With a last desperate lunge, he grabbed the roof edge and his hand held, stopping his fall but crashing him into the side of the car. He threw up his left hand and held on.
In another bone-jarring thud, he slammed against the side and swung out again. Then Nat hurled himself to the roof, his long slide halting above Fairborn, a firm hand closing on Fairborn’s hand.
‘You can’t pull me up without dragging yourself over,’ Fairborn said.
‘I can’t leave you hanging,’ Nat said, gripping his hand more tightly.
A bullet cannoned into the roof beside him. Fairborn glanced down to see two raiders galloping towards him.
In manic desperation, Fairborn threw up his other hand. Nat grabbed it and, with a scrambling, pulling effort, Nat dragged him up until Fairborn could lever a leg over the side, then roll on to the roof.
A last bullet from below ripped through jacket cloth, but then Fairborn pushed back from the edge. Both men lay for a moment, regaining their breath with long gasping wheezes.
‘Whose idea was it to go on the roof?’ Fairborn said.
Nat chuckled. ‘That would be yours.’
Fairborn glanced over the edge of the roof at the mass of raiders, then edged back.
‘Then I reckon it’s time I thought of a better idea to defend this train.’ Fairborn righted his jacket. ‘Bell won’t steal the shipment by getting one man at a time on to the train. He’ll have to stop it. So that means we have to keep it going.’
Nat nodded. ‘Agreed.’
With Fairborn leading, both men shuffled down the roof. With their heads low, they concentrated on keeping their footing.
They vaulted the gap to the first passenger car. At the end of that car, Fairborn glanced down. Drago had shut the doors into his freight car.
With a glance back at Nat, he backed three paces and charged at the gap to leap over it.
Nat leapt the gap and joined Fairborn. Doubled over they edged along the roof.
A gunshot ripped through the air beside Fairborn. He glanced around, but from the center of the car, he couldn’t see the flanking raiding party below.
Then a second shot blasted, this time sounding close enough to trim the hairs on the back of his neck.
With Nat, he looked in all directions, but the roof was clear and no matter where he looked, he couldn’t see where the shooting came from.
Chapter Nineteen
Faced by Trent and Bell, Creed let his gun clatter to the floor, then raised his hands to shoulder level.
‘I’m not opposing you,’ he said.
Bell grabbed Creed’s collar and dragged him away from Trent, then gestured for Trent to head down the car.
‘You double-crossed me,’ Bell said. ‘That’s worse.’
‘You wouldn’t kill a lawman.’
‘People say you’re only ten per cent of a lawman.’ Bell raised his gun, his eyes widening.
‘I’ve got a good reason for you to keep me alive,’ Creed said.
Bell glanced down the car. Trent was beside the front seats considering the strongbox and the cringing Jonah. Two other men peered through the front window at the freight car.
‘Tell me and I’ll consider.’
Creed took a deep breath. ‘I know which men in your gang work for the Ten Per Cent gang.’
‘Who?’
Creed laughed, the sound flat. ‘I’m looking straight down the barrel of your gun. That doesn’t encourage me to tell you.’
Bell smiled with an arc of yellow teeth. ‘Tell me and I’ll let you live.’
‘I’m not as stupid as you look. I’m not doing that.’
‘Then the information dies with you.’ Bell slammed the gun against Creed’s temple.
‘And you’ll die, too. Even if you break into the freight car and escape with the cash, you won’t keep it for long because some of your men are people you shouldn’t trust. They’ll turn on you.’
Bell shrugged and lowered his gun a mite. ‘Either tell me or don’t. There isn’t much assurance I can offer you other than my word.’
Creed considered Bell’s grin. He smiled.
‘I’ve got better assurance.’ Creed raised a hand and edged it to his jacket.
Bell narrowed his eyes as the hand disappeared into Creed’s inside pocket. Then a slow inch at a time, Creed removed the hand.
Bell tensed but the hand emerged with a sheet of paper clutched between two fingers.
Creed held out the paper for Bell to snatch it from him. Bell batted the paper open and glared at the two names written there.
