“Damn, Thad, how long you plannin’ on peein’?” Rufus Wade asked. “Seems to me like you been peein’ now for the better part of half an hour.”
Buddy Taylor and Curly Latham laughed.
“I ain’t done no such a thing,” Thad Howard answered. Finished, he buttoned his pants and remounted his horse.
“Hey, Rufus, you ever seen them hydraulic mining operations?” Buddy asked. “You know, the way they use steam power to build up the water pressure, then squirt these big pipes of water against the mountain?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen ’em,” Rufus answered. “What about ’em?”
“You think we could get any money by rentin’ ole Thad here out for such an operation?”
Rufus and Curly laughed.
“Well, boys, I’m glad my pecker’s providin’ you with all this entertainment,” Thad said. “But damn if it don’t make me worry a mite about what kind of fellas I’ve done hooked myself up with.”
They heard something in the distance, a high, keening, lonesome sound.
“Is that the train?” Curly asked
They heard the sound again.
“Coyote,” Rufus said.
They heard the sound again, and this time there was no mistaking it. It was a train whistle.
“No, by damn, that’s the train,” Curly said.
“Curly’s right,” Thad said. “We’d best get ready.”
“Buddy, you got ever’thing you need?” Curly asked.
“I’ve got torpedoes on the track,” Buddy said. “And I’ve got this here red lantern.”
“How do you know that’ll stop him?”
“I was a fireman for a while, remember? I give it up because the work was too damn hard. Believe me, this’ll stop him. When the wheels hits them torpedoes and the engineer sees the red lantern, he’ll figure the bridge across Heart River is out. Torpedoes and a red lantern will stop any engineer who doesn’t want to run his train into the river.”
They heard the whistle again, and this time, as they looked off in the distance, they could see the faint glow of the gas headlamp.
“I wonder how much money she’s carryin’,” Buddy said.
“My brothers said it would be carryin’ a couple thousand dollars, or maybe more,” Thad said. “They’ll meet us in Sheffield.”
“To get their cut,” Rufus said. There was an edge of sullenness in his voice.
“You got a problem with that?” Thad asked.
“I ain’t got no problem,” Rufus said. “Only thing is . . . we’re takin’ all the risk, and they’re gettin’ the same cut as we are.”
“They’re the ones that found out about the money shipment, and they’re the ones who planned it,” Thad said. “If you don’t like the way it’s set up, why, you can just ride off now.”
“I ain’t pullin’ out now. I was just sayin’, that’s all,” Rufus said.
“Don’t say,” Thad replied. “Just do your job.”
The train whistled again and now, for the first time, they could also hear the puffing sound of escaping steam from the engine.
* * *
If anyone had been out on the plains alongside the track witnessing the passing of the Midnight Special, they would have been treated to a sight to stir the soul. Thousands of tiny, glowing, red sparks lifted from the stack and drifted up to join the stars. Smoke, blacker than the night, streamed back along the top of the train.
A great, gleaming gas lantern threw a beam ahead of the train, while a flickering orange glow bathed the interior of the engine cab.
Clyde Baker was the fireman, and having just thrown in several loads of coal, he closed the door to the firebox and sat down to catch some of the breeze generated by the forward progress of the train.
“What’s the pressure like, Cephus?” he asked.
The engineer checked the gauge. “One hundred sixty PSI,” he said. “You’ve got a good fire going, Clyde. We’re running high, wide, and handsome.” Cephus held a tin cup under the water keg and drew a cup of water, then handed it to his sweating and panting fireman. “Here, have a beer. You earned it,” he said.
“Thanks,” Clyde said, taking the proffered cup. He drank the tepid water, then smiled. “Best beer I ever had,” he teased.
Cephus pulled the cord to blow the whistle, playing with it to alter the pitch.
Clyde laughed. “Ain’t nobody can make music with a whistle like you can.”
“Yeah, well, I always did want to play me one of them calliopes,” Cephus said.
