by Alan David
‘What’s the trouble?’ he demanded, and men looked at him. He was not liked in Buffalo Junction, but endured because of his father, and, aware of that, the knowledge only served to aggravate his mood.
‘That woman-beater struck again last night,’ someone said harshly. ‘It’s about time they got him. Three women killed in the last two years and several beaten up badly. Why ain’t Hank Chilvers caught him? Someone must see him sneaking around town after dark’
‘Who was it this time?’ Willard kept his pinched face expressionless although he felt a fiery sensation spasm through his loins. His memory fed him pictures of the incident and he gritted his teeth. If only he could find a woman who was able to satisfy him!
‘Louise Judd,’ volunteered another. ‘She’s in a bad way. Ain’t able to talk much, but said that someone was in her cabin after she slipped out to the john. I’ve always said it wasn’t right for her to be stuck out there on the back lots. She should have a place amongst other folks. It was asking for trouble leaving her cut off. Hell, she does a good job with the kids of this town.’
‘I reckon the marshal should check the whereabouts of every man in town last night,’ said yet another. ‘Them who ain’t got an alibi should be made to prove where they were. Either that or we start patrolling the town ourselves. It’s obvious the law can’t handle this, and the attacker must be local because these attacks have been going on for years.’
Willard moved away, intent upon catching the eight-twenty, which was the freight train Ben Yaro was intending to hold-up for the gold shipment. He had tried to get out of going to Broken Rail, a whistle stop thirty miles south of Buffalo Junction, but he knew when not to argue with his father, and it might look suspicious if he made a fuss about crying off and then the train was robbed. He toyed with the idea of putting off the gang, but was too afraid of Yaro to try that, for the gang would know just how many guards boarded the train.
He bought his cigars and then walked back along the street towards the depot. He was opposite the school when he saw movement in the alley there and Doc Watson and Hank Chilvers appeared. The big town marshal glanced around the street, and Willard froze as the lawman’s gaze noted his presence, but evidently Louise Judd had been unable to identify her assailant, and he went on his way, forcing himself not to look back although he felt as guilty as hell.
When he entered the depot he saw Ben Yaro’s contact standing by the ticket office, and met the man’s eyes, nodding slightly as he did so. Jay Kelly was a gambler in Monte Hudson’s Big Chance saloon, and Willard was wishing that he had never fallen into Kelly’s clutches. It had been all right working with outlaws like Delmont, but Ben Yaro was a horse of another colour. Kelly approached him, an unlit cigar between his thin lips, and Willard produced a light for the man.
In the few moments that they stood together, Willard spoke in a nervous undertone. ‘I don’t see any guards around, and the gold is being loaded in the caboose right now. But I’ve got to take this train to Broken Rail and stay there until my Pa tells me different. You better let Yaro know that things are humming around here because of him. They know he’s in the area and what he’s here for.’
‘You’d better ride in the cab,’ Kelly retorted. ‘Yaro is gonna hit the train where you suggested. Keep out of the way and you won’t get hurt. I’ll be in touch with you later, but if this doesn’t go off okay you better not get off the train at Broken Rail, Yaro told me to tell you.’
Willard caught his breath and fear squirmed in his chest. He often wished he was tough and brave like Chet Manning. But he had to make do with what he’d got, and he went past the gambler and walked along the train to the locomotive. The engineer was busy in his cab and Willard called to him, grinning with a warmth he did not feel. He could not be friendly with these men because he detested the whole breed of them, his father included and Chet Manning in particular. But he had to get along with them until he was able to leave.
He climbed onto the footplate. ‘Howdy, Pete. I’ve got to go to Broken Rail. It’s all the trouble we’re having round here. There’s a big panic right now. They say Ben Yaro is coming into the area against us. Western Pacific mean to get to Apache Pass before we do.’
‘They won’t make it.’ The stocky engineer scowled as he wiped his hands on an oily rag. ‘They got that gold aboard yet?’ He leaned out from the footplate and looked back along the train to the caboose. ‘Are we getting any guards for that?’
