His words stirred the chesty young man full of pride. Pratt retorted, “Don’t worry about me, Jack. I’ll be there when the fun starts—and when it’s over, too!” Masterson snorted at him, turned around, and rode off to look into the short hills over to the east.
Lanie and Betsy stayed close together, watching as the men moved about. Lanie looked for a chance to speak to Lobo, but none came. Finally at noon, Ogg said, “Let’s get on with this, Vic. We need time to get the men set.”
“All right—everybody get mounted.” Vic turned to Angela, saying, “I decided that we need you to stay here to guard the women. I’d hate to lose ’em if something went wrong. Besides, I don’t trust that Stone guy—he could set ’em free while we’re gone, without ever collecting any ransom money—he knows where we are. If you have to use that .38 on these two, don’t kill ’em. Just shoot ’em in the legs.”
Surprised, Angela asked, “You sure you don’t need me, Vic? Might get pretty nasty out there.”
“I’m certain,” he replied. Then he glanced to where Lobo was tightening his cinch. “Made up your mind, have you, Angela?”
“That’s none of your business, Vic.”
Perrago shook his head. “It’s too late for you two. Whatever you had, it’s gone. You’ll come back to me.” He smiled, making a handsome picture as he stood before her, his hazel eyes glowing with confidence. “I never let a woman get away from me. After this job, I’ll show you a thing or two.”
Angela shook her head. “No, it’s all over between us. Find yourself another woman. There’s plenty willing to go with you.”
Perrago shrugged his shoulders, but said no more. He turned and walked to his horse. Swinging into the saddle he called out, “We’ll be back after the job’s over.”
“All right, Vic.” Angela watched as the band rode out, then she turned to Betsy. “I hope your man gets here with the money soon. Vic doesn’t like to be shortchanged.”
“Why don’t you let us go now?” Betsy said.
“Let you go? No—not without the money. And don’t try to run for it. I’d hate to shoot you—but I’d do it.”
“I know you would,” Lanie said calmly. “Is there any gentleness in you? What kind of a woman are you?”
Angela considered the question for a moment, a thought forming in her mind. Then her lips hardened. “I’ll show as much softness as I’ve had shown to me,” she said as she walked away.
Betsy and Lanie watched as Angela mounted her horse. “She won’t go far,” Betsy nodded. She looked off into the distance and murmured, “I hope Dad’s on the train with some marshals. I wish it were all over!”
Lanie put her arm around the younger girl, watching the dust rising in the distance. “Don’t worry, Bets, it’ll be over soon.”
****
Perrago led the band at a hard pace and an hour later pulled up at the bend in the low foothills. He set the men out, spacing them carefully where they could be concealed. To each one he gave specific instructions. “Lobo hops the train, makes the engineer stop. It won’t be going fast, so it’ll stop about there—by those trees. As soon as it does, we come out and hit the train. Anybody sticks their head out the windows—let ’em have it. Then we hit the express car.”
All had been planned to the last instant, and every man knew his job. Pratt had been given the job of guarding the train, and Perrago asked, “Can I count on you, Bob?”
“Sure! I’ll handle it, Vic!”
“Good man!” Perrago knew how to make a man feel important. It was his way of drawing younger members into the group. But he also knew how to use them up—Pratt would have to take much of the fire.
When he got to Lobo, he asked tightly, “All set?”
“All set here.”
“Never thought you and I’d be working together again, Lobo,” Perrago said, and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is getting the loot—and getting away with it.”
“That’s it, Vic,” he agreed, sizing the man up carefully. “You always were a smart one.”
Perrago studied the smaller man. He thinks he’s got me buffaloed—but he’ll find out different soon enough!
“I’ll go on down the line,” Perrago told him. “Some of the boys are a little jumpy. Remember, you have to hold the crew in the engine. Tie ’em up, then come and give us a hand.”
“I’m with you, Vic.”
Perrago smiled. “We do this right and we’re in clover, Lobo!” He pulled his horse around and rode down the tracks at a fast trot.
Lobo dismounted, loosed the saddle so his horse could breathe easier, and then moved the animal back into the shade, from time to time, giving him a drink from his canteen.
