Caine had said that William was upset with the Rangers because Scrap had killed his favorite girl. And there had been no mention of the cowboy or man Scrap had insisted he saw. Maybe that man was William himself. Or maybe nothing Caine said was true; it seemed likely now that it looked like he’d been the one behind the jailbreak.
The idea was worth noting, especially if Josiah was able to head off the train and get Myra Lynn to the trial, to speak for Scrap instead of against him. That was the new plan, but he had no way to communicate it with Juan Carlos and Miguel.
Once Josiah regained his breath, cleared his eyes, and was reasonably certain that he wasn’t walking into a trap, he hurried down the stairs, keeping as close to the building as possible.
Flames poked out of the roof of the saloon and reached up to the sky, touching the coming dawn. Light was breaking on the horizon, gray turning to white, then a soft pink burning quickly to red. Thunderclouds towered in the distance, threatening the coming day with the promise of a storm. The air surrounding the saloon was like being in the midst of a fully engaged war; there was little time to notice or care about any impending weather. Josiah felt like he was in the middle of hell, not in the throes of spring.
The fire crackled hungrily inside and out of the saloon, and a wave of heat had followed Josiah down the stairs. The dead men on the third floor would be incinerated, their final moments lost to everyone but Josiah.
The first guard he’d encountered and shot was where he’d left him, still on the ground, still breathing, but not easily. For all Josiah knew, the man was close to death, too. If the building crumbled down to the ground, the man would surely die. Josiah left him there. Saving the man was of little consequence to him at the moment.
He hurried away, back toward the alley he’d left Clipper in, fleeing the saloon and all that was going on. He couldn’t be certain what was happening, if Juan Carlos and Miguel were holding their own. There hadn’t been an explosion for a long stretch of time, but there was plenty of back-and-forth gunfire. Either way, the only thing Josiah could do was hope they’d been as prepared as possible for what was to come once the first grenade exploded inside the saloon. That and hope that aid would come in the form of deputies or backup of some kind. Not knowing who to trust had prevented Juan Carlos and Josiah from alerting the Rangers or Rory Farnsworth to their plan.
A fire bell clanged in the distance as the black cloud of smoke wafted away from the saloon and over the city and was met by three short toots, almost in unison, from the departing train’s whistle.
Josiah hurried his pace, then broke into a full run. It was still dark enough for the shadows to be of use to him, but he remained an easy target for any good shooter.
Clipper was right where he’d left him, standing sentinel, like a statue, like he had not moved a muscle since Josiah left.
Josiah slammed the Winchester into the scabbard, then untied and mounted the horse in a leap. He kneed Clipper, yanking the horse’s head in the opposite direction. Clipper responded knowingly to the urgency. The horse broke into a full run, heading out of the alley at great speed, giving Josiah every ounce of energy it had.
The smell of smoke coated Josiah’s tongue so densely that it felt like he’d licked the bottom of an ash can. Gunshots echoed up into the sky, carried on the same breeze that had spread the black cloud rising up from the Easy Nickel Saloon across the eastern side of Austin. Along with the noise, and his single-minded focus, the smoke made it almost impossible for Josiah to keep a clear eye out for any danger of his own as he made his way onto the street. He was so eager to reach the train, he nearly overlooked the troop of men on horseback heading straight for him.
Josiah pulled back on the reins, bringing Clipper to a quick stop. Dust kicked up behind him and the horse, and Clipper protested at the hard yank of the bit.
It only took Josiah a quick second to figure out whether the troop of men were friend or foe.
Captain Leander McNelly and the company of Rangers swept up around Josiah, surrounding him with curious eyes and an eagerness and nervousness of their own about what was going on.
“Boy, am I glad to see you, Captain,” Josiah said.
“I should have figured you were in the middle of this mess, Wolfe.”
The train whistled in the distance, taking Josiah’s attention from the captain. “We haven’t much time, Captain. Caine is carting a witness to the murders out of town as we speak. Juan Carlos and Miguel are engaged in a firefight at the Easy Nickel Saloon. I don’t know what’s become of them, but if I’m to catch that train before it leaves Austin, I need to go now!” Josiah was almost panting, he had spoken so quickly. “If you don’t mind, sir,” he added after catching his breath.
