Hard Luck Money

by J. A. Johnstone

  Suddenly two of the masked men closed in on either side of him. One of them shouted, “Keene?”

  “Yeah!” The Kid replied.

  “Stick with us!”

  That was exactly what The Kid intended to do.

  Hughes had said the Rangers would have a man somewhere close by the prison all the time, to follow the gang when they broke The Kid out. The Kid hoped that whoever had the assignment hadn’t fallen down on the job.

  The explosion should have alerted anybody that something was going on. It would have been heard inside the prison, that was for sure. A large force of guards was probably on the way to find out what had happened and round up any prisoners who were trying to get away.

  The other masked men fell in behind The Kid and his two escorts. They twisted in their saddles and fired behind them to keep the guards back. The fence appeared in front of them, with the gaping hole blasted by dynamite. The Kid and the masked men raced through the opening.

  He was free, The Kid thought as his heart slugged hard inside his chest.

  Free of the penitentiary, anyway.

  In a very real sense, he was still a prisoner. He had just traded one set of dangers for another.

  Chapter 17

  The men didn’t slow down until several miles were between themselves and the prison. They seemed to know the roads very well and didn’t hesitate as their mounts lunged forward.

  The Kid had a good sense of direction, but once their route plunged into the thick East Texas forests covering the landscape, he wasn’t sure which way they were going. Tall pines and tangled underbrush crowded in on either side of the trail, blocking off most of the sky.

  The growth stifled even the slightest breath of air, too. The Kid found himself sweating through his prison uniform, and it wasn’t just from nerves.

  Finally a big, bulky man crowded into the lead and raised his hand to signal a halt. As the other riders reined in, the leader turned his horse toward The Kid and reached up to pull the bandanna mask from his face.

  He had craggy features dominated by a powerful jaw and a ragged gray mustache. Despite his brutal appearance, intelligence gleamed in his eyes as he studied The Kid. “You’d be Waco Keene.”

  The Kid kept a tight rein on his nerves. “I’d better be, hadn’t I? If you went to all that trouble and broke the wrong man out of prison, you’d probably shoot me right here and now.”

  “I just might, at that.” The man rested a hand on the butt of his gun. “So answer the question, pronto.”

  “I’m Waco Keene. Satisfied?”

  “Yeah, I reckon. I wanted to hear it for myself, but you wouldn’t have that gun if Calvert hadn’t told you where it was. I don’t think that little rat would’ve made that bad a mistake.”

  That’s where you’re wrong, The Kid thought, musing that nobody seemed to like or respect Ike Calvert, even the men who worked with him.

  “What did Calvert tell you before all hell broke loose?” the man went on.

  “There wasn’t time for him to tell me much. He told me the gun was in the water barrel and somebody was coming to help me get out of prison. He said he knew people who had a use for me.”

  “And you went along with it, just like that?”

  The Kid snorted. “Who the hell wouldn’t? The only thing I cared about was that it was a chance to get out of there. I don’t like bein’ locked up.”

  “Not many folks do.”

  The Kid looked around at the trees. “Speaking of gettin’ out of there, don’t you reckon we ought to get moving again? There’s bound to be a whole passel of guards on our trail.”

  “You’d be surprised. We know these woods pretty well and can give just about anybody the slip in them. But we’ll be on our way again as soon as the horses have rested a little more. It won’t do us any good to ride them into the ground, now will it?”

  The man had a point there.

  While they were stopped, The Kid said, “You fellas know who I am, but I don’t know a blasted thing about any of you, not even your names.”

  “That’s the way it’s got to be for now,” the leader said. “You’ll find out everything you need to know later on, when we get to where we’re goin’.”

  The words had a rehearsed quality to them, The Kid thought, as if the man had said the same thing on a number of occasions in the past.

  At least three times, if the Rangers were right, and it was sure starting to look like they were. It was possible the gang had pulled off this trick on other occasions the Rangers weren’t even aware of.

  The other men had lowered their bandannas. Without being too obvious about it, The Kid took a good look at them. They were all hard-faced gunmen, the sort of outlaws he had clashed with frequently in the past.

  After avenging his wife’s death—for all the good that had done—The Kid had wanted only to be left alone to drift with his sorrow.

  But despite that resolve, he had been drawn into trouble again and again, sometimes at random and sometimes because of enemies from his past seeking vengeance. It had happened often enough he had become resigned to the fact that he naturally attracted violence.

  He knew from talking to his father the same problem plagued most men who were fast with a gun. It was as if the universe compensated for the deadly abilities it had given such men by forcing them to continually test those skills.

  There was no point in worrying about it, The Kid had decided. He accepted the idea that he would be forced into dangerous situations on a fairly regular basis, situations in which he would have to kill or be killed.

  After a few more minutes the leader waved the group of riders into motion again. Eventually they left the trail they had been following and started along a narrower one.

  The men were forced to ride single file, three men in front of The Kid, three men behind. The gloom was so thick inside the forest it was almost like night, deep and dark and forboding. The thickets on either side of the trail were impenetrable. He couldn’t have gone anywhere, even if he wanted to.

