Hard Luck Money

by J. A. Johnstone

  In the meantime, the other four outlaws would split up, two men going to each of the mercantiles. They wouldn’t do anything to draw attention to themselves.

  When they heard the train’s whistle as it approached the settlement, they would converge on the depot. Along the way they would pull their bandannas up to mask the lower halves of their faces.

  As the men dismounted, a low rumble of thunder sounded, far to the southwest where the roiling, blue-black clouds continued to gather.

  “Told you,” Brattle said again. “We’ll be lucky if it don’t come a cyclone. You’ve always got to worry about that this time of year.”

  “I think I’m going to worry more about other things,” The Kid said.

  For one, he was curious whether or not Tyler had followed them to the settlement. If he had, he might be tempted to interfere with the train robbery. That would be a lawman’s instinct, after all, to step in whenever he saw a crime being committed.

  The Kid was sure Tyler had strict orders to stay out of whatever happened and hoped the young Ranger would follow those orders. The arrival of a lawman might set off a shooting scrape and ruin everything.

  The scouting carried out by the men had determined that the settlement had no constable, only a deputy sheriff who covered that whole part of the county and wasn’t there very often.

  The Kid hoped the man was far away.

  Brattle sat down on the steps leading up to the high boardwalk running in front of the businesses, took out the makin’s, and started rolling a quirly. The Kid lounged against a post beside him. The other four men went into the general stores, as planned.

  No one else was on the street.

  “Looks good,” Brattle said quietly. “With some good luck we’ll light a shuck out of here before anybody even knows what’s happenin’.”

  “That’s the plan.” In apparently idle curiosity, The Kid thumbed back his hat and went on, “How long have you been workin’ for the boss?”

  “Long enough to know he don’t like folks askin’ a bunch of damn fool questions about him,” Brattle replied without hesitation. “And long enough to know if I do what he says, I’ll wind up a lot better off.”

  The Kid shrugged. “Didn’t mean to pry. Just passin’ the time of day, that’s all.”

  “It’ll pass just fine without you sayin’ anything.”

  The Kid realized Brattle was nervous. Maybe it was because of the weather, or maybe he always got that way before a job. It didn’t really matter. As long as The Kid could count on Brattle to hold up his end of the chore, that was all he cared about.

  Glancing toward the west, The Kid saw a lone man about four hundred yards out, riding toward the settlement. His eyes were sharp, but he couldn’t make out any details at that distance except the rider didn’t seem to be getting in any hurry.

  “Somebody coming,” he said under his breath to Brattle.

  The big, ugly segundo had set fire to his cigarette. He dropped the match to the dirt and ground it out under his boot toe.

  “I see him. Probably just a cowhand, like we’re supposed to be. His boss sent him into town to pick up somethin’ at the mercantile, or else he sneaked off to get himself a phosphate or some licorice at the drugstore.”

  The Kid hoped that was the case. But it might be a complication they didn’t need. The man could be armed, and tempted to use his gun if he realized the train was being held up.

  The Kid didn’t want anybody to die. Not him, not a member of the gang, and certainly not any innocent citizens.

  “Should we go on over to the depot before that hombre gets here?” Brattle asked.

  “Let’s wait a few more minutes,” The Kid replied in a hushed voice. “It won’t hurt to see where he’s goin’ before we make our move.”

  Still taking his time, the man rode into the settlement, but instead of heading for the block of businesses, he angled his horse toward the depot.

  The Kid muttered a curse. Having someone else at the depot when he and Brattle went in to take it over was definitely a complication they didn’t need.

  It was even worse than that, he realized a moment later. The newcomer swung down from his saddle and tied his mount’s reins to an iron hitching post next to the redbrick building. As he turned toward the door, he glanced in the direction of The Kid and Brattle, as if wondering who the two strangers lingering in front of the general store were.

  The threatening clouds in the southwest continued to move closer, but the sun was still shining brightly over the town. That sunlight reflected from something fastened beside the breast pocket of the man’s shirt.

  That object glinting in the sun had to be a law badge, The Kid thought.