An hour later, he saw the black turn his head and pitch his ears toward the east. Quickly Lobo cinched his saddle and mounted the animal. He moved the horse to the edge of the woods. He had second thoughts about what he was going to do. Should have told the marshals not to shoot me—but I didn’t know I’d be piling on this train, he thought. He heard the faint reverberations of a distant whistle. Better not try the engine, he decided. I’ll go up a car and get on top. Some of these engineers are pretty tough old cobs!
He sat there, his stomach in a knot. His horse began to shift nervously. Lobo leaned over and patted him on the shoulder. “Good boy—just like a race—we’ve done that before, haven’t we? This time, though, you’ve got to catch a whole train.” He talked to the horse steadily as the sound of the train grew louder. Then he heard the drivers as the engine came around the bend, and could tell that the engineer was slowing down. “Won’t be long now.” He caught the first glimpse of smoke; then the black engine appeared coming down the narrow-gauge line. He held the reins lightly, waiting, and the sound swelled and the train was upon them. He got a glimpse of the engineer leaning out of the black cab, and as soon as it passed, Lobo was out on the narrow band beside the track. “Get ’em, boy!”
The black hit a driving run in five jumps, and Lobo saw the steel ladder at the end of the car. He leaned over in rhythm with the stride of the black—but had to lean farther than his lone eye had estimated. His left hand caught, but his right scraped down the steel wall. The force of the moving train swung his body downward so that he hung by one hand, the ties flashing beneath him. Then like a pendulum he swung back and managed to grasp the rung of the ladder with both hands.
Quickly he pulled himself up the ladder, seeing that the horse was clear. He scrambled up, and when he got to the top, crawled the length of the car. He could see the engineer and the fireman over the coal tender, but their backs were to him. He jumped down, almost falling as he scrambled over the coals, and then as his feet hit the steel deck of the engine, he felt the hard barrel of a gun rammed into his side.
He turned, keeping his hands very still.
“Well, Lobo, we meet again!” Lobo stared into the cold eyes of Marshal Heck Thomas, but the lawman suddenly grinned, shouting over the noise of the engine, “Mr. Winslow said you’d like to be joining us. You ready?”
“Stop the train—they’re waiting!”
The engineer, at Thomas’s nod, slammed on the brake. “What’s the play, Heck?” Lobo demanded.
“I got men planted in every car,” Thomas said. “Soon as the gang hits the express car, we move out and get ’em in a crossfire. What do you want to do?”
“Soon as the train stops, I’ll drop out on the other side of the door. I’ll run down to the express car. That’s where Perrago will be. I’ll try to nail him, Heck. If I miss, you take care of him.” The train had ground to a stop, and quickly he said, “There’s a house about five miles northeast by a big cut—old stone house—anybody can tell you where it is. “The Winslow girls are there. Case I get hit, you find ’em, Heck!”
“Okay, Lobo,” Heck said, then warned, “Watch yourself, that Perrago’s the wolf!”
Pulling out his gun, Lobo leaped to the ground and ran as fast as he could toward the rear of the train. The baggage car was behind the l
ast passenger car, and already Lobo heard shots and glass breaking. Vic’s shootin’ the windows to keep the vigilantes out of it, he thought.
He turned between the last passenger car and the express car, scrambling over the couplings, then jumped to the ground. He peered out cautiously. He saw that the raid was unfolding, with Duvall, Ogg, and Masterson lined up. Río and Pratt were farther off, peppering the train windows with rifle fire. Lobo almost got a shot at Perrago, but Río swept down and came between them.
“Open up—or we’ll blast you to purgatory!” Perrago shouted.
A voice inside yelled out, “Blast away!”
“We’ll have to blow it, boys! Keep firing! Anyone sticks their head up, let ’em have it!” Lobo saw Perrago jump off his horse and hand the reins to Río, then run toward the express car, holding the dynamite.