‘Don’t look like it, for some reason.’ Willard shook his head, afraid that the man would refuse to take out the train until he got guards. ‘Did you hear that the town school teacher was attacked last night?’
‘No. Not another one! How come that town marshal of yours can’t get that crazy hombre?’
‘Maybe it’s Chilvers himself doing it.’ Willard grinned. ‘You ain’t firing this engine yourself, are you?’
‘Nope. Billy is in the depot, sending a wire to El Paso. He wants to get off at Gunnison Point and there’ll have to be a relief for him. You can ride the footplate with us. We’ll soon make Broken Rail. It’s a good morning and old ninety-seven is raring to go.’
Willard was apprehensive but did not show his feelings. When the fireman arrived and the conductor indicated that the loading was complete, the engineer sounded the whistle. The fireman asked Willard if he was carrying a gun.
‘I’m not armed,’ Willard said, although he had a .41 Derringer in a vest pocket. ‘I ain’t no troubleshooter. But there aren’t enough men to go around today. All the guards are being rushed to end of track. The rumour is that Ben Yaro is gonna stop us getting to Apache Pass ahead of Western Pacific.’
The boxcars shunted a little as they began to move, but they picked up speed, Willard remaining tense as they left the town behind. He gazed ahead as the train thundered along the gleaming rails. He wished he had not accepted blood money from Ben Yaro, but there was no other way he could realise his ambition, and if no one got hurt in the hold-up the Railroad would repay whatever money was stolen.
They soon began the long ascent of Three Mile grade, and, although he gazed around, Willard did not see any of the splendour in his surroundings. The engine began to make heavy work of the grade and slowed imperceptibly, while the fireman built up pressure quickly. The engineer remained at the controls, watching his gauges and peering out at the track. He knew exactly what was needed to get the train to the top and there were many such grades along the route, but this one was becoming notorious for hold-ups.
When they were moving no faster than walking pace, and the track cut through a confining gorge, Willard began to feel even more afraid. There was a lump in his throat and his heart thudded painfully. The engine seemed on the point of giving up its effort to haul the train up to the summit, and, on either side, hard rocks leaned in towards them, the tall boxcars almost scraping’ them as they jolted and tilted onwards.
He was as surprised as the engineer and the fireman when a masked man suddenly appeared on the tender, balancing precariously on the stack of cordwood, a levelled sixgun in his right hand. The fireman saw him first and attracted the engineer’s attention.
‘Pull up,’ the gunman commanded, waggling his gun. ‘Make it quick or they’ll be burying you beside the track.’ He had to shout to make himself heard.
‘Can’t stop here,’ the engineer replied calmly, turning his head to the left to spit a stream of brown tobacco juice out of the cab. ‘Can’t hold all the weight until the locomotive is over the top and on the downgrade. Give it another fifty yards.’ He turned back to his controls without further ado, blithely ignoring the menace of the pointing gun, and Willard drew a long, steadying breath as the train continued to chug over the last vital yards. He could see other men leaping from the surrounding rocks on to the curved roofs of the freight cars, and counted at least a dozen. A sense of warm satisfaction began to filter through him despite the situation, and, when the engineer finally brought the train to a grinding halt with a screeching of brakes
and spinning of big wheels, he began to try and work out what his share of this robbery would total.
‘You got any guns in the cab?’ the robber demanded, coming closer.
‘No.’ Willard ignored the fact that he was carrying the Derringer.
We ain’t got anything here but steam,’ the engineer retorted.
‘Well don’t give me any trouble or it’ll go hard with you. That dough back there ain’t yours so don’t worry about it. We’ll be pulling out in a few moments, and there’s no sense anyone dying for what ain’t theirs, huh?’
No one answered, and the robber glanced back to see what was happening around the caboose. Willard tightened his lips as the fireman grasped a short length of wood and lifted it. He wanted to call a warning but there was no time to do anything. The robber returned his attention to them, saw the fireman’s action, and fired instantly. The bullet hit the fireman in the chest with a solid thump, and blood flew as he crashed sideways into Willard, who sidestepped and let the body fall to the floor of the cab. He averted his gaze from the bloodstained figure and looked into the robber’s blazing eyes.