  The deputy sheriff had shown up at the wrong place and the wrong time, and all hell would likely break loose with The Kid powerless to stop it.

  Chapter 25

  The Kid wasn’t the only one who had spotted the lawman’s badge shining in the sun. Brattle angrily tossed his quirly to the ground and muttered an explosive curse under his breath. “It’s that damned deputy! Why’d he have to show up here today, of all times?”

  “This is bad luck, all right,” The Kid said. “But it doesn’t mean we’re going to abandon the plan.”

  As they watched the deputy step into the depot, Brattle’s hand dropped to the butt of his gun for a moment. His fingertips caressed the smooth walnut grips as if drawing strength from them. “We’ll have to kill the stupid SOB, that’s all there is to it.”

  The Kid shook his head. “There won’t be any killing unless it’s absolutely necessary,” he insisted. He didn’t have much confidence Brattle would pay attention to what he said. In reality The Kid wasn’t running the show. Brattle was actually in charge of the train robbery.

  At least that’s what Brattle and the other members of the gang believed.

  As long as he was alive, though, Kid Morgan didn’t consider himself powerless. He just had to figure out how to handle the situation ... and quickly.

  The Kid tugged his hat brim lower and told Brattle, “Let’s go. Follow my lead.”

  Brattle grunted as he stood up from the boardwalk steps.

  The Kid couldn’t tell if he was going to cooperate or not.

  As they strolled toward the redbrick building, thunder rumbled again in the southwest. A gust of wind hit suddenly, swirling dust around the two tall figures crossing the open ground. Bright fingers of lightning clawed across the blue-black wall of clouds. The sun still shone where they were, making the clouds look even darker and more threatening.

  No more threatening than the immediate future, The Kid thought. He had heard the eagerness in Brattle’s voice when the outlaw spoke of killing the deputy. In the long run, such a murder would actually play right into the hands of Alexander Grey’s master scheme.

  If a lawman died in the course of the robbery, and “Waco Keene” was the only member of the gang who was identified, the reward on Keene was bound to go up considerably. Grey would be quite pleased.

  The Kid was determined not to let that happen.

  Brattle paused right outside the door of the redbrick building. He pulled up his bandanna and settled it across his nose. With his hat brim pulled low, most of his face was concealed. He put his right hand on the butt of his gun and reached for the doorknob with his left.

  The Kid beat him to it, grasping the knob and twisting it. He wasn’t going to give Brattle the chance to go in shooting. He threw the door open and swiftly stepped inside. Brattle crowded in behind him.

  The Kid’s gaze took in the scene instantly. The deputy sheriff stood in the depot’s one room, an elbow propped on one end of the counter. At the other end were scales for weighing freight.

  A stocky, middle-aged man who wore his gun with the butt tilted forward, the deputy was shooting the breeze with the freight clerk perched on an empty, overturned crate. The clerk was younger, skinnier, and wore spectacles. He was dressed in black trousers and a white shirt with sleeve garters.
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  Both men turned their heads to look at the newcomers, and both jaws dropped in surprise as they saw the bandanna mask covering Brattle’s face.

  The Kid knew the deputy’s instinct was to grab for his gun. Brattle, using that as an excuse to shoot the man down, was already drawing his revolver.

  The Kid leaped forward, knowing he had only a split second to act. In a blur of speed, his empty revolver leaped from his holster to his hand. He struck with the quickness of a snake, bringing the gun barrel down on the deputy’s head.

  The blow crushed the lawman’s hat and thudded solidly against his skull. The Kid hoped the hat had cushioned the impact enough that the deputy’s skull wasn’t cracked.

  The deputy’s eyes rolled up in their sockets. With a groan, he collapsed into a heap on the floor.

  The Kid kept moving, driving his left shoulder into the freight clerk’s chest and ramming him against the wall. As The Kid held the man pinned there, he jammed the Colt’s barrel against the soft flesh under the clerk’s chin.

  “Give us any trouble and I’ll blow your brains out,” he growled.

