Vendetta Trail

by Robert Vaughan

Leaving the dining car, Hawke stepped down onto the ballast-covered ground alongside the train, then hurried forward to the engine. Though sitting still, the engine was alive with potential energy…spitting steam and percolating water as if protesting the indignity of having been forced to stop while at full speed. Others were beginning to get off the train as well, and Hawke could hear them calling out to each other in curiosity, wondering what was wrong and why the train had made such an abrupt stop.

  The engineer and fireman were standing at the front of the engine when Hawke arrived.

  “Mr. Hawke, didn’t you say you was the U.S. Marshal?” the engineer asked.

  For a second Hawke didn’t know what the engineer was talking about, then he remembered that he had made that claim when he was chasing Ned and Luby.

  “Uh, yeah,” Hawke replied. “Actually, I’m a deputy U.S. Marshal.”

  Again, he hoped he wouldn’t be asked to produce any proof.

  “Well, sir, there’s somethin’ queer about this, and I was wonderin’ if you wouldn’t mind comin’ down with me to have a look?”

  “I’d be glad to,” Hawke said, pleased that he was being asked to have a look around, rather than being put in the position of having to ask.

  Hawke and Charley walked to the front of the train, then down the track several feet until they reached the edge of the trestle. It wasn’t a very long trestle, as the gully the little bridge spanned was barely over twenty feet long and no more than ten feet deep.

  Not all the trestle was down. There was a section about twelve feet long, missing from the exact middle.

  “It’s a lucky thing you saw this,” Hawke said.

  “I know. The track makes a little curve back there and I just happened to be lookin’ in the right direction to catch it,” Charley answered. “Nine times out of ten, I wouldn’t have happened to glance over like that, and I wouldn’t have seen it in time to stop.”

  The two men walked out onto the trestle itself and stood at the very edge of the break.

  “Marshal, this here ain’t no accident,” the engineer said. “Looks to me like someone pulled up the track, then knocked over the timbers that supported it. The rails and timbers are still here. See ’em down there?”

  “Yeah, I see them,” Hawke replied.

  “We could’a run right off of this thing,” the engineer said. “And, goin’ as fast as we was, we would’a busted the boiler wide open. Me’n Wayne would be dead for sure, and like as not, a lot of other folks as well.”

  Hawke put his hand on Charley’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing for all of us that you are as careful as you are.”

  “Yes, sir, well, I’ve always tried to be,” Charley replied.

  By now most of the rest of the crew and passengers had reached the front end of the train and they stood there, staring at the missing section of trestle.

  “Have you ever run into anything like this before?” Hawke asked.

  “No, sir. Well, not deliberate, that is. But I’ve come across down bridges and track outages.”

  “What do you do about it?” Hawke asked.

  “Well, first thing we have to do is put up warnin’ flags behind us, and then some on the other side of the trestle. That’ll keep any other trains from runnin’ into us or off the track. “Then we’ll have to send someone on ahead to Sedalia and get a work crew out here.”

  “How far is it to Sedalia?”

  “I’d say about five miles.”

  “That’s an hour and a half at a brisk walk,” Hawke suggested.

  The engineer smiled. “Not if Lorenzo goes.”

  “Lorenzo?”

  “Lorenzo’s one of our porters,” Charley said. “He’s one of them fellas that likes to run—and not just a little ways. He likes to run a long ways. He’s always doin’ it. If we turn him loose, he could get to Sedalia in forty minutes…say twenty minutes to get a work crew back here and half an hour more to put the track back in place. We’ll be on our way in no time.” The engineer turned to yell at his fireman. “Wayne! Wayne, have Lorenzo come up!”

  A few minutes later a slender young black man came up to the front of the train. Charley explained what was needed and Lorenzo nodded, then reached down and retied both shoes. That done, he started up the track at a brisk pace.

  A shot rang out, and Lorenzo tumbled down the side of the track berm.

  “Lorenzo!” Charley shouted, and he started toward the porter.

  “I’m all right, Mr. Charley. Don’t come here!” Lorenzo shouted back. “I’m just stayin’ out of the way of whoever’s shootin’ at me!”

  Another shot rang out and this time the passengers, amid screams and shouts, started running pell-mell.

  Most ran away from the shooting, but Hawke, having seen where the puff of smoke came from, started running toward it.

  The third shot was fired directly at Hawke and it came close enough for him to hear the angry buzz of the bullet.