‘The hell with it!’ the man snarled. ‘I got a good mind to drop all of you. What for did he wanta do a damfool thing like that?’
‘He allus was a hothead,’ retorted the engineer, dropping to one knee beside his colleague. But there was no need for you to kill him. He’s dead as mutton.’
‘Shuddup! You’ll be lucky if you don’t get a slug before I leave. That was the fireman, huh?’
‘That’s right.’ The engineer straightened.
‘How come there are three of you in the cab? That’s against regulations, ain’t it?’
‘I’m Willard Blaine. I’m a clerk for the Railroad and I’m on my way to Broken Rail to work.’
‘Blaine? Are you related to Asa Blaine, the Area Superintendent?’
‘He’s my father.’ Willard began to hope that all the outlaws had been warned that he was on their side.
‘Now ain’t that something? I figure my boss would like to know about you. Climb up here, the both of you. Keep that steam shut off, huh?’
The engineer cursed under his breath and began to climb upon the tender, and Willard followed reluctantly. They passed the watchful robber and started walking along the roofs of the cars, followed by the gunman. Willard could see the rest of the hold-up. There were a number of masked men around the caboose — some of them standing upon the roof, and he and the engineer came under the menace of several guns as they approached. The conductor was lying huddled beside the track at the rear of the caboose, a robber at his side.
‘Hey there! Look what I got,’ the robber called, and masked faces were turned towards them. Willard could not tell which of these men was Yaro until the gang leader called from the side of the track where the conductor was stretched out, either dead or unconscious, at his feet.
‘What in hell are you doing back here?’ he snarled. ‘You got orders to stay with the engine. What was that shot? I told you no shooting unless it was necessary.’
The robber explained, and Willard moistened his dry lips, recalling Yaro’s manner in the barn the evening before.
‘Okay,’ Yaro said at length. ‘Take the engineer back to his cab and watch him. Leave Blaine here with me. But I don’t figure he’s worth anything to us.’
The robber ushered the engineer back along the wagon tops, and Yaro motioned for Willard to join him on the ground. Willard’s hands trembled as he descended the iron rungs at the end of the caboose and came under the steady muzzle of one of Yaro’s guns when he stepped clear. He looked down at the conductor and saw a large bruise on the man’s forehead.
‘You can be glad this is going off okay,’ Yaro said grudgingly. He was tall and powerfully built, with black stubble on his heavy face. If anything, the sunlight made him look all the more menacing, and there was repressed violence in every line of his body. ‘How come you’re leaving Buffalo Junction?’
Willard explained in a nervous voice, and Yaro sneered.
‘That’s all right. You don’t wanta get mixed up with us too much.’ The knife scar around his throat seemed to writhe like a snake as he spoke, and Willard gazed at it, fascinated, wondering how Yaro had collected it and what happened to the man who gave it to him. ‘You go back to the cab with one of my men and carry on as if nothing happened. Kelly will look you up when you get back to Buffalo Junction, and you better have some more good news for him. I wanta know exactly what plans your Pa makes for handling me. That way I can strike where he least expects me to.’
‘You dirty crook!’ The harsh voice of the conductor cut in on Yaro’s words, and Willard looked down, horrified at the sight of the man struggling into a sitting position. ‘They’ve been saying that someone on the Railroad is working in with the gangs. It’s you, Willard! You’re going against your own father.’
‘Shuddup!’ Yaro lashed out with a heavy boot and the dusty toe caught the conductor on the bruise he had already sustained. He fell backwards, unconscious again, and Yaro kicked him once more before looking at Willard.
‘Hell, you can’t let him live now!’ Willard gasped. ‘He’ll spread the word about me.’
‘Sure thing!’ Yaro grinned and lowered the muzzle of his right-hand Colt. He squeezed the trigger. Willard flinched at the heavy report, and his wide eyes saw dust puff from the conductor’s jacket as the man jerked convulsively under the impact of the heavy .45 slug which split his heart. His mouth gaped and a torrent of blood gushed from it, almost splattering Willard’s shiny boots and forcing him to spring backwards with a bleat of horror.
