AHMM, July-August 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  The train ground to a halt on the slope and then slowly began to roll back downhill.

  Miss Parson stepped over to join them. “It's quite the mess we find ourselves in, gentlemen."

  "Aye, that it is,” Father Murphy agreed. “It appears our poker game was nothing more than a distraction for the good lieutenant."

  "I told you no good would come of it,” the old woman reminded them.

  "Aye, that you did,” the priest agreed. “And might I add that I am quite embarrassed by my earlier utterances. You have proved yourself a woman of remarkable courage, but with your permission we need to turn our attention away from past sins and toward the solution to the lieutenant's problems."

  "I have to secure that payroll and rescue my men,” the lieutenant said. He had ceased to try and exit the car but had not taken his attention from the door. His service revolver was out of its holster and in his hand.

  "To accomplish that,” Miss Parson suggested, “you are going to need help and a plan."

  Corey didn't think there was much chance that the lieutenant's men were still alive after all of that gunfire and was about to volunteer that information, when he realized that Miss Parson would have thought of that as well and obviously had decided not to mention it.

  Patrick was not so discreet. “It don't look good for your soldiers, Lieutenant. All of those gunshots."

  The lieutenant gritted his teeth as if firming his resolve, then began to open the door toward the baggage car.

  Corey hauled him back again. “Now that's not going to do no good. You heard Miss Parson. We need a plan."

  "I'm sure,” Miss Davis observed, “that a trained military officer like Lieutenant Ridgewood does not need the help or the advice of a down-on-his-luck boxer and a professional lady gambler."

  Patrick bristled at the comment, but Miss Parson responded before either of the two men could speak. “If you are correct, Miss Davis, then the lieutenant should not listen to you either. Really, pretending this was your first time playing while all the while you and Mr. Perkins were dealing off the bottom of the deck to set up Lieutenant Ridgewood. What else is your role in this? You've already helped to distract the lieutenant from his duties. Are you also supposed to encourage him to get himself killed?"

  Silence blanketed the railcar while every passenger strained their ears to hear Miss Davis's response. Her face grown flushed and stern, she waited an unnatural moment too long while she struggled to formulate a reply. “Why, I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Miss Parson. I've never even heard of—what did you call it? Dealing under the deck?"

  "You've heard of it,” Father Murphy corrected her. His face was drawn and sad. I didn't notice Perkins doing it, but I surely saw you feed cards to the lieutenant half a dozen times.” He shrugged and smiled wanly at Miss Parson. “I didn't see anything sinister in it. I just thought she was trying to keep her sweet in the game."

  Miss Davis turned to Lieutenant Ridgewood. “This just isn't true, Thomas. I have no idea what these people are talking about.” She turned on Miss Parson, anger flashing in her eyes. “You've made all of this up! If you really thought I was cheating, why didn't you expose me during the game?"

  "Lots of reasons,” Miss Parson answered, “but primarily because to call attention to your slight of hand would have besmirched the honor of Lieutenant Ridgewood. Even though you were feeding him cards, I didn't think he was aware you were cheating for him."

  "I wasn't.” The lieutenant's voice was quiet. His face had lost its flush of red fury and replaced it with a milder expression of sadness and confusion.

  "Why, Thomas,” Miss Davis faced him, batting her eyelashes with concern, “surely you don't believe this preposterous story."

  He did not answer her directly. “You said you had lots of reasons, Miss Parson."

  Miss Parson picked up her story as if there had been no interruption. “Then there was the problem of Mr. Perkins. I knew he was feeding you cards as well, so I assumed he was working together with Miss Davis. But even after your men disappeared I couldn't be sure of what they were after until I caught sight of Mr. Sully."

  "Sully?"

  "One of the men helping Mr. Perkins rob your payroll. He has a bad reputation down south of here."

  "And you couldn't warn me?"

  "When, Lieutenant Ridgewood? When was I supposed to warn you? Miss Davis has been at your side since she finished her little game with Mr. Callaghan. Even that was probably designed to make her appear an empty-headed, flirtatious girl. No, Lieutenant, there was no time to warn you of my suspicions, but now there is plenty of time to warn you that simply charging into the baggage car with your pistol in hand will accomplish nothing other than to make you dead."