“A what?”
“A calliope. It’s a big thing, sort of like an organ, only it has steam whistles. They have ’em on riverboats sometimes.”
“I’ll be damned. I never heard of such a thing.” Clyde smiled. “I expect it’s somewhat louder than an organ.”
Cephus laughed. “Well, I don’t think you’d be wantin’ to play one in a church,” he said. To accent his point, he blew the whistle again, again coaxing two long, sweet, mellow tones from it.
Behind the engine and tender came the dark baggage car, then the express car. Behind the express car was a stock car wherein, in comfortable stalls, were six horses, belonging to passengers who had paid the extra fare to bring their mounts with them.
There were only two windows in the express car, but they were shining brightly because inside the moving post office, Fenton Bowles, the mail clerk, was busy sorting mail and putting it into the pouch for delivery at the next town. In a safe in the corner of the mail car, there was an oversized white bag. Bowles had signed for the white bag when he came aboard, so he knew that it contained exactly $1,817. That was a lot of money, almost two years of his salary, and he was responsible for it. Being responsible for so much money made him nervous, and he would be glad when they reached Belfield, so he could be rid of it.
There were four passenger cars behind the express car. Although this was a night train, there were no parlor cars on this run because, essentially, it was a local, stopping at just about every town along the route. Vance Dexter, the conductor, was in the last seat of the last car. There was light in this car, as there was in the other passenger cars, but it was soft and unobtrusive. The illumination came from low-burning kerosene lanterns that were mounted on gimbals on the walls of the car. Some of the passengers were awake and talking quietly among themselves, but most seemed to be trying to grab some sleep, though, as the seats did not recline as they did in some of the more plush parlor cars, sleep was rather difficult to come by.
Dexter took out his pocket watch and examined it in the light of the lantern that was just over his seat. It was just after midnight. They weren’t due in Belfield for nearly two hours.
He felt himself growing drowsy, so to ward off falling asleep, he got up and took another walk through the entire length of the train.
When he reached the second car, he stopped and looked at the man halfway up on the left side. He was a big man, with hair the color of straw. His hat was pulled down over his eyes and his chest was forward on his chin. His arms were folded across his lap.
From time to time, Dexter had celebrities ride on his train, and this passenger fit that category. He wasn’t sure that Falcon MacCallister would qualify as a celebrity in everyone’s book, but as far as he was concerned, MacCallister was as famous as any passenger he had ever carried. He was said to be one of the most accomplished men with a six-gun to ever roam the West. Stories about him were told and retold until they reached legendary proportions and Falcon MacCallister seemed larger than life.
When Dexter learned that Falcon MacCallister was to be one of his passengers, he was actually quite surprised. He had heard so many stories about him that he wasn’t sure he really existed, or if he existed, was still alive. Many of the later stories told of MaCcallister’s death. One insisted that he had been surrounded by a gang of thirteen outlaws, but had killed twelve of them, succumbing only when the last bullet from his two guns had been fired. And even as the thirteenth outlaw shot him, MacCallister,
according to the story, killed him by throwing his knife at him as he fell.
Dexter learned who his passenger was only because MacCallister paid extra to have his horse transported in the stock car ahead.
Although MacCallister had neither done nor said anything to suggest that he might be dangerous, Dexter was somewhat frightened of him. He was leery each time he walked by MacCallister’s seat, and he paused now to study the noted gunman while he took a deep breath to steel his courage.
“Come on by me, conductor, I’m not going to bite,” MacCallister said quietly. He neither lifted his head nor opened his eyes, and Dexter wondered how he knew he was there.
“Thanks, uh, I just didn’t want to disturb you, is all.”
Dexter passed him by, then walked all the way up to the front car. When he reached the front car, he stepped out onto the platform for a moment to let the fresh night air help revive him.
That was when he heard the torpedoes.
* * *
There were three warning torpedoes on the track, and they popped loudly as the engine ran over them.
