by Ralph Cotton
“I’ll be careful, sir. And you do the same.” Together they heeled their horses off along the narrow downward trail, the dust of the other riders still drifting around them.
On the sand flats below, Payton Parker had sent two of his men to take position farther up along the tracks; their job would be to cover the engineer and oiler once the train was brought to a stop. Payton’s task, with his brother Leo, was to take a look-out position a few yards down the steep slope and watch for any sign of trouble back along the rails. They’d gone over halfway down the slope before Payton finally reined his horse in a spray of sand and turned to his brother, who did the same beside him. “This will do for now, Leo.”
Leo looked both ways along the rails, seeing only the tip of the distant engine stack rising above the roll of the land. “I think we’re down too far.” He stood in his stirrups and craned his neck upward for a view of the distant buttes. “It’s hard to see anything from here.”
“I don’t want us caught high up away from the others if something goes wrong,” Payton replied. “This was Zell’s mistake to begin with. I say we play it safe and let him clean up his own mess.”
“But the sooner we get the ammunition and get out of here, the quicker we get our share of the gold.” Leo looked his brother up and down. “It ain’t like you to go slacking off on a job. What gives?”
“I’m getting sick of taking orders from Zell and Bowes, that’s all. They’re old men, still fighting a lost cause. It’s time we make what we can from this bunch and move on to better things. To hell with the south rising again. Zell and Bowes has been too lucky too long. But it’s running out on them.” He spit. “Hadn’t been for them messing up last time out, we wouldn’t be here stealing ammunition today.”
“It weren’t their fault we didn’t get everything we needed last time. How was Zell supposed to know there was no ammunition on that load—”
Payton cut his brother off. “Listen to me, Leo. The federales pay for guns and bullets, not for excuses. They’ve got the weapons. That took two dozen men and a half dozen wagons. But it won’t take that many to haul this ammunition across the border once it’s loaded. I’ve talked to Delbert and McCord. They’ll go along with me. We can deliver this load ourselves and only split the money four ways. Think about that…it comes to nearly fourteen thousand dollars apiece…all in gold!”
“But, Payton, our pa died in that war. That oughta mean something. Besides, we got a crazy Negro gunning for us this side of the border. We best lay low and go along with things. That’s why we joined Zell in the first place, ain’t it?”
“It don’t matter one lick to me how our pa died. As for Durant gunning for us, he might not even know we killed that squaw and his little half-breed buck. I’m sick of laying low like a couple of whipped dogs. I bet ole Wandering Joe Gully is kicking up his heels somewhere right now…having a gay old time. We should’ve stuck with him.”
“Maybe you ain’t worried about Durant, but I am. He knows we kilt his wife and kid—he’s bound to. Think he’d just walk right past us on the street, forget what we done? Naw, sir. Him or us is going to die.”
“To hell with Willis Durant. If it happens, it happens. All we need right now is that Mexican gold—bunches of it.” Payton grinned, rubbing his thumb and finger together in the universal sign of greed.
“You’re the oldest, Payton. But gee, I don’t know.” Leo raised a hand beneath the brim of his Mexican sombrero and scratched his head.
Payton glanced up the narrow trail, seeing Zell and Bowes move down past them. “Just keep quiet and stay covered here. Go along with me on things, Leo. If I see a move coming that will better us both, I’m taking it.”
On the train below, Maria had all of Prudence Vanderman she could take. She’d met Prudence only a few hours earlier when the train had taken on water at Circle Wells. The porter had seated Prudence Vanderman across from her and made the introduction, explaining that there were sand lizards in Prudence’s private car, but for Miss Vanderman not to worry, he’d have them lizards out and killed in no time. Yeees, ma’am, he would! But so far he hadn’t.
No sooner than Prudence Vanderman had taken a seat, Maria began to see it was going to be a long, annoying ride. The first words out of Miss Vanderman’s mouth had been in reference to Maria’s accent. “Oh, you must be Mexican.” Then before Maria had a chance to say that no she was not Mexican, but Spanish, Prudence had gone on to mention how well behaved the Mexican house servants were on her father’s estate, and that they were such quaint and lovely people, the Mexicans.