  The trip through the forest seemed endless. The Kid asked, “Are you sure you boys aren’t lost?”

  “Keep your shirt on,” the leader called back. “We know where we’re going.”

  “It’s going to be dark soon.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’ll get there.”

  The Kid understood how the gang had been able to throw off pursuit in the past. They had twisted and turned so much in that wilderness, splashing across little streams every so often, not even bloodhounds were able to follow them.

  That meant whoever the Rangers had watching the prison probably hadn’t been able to pick up their trail, either.

  And that meant he was really on his own now. He wasn’t going to be able to get in touch with the contact man. It was one of the many things that could have gone wrong with the Rangers’ plan. The Kid had to stay alive until he could figure out his next move.

  Darkness settled down, and as The Kid expected, it was nearly complete inside the forest. If his horse hadn’t been able to plod along behind the animal ahead of it, The Kid would have had no idea which way to go.

  The men rode for at least an hour after night had fallen before they suddenly broke out of the trees and emerged into a clearing.

  After the stygian blackness of the forest, the silvery glow of the moon and stars seemed almost as bright as daylight. Blinking, The Kid looked around and saw they were on a wide, hard-packed road. The leader turned his horse to the right and the others surrounded The Kid and followed.

  They were taking no chances on him deciding to cut and run now that he was free of the prison. It was like they considered him an investment and didn’t want to lose him.

  That was just about right, he thought. They planned to make money on him, especially in the long run.

  A tree-lined lane appeared ahead of them, on the left—the first sign of human habitation The Kid had seen in a while—and he wasn’t surprised when the leader turned his horse into the lan
e and rode toward a large house at the end of it.

  As they came closer The Kid could tell it was an old plantation manor in poor repair. With a ghostly flutter of wings, pigeons flew out from under the portico, apparently spooked by the approach of the horses.

  The leader reined in and motioned for the others to do likewise. As The Kid brought his mount to a halt, several of the men swung down from their saddles and surrounded him, guns drawn.

  “There’s no need to worry,” The Kid told them. “I told you, I’m grateful to you boys. I’m not going to cause any trouble for you.”

  “There are certain ways we do things, and it won’t do you any good to argue about them,” the leader said. “Get down from that horse, Keene. Hand over your gun.”

  “I don’t much like bein’ unarmed.”

  The leader hefted his own revolver and snapped, “You don’t have any choice in the matter. Shuck the iron or this ends right here and now.”

  “Take it easy, take it easy,” The Kid muttered. “I said I didn’t like it, didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”

  Moving carefully so none of the men would be tempted to get trigger-happy, he took the gun from his waistband and passed it over to the nearest of the outlaws. Then he dismounted as the men moved back to give him room.

  “All right,” the leader said, lowering his gun but not pouching the iron. “Come with me.”

  The Kid followed the man into the house, which was dimly lit by oil lamps. The place’s disrepair was more apparent inside with its frayed rugs and stained wallpaper.

  The leader took him along a hallway, and as they approached a pair of double doors at the end of the corridor, they passed an alcove.

  The Kid glanced in there, but the alcove was too shadowy for him to see anything except a painting that hung on the wall. It seemed to be a family portrait, with a man standing behind a chair where a woman sat with a child on her lap.

  The Kid couldn’t make out any more details before he was past the alcove and moving through the door the big man held open for him.

  The smell of mold was strong in the air, and as The Kid entered the room, he saw why. The roof of the library had leaked and the books had gotten wet.

  The Kid figured most of those leather-bound volumes were ruined, sitting there on the shelves rotting. He didn’t have the same love of reading his father did—Frank Morgan always had a book or two tucked away in his saddlebags—but he still thought what had happened to these books was a shame.

  He didn’t have long to think about that. His gaze turned instantly toward the desk dominating the room. The man sitting behind it rose to his feet to greet the newcomers.

  He was tall, slender almost to the point of gauntness, and well dressed in a brown tweed suit. The pale skin of his face seemed a pallid contrast to the shock of dark hair that topped it. Deep-set eyes peered across the desk at The Kid as the man smiled. “Waco Keene! Welcome to my home. My name is Alexander Grey.”

  Chapter 18

  A while back, The Kid had spent some time in West Texas, in a place called Rattlesnake Valley. While there he’d seen more of those venomous reptiles than he had ever wanted to.

  He got the same feeling looking at Alexander Grey that he had when he’d confronted those rattlers. Even though the man was smiling and congenial, lurking under the surface was a cold, inhuman menace. When Grey held out a long-fingered hand, The Kid was reminded of a rattlesnake’s wedge-shaped head poised to strike.

  He stepped forward and shook Grey’s hand anyway, keeping his instinctive revulsion well concealed. “You must be the boss of this outfit,” he said with plenty of false enthusiasm in his voice.

  “That’s right,” Grey replied as he released The Kid’s hand. He motioned toward a leather chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat. Brattle, bring us some drinks.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” The man who had brought The Kid to the room turned to the bar on one side of the room.

  As The Kid settled in the chair, he felt like he had wandered into a stage play. The other men were familiar with their roles and had performed them numerous times before. He was the newcomer, the understudy forced by circumstances into a role of his own.