“Cephus! Torpedoes!” Clyde shouted, but even as he did so, Cephus was already on the brake lever.
“I heard ’em!” he called back. “There’s a red lantern wavin’ ahead too!”
“Damn!” Clyde said. “The trestle must be out!”
“See if you can see anything!”
Clyde leaned out of the side of the cab and stared ahead, but though the headlamp threw its beam through the night, it showed only an unbroken line of track.
The wheels squealed as they skidded along the track, steel sliding on steel. Behind them, the Westinghouse Air Brakes had automatically set the brakes on all the cars, so the train was losing momentum rapidly.
* * *
“If I was you, I wouldn’t be standin’ in the middle of the tracks like that,” Thad said.
“I want to be sure he sees me,” Buddy replied.
“Well, hell, you know he did. He’s slowin’ down now, you can hear the wheels a-squealin’,” Thad said. “Ever’body, get your masks on.”
The four men had kerchiefs tied around their necks, and they lifted them now so that their noses and mouths were covered. Then they watched as the train, though slowing noticeably now, continued its forward momentum. Finally, it came to a complete stop about thirty feet down the track from where Buddy stood with his lantern.
“Okay, boys, that’s it!” Thad said. “Buddy, you go up to talk to the engineer and keep him busy. Rufus, you and Curly come with me.”
Buddy walked directly down the track toward the train, which now sat puffing rhythmically as the relief valve vented off the unused steam. Thad and the other two moved up the other side of the track, staying out of the light of the headlamp.
The engineer stepped out onto the platform at the rear of the engine cab.
“What is it?” he asked as Buddy came walking up alongside. “Is there a bridge out?”
Buddy raised his pistol and pointed it at the engineer.
“Nah, there ain’t no bridge out. This here is a holdup,” Buddy said. “You and the fireman step on down from that engine cab,” he ordered.
“The hell we will!” Cephus stepped back into the cab and pushed the throttle forward. Even as he did so, Thad and Rufus were climbing up onto the engine from the other side of the track. Thad shot the engineer, hitting him in the back.
“Get this train stopped!” he yelled, turning the gun toward the fireman.
Clyde closed the throttle and applied the brakes. The train, which had started forward when Cephus opened the throttle, once more jerked to a stop.
“Let all the steam out,” Thad said.
“I’m just the fireman,” Clyde said. “That’s not my job.”
Thad fired at Clyde, and the bullet shredded an earlobe. With a cry of pain, Clyde slapped his hand to his ear.
“Now let all the steam out like I told you,” he said. “Or I’ll shoot your other ear, and I’ll take it clean off.”
Shaking in fear, Clyde pulled the relief-valve cord and steam began rushing from the valves. The steam pressure dropped to way below 100 PSI.
“Now, you sit there and be a good boy while we take care of our business.”
“Can I see about the engineer?”
“Sure, look over him if you want. He’s not going anywhere,” Thad said. “And without the steam, neither is this train.”
By now the conductor was out of the train, walking up alongside the track to see what was going on.
“What’s going on here?” he called when he saw Buddy standing beside the engine. “What’d you stop us for? And why is the steam being vented?”
Buddy turned toward Dexter. It wasn’t until then that Dexter noticed that he was wearing a kerchief over his nose and mouth and was holding a gun. He raised it, and pointed it toward Dexter.
“Wait,” Dexter said in sudden fear. He threw his hands up and backed up a few steps. “Wait,” he said. “Don’t shoot me. Please don’t shoot me.”
Thad stepped to the side of the engine then and stood there, bracing himself with his right hand on the back of the engine cab and his left raised up to the cab roof.
“Well, now, Mr. Conductor, I’m just real glad you are here,” Thad said. “Open the door to the express car.”
“I can’t do that,” Dexter said.
“You want to die for someone else’s money, mister?” Thad asked. He nodded at Buddy, who cocked his pistol.
“No, no, I mean I can’t open it from out here. The mail clerk has to open it from inside.”