‘And?’
‘Those are the names of the two men in your gang who will double-cross you.’ Creed licked his lips. ‘It’s a pity you can’t read.’
Bell shrugged and raised his gun. ‘I’ll just find someone who can.’
‘But can you trust him?’ Creed smirked. ‘If the man you ask to read it to you is one of those names, he’ll lie.’
Bell rubbed his forehead and glanced down the car. The three raiders were all looking at him and awaiting instructions.
‘What’s your bargain, Sheriff?’
‘If you escape with the shipment, whether you lose it or not, I’ll see you later and read you those names.’
‘Agreed,’ Bell snapped. He holstered his gun, then with a thundering right cross, hammered Creed’s jaw, slamming him back against the wall.
Darkness closed on Creed.
* * *
Another gunshot blasted near Fairborn, the ricochet ripping splinters from the roof into his right foot.
Fairborn threw himself flat, but Nat kicked him in the side, sending him tumbling. He glared at Nat, but another shot blasted just where he’d been lying.
Fairborn considered the hole the gunfire had made in the roof. Then, with his heart racing, he realized from where the gunfire was coming.
The wagon riders in the car below were firing up through the roof.
Fairborn and Nat exchanged glances, an unspoken moment that debated whether they should stay and be quiet or whether they should run.
Lead hurtled through the roof six inches from Nat’s foot. Wasting no more time, Nat dashed down the car.
Fairborn leapt to his feet and pounded after him. Lead ripped through the roof at his feet, kicking splinters into his heels as he charged, heedless of where his feet landed.
Both men hurtled to the car end, running full tilt, and over the next freight car, then threw themselves from the roof to land on the fuel pile, burying themselves to their knees in chopped wood. They lay for a moment regaining their breath.
Then, surrounded by the heaps of wood, both men clambered towards the engine. The raiders were still back at the passenger cars, but even so, both men glanced over their shoulders frequently.
Fairborn reached the engine first to confront the train driver who aimed a rifle at his head.
‘Get back, you varmints,’ the driver muttered, his gun arm firm.
‘We’re here to help,’ Fairborn said, raising his hands. ‘I’m Deputy Fairborn and this is . . . a friend.’
The driver lowered his rifle and edged back to his engine.
‘What do you want?’
‘We’re here to defend the engine. We have to keep it moving or the raiders—’
‘Yeah, I know the routine. This isn’t my first time.’ The driver patted the engine. ‘We’ve survived a few scrapes and we’ll get you through this one, too.’
Fairborn nodded and took a position at the right hand side of the engine. Nat stood on the left.
The driver snorted. ‘You can poke your guns all you like, but stoking wood will save your life.’
Fairborn glanced at wood heaped at the back of the engine and the shovel poking from the top.
‘Nat, you stoke the wood,’ he said. ‘I’ll head them off.’
Nat shook his head. ‘I’ve got a better idea. You stoke and I’ll defend.’
A gunshot skidded off the engine roof.
‘You’d better decide w
ho’s doing what,’ the driver said, ‘or you won’t get that chance.’
With an irritated shake of his head, Nat picked up the shovel. He kicked the engine door open and hurled a shovel full of wood inside.
Fairborn watched him, then peered from the engine.
The raiders were all two cars back. He dashed to the other side. Again, the raiders were still concentrating on gaining access to the passenger cars and ignoring the freight car where the cash shipment was.
‘Just as you should,’ he said to himself.
Chapter Twenty
After ten minutes of furious shoveling, Nat stood tall and flexed his back.
‘What’s happening?’ he asked.
Fairborn leaned from the engine. ‘Bell’s raiders are leaving.’
Nat threw down his shovel, but Fairborn spun round and pushed him back.
‘What are you doing?’ Nat snapped.
‘You’re doing a good job shoveling.’ Fairborn pointed at the shovel. ‘So you should carry on.’
‘If the raiders have gone, I reckon we’ve failed to defend the train and I can stop helping you. I’m leaving.’ Nat turned to the driver. ‘It’s time you stopped this train.’