  By now, Hawke had his pistol in his hand and he dived into the dirt behind a poison sumac bush just as another bullet cut through the leaves.

  “Uhnn,” Hawke yelled, then he lay perfectly still.

  “Hey, Ned! Ned, I think I got ’im!” a voice called excitedly.

  “Go check ’im out. See if he’s dead,” Ned replied.

  “All right, I…wait a minute! I ain’t goin’ to check ’im out. You check ’im out.”

  “You’re the one says you shot ’im!”

  It was Ned and Luby! How did they get here, to the trestle, before the train did?

  Hawke didn’t move. After a few moments, he heard the sound of boots on rocks as someone came walking up the dry ravine toward him.

  “He ain’t movin’,” Luby said. Now Luby’s voice was very close. “I think I got ’im.”

  “Make sure the son of a bitch is dead, then let’s go kill the whore,” Ned called back.

  Hawke waited until Luby was right over him, then he turned over.

  “What the hell?” Luby gasped, bringing his pistol up.

  Hawke pulled the trigger and his bullet hit Luby under the chin. Luby fell back.

  “Luby, what happened?” Ned called. When he didn’t get an answer, he called again. “Luby, is he dead? Did you kill ’im?”

  Hawke crawled on his belly, away from the poison sumac, over to a growth of wild berries.

  “Luby?”

  Hawke saw Ned stand up.

  “Luby’s dead, Ned!” Hawke called.

  Ned swung around toward the sound of Hawke’s voice and started firing wildly. His gun boomed three times. Hawke shot back, only once, but once was enough. His bullet found its mark and Ned threw up his gun and fell over backward. Hawke ran over to the fallen outlaw and knelt beside him. He could see bubbles of blood coming from Ned’s mouth. Ned was trying hard to breathe, and Hawke heard a sucking sound in his chest. He knew that his bullet had punctured Ned’s lungs.

  “Why did you come after us?” Hawke asked. “You aren’t Mafia, are you?”

  “Mafia?” Ned tried to cough, and as he did so, he sprayed blood. “Who is Mafia?”

  “How did you know how to find us?” Hawke asked.

  “Bellefont.”

  “What?”

  “Belle…” Ned started to say, then he drew in two short, audible gasps before he stopped breathing.

  “Ned?” Hawke said, shaking him gently. “Ned?”

  Ned didn’t respond, and Hawke put his hand to his neck. Ned was dead.

  When Hawke got back to the train, only the engineer, fireman, conductor, and Lorenzo were still standing outside. The others had all retreated back to the train when the shooting started.

  “Did you get them?” Charley asked.

  “Yeah,” Hawke said, nodding.

  “Wonder what they wanted to rob this train for? We aren’t carrying anything,” Bates said.

  “You think I can start into town now, Mr. Bates?” Lorenzo asked.

  “What do you think, Mr. Hawke?” the conductor asked.


  “Yes. You can go now. They’re both dead.”

  Lorenzo looked at the engineer.

  “Go on, Lorenzo, get started,” Charley said. “Otherwise we’ll be out here all day.”

  Lorenzo nodded, then started running. Within a minute he was already out of sight.

  Chapter 30

  EVERYONE ELSE ONBOARD THE TRAIN THOUGHT IT was a failed train robbery attempt, but Rachel knew better.

  “It was Tangeleno, wasn’t it?” she asked, when Hawke returned to the train.

  “Yeah,” Hawke said. “It was the same two we ran into back in St. Louis.”

  “How did they get here, ahead of us?”

  “They probably took an earlier train, then got off and waited for us,” Hawke said. “The real question is: How do they know about Bellefont?”

  “Bellefont? They don’t know about Bellefont. Nobody knows about Bellefont. I didn’t make up my mind that I was going there myself until just before I left New Orleans. And I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “Just before he died, the one named Ned said Bellefont.”

  Rachel shook her head. “I swear to you, Mason, I never told a soul until I told you. I don’t have any idea how he could have possibly known that I am going to Bellefont.”

  “You said you didn’t make the decision to go to Bellefont until just before you left.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why Bellefont? Why not Dodge City? Ft. Worth? Tucson? What made you choose Bellefont?”

  “I told you, I’m going to buy a gambling house there.”

  “How did you know about the gambling house?”

  “I have a friend who lives there. We’ve been exchanging letters for the past year. She told me about it.”

