raiders still hadn’t blasted any more gunfire, but the line of riders was now matching the train’s speed.
Fairborn threw open the door. He edged through and closed the door. None of the raiders were visible so he jumped across the gap and opened the door to the first passenger car.
Behind him, the door crashed open. Fairborn turned to order the following man to stay where he was, but the man, Deke Pewter, raised his gun and fired in an instant.
Fairborn ducked. Deke’s shot winged past his shoulder into the wall and, with only a moment to consider, Fairborn hurled himself across the gap at Deke to crash into his midriff.
With his shoulder, he pinned Deke against the wall and, with his left hand, grabbed Deke’s gun hand and swung it up.
Deke tightened his grip, the spasm blasting lead into the overhanging roof. Splinters rained down on Fairborn’s shoulders as he slammed the gun back against the wall and again a second time.
Still, Deke kept his grip on the gun and, with his feet set wide, inched the gun towards Fairborn’s head.
Fairborn threw up his right hand, too, and pinned Deke’s gun hand back, but with his chest exposed, Deke slugged him in the stomach with a short-armed jab. The blow knocked Fairborn back a short pace, leaving enough room for Deke to stamp down on Fairborn’s instep.
In an involuntary spasm, Fairborn released his grip on Deke’s gun hand to receive a back-handed swipe to the cheek. Fairborn fell back, only the rail saving him from a drop to the speeding tracks below. Still, he folded over the rail, only able to hang on, the tracks whistling by mere feet below him.
A gunshot sounded and Fairborn winced, but he felt no pain, only hearing a scream and a thud beside him, then a hand pulled him back up from the rail. Fairborn threw his hand to his holster, but another hand grabbed his arm.
Fairborn looked up to face Nat. Deke was no longer there.
‘I suppose I’ve got to thank you,’ Fairborn said.
‘I was just proving you were wrong,’ Nat said, releasing his grip on Fairborn’s arm. ‘I haven’t sold my conscience yet.’
‘Does that mean you’re ready to help defend the train?’
Nat sighed. ‘Yeah, like I said, I’ve got no desire to see a lawman die, but if we fail, I’ll get the cash back under my usual terms.’
With a nod to Nat, Fairborn jumped back over the gap and put a hand to the ladder leading to the roof. He clambered up it, edged on to the roof, and lay flat. Five seconds later, Nat joined him.
Fairborn shuffled to the roof edge and glanced at the raiders below, then turned back to Nat.
‘You want deputized?’ he asked.
‘Nope.’ Nat smiled. ‘But if you want to join me, I’ll give you a share of my bounty.’
‘No deal.’
Nat lay beside Fairborn. ‘Then what’s your plan?’
‘I reckon that—’
A gunshot blasted into the roof beside Fairborn’s head, throwing splinters into his face. In self-preservation he rolled back, crashing into Nat, the action saving him from a second gunshot that cannoned into the roof where his head had just lain.
Nat glanced along the roof. The second raider planted on the train, Kyle Samuels, had also climbed on to the roof and now stood ten paces in from the back of the next car. He’d planted his feet wide apart and held his gun in both hands as he steadied his aim.
From his lying position, Nat ripped off two rapid shots. Both winged past Kyle, but they forced him to duck.
Nat fired a third shot. It was wild, too, but Kyle dropped and lay spread-eagled on the rooftop.
In a sudden decision, Fairborn jumped to his feet. In two long strides he reached the end of the car and vaulted the gap, landing lightly, then hurtled along the roof of the next car.
Kyle planted his elbows in a firm triangle and aimed up.
Fairborn dashed two more paces then threw himself down to skid across the rooftop. Kyle’s shot whistled over his head, then he slid into Kyle, knocking his gun up as he fired again.
With a clawing hand, Fairborn slammed Kyle’s face into the rooftop and knocked his gun away, then rolled on top of him but, with a bucking of his back, Kyle pushed Fairborn off him.
Fairborn hurled a strong grip around Kyle’s neck and held on. With neither man able to control their movements, both men rolled to the side.