At that, Maria had only settled back and let out a breath—sí, she was Mexican. She’d noticed the way Prudence’s eyes had gone up and down her, taking in Maria’s denim riding skirt, her leather vest, her scuffed high-topped boots, the leather riding gloves folded down into her waist belt. In the seat beside Maria, lay her Winchester rifle, the stock scarred and sweat-stained. Nothing in common here…
For the next two and a half hours, Maria had only nodded her head now and then and listened to Prudence Vanderman complain. Her trip had been terrible…she never should have left Denver…it was her personal misfortune that her travel secretary, Miss Mosley, had come down with a near terminal case of dysentery.
It was unthinkable that she, the daughter of industrialist tycoon Jameson D. Vanderman, should be traveling alone now all the way to California. Wasn’t it terrible the sort of people you met traveling by rail these days? And so on it went, until Maria found herself thinking how good it might feel to pick up her rifle and shoot this Prudence Vanderman in her foot—Prudence with her oh so soft and luxurious blond hair and her monotonous, singsong voice, which sounded more like some strange and pampered bird, Maria thought.
At this point, lest she actually feel compelled to follow through on her dark fantasy, Maria had gotten up, excused herself, and walked out onto the rear platform for a breath of air. She spent nearly a half hour out on the platform, thinking about Sam, missing him.
Now Maria swayed in the aisle, coming back to her seat as the train came out of its long turn between two shadowed buttes and into the pressing heat of the sand flats. She sat down in her seat, looked across into the bubbly blue eyes of Prudence Vanderman, and reminded herself to stay calm.
“Goodness, you seem to have brought a herd of buffalo back with you.” Prudence Vanderman fanned a white lace handkerchief in front of her face and smiled condescendingly at Maria. Seeing the low, smoldering fire flicker in Maria’s dark eyes, Prudence added quickly, “Of course I realize it isn’t your fault, you understand. No, indeed not.” She wagged a dainty finger for emphasis. “I’m afraid the terrible smell of wild beasts is simply one more hardship imposed on us by this wretched wilderness.”
“Sí, I understand.” Maria stared at her and spoke in a flat tone. “You are saying that I stink.” Throughout the long, hot trip Prudence Vanderman had insisted that everything about the train, the passengers, and the land itself smelled of buffalo musk. Maria hadn’t felt like telling her it had been years since buffalo herds of any significant number had been seen south of the high American desert.
“Weeeell”—Prudence squeezed out the word, wrinkling her petite nose, again with the condescending smile—“I find the word ‘stink’ to be rather a crude descriptive. But I think it is only fair to say that either of us could stand to freshen up a bit.”
Maria stared at her in silence for a moment, both of their heads bobbing slightly with the pitch of the rails beneath them. Then, as the engine struggled to regain its speed, Maria leaned slightly forward and asked Prudence if she didn’t think it was perhaps time to check with the porter once more and see if he’d yet managed to get rid of those dreadful sand lizards? Prudence pressed a finger to her lips and gazed out across the sand flats. “Yes, perhaps I should. It will be getting dark before long….”
“Sí, and believe me, you will not be comfortable, or safe, out here overnight,” Maria pointed out. “Hot leather seats? An open publ
ic car? No private facilities?” Maria leaned even closer, glancing across row after row of empty seats to the four scruffy-looking old miners farther up the aisle. “And at night! Santa Madre!”Maria crossed herself quickly. “You would not believe what animals these men become.”
“Where is that porter?” Prudence Vanderman’s voice took on a sharp, nervous edge as she half rose from her seat and glanced across the nearly empty car. One of the old miners looked back and spread a toothless grin. Maria smiled to herself and gazed out through the dusty window. But her smile faded as she spotted the sidelong sheet of dust kicked up by the three riders cresting a low rise of sand. Mexicans? Vaqueros? She didn’t think so, not in this part of the country. And at that moment she realized that once more the train began slowing down—slowing when it should be building up speed.
