Troubleshooter

by Alan David

  Their first priority was the injured, and a medical headquarters was set up with stretcher bearers going out as if on a battlefield. The doctor was kept busy, and Asa, after ensuring that the wounded were gathered together and in good hands, began the more sickening task of organising burial parties. There were men who had died from being trampled into unrecognisable tatters of flesh by the sharp hooves of the stampeding cattle, and others shot down by Yaro’s men or blown apart by dynamite.

  That first day was hell, and Asa figured he would never get the camp straightened out. But after fifty-odd dead men were buried in a communal grave and the wounded taken care of he turned his attention to the survivors, getting them to start work salvaging what remained of the equipment. The special train was sent back north through Buffalo Junction and on to Gadson Flats, to be loaded with what stores had escaped Yaro’s ruthless raid there. Tents were the main need, and any gear which could be found to replace that destroyed in the raid.

  But the survivors were out for blood, and most of them wanted to pursue the raiders, whose tracks were plain in the dust. Asa refused. No matter what happened, the work of laying track had to go on, and he organised the work parties. He also had all the guards, organised under Jake Mullin, out on patrol, although Mullin was also keen to take the trail of the raiders.

  By nightfall a great deal had been accomplished towards restoring some order in the camp, although it was impossible for any work to be done. Guards patrolled through the night, and before dawn the special train returned from Gadson Flats with some much-needed equipment.

  At dawn, only twenty-four hours since the raid, track laying recommenced, although the pace was slower than usual. But as the sun came up Asa could look around and see some semblance of a construction camp here. His eyes glittered as he looked at the wreckage lying around then gazed at the burial area where a lot of good men had been put under. A sigh escaped him and he shook his head, promising himself that there would be a reckoning with Ben Yaro, and soon.

  When the telegraph operator sought him out, a flimsy held in one hand, Asa was talking business with Jake Mullin, agreeing that they should head out after Yaro as soon as complete order had been restored in the camp. Asa paused and looked at the operator, who seemed grim, and he wondered if Yaro had struck somewhere else.

  ‘I got bad news, Mr Blaine,’ the operator said softly. ‘It’s from Buffalo Junction. Very urgent.’

  Asa held out his hand for the flimsy but the operator withheld it.

  ‘I better tell you in my own words,’ he said. ‘There’s been some trouble in Buffalo Junction. They got the sonofabitch who’s been passing on information to the gangs.’

  ‘Did Chet get him?’ Asa demanded impatiently.

  ‘Nope. It was your son, Willard. It was Jay Kelly from the Big Chance. Willard caught him in the office at the depot and there was a fight. Willard killed Kelly, but took a slug. I’m sorry, Mr Blaine, but Willard is also dead’

  ‘Willard dead?’ A thunderous roaring sounded in Asa’s ears and he reeled slightly, as if taking a physical blow. Jake Mullin reached out and grasped his arm, but Asa shook himself free. ‘Dead!’ he repeated. Willard dead!’ Numbing shock closed his thought processes, as if Nature wanted to spare him the sharp agony. He saw the operator’s lips still moving but could not hear a sound through the roaring inside his head. He drew a shuddering breath, gulped, and sound came back. ‘What was that you said?’ he demanded. ‘After that bit about Willard?’

  ‘Manning sent the message. He says to get every available gunhand on the special train and head back to Buffalo Junction. If you act quick there’s a chance of cornering Yaro.’

  Jake Mullin let out a yell and turned to run through the camp, yelling for his guards. Asa shook his head, feeling like a swimmer coming up from a deep dive.

  ‘Chet’s pulled something off!’ he muttered. ‘What the hell are we waiting for?’ He turned and began to shout orders at the top of his voice. ‘Everybody grab a gun and jump on the train.’ He repeated the order as he ran towards the special train, which consisted of a number of boxcars and flatcars, and men, catching his grim words, reached for their guns and swarmed in the same direction, all wanting a piece of the action.

  The engineer and the fireman were already on the footplate, awaiting the day’s orders, and Asa joined them in the cab, curtly giving instructions, his face pale, his eyes glittering. He turned and gazed around the camp, and over a hundred men were answering the call to arms, all thirsting for blood and revenge. Jake Mullin arrived, followed by a phalanx of troubleshooters.