  The lieutenant looked again toward the baggage car, then down to the pistol in his hand. He holstered the weapon, then turned back to Miss Parson. “What do you suggest?"

  "I cannot believe you are going to listen to this woman!” Miss Davis protested.

  "Father Murphy,” Lieutenant Ridgewood asked, “Missus, er, pardon me, madam,” he addressed the old woman, “but I fear I do not know your name."

  "Mrs. Black,” she responded, holding her chin high and looking the lieutenant straight in the eye.

  "Father Murphy, Mrs. Black, could I trouble you to take this young woman over to the seats, hold her there, and keep her quiet?"

  Father Murphy looked at Mrs. Black and sighed. “Of course you can, Lieutenant, anything we can do to help."

  Mrs. Black sniffed at the priest. “Anything to help our brave boys in the military."

  Miss Davis protested. “You can't—"

  She stopped talking when Mrs. Black's hand clutched her arm. “And you will be quiet, missy! I guarantee it!"

  Miss Davis looked into Mrs. Black's eyes and shrank back against the priest.

  The lieutenant turned back to Miss Parson. “Your plan, miss, and please hurry. We don't know how much time we have."

  Miss Parson was ready, obviously aware that while the train was racing down the track now, it wouldn't be too long before it slowed down again. “First we have to act to buy more time and take advantage of the fact that Mr. Perkins and Mr. Sully have divided their forces."

  Lieutenant Ridgewood nodded. “Any thoughts on how we can do that?"

  "To begin, we can decouple this car from the stock cars behind it."

  "They're all rolling downhill,” Patrick noted. “That won't do much."

  "Not at first,” Miss Parson agreed, allowing her attention to be diverted to Patrick. “But with luck the cars will separate enough to keep Mr. Sully and his companion from returning here. Then Lieutenant Ridgewood can cross this car to the baggage car where he can apply the hand brake. If Mr. Perkins tries to interfere, the lieutenant can shoot him."

  "Better yet,” Patrick suggested, “if Corey here goes with him, he can turn the hand brake while the lieutenant lies in ambush to shoot Perkins if he comes out to stop him."

  "Dangerous, Mr. O'Sullivan,” Miss Parson objected.

  "But it might be our best chance to stop Perkins without having to rush the car,” the lieutenant said. “May I count on your help, Mr. Callaghan?"

  "Of course you can,” Patrick answered for Corey. “My lad here is dying for the chance to get back at Perkins. Imagine him suggesting that Rock Quarry Callaghan would take a dive."

  Corey met Miss Parson's eyes, saw the concern there, and shrugged. They both knew he wouldn't let Patrick look like a liar. He'd help the lieutenant.

  "What about the rest of you, men?” the lieutenant asked, raising his voice to address the other passengers. “Can I count on any help from the rest of you?"

  A murmur followed his request while the other passengers talked it over among themselves. One of the gentlemen rose, apparently speaking for all of them. “If they try to come back in here, we'll fight them, but we ain't rushing any railcars."

  The lieutenant looked unhappy with this response so Corey spoke up before the officer co
uld try again. “It's just as well, sir. What we're going to try doesn't take a lot of men, and we do want someone here to protect the women and children."

  The lieutenant nodded. “You're quite correct, Callaghan. Let's get on with it."

  He secured the flap on his holster, locking the weapon in place, then started down the aisle toward the rear exit from the car.

  Corey followed him.

  * * * *

  The railcars were rolling quickly down the hill when the two men stepped through the doorway and onto the narrow ledge at the rear of the car. A slender iron rail offered some protection against falling, but nothing else.

  The lieutenant swayed unsteadily as he looked at the passing ground.

  Corey reached out and steadied him.

  "Sorry, Callaghan,” the lieutenant apologized. “Don't know what's wrong with me. I'm dizzy all of the sudden, looking down at the moving ground. Hell, I've ridden faster than this on horseback."