  The clerk’s eyes were so wide they looked like they were about to pop right out of his head. He couldn’t speak or even nod with The Kid’s gun pressed against his chin, but he was so frightened The Kid was confident he wasn’t going to put up a fight.

  “I’m gonna let you go,” The Kid went on as he eased off a little on the pressure with the gun barrel. “But if you so much as squawk you’ll be dead a half second later. You understand what I’m tellin’ you?”

  With the gun barrel moved back slightly from his throat, the clerk was able to nod. “I g-g-got it, mister.”

  “You better not be lyin’, you little peckerwood.” Brattle’s voice was slightly muffled by the bandanna. “That’s Waco Keene holdin’ a gun on you, and he’d just as soon shoot you as look at you.”

  The Kid gave Brattle a quick, hooded glance, the same way the real Waco Keene would have reacted to having his name tossed around in the middle of a robbery.

  Grey wasn’t taking any chances on The Kid not being identified as Waco Keene. Brattle had orders to throw the name out while there were witnesses present.

  There was no time to worry about that. The Kid moved back a step. He kept his left hand against the clerk’s chest, holding the man against the wall.

  The deputy hadn’t budged since he sprawled on the floor. The Kid glanced down at him, saw to his relief the man was breathing. He also saw the deputy’s gun had fallen out of its holster when he collapsed.

  Moving quickly, The Kid pouched his empty iron, bent down, and scooped the deputy’s Colt from the floor. Its grips rested comfortably against the palm of his hand. The weight of the weapon felt good, too.

  Brattle stiffened. The Kid knew what the outlaw was thinking. He should have grabbed the lawman’s gun while he had the chance. The Kid was armed, and that might change everything.

  The Kid knew it might not change a thing. He still wanted the robbery to take place successfully. Giving Brattle a curt nod, he tried to make him understand the plan would continue just as it was supposed to. There wasn’t going to be any double cross.

  Thunder rumbled, closer. At the same time The Kid heard the far-off wail of a train’s whistle.

  “Train’s early,” he snapped. He gave the clerk a hard look. “You’re gonna step out there and raise the signal for the train to stop, amigo. Got that?”

  “I-I’m not supposed to ...”

  The Kid ignored the stammered protest. “Don’t even think about tryin’ to run away. We’ll both have our guns pointed right at you, and if you do anything but raise that signal, we’ll kill you. At this range we can’t miss.”

  “So don’t try anything funny,” Brattle added. “You’ll be dead mighty quick if you do.”

  “Just don’t ...” The clerk had to stop and gulp before he could go on. “Please just don’t hurt the engineer. He’s m-my father-in-law.”

  The Kid could tell that Brattle was grinning under the bandanna.

  “Well, ain’t that cozy?” the outlaw said. “Both of you workin’ for the same railroad.”

  The Kid said, “Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna get hurt as long as they do what they’re told. We’re just after the money in the express car.”

  “Wh-what money?” the terrified clerk asked.

  The Kid thought he was telling the truth. The clerk didn’t know about the shipment of cash bound for the banks in West Texas. Well, that made sense, The Kid supposed. There was no reason for the clerk to know.

  Grinning, he used his left hand to lightly pat the man’s pale cheek. “You let us worry about that. It’s our job. Your job is to make sure that train stops. Now get out there and raise the flag.”

  The flag was actually a red metal signal attached to a pole, raised and lowered by means of a lever.

  Brattle opened the depot’s rear door, the one closest to the tracks, and The Kid motioned with the deputy’s gun for the freight clerk to follow orders.

  Still pale and gulping, the clerk stepped out of the building, walked the ten feet or so to the signal, and reached up to grasp the lever and pulled it down.

  The signal rose, letting the engineer know he needed to stop at the settlement.

  “Good job,” The Kid called softly to the clerk. “Now get back in here.”

  The clerk turned, and for a second The Kid saw something he didn’t like in the man’s eyes behind the spectacles. It was the wild hope he could leap away and escape being shot if he was fast enough.

  “Don’t try it,” The Kid warned.