  ‘Get the men into the cars and make sure they’re ready for trouble,’ Asa shouted above the hiss of escaping steam. ‘We don’t know what Chet has got waiting for us, but after this we’re gonna be ready for anything.’

  Men were leaping on to the flatcars and dragging open the doors of the boxcars. Their mingled voices, as they clamoured for blood, rose in crescendo. The train began to move, and Asa turned to the engineer, urging him to make all possible speed. The throttle was opened and black smoke poured skywards. Men who were slow in grabbing their weapons were left behind, cursing and yelling for the train to stop, but Asa peered ahead, his teeth clenched, his mind reeling under the shocking news he had received. At the moment all he could think of was striking back at Yaro’s gang, and he hoped that Chet’s information was correct.

  The train hammered along the track towards Buffalo Junction, all gauges showing maximum readings, and smoke streamed out across the surrounding countryside like a black banner of impending doom. Asa’s mind was blank except for the knowledge that his only son was dead. He had always had reservations about Willard because the boy had not taken after him, making the Railroad his God. But if his son had died fighting to the death for the Company then he had proved himself to be a chip off the old block after all.

  The cars swayed and their wheels protested as the train roared on at top speed. The engineer was like a mother hen with chicks, checking his gauges, watching his steam pressure, and the fireman, blackened and greasy, worked like a madman feeding the voracious maw of the firebox.

  An hour passed and still they rolled north-east. The ground was mainly flat, but they had one ridge to pass through, where the track had been laid in a narrow gorge blasted out of the rock. The engineer, staring ahead with practised eye, spotted an obstacle on the track and immediately applied the brakes, causing the big drivers to lock and sparks to fly. Asa, watching the area, saw riders moving out of a depression as the train ground slowly towards the stack of ties laid slantwise across the shining rails.

  ‘Let her run right up to the ties,’ he shouted in the engineer’s ear. ‘Judge your distance. Stop within feet of that obstacle, and sound the alarm. Alert the men. There are riders up ahead and it looks like a hold-up.’

  The engineer grinned as he glanced at Asa’s bloodless face. ‘Hell, we can sure do with a hold-up with all the men we’ve got aboard.’ He reached for his whistle and sounded a series of short blasts that alerted the tough troubleshooters and Railroaders crouching in the cars.

  Asa drew his Colt and cocked the weapon, legs braced, feet planted firmly on the footplate. His eyes glittered, and he uttered a silent prayer as his gaze watched for further movement. Was this what Chet had meant when he wired end of track? But how could he have known about an ambush this far out from town? He smiled grimly, not prepared to question the situation, and hoped his men were ready for anything that broke.

  The train screeched in over the last few yards to the high obstacle, and smoke belched from the stack. Steam hissed and the big wheels grated. Asa saw horsemen appearing again, and judged their number to be around a score. They were holding drawn guns, riding in two groups, and came towards the cab from either side of the track. Shots were fired by them in warning, and Asa gritted his teeth and thought of Willard as he lifted his sixgun. When the riders drew closer they began to shoot in earnest and bullets splattered against the big locomotive. Asa began to return fire
, tasting gunsmoke, and he was filled with a savage joy when his first shot knocked a rider clean out of his saddle.

  The next instant the hundred or so men on the train blasted into action and a terrific volley of gunfire erupted. Asa stopped shooting immediately, for the effect was like an invisible battering ram. Riders and horses were smashed out of existence by the concentrated fire. It was like a company of soldiers fighting in the war, and smoke hazed around the train, sickly, cloying, while on either side of the track dead and dying men and animals littered the hot ground.

  But the Railroaders were not satisfied. They had endured a brutal raid which claimed a third of their strength. There was not a man present who had not lost a friend or an acquaintance, and they kept shooting indiscriminately, firing at anything which moved, man or horse, riddling them with bullets.

  Asa sprang to the steam whistle and sounded it frantically, and Jake Mullin was trying to command a cease fire. None of the riders escaped the onslaught, and in a few scant seconds the whole scene had changed.