  “You weren’t injured when my men liberated you from your imprisonment, I hope?” Grey said.

  The Kid shook his head. “I’m fine. Just mighty glad to be out of there.”

  “Of course you are. No man likes to be locked up.”

  John Schofield hadn’t seemed to mind, The Kid thought ... but then as soon as the chance to get away cropped up, Schofield had tried to seize it.

  Bad luck had seen to it he took another way out of prison.

  “In case you’re wondering what this is all about,” Grey went on, “our organization specializes in helping men with unique talents such as yourself, men who can put those talents to much better use outside prison. You have quite a reputation, Mr. Keene, and it would truly be a shame not to let you do the thing you do best.”

  “What are you thinkin’ that is?” The Kid asked.

  “Why, robbing trains, of course,” Grey answered with another smile.

  The big outlaw called Brattle came over with a couple brandy snifters, setting them on the desk in front of The Kid.

  “Help yourself.” Grey gave another languid wave of his hand.

  Letting him pick which drink he wanted was a show of trustworthiness, The Kid supposed. He reached for one of the snifters, and Grey took the other.

  “To our new partnership,” Grey toasted as he raised the glass.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m grateful for your help, no doubt about that, but I don’t know that I’m looking for a new partner.”

  Grey sipped his brandy.

  The Kid couldn’t see any reason they would break him out of prison only to turn around and poison him, so odds were the drink was safe. He took a sip and found it to be quite good, better than he expected to get in the run-down plantation house.

  He probably shouldn’t make any comment about the quality of the liquor, he reminded himself. It was unlikely the real Waco Keene had known much about brandy. He settled for saying, “That’s nice smooth drinkin’.”

  “Thank you,” Grey said. “As for our business arrangement, I’m afraid you don’t have much choice where that’s concerned, Mr. Keene. You see, I’ve invested a considerable amount of money in setting up your escape, and I intend to be paid back for that investment.”

  The Kid bristled. “I didn’t ask you or anybody else to bust me out of prison.”

  “True enough, but now that we have, you owe us, to put it bluntly.”

  The Kid sat there with a frown on his face and didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, he shrugged and admitted, “I suppose you could look at it that way.”

  “Indeed I do.” Grey took another sip of brandy and smiled. “But there’s no need for us to argue. What I have in mind is an arrangement that will prove quite beneficial and lucrative to us both.”

  “Go on,” The Kid said as he leaned back in his chair.

  “I have Brattle and a number of other men working for me, but I need someone with more experience in your particular specialty—train robbing.”

  “I’ve held up quite a few of them,” The Kid said with a note of pride in his voice.

  Grey nodded. “I’m aware of that. I did a bit of looking into your history, Mr. Keene ... or should I call you Waco?”

  “Waco’s fine.”

  “Because you were born there.”

  “Yep.”

  “You’ve made some nice hauls from the jobs you’ve pulled. But you can do even better with my gang backing you up. They’re top professionals, and I have contacts among the railroads who will help us spot the best trains to hit. There’s no point in risking your life for an express car that’s almost empty, is there?”

  The Kid shook his head. “No point at all. What would my share be?”

  “Well, starting out, nothing, I’m afraid.”

  Wh
en The Kid frowned again and sat up straighter, Grey went on. “Your share will go toward paying off what you owe me. But later, once you’ve proven yourself and become a full member of the gang, you’ll have a full share, of course. Maybe even a bonus, since I’ll be relying heavily on you to help plan the jobs.”

  The Kid wondered if it was the same pitch Grey had given Quint Lupo. That was possible, although it was just as likely Grey varied the approach for each of the men he targeted, depending on who it was.

  Not wanting to appear too eager to agree, The Kid shook his head. “I don’t know ...”

  “Again, I’m not really giving you a choice.” Grey hardened his voice. “I expect you to cooperate at least until your debt is paid. After that ... well, if you truly don’t want to be part of our organization, you’ll be free to leave, although I think you’d be foolish to do so.”

  It was an easy enough promise for Grey to make, The Kid thought. There was no chance any of the men Grey broke out of prison would leave the gang. They were all doomed from the moment they rode away with Grey’s men, although none of them had known that.

  Until now. The Kid knew what Grey’s plan was, and it was up to him to stop it if he wanted to live.

  With a slight show of reluctance, he said, “Since you put it that way, I reckon I’d be a fool not to stick around and see how things play out.”

  Grey smiled again, but the reptilian coldness in his eyes didn’t disappear. “I knew you’d see it our way.” He turned to his second. “Brattle, show our new partner to his room.”

  “Sure, boss.”

  The Kid tossed back the rest of the brandy. Hitting on a nearly empty stomach the way it did, the liquor made him feel a little light-headed.

  As he stood up, he said, “I could use something to eat. It’s been a long time since that prison breakfast this morning, and it wasn’t very good to start with.”

  “Of course,” Grey said. “I’ll see to it.”

  “How soon do you figure on pulling one of those train robberies you were talking about?”

  Grey waved away the question. “Don’t worry about that right now. I think we should let any uproar over your escape from prison die down first. That’s one of the most important keys to running an operation such as ours—never rush anything.”