“I suppose I’ll simply have to go find—”
“Stay down!” Maria grabbed Prudence by her forearm and jerked her down into their seat.
“Now, see here!”
“Shhh, be quiet.” Maria spoke to her without taking her eyes off the three riders until they’d heeled forward out of sight toward the front of the slowing train. Then she shot a glance to the four old miners and saw them stir, as curious now as she was about the train slowing to a stop. “Keep your heads inside,” she shouted as one of them reached over to raise the window higher.
“What on earth?” Prudence collected herself on the hot leather seat.
Maria looked at the small purse on Prudence’s forearm. “Do you have a mirror in there?”
“A mirror? Why yes, but whatever for?”
“Give it to me!” Before Prudence had a chance to respond, Maria snatched the purse open and rummaged through it.
“How dare you!” Prudence slapped at Maria’s wrist as Maria yanked the small mirror from the purse. Now the train had made a lingering halt as the sound of metal groaned beneath them.
“Get down in your seat and sit still. The train is being robbed.” Maria raised the dusty window a couple of inches and eased the mirror out, holding it in a way to give herself a narrow view of the three riders stopping alongside the engine with their pistols drawn and pointed upward.
“Being robbed!” Prudence’s eyes widened. Up the aisle, the old miners dropped down onto the floor. Maria moved over beside Prudence, snatching up the rifle as she went. She held the mirror out once more and took a view toward the rear of the train. Three cars back she spotted two more riders as they stepped in between two cars. The screech of metal against metal resounded—the coupling being pulled, she thought. What was back there? The express car? The army flat car? One of those, of course. But there were soldiers guarding the flat car. Hadn’t they seen anything, she wondered. Why wasn’t there gunfire coming from back there?
“Get on the floor, quickly!” Maria dropped down, yanking Prudence with her. “If we are lucky, they will take what they came for and let us be. Lie still until it is over.” She jacked a round up into her rifle chamber and listened.
Outside on the rear of the flat car, the two remaining soldiers stood with their hands raised high. At the front end, the other two soldiers lay in dark pools of blood, their throats sliced, their rifles still leaning against the canvas-draped cargo boxes where they’d stood while they’d smoked their cigarettes.
Without a word, Barnes stood in his stirrups, holding the reins to another horse beside him, and waved his arm back and forth, signaling for the old man to bring the tandem wagon up across the low rise of sand. Dirkson stood in his wagon seat and, upon seeing the signal, slapped reins to the mules’ backs.
While the wagon lumbered up over the rise, down at the flat car, Barnes scanned the high slope on the other side of the train. In a low voice he spoke to the young man coming off the side of the flat car and onto the horse Barnes held by its reins. “Do you see Parker up there anywhere? He’s supposed to be guarding our rear.”
“Haven’t seen him or his men either.” The young man wiped a knife blade across his dusty trouser leg and slipped the big knife down into his boot well. “He best be on his toes though. We’ve got a long blind spot back between those buttes.” The men looked at the black hole of shade slicing into the high wall of rust-colored earth, and they said no more as their eyes searched back along the rail cars.
Nothing stirred. The train sat silent except for the low steady pulse of the idling steam engine. Barnes caught a sharp flash of light up along a passenger car. His hand had snapped instinctively to the pistol on his hip. But then he gave a faint smile and settled, catching a glimpse of a lady’s pocket mirror as Maria jerked it back inside the window. No problem there…
“I think he saw me.” Maria huddled down between the seats beside Prudence Vanderman. Seeing the look of terror on Prudence’s face, she shook her head slowly. “But he will not bother with us. These men seem very professional in their work.”
“How can you tell—?”
“Because it is my business to know such things.”
“Oh.” Once again Prudence Vanderman looked Maria up and down, getting a different picture now of this woman in her faded riding skirt and her scuffed high-topped boots. Along the aisle, the old miners came crawling to them. One of them carried an old single-barrel shotgun strapped to his back.
“You women all right back here?” the first one whispered, wiping a long wisp of hair across his bald head.