‘What in hell are you so skittish about?’ Yaro demanded. ‘You scared by the sight of blood?’ He looked critically into Willard’s pale face and chuckled harshly. ‘You’re a yellerbelly!’ he observed. ‘Well that’s okay by me because it means you’ll do exactly like I tell you. But it could also mean that you’d spill the beans about me the minute someone like Chet Manning puts pressure on you. Well, don’t ever do it, Blaine! No matter what they ask you. If you squeal on me I’ll slit you open from crotch to gizzard like the hog you are. You got that?’
Willard nodded dumbly, gulping against the sickness which welled up from his stomach. He could not take his eyes off the dead conductor as he fought the nausea which assailed him.
‘The rest of my boys are fighting men,’ Yaro continued. ‘I can trust my life with them, but you I wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw a hoss. Now get back to the engine. You’ll be pulling out in a minute. We’ve got what we came for. You’ll get your share later.’
Willard saw some members of the gang emerging from the caboose burdened with long boxes, and fought down his uneasiness.
‘I’ll let you know about the next shipment,’ he said, and took his leave quickly, fighting against the urge to vomit as he stepped over the lifeless conductor. He hurried back towards the engine, and when he climbed on to the footplate the robber covering the engineer began to run back along the top of the wagons.
‘What was that shot?’ the engineer demanded.
‘They killed the conductor. Shot him in cold blood while he was lying beside the track.’ Willard’s teeth chattered as he spoke. He felt ill, and knew his face was ashen with shock.
‘What did they kill him for?’
‘How in hell do I know? Get this train started and move out, for chrissakes!’ Willard peered back to where the gang were climbing away from the caboose. ‘They’re pulling out, and we better do the same before they change their minds about letting us go.’
The engineer didn’t need to be told twice and quickly operated his controls. The engine coughed and protested, but they began to move, slowly at first, until they gained momentum, then increasing speed as they hit the downgrade. Willard closed his eyes and clung to a stanchion. His senses were whirling now, and he feared that he was going to pass out. But the engineer nudged him roughly.
‘For God’s sake!’ he yelled above the thunder in the ca
b. ‘Shake yourself out of it and start throwing wood into the furnace or we won’t have enough steam to get us to Broken Rail. This is the hell of a note! How’d they know the gold was aboard? We don’t usually load that kind of cargo on the freights. And why in hell didn’t we have some guards with us? I’m gonna raise a stink about this when I get to El Paso.’
Willard shook his head and turned to open the door of the fire box. He began to throw wood into the glaring furnace, thankful that he had something to do, and wiped sweat from his forehead as he closed his eyes for a moment. But he should be several thousand dollars richer now, even if it was blood money, and he would soon be able to afford that trip east. Then he’d shake the dust of this country off his boots for good.
He maliciously hoped there would be trouble over the robbery. His father and Chet Manning should have put an escort aboard to guard the gold, and he fancied that they would both suffer because of their failure to do so. If they left him at Broken Rail for a spell he would be happy, for the less he saw of Ben Yaro and these hardcases the better he would like it.
Chapter Six
As the eight-twenty to El Paso pulled out of the depot at Buffalo Junction, Chet Manning and Asa Blaine were walking along the street, talking over details of their plans, and Manning was impatient to get out to end of track.
‘I don’t like this business of you getting shot at right here in town,’ Asa said conversationally. ‘It proves that Yaro is on top of the job, and he knows you’re a tough threat to the success of his crooked business. We can’t expect any help from the county law so we’re gonna have to make do with what we’ve got until I can hire more guns.’
‘You’ll have to watch out just who you hire,’ Manning warned, glancing around the street, his right hand close to the butt of his gun. There was a leaping eagerness inside him. He wanted to get in amongst the hardcases and keep on shooting. But tactics would play an important part in this because they did not have enough men to cover every weak point along the railroad. ‘I figure the first thing Yaro will do is try to sneak some of his men into our ranks.’