  Asa sprang down from the footplate. The shooting was ragged now, dying away, and nothing moved in the bright sunlight as the echoes faded sullenly into the distance. Men and horses lay stretched out where they had fallen, and the Railroaders came leaping out of the cars, grinning and shouting, waving their weapons as they hurried forward to inspect their kills.

  Shouting for order, Asa sent his troubleshooters to check the downed men. There were sixteen, and all were dead, riddled with dozens of holes that let their blood seep into the parched ground. Even the horses had been killed, most of them struck many times by chunks of lead. Asa had the bodies brought together and stretched out in a line, then walked along it looking for Yaro, whom he knew by sight. He peered impassively at each blood-stained figure, and felt a pang of disappointment when he failed to recognise the gang leader. He walked back along the line, watched by the silent Railroaders, checking the throat of each man for that tell-tale scar, and finally straightened to look at Jake Mullin.

  ‘Yaro ain’t here,’ he rasped. ‘Throw these bodies on a flatcar and let’s get moving. I don’t know what Chet had in mind when he sent that wire, but I don’t figure he reckoned on an ambush here. But these have got to be some of Yaro’s men so I doubt if he’s got more than a handful left. Let’s get moving. This makes up in part for what happened at the camp, but it ain’t finished yet. Let’s go, men. Reload your guns and keep them handy. Clear that obstacle off the track and we’ll make good time to Buffalo Junction to see what’s really going on.’

  There was a bloodthirsty cheer from the Railroaders and they hurried to tear down the obstacle. Then they boarded the train and the engineer opened the throttle. Asa grinned wolfishly as they went on. They hammered through the gorge and continued over the last lap to town. This was more like it, he thought. Chet had done something right for a change, and most of Yaro’s gang were out of it now. All that remained was to come up with the ruthless gang boss himself and have a deadly reckoning .

  What Asa did not know was that at that precise moment he was within gunshot range of Ben Yaro, who was crouching behind a rock with Brannigan, waiting for his men to take the train in order to use it to make a raid along the entire line from Buffalo Junction south towards El Paso in order to put out of action every station en route. Yaro was frozen in shock by the sight of his entire force being shot to pieces, and he and Brannigan remained under cover until the train had gone. When they were alone and silence had returned to the area, with only countless buzzards wheeling slowly over the dead horses, Yaro jerked himself from his paralysis and went to his concealed mount. Brannigan was too shocked to speak, and Yaro led the way broodingly back towards Ryker’s ranch. He had suffered his first setback and did not like it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Aunt Polly took the news of Willard’s death stoically, and Manning piled on the hero business to make her feel proud. She did not cry, but tears shimmered in her dark eyes and she sniffed and smiled sadly.

  ‘I always told Asa the boy had it in him,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you, Chet. Netta, please take me back into the house.’

  ‘I’ll come across later,’ Manning called, and turned to push through the crowd that was assembling. He saw Monte Hudson approaching, and the saloonman’s face was pale. Hank Chilvers emerged from the office where the two bodies were lying and closed the door. When he saw Hudson he came forward.

  ‘Monte, what can you tell me about Kelly?’ he demanded.

  ‘Kelly? What about him? I heard he was just killed. I learned yesterday that he was playing a dangerous game for Yaro. Ain’t that so, Chet?’

  ‘That’s right, and I’ve been tailing Kelly around the town since I found out about him,’ Manning retorted, ‘waiting for him to make a crooked move. I’ll take any bet that there’ll be no more leaks of information now he’s dead.’

  ‘I’ll have the bodies removed,’ Chilvers said heavily, and departed.

  ‘What happened here, Chet?’ Hudson asked quietly. ‘You know I didn’t breathe a word to Kelly yesterday or he wouldn’t have shown up today.’

  ‘I know, and because of that you’re still in business around here. But do you know where Yaro is hiding out, Monte?’

  ‘No, Chet. I’d tell you if I did. They kept everything away from me, except that Glory Harpe is Yaro’s wife.’

  ‘His wife!’ Manning narrowed his eyes. ‘She hasn’t come back to the saloon, has she?’

