Ralph Compton Straight Shooter

by Ralph Compton

  “It just felt too easy.”

  “Would’ve been easier if we could’ve gotten more of them rifles,” Mose said. “Sounds like we’re gonna need plenty.”

  Wes shook his head. “No, we won’t. I’ve taken a look at that rifle you brought back, and it’s a beaut. I saw what he did when he adjusted them sights the first time, and I should be able to get them fixed up real good.”

  “What about the pistol?” Mose asked. His mouth hung open as if he was about to drool over the prospect he was contemplating more than he had drooled when his breakfast had first been set in front of him. “I’m still keeping that pistol, right?”

  “Sure. It’s only fair that we split the profits just like we’ll split what’s left over from that money we stole.”

  When Wes had first gone to the saloon, he’d been so focused on Jimmy that he’d overlooked the rooms on the second floor. That wasn’t hard to do since there were only four of them near the back of the room partitioned by a waist-high wall that allowed the people up there to look down on the rest of the saloon. One of those four doors opened now and Jimmy stepped out to gaze down at the bar and tables. He spotted Wes and Mose immediately and then made his way to a narrow set of stairs that would take him to the portion of the saloon reserved for gamblers and their games.

  “Don’t mention another word about that money,” Wes hissed.

  Mose scraped at the last of his eggs. “I don’t think Jimmy’s gonna care where it come from just so long as we have it.”

  “It ain’t that. If he knows we got more than what he needs, he’ll boost his price to clean us out.”

  The bigger man shrugged, making it plenty clear that he was more interested in his breakfast than the upcoming negotiation.

  Jimmy descended from the second floor, ignoring the outlaws completely as he made his way to the same table where he’d been sitting earlier. He wore a dark brown suit that was so rumpled it looked as if it had been wadded up in the bottom of a saddlebag and then trampled by a team of horses. Before he even had a chance to get comfortable in his chair, one of the serving girls rushed over to ask what he wanted. She was walking away to fill his order as Wes and Mose made their approach.

  “You boys are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Jimmy said. “I see at least one of you tried the food.”

  Mose patted his belly. “Fixin’ to have seconds.”

  “Brave man.”

  “You don’t like the food, you should have stayed somewhere else,” Wes offered as he sat down. “Plenty of other places in town.”

  “I can eat things that’d make a billy goat sick,” Jimmy said. “I like this place for other reasons.”

  Wes glanced up toward the second floor just in time to see that other reason step out of the room Jimmy had left. She was wrapped in a red dress that barely covered her generous curves. Long, flowing hair swept over smooth, creamy shoulders, and the look in her eyes as she surveyed the saloon from her vantage point made it clear that she was once again open for business.

  “I’m startin’ to like this place myself,” Wes said.

  “You got my money?” Jimmy asked in a voice that was sharper than a rap of knuckles against the table.

  Wes reached into his pocket and removed a roll of cash held together by a length of twine. “It’s all there if you wanna count it.”

  “I do.”

  Although Jimmy didn’t have any qualms with unrolling the money and flipping through it, the two outlaws shifted in their seats and started watching the door as well as every man at the nearby tables.

  “What’s the matter?” Jimmy asked.

  Wes quickly replied, “Nothing.”

  “Then why are you squirming so much?”

  “Because that’s a lot of money and . . .”

  “And you think someone’s gonna steal it?” Jimmy smirked at the irony he’d hinted at with that question. “There’s reasons other than the women and the beer why I like this place. The law don’t come around here much since it’s just outside town limits. The owner has his own boys keeping the peace in here, and I’ve got an arrangement with them that makes it plenty safe for me to conduct my business however I want.” His brow furrowed when he asked, “You don’t have the law sniffing after you right now, do you?”

  “No,” Wes said. “Now, what about the rest of our deal?”