Can’t let him blow the car! Lobo laid a shot toward Perrago’s racing form. Perrago looked toward the end of the car, yelled, “There’s someone over there. Get him, boys!” Instantly a fusillade of shots rang out, driving Lobo back. At the same time, he looked at the front of the train and saw men piling out of the cars, holding their guns ready—marshals, he thought. Then Heck came scurrying down beside the train, calling out, “Around the end—Bill, you and Shorty and Ed! We got to flank ’em!” Three men scurried by Lobo, disappearing around the end of the caboose. Looking in the other direction, he saw Heck and two others disappear between two cars. They’ll fan out and get ’em in a crossfire, Lobo thought. But he saw at once that Bob Pratt and Ogg were laying down a withering fire in that direction—and at the other end, Masterson, Duvall, and Río were holding off the marshals behind the caboose.
Carefully, Lobo stepped out from behind the car, knowing he had to break up the fire so that the marshals could move out into the clear. He called out, “Give it up, Vic! We’ve got you pinned!”
His voice caught the gangsters off guard. Perrago wheeled around and stared at him—and his face contorted with rage. “He sold us out—get him!”
Instantly, Mateo Río aimed his rifle and got off three shots—one of them knocked the hat from Lobo’s head, the other two close enough for Lobo to feel the wind. Masterson joined in, and Lobo was forced back between the cars.
“Go get him!” Perrago was yelling. “Knock him down!”
Knowing that he couldn’t beat both Río and Masterson, Lobo made a dive, cleared the coupling, and ran toward the engine, thinking they’d expect him to go the other way. But a thought came to him, and getting to the end of the car, he climbed the ladder and threw himself on top of the car. He could see Ogg and Pratt clearly, both concealed behind a low ridge. They were keeping Heck Thomas’s men pinned down with a vicious fire.
Moving to the edge, he peered to his right and saw that Vic had fastened the dynamite to the door of the express car. Below him Mateo and Masterson were keeping the lawmen locked in behind the caboose. Lobo hated to do it, and found that he couldn’t shoot them cold. “Río!” he shouted. “Up here!” He waited until Río looked up, and the Mexican lifted his gun quicker than Lobo thought he could and fired. It split the air next to Lobo’s cheek, and Lobo’s shot rang out almost simultaneously. It struck Río in the chest, driving him back in the saddle. Río glared at Lobo, hatred in his eyes, and he tried to lift his gun for another shot, but it was too heavy for him. His eyes went blank and he fell to one side. As he struck the ground, the horse panicked and galloped off, the dead outlaw bounding along the ground, his foot still in the stirrup.
Masterson got off another shot, striking Lobo. It burned along Lobo’s side. He fired and missed, and then had to duck as shots came from Ogg and Pratt. Lying flat, they couldn’t hit him, but neither could he get up to return their fire.
Masterson shouted, “How much longer, Vic? We can’t stand much more of this!”
Grat Duvall replied above the gunfire, “Hold ’em, Jack—we’ve almost got it—!”
Lobo rolled over and felt the blood drip from the wound in his side. Coming down the ladder, he looked down the track to see that the situation was unchanged—Heck Thomas moved back and came toward him. “They got us pinned down, Lobo! What about if we pull the train away?”
“No good,” Lobo said. “They’ll get away—and the women are lost.”
“Any ideas?”
“I’m gonna go down and get behind the express car, Heck.”
“If you come out there, Masterson and Duvall will catch you cold!”
“No other way,” Lobo reasoned. “Listen—when I come out, they’ll all be looking to get me. You step out and pepper them while they’re busy.”
“You’ll never make it, Lobo,” Heck cried out, but Lobo was already running for the express car. “Crazy fool!” Thomas said angrily, but was filled with admiration for the man. He informed his men of the plan, “Soon as we hear the shots, we step out and let ’em have it.” Then he reloaded his revolver.
Lobo stopped at the baggage car, then went to the three marshals at the end and told them the plan. “We’ll be ready, Lobo, but you’re in a bad spot!” one of them said.
Lobo went to the express car, ducked under it, stopping only to reload. As he crawled under the train, he could see the legs of the horses ridden by the band, and knew that he’d be facing their guns as soon as he stepped out. Suddenly he thought about the dynamite. That’s all I need, to get blown up, he thought wryly.
There was no time for thought—in fact, when in a fight, Lobo actually thought very little. It was all instinct and reaction for him. Suddenly he exploded into action, rolling out into the clear, looking for a target. Instantly, before he could get off a shot, he heard Grat Duvall scream, “Look out! There he is!” and the outlaw began to open fire on Lobo.