Thad jumped down onto the ground. “Then tell him to do it,” he said.
Nodding in assent, the conductor walked back to the express car, followed by both Thad and Buddy. He knocked on the door.
“Mr. Bowles, open the door, please.”
“I can’t do that, Mr. Dexter.”
Dexter looked at Thad.
“Ask again, real nice-like,” Thad said.
Again, Dexter knocked on the door. “Please, Mr. Bowles, open the door.”
“I can’t,” Bowles said again.
“If you can’t get him to open that door, I’m going to kill you and we’ll dynamite the door.”
“Bowles, for God’s sake, man! Open the door or they will kill me!” Dexter pleaded, by now his voice a high-pitched squeal.
There was a moment of silence, then the sound of a lock being turned. The door slid open and Bowles stood in the doorway, a small man, balding and with small, wire-rim glasses.
“When I show up in Belfield without the money, you’re going to be the one who takes the responsibility for it,” he said. “They’re not going to take that money out of my pay.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Bowles, they aren’t going to do that,” Dexter said.
“Get up there and get the money, Buddy,” Thad said. “Rufus, you and Curly go through the passenger cars to see what we can get there.”
“All right,” Rufus said. “Curly, you go back to the last car and start coming this way. I’ll get on this car and start back toward you.”
Nodding, Curly trotted alongside the track to the rear of the train.
Chapter 3
Falcon had been asleep when the train was stopped. Opening his eyes, he looked out the window expecting to see a depot, or at the least a water tower. Seeing neither, he got curious, so he walked up to the front vestibule, then leaned out just far enough to see what was going on. That was when he saw four armed and masked men standing alongside the conductor.
Drawing his pistol, Falcon stepped out of the car on the opposite side of the train from the four men, then ran up the right side of the train until he reached the engine. Looking up into the engine, he saw one man lying on the floor and the other squatting down beside him. From the coveralls they were wearing, he knew that one was the engineer and the other the fireman, but he didn’t know who was who.
Falcon examined the inside of the cab as best he could from
his vantage point, to make certain none of the train robbers were there. Deciding that it was empty except for the train crew, he climbed up and, suddenly, barged in.
“What the hell!” Clyde shouted in alarm.
Falcon put his finger across his lips.
“Who are you?” Clyde asked.
“Just a passenger,” Falcon answered. He nodded toward the man on the floor. “How is your friend?”
“Dead,” Clyde answered.
“How many of them are there, do you know?” he asked.
“Four, I think,” Clyde answered.
“Do you know where they all are?”
“No,” Clyde said. “I didn’t see where any of them went.”
Falcon leaned out from the engine cab to have a look. Just as he did so, one of the train robbers happened to look in his direction.
Thad saw Falcon look out from the engine cab, and reasoned correctly that he was someone from the train. Whoever he was, he had no business being there.
Thad fired at Falcon, and the bullet hit the steel frame of the engine cab, then careened and ricocheted around inside. It had the effect Thad wanted, for it caused Falcon to duck back inside. When he did, Thad ran away from the relative light alongside the track, and out into the shadows.
“Conductor, in here!” Falcon shouted.
The conductor hesitated. “MacCallister? Are you one of them?”
“Do you really think I’m one of them?” Falcon said. “Why would they shoot at me if I’m one of them?”
Seeing the logic of Falcon’s question, the conductor hurried to the engine. The muzzle flash of another shot lit up the darkness as someone was shooting at the conductor. The bullet slammed into the side of the cab, raising sparks but doing no damage. Falcon fired back at the muzzle flash, providing cover for the conductor as he closed the distance between himself and Falcon.
Falcon reached down and grabbed him by the wrist, and half-assisted, half-lifted the conductor into the engine cab.
“Get this train going!” the conductor shouted to Clyde.
“I’ll have to build the steam up again,” the fireman protested.
“Don’t tell me what you have to do. Just do it!” the conductor said.
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