  Without another word, Jimmy looked back down to the money. When he was finished counting, he weighed the money in his hand and tucked it away. In order to get to the pocket where the money was stored, he had to open his jacket and reveal the holster strapped around his waist. He kept the jacket open and drew a .44 Smith & Wesson that was as weathered as the man who carried it.

  “What’s that for?” Mose asked.

  “Some men like to snatch their money back after I say my piece,” Jimmy told him.

  “That ain’t us,” Wes said. “You know me.”

  “Sure I do. Just like I knew some of the other men who thought they could get the drop on me. This gun stays and if either of you makes a move for yours, I’ll send you out of here in a pine box. Same goes if I see someone else coming along to back your play.”

  Staring across the table, Wes fought the urge to show just how displeased he was. “All right,” he said through gritted teeth, “you made your point. You got your money. Tell us what we need to know.”

  Although Jimmy relaxed somewhat, he didn’t take his hand away from the .44. When he spoke, his voice took on a harsh, strained quality as if it was a painful effort for him to force it up from his lungs. “The train is arriving in Omaha in ten or eleven days. It’ll stay put for three or four days and pull out at six a.m.”

  “How will we know what train it is?” Wes asked. “There’s plenty of trains coming and going from there.”

  “It’s number twenty-four. It’s also gonna be the one that’s guarded by at least ten men. There’ll be a few on top of the cars as well, since they like to have a good vantage point when they leave. There’ll be some inside and some standing between the cars.”

  Mose shook his head fiercely. “There ain’t no way the two of us can go against that. Give that money back before you say another—”

  “Shut up,” Wes snapped. To Jimmy, he said, “He’s right. And I could’ve seen this much on my own.”

  “What you don’t know is that all those guards are mainly there to protect the largest load of money that will be brought in and stored in a vault in the car just in front of the caboose. That’s a small fortune, but it ain’t all that train is carrying. There’s also smaller loads kept in sacks and crates that are already portioned out to pay some of the smaller payrolls along the way. At least half of them guards I mentioned will leave the station to pick up that big load, and they’ll be escorted by three of the four men who’ll ride ahead to make sure there ain’t no robbers lying in wait along the train’s route.” Jimmy smiled, which made him look like a filthy, yet amused, corpse. “All two enterprising gunmen would have to do is wait for all them men to ride away, pick off a few guards from afar, and then make a quick sweep through that train to gather up as many of them smaller sacks as they can carry.”

  “You’re sure they’re in sacks?” Mose asked.

  Jimmy frowned and looked at the big man as if he’d been addressed by a child who had somehow found his way to the table. “What’s that matter?”

  “It sure matters to the man that’s gotta carry it off of that train!”

  “Some of it’s in sacks,” Jimmy said. “I saw them being loaded myself.”

  “When was this?” Wes asked.

  Looking over to him, Jimmy said, “I’ve seen that train get loaded three times in all. There’s always a bunch of sacks brought to it soon after it arrives. They look like the bags that mail is carried in. There’re also a few strongboxes, so be ready for that.”

  “How much mon
ey is in there?”

  “I don’ know for certain. I never took it upon myself to count it. What I do know is there’s a whole lot of it since there’s so many men guarding that train,” Jimmy explained. “When those guards ride off to collect the main load, most of what’s left behind are riflemen who stay inside the train as well as one or two watching it from a rooftop. Usually from on top of the station.”

  Wes nodded slowly as he pictured it as best he could. “So if I could spot them and then pick them off from a distance, all Mose would have to do is storm that train.”

  “That’s all, huh?” Mose grunted.

  “I’ll come in to help. Don’t you worry.”

  “I’m more worried about you with the rifle. You ain’t that good a shot.”

  Wes glared at him, which quieted the bigger man down.

  “You’ll need something with power and accuracy,” Jimmy said. “Not just some hunting rifle or whatever piece of scrap you stick in your saddle’s boot.”

  “You have experience shooting at trains?” Wes quipped.