“We are all right. You men stay down.” She glanced along the backs of the miners as they raised their faces to her. “Is that the only gun any of you have?”
The third man rose slightly and rummaged a hand inside his dirty shirt. “I got this little two shooter here…it wouldn’t knock a fart out of a bullfrog.” His cheeks reddened as he saw the look on Prudence’s face. “Pardoning my language, please.”
Before Maria could turn down his offer, he’d brought out the derringer and pitched it to her. “Gracias.” She glanced at it and shoved it down into her boot well. “But it is best we lie still unless they come in here.”
“You’re absolutely right, ma’am,” the first one said, looking up at her with worried eyes. “Let them Mexicans do what they came for and skin out’n here is what I says.”
Mexicans…? For some reason Maria didn’t think so. Why not? They dressed like Mexicans…like vaqueros. What was it? Something gnawed at Maria. Was it the way the three men rode? The way they sat their saddles? Maybe. She put the question aside, turned, and once more slipped the mirror an inch outside the window. Above them, quiet footsteps moved along the top of the car, heading back.
Major Zell and Liam Bowes rode up at the same time as the old man rolled the tandem wagon up close to the flat car. Bowes had put on his wide sombrero and tugged it low on his forehead, his face blackened out in darkness against the harsh glare of sunlight. Two of the other men who’d first dropped onto the train came slipping down from atop a freight car and gave the old man a hand as he stepped up from his wagon seat.
“Where are the Parkers?” Bowes asked in a lowered voice, scanning the high slope. When no one answered, he drew his horse back a step and moved it toward the rear of the train, looking into the distance at the high, shadowed buttes. When he turned his gaze up onto the slope, he saw a quick flash of light glisten on Payton Parker’s rifle barrel. What was going on up there? Payton’s signal was supposed to be three long flashes off his rifle barrel. What was this?
At the flat car, hands worked deftly, cutting tie-down ropes from the canvas covers, snatching crate after crate of rifle ammunition, boxes of black powder, cannon shot. Two of Parker’s men, Delbert and McCord, had rode back and swung over their saddles onto the flat cars. They hefted and pitched crates from the car to the tandem wagon. Old man Dirkson asked them in a near whisper through his scraggly gray beard, “Where the hell is Parker and his brother?”
“They’re up there,” McCord answered. “Don’t worry about it.” Yet, even as he spoke, his eyes turned to the high slope, searching for Payton Parker’s signal.
Nothing there.
Major Zell had raised his hand, ready to signal toward the engine and send the rest of the train forward. But with his hand raised and ready to drop, Zell saw the concerned look on Bowes’s face as Bowes turned his horse to cross the tracks and rode up. Zell waited. The two men at the engine stared back with their pistols covering the engineer and oiler, one gunman on the ground, the other in the engine. “What’s the hold-up?” the one in the engine whispered down. A dark gleam came into the eyes of the gunman on the ground.
Just as Liam Bowes started to step his horse up onto the thin trail, a rifle shot cracked the silence of the land. Payton Parker yelled down, “Train coming!”
Old man Dirkson spit, pitching crates onto the wagon. “Hope Parker ain’t let us down.” He quickened his pace, loading the wagon.
“Hold that engine!” Zell shouted to the two men up front. It was the first words spoken aloud, and inside the passenger car Maria took note of the voice. Uh-huh…not Mexicans. She drew the mirror back inside, knowing something had gone wrong for them.
Halfway up the high slope, Payton and Leo Parker saw the engine nose forward from the darkness between the buttes. At first they’d seen a faint curl of steam rise up farther back. That was when Payton had started paying attention, and had fired the warning shot. Now both the Parkers backed their horses a step, seeing the second train start to approach from a thousand yards away.
“We got trouble, Leo. Let’s go.”
At the flat car, Major Zell saw the train emerge from the buttes and draw to a stop. “Keep loading,” he called out to the men on the flat car. “Get as many crates off as you can.”
Liam Bowes slid his horse to a halt before Zell. “Parker wasn’t paying attention, sir. They’ve slipped in through our back door.”