  The defiance went out of the clerk’s body with a visible slumping of his shoulders. He said miserably, “Don’t kill me, mister. Please. I did what you told me.”

  “Get on in here,” The Kid said again.

  The clerk entered the depot. Brattle closed the door behind the young man.

  Then with startling suddenness, Brattle’s gun rose and fell. It came down in a vicious, chopping blow on the back of the clerk’s head.

  The Kid heard the crunch of bone shattering. “What the hell!” he exclaimed as the clerk fell to his knees and then pitched forward onto his face. He lay on the depot floor, unmoving except for a tendril of bright red blood worming its way out of his ear.

  “Didn’t want to have to be keepin’ an eye on him while we were busy,” Brattle explained. “So I thought I’d knock him out for a while.”

  The Kid dropped to one knee beside the clerk and reached out to roll the man onto his back. The clerk’s eyes were turning glassy, and his chest was still.

  “You killed him!”

  Brattle shrugged. “Reckon I hit him a little harder than I meant to.” His casual tone made it clear the clerk’s death didn’t bother him the least little bit.

  Rage welled up inside The Kid. Brattle had committed cold-blooded murder right in front of him, and for a second The Kid was tempted to use the deputy’s gun and ventilate the outlaw.

  Brattle was watching him closely. The Kid knew if he made a move to fire, Brattle would return his shots. In the close confines of the little train station, chances were good both of them would die.

  The Kid controlled his emotions and straightened. In a cold voice, he said, “Well, I guess he won’t be tellin’ anybody Waco Keene ramrodded this holdup, anyway.”

  Brattle chuckled. “See how well things work out?”

  Outside, thunder pealed again as the storm continued its approach.

  And thunder of another kind rumbled as the train rolled in with smoke billowing from the locomotive’s diamond-shaped stack. Brakes squealed as they gripped the drivers, and rods clattered as the train came to stop.

  It was time for the gang to get to work.

  Chapter 26

  The Kid went to the front door of the depot and looked out. The other four outlaws had heard the train approaching and converged as they were supposed to. All four men were near the depot and had their masks pulled up. Two of them split
off and headed for the locomotive to take care of the engineer and fireman.

  The Kid turned to Brattle and nodded.

  They went out the rear door onto the small platform. Out of habit, the engineer had brought the train to a stop with a freight car next to the platform, since passengers rarely boarded there. Most of the time when the signal was up, it meant somebody had something they wanted to ship.

  The express car was right behind the freight car. As The Kid and Brattle hurried toward its door, The Kid glanced toward the engine.

  One of the outlaws leaned out from the cab and gave him a thumbs-up to let him know the engineer and fireman had been taken prisoner and were under control. That was one less thing to worry about.

  The Kid reached up and hammered a fist on the express car door. “Big wreck up the line! Emergency trains coming! You fellas are gonna have to move over onto the siding to let them through!” It was a lie, but he figured it was one worth trying.

  A man’s voice demanded through the door, “Who the hell are you?”

  Before The Kid could answer, Brattle turned sharply toward him. “Here comes the conductor.”

  The Kid looked over Brattle’s shoulder. The conductor was hurrying forward from the caboose. Brattle was standing with his back to the blue-uniformed man, so the conductor couldn’t see the mask over the outlaw’s face.

  “Here now, what’s going on?” the conductor asked as he came up to them. “Did I hear you say something about an emergency—”

  He stopped with a gasp as Brattle whirled and jabbed a gun barrel into his chest.

  “Yeah, it’s an emergency, all right,” Brattle growled from under the bandanna. “You’re gonna get a hole blowed right through you if you don’t convince those fellas in the express car to open up!”

  “Oh, my God! Don’t shoot!” The conductor’s hand dipped toward the pocket of his coat, and The Kid knew he was going for a small pistol. It was a foolhardy move, but conductors were known for their scrappy nature.

  The Kid stepped in and grabbed the man’s arm, wrenching it behind him before he could reach the gun. Dipping into the man’s pocket, he pulled out the pistol. “Don’t try anything else,” he warned. “We don’t want to kill you.”