  “No, but I got plenty of experience in hunting, and the first thing you gotta do when you’re looking to bring an animal down is make sure you’ve got the right tool for the job. You’ll have the element of surprise, but it won’t last forever. You need to make your shots count, and they have to hit hard enough so one per man is all you need.”

  Mose studied the man across from him and said, “You really do sit and think all of this through.”

  “It’s a talent,” Jimmy replied. “I got an eye for detail.”

  “Why don’t you come with us?” Wes asked.

  It would have been impossible to tell which of the two other men was more surprised by that proposition.

  “Why would I want to go with you?” Jimmy asked.

  “Because if we had an extra man on this job, especially one who knows as much as you do about it all, we might be able to get our hands on the real money being loaded onto that train.”

  “You mean whatever is being put inside the safe?”

  Wes nodded as if he was about to lick his lips.

  “I work alone,” Jimmy told him. “And I’m too fond of living to tangle with the very thing that all them men are there to guard. You want to take a run at it? That’s up to you to decide. My job is to tell you what I know, and I get paid because I know an awful lot.” Leaning forward, he locked eyes with each man in turn. “If you go after the safe instead of just snatching what you can carry and riding away as fast as you can, you’re idiots. Now, since that’s all I got to say on the matter, you can go.”

  Both outlaws stood up from the table and walked away. Once they were outside, Mose looked over to Wes and asked, “So . . . do you think that talk was worth the price we paid?”

  Wes pulled in a deep breath of crisp air and savored it. “I think,” he said as he exhaled, “that this job is gonna get real bloody real fast. After it, though, we are gonna be very rich men.”

  Chapter 8

  Both of Hayes’s wagons rumbled down a trail that was wide enough in spots for them to roll side by side. It was a well-worn trail over a grassy stretch of prairie that stretched out as far as the eye could see. At this time of year, it was a beautiful sight filled with rich brown and golden grasses that swayed with the slightest of winds. Trees still bore their leafy canopies but were just starting to show the colors of an encroaching autumn. The sky was a mix of light blue and gray, accented by thick clouds resembling so much raw cotton pulled into shreds.

  Hayes drove the wagon containing the disassembled shooting gallery and all of the ammunition and gunsmithing tools stored in rows of locked cabinets. He was at the front of the small procession with Aldus trailing behind in the covered wagon.

  As beautiful as his surroundings were, Aldus didn’t take the time to drink them in. It wasn’t that he couldn’t appreciate such things, but he’d simply seen those sprawling grasslands so many times before. Hayes’s business was run from his wagons, and those wagons followed a few small circuits that brought them to the same towns at various times of the year. Every so often they might stray from their beaten path, but they would quickly find their way back to a more familiar route. Part of the salesman’s reasoning for this was his desire to have the broadest customer base possible. He could reach a certain number of folks by opening a store in one spot, and he might even earn a reputation that brought folks in from other towns. But if he came to them, he could see even more business. And if he came to them on a regular schedule and stayed in that town for a few weeks at a time, it was close to having a shop in several different towns. He did earn his reputation as a master of his craft, and that reputation spread well beyond the places he visited. Every town where Aldus set up his gallery, he saw new and old faces alike. There were custom jobs commissioned by lawmen or soldiers that Hayes would work on so they could be delivered the next time the wagons rolled back to town. And there was plenty of business to be had in selling ammunition or more common firearms.

  But that was only a part of Hayes’s reasoning. The other piece that kept him moving was a natural-born wanderlust. Zachariah Hayes simply didn’t like staying in one spot long enough for the grass to grow beneath his feet. In fact, he’d been well off his normal route when he’d first crossed paths with Aldus Bricker.

  Aldus had been fighting in New York City on the docks where the air smelled like a salty mix of river water and blood. Having come off a win that took thirty-two rounds to get, Aldus had been a heap of broken bones and busted cartilage. If he was to keep the purse he’d won as well as appease the promoter who treated his fighters like slaves in a pit, Aldus would have had to wade into another fight the very next day. He was no coward, but he knew he would be in no shape to beat an animal like Darian Waterman. That grizzled Canadian would have been a challenge on any day. In the shape he’d been in, Aldus could either forfeit or surely get his head caved in. He’d chosen the latter.