  ‘Nope, and I don’t figure I’ll set eyes on her again. You’ll be the first one to know if anyone does show up.’

  ‘Okay, Monte. I reckon we understand each other.’ Manning turned on his heel and walked to the telegraph office. The operator was writing on a pad, taking an incoming message, and his eyes were filled with excitement as he looked up at Manning.

  ‘The operator at end of track says the special train is coming hell for leather with about a hundred fully armed men aboard,’ he reported.

  ‘It’s gonna take them two hours to get here,’ Manning mused. ‘I don’t think I can wait that long.’ He bit his lip as his thoughts flickered across the broad face of the situation. ‘Listen. When they arrive, tell Asa to go talk with Hank Chilvers. leave word with him what I want done.’

  ‘Okay.’ The operator nodded. ‘I don’t know what you’ve got up your sleeve, Chet, but I sure hope you’re calling the right shots now.’

  ‘So do I,’ Manning retorted. ‘But what the hell? There’s no point having guards at end of track. There’s nothing out there worth guarding.’ He departed in search of the town marshal.

  Hank Chilvers was along the street talking to a crowd of men, and Manning motioned for the marshal to join him in the law office. Chilvers shut the door against the voices outside and looked into Manning’s harsh face.

  ‘What’s on your mind?’ he asked.

  Manning explained about Asa returning on the special train with all the gunhands they could muster. ‘I want you to be at the depot when the train pulls in, Hank. Tell Asa to get the men mounted and bring them all out to Ryker’s ranch.’

  ‘Is that where Yaro is holed up?’ Chilvers demanded excitedly.

  ‘Keep it quiet, for God’s sake, but I believe so. I’m going out there now to look around and I’ll be waiting for Asa and the rest to show before pushing my nose in. I got it figured there will be something like thirty men with Yaro.’

  ‘And it’ll be some battle!’ Chilvers shook his head. ‘Okay, I’ll pass the word. But you take it easy out there, Chet, huh?’

  ‘I’ll play the cards as they come,’ Manning retorted. Now it’s time I got my horse and lit out.’

  He left the office and went along to the stable. When he had saddled up he rode out in the opposite direction to Ryker’s place, then circled when he was out of sight of the town. Once clear and on the open trail, he rode fast, his mind empty of all emotion. Now he wanted some evidence, and there was only one way to get it.

  When he neared the Ryker spread he dismounte
d and left his horse in cover, sneaking forward to observe the ranch. He looked first at the corrals and saw that they were almost empty of horses. A frown troubled his face. That could mean the gang was out causing more trouble for the Railroad. He checked for guards, but saw none circling the spread as before. Sighing, he went back for his horse, mounted, and circled to approach the clustered buildings under cover of a gully which took him within forty yards of the back of the barn.

  Leaving the horse concealed, he carried his rifle and slung a bandolier of 44-40 cartridges across his shoulder. Easing his sixgun in its holster, he moved into the open and walked casually to the barn. But he was tense inside, ready to flow into action at the first hint of trouble. He gained cover without incident and entered the barn by the back door. The place was deserted and he crossed to the wide front door to gaze around the yard and study the house.

  The most significant fact to strike him was that there was no one around. Usually some hands were always working about a ranch headquarters. There was stock on the spread but no signs of workers. He turned with the intention of sneaking to the back of the house when two men came crowding in through the small side door of the barn. Ducking to the right, he entered a stall, tightening his grip upon his rifle as he did so, fearing that he had been spotted. But the two were talking loudly, and Manning eased forward to catch what was being said.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ one was saying. ‘Why the hell should only six of us be left behind to guard all that dough? If that Railroad troubleshooter shows up we could be in bad trouble.’

  ‘Yeah, and we’re gonna have trouble anyway, with Trig getting what he wants from Glory while Yaro is away. How much longer you figure this job is gonna last around here? We sure made a real mess of that construction camp, huh? They ain’t gonna lay any more rails out there for weeks. Western Pacific will be through Apache Pass before S & W can get started again.’

  ‘That’s what you think,’ Manning rasped, emerging from cover with his Winchester levelled.