In two rolls, they reached the roof edge, but Fairborn planted a knee wide and stopped their roll with him sitting on Kyle’s chest. He leaned back and thrust Kyle’s shoulders down, pinning him to the roof.
Gunfire blasted nearby. Fairborn glanced up.
On the top of first passenger car, Nat was flat out and firing at another raider who’d reached the roof from the raiding party.
Fairborn turned from Nat’s predicament and flexed his shoulders ready to slug Kyle’s jaw.
With his eyes wild, Kyle glanced to the side – the roof edge was just inches away.
Fairborn released his grip to hit Kyle, but Kyle thrust up, aiming to bundle Fairborn from the roof. Fairborn had anticipated the move and he rolled the other way, Kyle only succeeding in rolling himself over the side, but with a trailing hand, Kyle grabbed Fairborn’s left leg and his weight dragged Fairborn to the edge.
On the smooth rounded roof, Fairborn floundered for purchase, but found none.
Inexorably, Kyle’s weight pulled on Fairborn’s legs as he slipped down the car side and inch by inch, Fairborn slid to the edge of the roof.
Chapter Eighteen
In the first passenger car, Sheriff Creed had smashed windows on both sides of the car. He darted between the two sides, but the raiders stayed just far enough back that he couldn’t get a clear shot.
Since the first gunshot Jonah had cringed between the seats behind the strongbox.
Then Trent edged his horse in towards the second passenger car and leapt from the saddle. He landed out of Creed’s view, so Creed leaned through the broken window.
Trent had grabbed the ladder on the side of the car and clung on, his legs struggling for purchase on the smooth wall. He gained his footing and righted himself, then held out a hand, waiting for the next raider to attempt the leap.
Creed took careful aim at Trent and fired. The shot clattered feet wide, but in return a volley of gunshots from the nearest riders peppered the glass, sending shards cascading around him.
When Creed ventured outside again, the raiders had three spare horses – so at least three men had gained access to the train – and a separate group was hurtling by, heading for the freight cars.
Creed reloaded, then edged back down the car as he holstered his gun. He sat in the last seat, hunched his knees to his chin, and pulled his hat low, aping Jonah’s petrified posture a
t the other end of the car.
A minute later the door flew open and Trent swaggered inside. He roved his twin guns back and forth.
Muted screams sounded as the other passengers cringed into their seats. On the back seat, Creed edged down further.
Two more raiders filed through, their guns held out.
‘We aren’t looking for trouble from anyone here,’ Trent shouted. ‘This isn’t the time for anyone to be a hero. You all know what we want and we aren’t looking for anything else.’
Creed peered out from under his hat, then slowly slipped to his feet as another man strode through the door.
Creed whirled his hand, his gun clearing leather, but in a lightning move, Trent swung round and clubbed his jaw to knock him back against the wall. Creed slid to the floor. He shook himself and jumped to his feet.
A gun was aimed at his head and behind the gun, Trent’s grinning face peered at him.
‘Now look what we have here,’ Trent said. He whistled through his teeth and beckoned Bell to slip through the door. ‘We have ourselves a sheriff.’
* * *
On the roof, Kyle’s weight dragged Fairborn’s feet, then ankles, then legs over the side of the train.
In desperation, Fairborn pushed to a sitting position and hammered his fist down on Kyle’s hand, but Kyle tightened his grip, even throwing up his other hand to grab Fairborn’s right leg.
Fairborn scrambled, seeking purchase, but Kyle’s weight was speeding his descent.
He glanced up. Nat was dashing down the roof, his assailant vanquished and his gun held out.
Nat blasted lead at Kyle and then blasted again, but it was only on the third shot that Kyle flinched and slumped, a redness spreading across his chest. His grip released and with a wild thrusting of his legs, Fairborn kicked him away for him to fall to the ground, then tumble away as the train hurtled down the track.
Fairborn threw himself round to lay flat on the roof, but with his legs dangling over the side of the car, he didn’t have enough weight on top to save himself. His legs scrambled for purchase, but found none and in a sudden rush, Fairborn slid from the roof.
The Ten Per Cent Gang Page 7