  After eight torturous rounds and a loss ending when Aldus could only open one eye, he sat in a squalid saloon with a good view of the water. As Aldus nursed a warm beer, a man approached him with a proposition. Hayes had needed a guide through the less refined portions of the city and was willing to pay for the privilege. While quite an odd proposition for that particular moment, it was Hayes’s second offer that sealed the deal. Quit the fight game now before he was killed in the ring.

  “Wh-who are you?” Aldus asked through a mouth that was too swollen to fully articulate his words.

  Hayes gave him a quick explanation of who he was and what he did for a living. Since he hadn’t even owned a gun at the time and didn’t know much about them other than which end was the most dangerous, none of that meant a lot to Aldus.

  “Wha . . . do you want?”

  “I have some deliveries to make here in New York City, special orders and such,” Hayes explained. “I could use someone who knows his way around. But more than that, I could use someone to travel with me and protect my interests.”

  “Like a guard?”

  “Exactly. There’s various other duties as well. Basically I just need another set of hands to help me in my work. When you’re not making sure that the profits aren’t in danger, I can teach you how to do simple things like pack ammunition, clean firearms, and take inventory.”

  “I don’t know a thing about . . . any of that,” Aldus said through his swollen mouth.

  “I’ll teach you. It’s actually fairly simple work, but it needs to be done. Having someone reliable do it for me will free me up to do a lot more specialized work. I used to have other assistants, but they didn’t prove to be very reliable.”

  Lowering his head, Aldus took a few moments to wait for more of the cobwebs to clear from between his ears. When he looked up again, Hayes was still there. “Why come to me with this? I never done this kind of work before.”

  “Because I’ve
been told you’re a good fellow. A real straight shooter. And,” Hayes had added cheerily, “you have a nasty look about you. That will go a long way when it comes to protecting my interests. Are you good with your hands?”

  Aldus had held up his hands, which, at the time, had looked like hams that had been soaked in buckets of water for about a week and a half. “Not today but yeah.”

  “I’ll pay you enough to act as my guide here in New York to make ends meet for a while. At least give you some time to heal. After that . . . we’ll see.”

  It turned out that Hayes had been an old friend of Basil Polaski, the grizzled old man who ran the docks where the fights were held. That old-timer had not only given Aldus a place to stay but had been trying to convince him to quit fighting while he could still see through both eyes and remember his own name. While Aldus had been more than happy to take whatever odd jobs Polaski could offer, he just couldn’t find one that stuck. Eventually someone would come along to take the job away from him or he would leave on his own. No matter how badly it hurt, there just wasn’t a substitute for being in the ring.

  During a fight, Aldus felt as if he was truly doing what he’d been put on earth to do. Doing anything else would have been a lie. At times when he was battered, bruised, and in constant pain, he wished he had it in him to quit. Inevitably he would come up with some other reason to go on, some new improbable hope that he could make something out of the mess his career had become. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t have a career. He had a dream, and that didn’t put food on a man’s table.

  When he met Hayes, Aldus couldn’t help liking him. While he was in town, the salesman had to visit a few shops in some neighborhoods that were very familiar to the boxer. Showing him around was an easy job that ended in a nice little bit of pay. The two had gotten on fairly well, and when Aldus bought Hayes a few glasses of whiskey, the salesman told him about his travels out West. Looking back on it, Aldus didn’t know why he accepted the offer to join Hayes as an assistant, bodyguard, and sometimes apprentice. He’d been in New York City for several years and perhaps had acquired some touch of wanderlust himself. Or perhaps his head was still ringing and his body was aching so much that any other prospect seemed appealing. In the end, it had been Polaski’s words that had gotten him to pack up his things and take a chance with a whole new life.