The driver glanced at Fairborn, who nodded and, with a pull on the brakes, the train wheels screeched as he slowed it.
‘Even when we’ve stopped, you are going nowhere,’ Fairborn said.
‘You can’t stop me.’
‘You wouldn’t fight a lawman, Nat.’ Fairborn raised his gun. ‘So just stand there and be quiet. You aren’t claiming your ten per cent recovery fee today. The lawmen are in control.’
With a sneer and a bat of his hand against his thigh, Nat sat on the wood pile.
‘You aren’t in control. Spenser and me know all Bell’s hiding-places. If you want to see most of that money again, you’ll let me go.’
Fairborn smiled as the train lurched to a halt.
‘All right, Nat. I’ll make a deal with you. If you can tell me what’s happening outside, you can join Spenser. If you’re wrong, you come with me as a temporary deputy.’
Nat narrowed his eyes, then nodded. ‘All right. Bell’s gang is into the hills. They’ve split into four groups and are heading in different directions, some as decoys, one with the cash. They’ll meet up later.’
Fairborn nodded. ‘And the wagon riders?’
‘They’ve reformed outside the train and are mounting their horses from the first car. Then they’ll chase after Bell.’
‘Will they catch him?’
‘They’ll fall back when Bell’s too quick for them.’ Nat smiled. ‘That’s where Spenser and me come in.’
Fairborn shrugged and stood aside. ‘Come on. Let’s see how much of that is right.’
Nat stood up and moved past Fairborn. With a quick dart of his head, he glanced around the side of the engine.
He shrugged, walked to the other side of the engine and peered outside. He tipped back his hat to scratch his head, then turned back to Fairborn.
‘Where are the wagon riders?’
‘Drago isn’t in pursuit. He’s still in the freight car.’
‘But he should be . . .’
Fairborn allowed a full smile to break out. ‘Nat, it’s time for you to accept that you’re no longer in control. The lawmen are.’
Fairborn jumped down from the engine. With Nat at his side, he walked down the side of the train. He glanced at the closed doors of the freight car, then headed past to the first passenger car.
Several passengers had already emerged from the train and had huddled in animated groups, discussing what had just happened and swapping tales.
Fairborn tipped his hat to one group, then levered himself on to the train. Nat followed.
Fairborn slipped into the car. Creed was standing at the back of the car, probing his jaw. He smiled and tipped his hat.
‘Fairborn.’
‘Creed.’ Fairborn stood aside.
‘You’re Nathaniel McBain.’ Creed widened his smile and beckoned Nat to follow him.
Nat shrugged. ‘I answer to Nat.’
Nat followed Creed to the last seat, where Jonah was cringing on the floor. The strongbox had gone.
Creed offered Jonah his hand. Jonah glanced at Nat, then took Creed’s hand, his fingers shaking with an uncontrollable tremor.
‘Don’t ever get me into that kind of exploit again,’ he croaked, then cleared his throat. ‘I thought those outlaws would kill me. That was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.’
Creed pulled him to his feet. ‘I had my doubts that you were the right man to bring along, but I was wrong. You look just scared enough to be plausible.’
Jonah extracted a kerchief and blotted his sweating cheeks and brow.
‘That’s because I was scared.’ He glanced at his shaking hand. ‘I still am for that matter.’
Creed shrugged and brushed past him. ‘Come on, Fairborn. We’ve got some people to deputize.’
The four men walked from the car and into the freight car. Inside, Drago was pacing back and forth.
‘Bell only stole your tin box,’ he said.
Creed shrugged. ‘He did, but that box was bank property. I’d be obliged if you’d help me get it back.’
Drago snorted. ‘That’s not my concern. As Bell stole it in your county, I reckon you should chase after it. We’ll stay here and guard our shipment.’
Creed glanced at Fairborn and winked. Fairborn returned the wink.
Creed walked to the door and patted the spot where he’d hung on only thirty minutes earlier. He paced back to stand before Drago.