“You’re certain about this, Wolfe?”
Josiah nodded. “Yes. I have to go, sir. The train is leaving,” he said, feeling the first rumble of the train vibrating up through the street. He angled the horse’s head toward a path that he could see his way clear of.
McNelly nodded. “Take the right flank with you,” he ordered. “I’ll take the rest of the men to the saloon and shore up Juan Carlos’s fight.”
Josiah didn’t take time to answer or agree. He urged Clipper on again, only this time, ten well-armed men fell in behind him.
CHAPTER 37
The sky continued to lighten, and the threat of the coming storm was about to become a full-blown reality.
Thunderclouds reached high in the sky on the horizon. Streaks of lightning flashed far and wide, then buzzed to the ground with resounding booms. Overhead, the clouds were gray, mixed with the black smoke from the fire and the steam pushing up out of the locomotive.
The train had left the station and was slowly picking up speed, unconcerned about the weather it was driving into or the troop of Rangers who were trying to stop it from leaving Austin.
Josiah led the ten Rangers up along the south side of the train. He could hardly hear himself think, the train was so loud. Every ounce of his body shook from the rumble of the wheels banging forward on the tracks. Any closely held fear was not a consideration. His only focus was saving Myra Lynn and, ultimately, saving Scrap from the hangman’s noose. It was a risk, going after Scrap’s sister, but it was the only thing Josiah knew to do at this point.
The first passenger car behind the coal tender looked empty, until Josiah saw a shadow of movement at the farthest window, as a rifle barrel pointed out and fired in his direction.
The muzzle flash burned orange for a long second, and the crack of the shot echoed, but the sound was lost to the train’s roar and the rising storm. Still, there was no mistaking the intent. Another silhouette appeared in the next window, a cowboy, black hat on his head, his face covered and unrecognizable, his rifle stuck out the window in the direction of the Rangers. He fired, too, into the troop.
Josiah immediately put up his hand and pulled back the reins, slowing Clipper, then called out over his shoulder, “Don’t shoot back! We don’t know where the girl is.”
The truth was that Josiah didn’t know for sure if Myra Lynn was really on the train or not. But he had taken Abram Randalls’s last words to be true. The man had no reason to lie to him, to lead Josiah into harm. Perhaps it was a moment of redemption for the embezzler, or maybe it was a trick.
Josiah was betting on redemption. Either way, he’d find out soon enough.
He didn’t wait for the troop behind to accept the order. Instead, he grabbed the Winchester out of his scabbard, then took a deep breath and a long second of concentration to gain a precise aim.
The two men inside the passenger car took advantage of that long second and continued to fire, hitting one of the Rangers behind Josiah.
The man, a Ranger whose name Josiah didn’t know, screamed out and grabbed his arm in sudden pain.
Josiah returned fire, hitting the first shooter squar
ely in the forehead, sending him spiraling backward, out of sight. The second shooter pulled his rifle out of the window and retreated into the darkness of the car. Blood dripped down the side of the passenger car, glowing scarlet in the stormy morning light.
“Five of you sweep around to the other side of the train once it passes and take the car,” Josiah shouted out.
The Ranger who was hit was still mounted on his horse, holding his arm. “It’s just a flesh wound, Sergeant Wolfe. I’m fine,” the man yelled out.
Josiah nodded. “The rest of you follow me. We’ll take the car from this side. Two of you ride up to the engineer and get the brakeman to stop the train.”
The first two men next to Josiah peeled off after the locomotive. The train was picking up speed even quicker, most likely because the engineer feared a robbery was in progress, instead of a rescue. With all of the noise, there was no way for Josiah to identify himself, or the men with him, as Texas Rangers, to the engineer. The man was likely to ignore the request anyway, fearing any variance to the schedule.
A clap of thunder boomed overhead. The ground shook, a joining of nature’s force and the train’s unrelenting power, making it hard for Josiah to consider anything else.