  "It might be those blows to the head,” Corey suggested. “Why don't you stand back here while I see about separating these two cars?"

  "Do you know how to unhitch them?"

  "Not really, but how hard can it be?"

  Corey crouched down at the edge of the small platform and grabbed hold of the railing with his right hand. Then he leaned forward to examine the spot where the two cars were joined. Some sort of lever seemed to lock the two cars together. He grabbed hold of the steel piece with his right hand and pulled it toward him. Despite being obviously well lubricated, the metal did not budge.

  Corey tried again, flexing truly powerful muscles, which he had honed through years in the ring, but pulling was not the same as punching, and he could not free the cars.

  "This isn't working,” he told the lieutenant, then stood up and reached across the gap between the cars to grab the rail on the other side. He stepped across the gap so that he was standing on the baggage car looking back at Ridgewood. Grabbing hold of the new railing, he kicked at the lever.

  "Be careful,” the lieutenant warned. “You don't want to get stuck over there."

  Corey ignored the officer and kicked the lever again, striking it hard with the heel of his shoe. The lever snapped clear and the two cars immediately came free of each other, a small gap quickly widening between them.

  Corey responded instantly. Pulling his foot back up beneath him he leapt back toward the lieutenant and the passenger car. The distance was only a couple of feet and he made it without mishap, latching tightly onto the railing while the lieutenant grabbed him by the shirt and hauled Corey up beside him.

  "Careful now, don't go getting killed before we rescue my men."

  Corey thought he detected a faint smile on the lieutenant's lips, but he couldn't be sure. Instead of answering, he grasped a rung on the ladder mounted on the end of the car and quickly clambered up to the roof. There was a stiff wind, and the car bounced on the tracks sufficiently to make Corey careful of his footing. Crouching low, Corey quickly made his way to the front of the car, where he waited for the lieutenant to catch up with him.

  When the lieutenant arrived, Corey leaned close to him, shouting to make his voice heard above the noise of the wind and train. “We're going to have to do this quickly. If we take too long and Perkins is waiting by this door, he may hear us and one of us will get shot. Same thing could happen if we take too long crossing the top of the baggage car. We don't want him to act until we're ready for him."

  The lieutenant was eyeing the gap between the cars. It was less than four feet, but he didn't seem to be able to take his eyes off it. His body swayed noticeably.

  "Lieutenant? Are you alright?"

  The lieutenant shook his head but answered in the affirmative. “Of course, of course, let's do this."

  Without hesitation, Corey leaped across the gap and landed on the roof of the baggage car. It was harder than he had expected, for there was nothing to grab hold of to keep him from sliding around. Fortunately he had a good sense of balance and recovered himself without trouble. The lieutenant, however, in his current condition, might find the jump more difficult.

  The officer was not ready to follow Corey. He was staring at the gap again and swaying slightly from side to side.

  "Lieutenant!” Corey called to him, but the man did not look up.

  "Ridgewood!” Corey called again without success. He had to find a way to get the man's attention. “Don't make me jump back over there to get you!"

  The lieutenant looked up then, meeting Corey's eyes for just a moment, before planting his feet more firmly beneath him. Still he didn't make the jump.

  Corey tried another tactic. “It's now or never, Lieutenant, and it's your decision. This is your whole career in front of you. The army will forgive you losing your men, but they'll never forgive cowardice!"

  "Cowardice!” Ridgewood's face snapped back up toward Corey again, and he leapt at the boxer without warning. In an instant he was across the gap and looking to get his hands around Corey's neck.

  Corey slithered nimbly backward, keeping out of the lieutenant's reach. “Easy there, Lieutenant! Good job! I knew you could do it!"

  Lieutenant Ridgewood caught sight of Corey's laughing face and stopped scrambling after him. His own face colored with embarrassment. “Sorry about that, Callaghan. I don't know what came over me back there. I was just so damned dizzy."