Lobo rolled as the slugs from Duvall’s revolver made dust geysers beside him. One of the slugs ripped his moccasin, tearing off the sole, and at the same time, he stopped rolling long enough to see Perrago strike a match. Lobo threw one shot, which grazed Perrago, who let out a cry and dropped the match. He was not hurt bad, however, for he whirled and, seeing Lobo on the ground, let out a shrill cry and pulled his gun, throwing his fire at the traitor.
Lobo never stopped moving. He knew that one of the marshals would get Vic sooner or later. He kept his fire directed at Vic and was glad to hear other shots ringing out. Heck’s into it, he thought.
Gunfire shook the air, but it was no longer concentrated on him. Duvall and Masterson had turned their guns on the marshals, moving at them from both ends. Needing a respite from the intense fighting, Lobo rolled to his feet, in a crouch, and before he knew it Masterson had turned to face him, evidently driven back by Thomas’s fire.
The lean gunman’s face was twisted with hate as he aimed his gun at Lobo. Lobo swung his gun up, pulled the trigger—and it clicked on an empty shell!
Masterson laughed, shouting, “So long, Lobo! Live in the pit!” He leveled his pistol and Lobo stared into the black muzzle. He knew he was a dead man!
Suddenly an isolated shot rang out, and Lobo saw Masterson jerk to one side. He reached up as if to slap a mosquito, but a slug had torn through his neck, and as he opened his mouth, a gush of scarlet blood spattered his lips. His eyes turned opaque, and he fell to the ground, his legs kicking as he clutched at his throat.
Lobo looked to his left and saw Zach Winslow standing there, his leg in a cast, hanging on with one hand to the side of the passenger car, a smoking gun in his right hand. Lobo yelled, “Thanks, Zach!” then turned and saw Duvall pulling away and shouting, “Come on, Vic, we’ve got to get out of here!”
But when Perrago saw him riding away, he uttered an insane cry of rage and fired at Duvall. The bullet struck Duvall, knocking him from the saddle. He was not fatally hit, for he got up and tried to run, only to throw up his hands as the marshals called on him to surrender.
Perrago turned to face Lobo, raised his gun, and Lobo dived under the car and tried to load his gun. Shouts and more gunfire filled the air, and when he crawled out, L
obo saw that the marshals had driven off Ogg, who was fleeing after Perrago. Pratt, in excess loyalty to Perrago, tried to cover their retreat. The marshals zeroed in on him, and Pratt was struck by half a dozen slugs. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Lobo groaned as he saw Perrago disappear into the trees.
“Lobo—!”
Lobo saw Winslow calling him. “I’m glad you were here, Winslow,” he said. “He’d have got me for sure.”
“He got away, didn’t he—Perrago?”
“I’ll get him. You pray—and I’ll go!” Lobo saw Masterson’s horse fifty feet away and ran to him, speaking softly. The animal lifted his head, but didn’t try to run. Gently Lobo got the reins and swung into the saddle.
He knew that he could never catch Perrago on Masterson’s horse, but he had no time to hunt for his black. Touching the animal with his heels, he left at a dead run, calling out, “Heck, come after me—I may not get him!”
Vic would be at the house before he could hope to get there, he thought as he drove the horse at a hard run. He kept the horse going, glad for the animal’s stamina. His thoughts were on Perrago; he knew the man was like a mad dog. When these wild moods came on him, there was nothing Vic Perrago wouldn’t do! And now, he had nothing to lose!
When he had been riding for less than five minutes, Lobo saw Ogg ahead. Ogg turned his horse around and drew a rifle from the saddle. Ogg was shooting from a still position with a rifle, while all Lobo had was his Colt. Lobo got off a shot that came so close that Ogg flinched, sending his shot high into the air. But then Ogg pulled down, and in a desperate maneuver, Lobo pulled the horse to one side, shouting, “Give up, Ogg!”
Ogg ignored Lobo’s pleas and kept throwing a hard fire at him. Lobo felt his horse falter and knew it had been struck by one of the bullets. One of Lobo’s bullets must have stung Ogg’s horse, for the animal pitched wildly. Ogg was thrown to the ground but managed to hang on to his rifle.
The Gallant Outlaw Page 27