He urged Clipper forward, catching up to the train. He didn’t need to look behind him to see if the other Rangers were following his lead, he could feel their presence, knew that their commitment to see the task through was strong, even though he was sure they didn’t have the personal reasons that he did for putting their lives at risk. Blind fulfillment of duty carried its own beauty and dangers.
In a matter of seconds, Clipper was running full out, breathing heavily, his muscular white and black neck starting to lather with sweat. Josiah slid the Winchester back into the scabbard as he eyed the rear of the passenger car, gauging the speed of the train and Clipper’s forward motion. He prepared himself to jump, knew what was at stake if he missed. Being severed by rushing train wheels would be a horrible way to die. Losing a leg or an arm and surviving the ordeal would be no way to live the rest of his life. Or he could be shot at any second . . .
Without thinking, tucking his fear away into the back of his mind, where it belonged, Josiah stood up in the stirrups, pulled his outside leg up on the saddle, then reached out for the speeding train and jumped.
It was like time stood still.
Lightning danced overhead. A steady stream of smoke and steam pushed up over the passenger car. It almost looked like night, like Josiah had fallen into the depths of hell again. A gunshot crackled behind him, and a zip of a bullet whizzed by his ear as he fell to the platform of the moving car. He landed squarely on his knees. One of the Rangers had taken a shot, had seen something Josiah didn’t, maybe even saved his life.
Josiah rolled to the far corner of the passenger car platform, only the handrails stopping him from tumbling off the other side. His vision was still blurred, but his sense of survival wasn’t; he reached for his Peacemaker immediately, ripping it out of the holster before he had stopped moving.
Clipper swerved away from the train, jumping and bucking forward. Josiah thought he heard the horse scream and bray, but he wasn’t sure.
After a quick moment of gathering himself, he edged to the door of the passenger car and peeked inside as quickly as possible. He wasn’t accustomed to the movement of the train, hadn’t counterbalanced himself in anticipation of the sway of the passenger car as the train sped west out of Austin.
Josiah found himself standing in the middle of the window, an easy target. The glass shattered, and the shock of the explosion and the wobble of the train tossed him out of the way of the bullet that had come his way. It whizzed past his ear. Death was so close he could taste it.
The remaining three Rangers had caught up with the train. The lone shooter inside turned his attention to them and returned fire, knocking one of the Rangers completely off his horse. He fell hard, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust, and a frightened horse without a rider to tell it what direction to go.
Josiah took it as his chance to gain entry into the passenger car.
He pushed to the edge of the window, unconcerned about the glass on the floor of the rear platform, the fate of his fellow Rangers, the storm, or the train’s speed.
Rain splashed down to the ground in big drops, and the unrelenting wind pushed the rain sideways. Lightning flashed and reflected off the train, temporarily blinding Josiah and every man on the chase. But now was not the time to quit or be deterred by elements out of his control.
Josiah peered inside the car quickly. There was only one shooter, and he had his rifle pointed out the window, more concerned with the Rangers riding up alongside the train. The other shooter lay on the floor, not moving. Josiah’s first shot looked to have been deadly. The remaining shooter was outmanned, and Josiah thought about shouting inside and offering the man the chance to surrender, but decided against it. Giving out second chances was an account empty of purpose.
With as quiet and as easy a motion as possible, Josiah aimed his Peacemaker through the broken glass and pulled the trigger.
The blast echoed and met with thunder overhead. A blink of the eye to clear his vision told Josiah he’d hit his target.
There was no sign of the last window shooter. The man had fallen to the floor. There was no sign of Myra Lynn, either.
The train had driven directly into the storm, and it looked more like dusk than early dawn, leaving the inside of the passenger car filled with nothing but rolling shadows.
Knowing full well that he could be walking into a trap, Josiah eased carefully inside the car.
Neither of the men that had crumpled to the floor were moving. The second man had been shot in the head, just like the first.
Shoot to kill, not maim.
Just as Josiah was about to call out for Myra Lynn, metal hit metal, and the squeal of the brakes of the train caught, sending Josiah lurching forward, then backward. He stumbled forward again, bouncing off the seats, not able to bring himself to a complete stop until he was nearly at the front of the car, up with the dead men.