  Corey turned his back on the lieutenant and hurried toward the end of the car. He had to assume that Perkins had heard them land on the roof, and he didn't know how much time he had. A glance back over his shoulder told him the lieutenant was following him, albeit more cautiously.

  Corey reached the ladder at the end of the car. No other cars stretched out on the track ahead of him. Sully must have separated the cars right here. The sense of urgency boiling hot within him, Corey decided not to wait. He swung down onto the tiny platform at the end of the car, grabbed the steel ring that controlled the hand brake in both hands, and gave the mechanism a mighty twist, throwing his whole weight into the effort. The railcar lurched as the steel brake pressed against the steel wheels of the car. Sparks fanned out behind the train in a broad and brilliant arc.

  Corey twisted again. The screech of steel on steel was deafening, but the brake was biting hard into the wheel now, and Corey knew they had to be slowing down.

  Shouting profanities, Perkins shoved the car door open and thrust his pistol in Corey's direction. Without conscious thought, Corey's hand flashed forward, grabbed the pistol, and yanked it hard toward him. It fired once before it pulled free of Perkins's hand, but the bullet flew off somewhere into the wilderness without hitting flesh. Corey sent the pistol careening after it, then braced himself to put down Perkins.

  He was not in very good shape for a fight. The beating he took from rifle butts and kicking boots in Cheyenne had been severe. But Rock Quarry Callaghan was not a man who backed away from a fight, and his pride would not let him admit that any man alive might beat him with his fists.

  Perkins, for his part, was broad in the shoulders and heavily built. While not a boxer, he had the look of a man who got into his share of fights and expected to win them when he did. He edged out of the doorway, a large grin splitting his face. “Callaghan, somehow I just knew I was going to get to beat on you before this day was through."

  Corey attacked. His right fist shot out twice in quick jabs directed against Perkins's nose. He didn't break it, although a trickle of blood squirted over Perkins's lips.

  The big man just smiled to show Corey he could take it.

  Corey struck again with a left to Perkins's broad stomach. The gambler responded with a sweeping blow to Corey's head, which the boxer easily avoided.

  Corey drove two fists into Perkins's rib cage with the same apparent lack of success. Perkins rocked a blow to Corey's shoulder that almost turned him on the little platform. The blow hurt far more than it should have, and Corey had difficulty bouncing back as if he were unaffected.

  The fight w
as reminiscent of a very old style of boxing, before the footwork and maneuvering that marked the current sport. In those days, boxing was about brawn and grit. The man who had them stood his ground, endured punishment, and won matches. Fighting in close quarters was similar to that, except that this wasn't a ring and there weren't rules, and Corey, who had first learned how to fight on the docks of Boston, knew how to take advantage of this situation. He brought his right knee up hard into the fork of Perkins's legs.

  The big man grunted and hesitated.

  That was all the opportunity Corey needed. His hands shot out to grab Perkins by the collar of his shirt. Then he yanked the man forward, pivoted on his left foot, and heaved the massive gambler off the car and onto the tracks below.

  Perkins cried out as he tumbled through the air, but it was too late. One giant hand almost grasped hold of the thin steel railing but couldn't quite find a grip. Then the small mountain of human flesh impacted the much larger mountain of rock and earth and he was tumbling along the track well behind Corey and getting farther by the moment.

  "Very nicely done, Callaghan,” Lieutenant Ridgewood complimented the boxer. “But am I mistaken or were you supposed to wait for me to get set and get my gun out before you set the brake?"

  The lieutenant's gun was out now, and he was leaning over the edge of the roof of the railcar peering down at Corey. He still looked pale enough to cause Corey to worry about him.

  The boxer shrugged. “I got anxious."

  "Can't argue with success.” Maneuvering carefully, the lieutenant took hold of the ladder with his free hand and descended to the platform beside Corey, who stepped back to the other end to make room for the officer.

  "Do you think Perkins was alone in there?” the lieutenant asked, indicating the door with his gun.

  Three shots rang out in response, puncturing the door to the baggage car and nearly perforating the two men as well. They leapt as far to their respective sides as the narrow confines of the ledge would permit them, and braced themselves for more shots.