‘It’s a pity that you won’t help me. The strongbox is well worth recovering. A master metalworker constructed it using classical dimensions.’ Creed held his arms wide, signifying each measurement. ‘Five foot long, four foot high and three foot wide.’
‘If he’s kept the plans, perhaps he can make you another one.’
‘Perhaps he could, but it won’t be as good as the original. You don’t get many boxes that are four feet high.’ Creed lifted on his heels to get the smallest of height advantages on Drago. ‘But only two foot six inches deep.’
‘What does that mean?
‘It means that the box was eighteen inches bigger on the outside than it appeared to be on the inside because a false bottom topped the lowest eighteen inches. That false bottom pivoted when someone locked the box.’ Creed held his hands out flat, then turned them over. ‘An action that moved the contents that were under the false bottom to the top.’
For long moments Drago glared at Creed, then winced and rubbed his eyes.
‘You mean that you switched the money?’
‘I sure did. Like I said, I wanted to guard the cash in my county, and I decided to do that in the car outside.’ Creed slapped his palm against his forehead. ‘I forgot that the metal worker who made the strongbox might not have been reliable. He might have talked about it to the wrong people, such as Clayton Bell.’
Drago stormed to the back of the train and crunched the toe of his boot against the crate containing the guarded bags.
‘Are you telling me these bags are full of nothing?’
‘Forged bills actually.’
With a great roar, Drago kicked the crate open, then grabbed a bag and hurled it against the wall.
‘Be careful,’ Creed said, stepping forward. ‘Forged bills can fetch as much as a cent in the dollar and with fifty thousand of them in there, that’s a few hundred dollars’ worth.’
‘You idiot!’ Drago turned to Creed with his eyes blazing and his fists clenched. ‘My men risked their lives guarding nothing while you lost the real cash out there.’
‘That isn’t how it is. Just like all your past failures, you were planning to let Bell’s raid succeed in return for a healthy pay-off.’
Drago advanced a long pace to loom over Creed.
‘That’s a brave claim when you’re surrounded by my men.’
‘It is, but you
have one chance to rectify this. Work for me and get back the cash.’ Creed glanced at Nat. ‘And all for no fee.’
‘We’re having no part of this,’ Drago said.
‘You will.’ Creed strode forward to stand toe to toe with Drago. ‘A corrupt varmint like you will have charges to face, and he’ll face them if he doesn’t do as I say.’
‘You can’t threaten me. You’ve just broken enough laws to swing.’
‘Perhaps, but I know how to avoid any of us facing that sort of trouble.’ Creed took a deep breath and let the biggest smile for months emerge. ‘Because I’m way ahead of you, way ahead of Nat, way ahead of Spenser O’Connor, and way ahead of Clayton Bell and his gang. I’m in control.’
Drago lowered his head and slumped, his fists unclenching.
‘What’s your deal?’
‘You get deputized.’ Creed pointed to Drago, Nat, then the rest of the wagon riders. ‘We track down the cash and return with it and Clayton Bell in tow.’
‘And no charges?’
When Creed nodded, Drago gave the shortest of nods, but behind him the wagon riders glanced at each other, then one at a time peeled from their positions to stand together.
‘That goes for you, too,’ Creed said, still staring at Drago.
The nearest wagon rider snorted. ‘We’re having no part of this. We’ll risk our lives to do our job, but we’re not risking ourselves to save Drago’s hide. You have nothing on any of us.’
Drago looked over his shoulder at the line of wagon riders, then shook his head.
‘Go on, if you’re not man enough to join me.’
‘I reckon we aren’t. We’ll enjoy the rest of the journey from the comfort of a real seat.’
One by one, the wagon riders filed out of the freight car. Creed watched them go, then turned to the scowling Drago and Nat.
‘Looks like it’s just us, then.’
Nat snorted. ‘You just crossed the line, Sheriff. You hate my version of vigilantism, but what you’ve just done was worse than anything I’ve done.’
‘I’m not looking for your approval.’ Creed patted Fairborn’s shoulder. ‘I reckon you ought to start smiling like Fairborn is.’
The Ten Per Cent Gang Page 8