After he regained control, he took a breath, glad that there were no other shooters on the car. He heard a whimper and saw a ball of human limbs stuffed in the corner: a black-haired girl with her head down, surrendering, it looked like, to certain death.
“Myra Lynn? Myra Lynn Elliot, is that you?” Josiah said aloud, trying to overcome the outside noise of the storm and the train coming to a stop, without sounding like he was angry. He didn’t want the girl to be afraid of him.
She lifted up her head, leaving no doubt that she was, in fact, Scrap’s sister. She looked exactly like him, only with longer hair and softer features. Her right eye was blackened, and there was terror, mixed with curiosity, on the girl’s face. “How’d you know my name? I ain’t told no one in Austin my true name.”
The train ground to a halt, sending Josiah lurching forward again, stumbling over the two men. He almost dropped his gun, but didn’t. And he didn’t break eye contact with Myra Lynn, either.
“I’m a friend of Scrap’s,” Josiah said, gaining his footing again.
“My brother?”
Josiah nodded. “Yes, your brother, Robert Earl. Scrap.”
“He can rot in hell. Go straight there and get stabbed in the heart by the devil’s pitchfork for all I give a damn.”
A great release of steam erupted from the locomotive, as the fireman tried to control the power of the train but not lose all of it at once.
Rain pushed inside the car through the open windows, bringing a cold chill along with it. There was no question the girl was scared.
“Scrap’s in trouble,” Josiah said. “You know that, don’t you? He needs your help, Myra Lynn.”
“They told me if I told the judge that I saw Robert Earl kill that girl, then they’d
make sure I never had to spread my legs for money again, ever. I’d be free, and I’d be rich. You know what rich is to a girl like me, mister?”
Josiah shook his head no. “I don’t.”
“Bein’ a wife, a mother. Havin’ a normal life. That’s what they promised me. I’d be able to have a normal life.”
“How’d you get the black eye?” Josiah asked. Whoever told her that she would have a normal life had lied to her, and he knew it.
“They showed me what they’d do if I didn’t do what they wanted. This is the only thing you can see that they done,” Myra Lynn said pointing to her eye.
“Who is they? The men that did this to you?”
Myra Lynn stared up at Josiah, her eyes hard. “What’s it matter to you? Robert Earl turned his back on me. You know that? He’s ashamed of me. Ashamed of his own flesh and blood. It ain’t my fault what happened to me, spoiled by Indians and all. What do I care what happens to him? He ain’t family no more. Wasn’t the day he left me, for all I was concerned.”
Josiah sighed. There was more to her story than Scrap had ever told. That was no surprise, but if her community had known she was raped by the Comanche, even at a young age, she would have been seen as spoiled goods. Obviously one thing had led to the other. He felt sad for her, but how she got herself into the troubles she was in wasn’t anything he could solve. Helping Scrap, on the other hand, was still in his control.
Josiah leaned down so that he was face-to-face with the girl. She smelled like she hadn’t had a bath in a month. “Who did this to you?” he demanded again, pointing at her eye.
Myra Lynn recoiled, then looked away from Josiah. “Brogdon Caine and that bastard barkeep of his. He’s a handy one with his fists. You think I don’t believe him when he says there’s worse waitin’ for me if’n I don’t say them words?”
“William?” Josiah whispered.
Myra Lynn nodded.
“Listen to me,” Josiah said. “The only reason I came after you on the train is because your brother is my friend. One of the few friends I truly have. If you don’t tell the judge the truth about what you saw that night, then Scrap will hang, and you’ll be all alone after he takes his last breath. There’ll be no one left in this world to care enough about you to risk his life saving you from whatever mess you get yourself into next. Do you understand what I’m saying? Caine and William were going to kill you no matter what you said at the trial. My guess is that’s why you’re on this train. Killing you in Austin would have drawn too much attention to them, would’ve made everyone question whether Scrap really was the killer, and pointed to one of them, or both, as the real killer. They couldn’t risk drawing attention to themselves by killing you right away.”
The Coyote Tracker Page 24