  “Did you keep those letters?”

  “Yes, of course I did. She is a very good friend, and the letters are dear to me.”

  “Did you bring them with you?”

  “No. After the shooting, I was afraid to go back to the house.”

  “So your letters are still back in your room,” Hawke said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s how they learned about Bellefont. They found your letters.”

  “But how could they? Clarisse would never let anyone into my…” Rachel gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Mason, you don’t think they hurt Clarisse, do you?”

  “They may not have hurt her,” Hawke said. “But if they wanted to get into your room, there is no way she could have stopped them.”

  Less than two hours after Lorenzo left, he and a work team returned on a handcar. Lorenzo went from car to car, beaming broadly as he received his just praise for getting a work crew back in such a timely fashion.

  The work crew was fast and efficient and, within forty-five minutes after they arrived, the track was repaired and the Kansas City Flyer was under way once more.

  When the train made a sudden and unscheduled stop that morning, Dallipiccola thought that opportunity had come for him to take care of his business with the piano player and the whore. But when practically everyone on the train went outside to see what was going on, he realized that he would have to wait a little longer.

  He was as surprised as everyone else when a gun battle broke out between Hawke and a couple of unseen assailants. And, like the others, he initially thought it was a botched train robbery. But when the two bodies were brought up and displayed to the morbidly curious, he was surprised to see that it was Ned and Luby.

  Back in Bellefont, Vizzini went into the telegraph office and stepped up to the counter. A sign hanging over the counter read: BUFORD RODMAN—TELEGRAPHER. And, as it so happened, Rodman was getting a telegram at that very moment.

  “I’ll be right with you, sir,” he said, looking up. He continued to transcribe the telegram, then, smiling, he brushed his hands together and walked up to the counter. “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”

  “Have you got any telegrams for Mrs. Louise Smalley?” Vizzini asked.

  Rodman looked surprised. “Yes, as a matter of fact, one just came in for her.”

  “Let me have it. I’ll take it to her,” Vizzini offered.

  The telegrapher looked surprised by the offer. “Well, I don’t know. I’m not supposed to entrust the telegram to anyone but the recipient.”

  “You mean you don’t use telegraph delivery boys?”

  “Well yes, I have Jimmy, when he’s here,” Rodman said. He looked around the office. “But I have to admit that he isn’t very responsible, though. More than half the time I have to either go look him up or deliver the telegram myself.”

  “If you want to deliver it yourself, that’s fine with me,” Vizzini said. “It’s just that Louise asked me to pick it up for her.”

  “Louise?”

  “She is my sister,” Vizzini said. “I’m in town visiting her.”

  Rodman smiled broadly. “Well, sir, if you are Mrs. Smalley’s brother, then I see no reason why I shouldn’t give you the message.” He tore the message off the pad, then stuck it down into an envelope and handed it to Vizzini. “I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome,” Vizzini said.

  With the telegram in hand, Vizzini returned to the hotel.

  “You were right,” he said, handing the telegram to Tangeleno. “She did get one.”

  “Yeah, I figured she would,” Tangeleno said, reaching for the envelope.

  “Let’s see what it says.”

  I Will Be Arriving On the 7th Instant Stop Rachel

  “They’ll be here tomorrow,” Tangeleno said, handing the message to Vizzini. “Did you have any trouble getting it?”

  “No. I just told him I was her brother.”

  “Good, good,” Tangeleno said. “Come on, let’s go get a drink,” he offered.

  When Tangeleno and Vizzini went into the Brown Dirt a few minutes later, the bartender called out to him.

  “Mr. Tangeleno,” he said. “I got somethin’ here I think you might like.”

  Looking toward the bar, Tangeleno saw that the bartender was holding up a bottle of Chianti.

  “Turns out that Mr. Algood had a bottle ’n’ he sold it to me,” he said.

  “That’s very good of you,” Tangeleno said. “Oh, this is my friend, Mr. Vizzini.”

  “Vizzini, huh?” Ely said. “Well, I’ll say this, Mr. Vizzini. Any friend of Mr. Tangeleno’s is certainly welcome in my bar.”

  “Actually,” Vizzini said. “Any friend of Mr. Tangeleno’s is welcome anywhere.”

  Ely tried to pull the cork on the wine bottle, but couldn’t get it out. He started to use his teeth.

  “Here, don’t do that,” Tangeleno said. Don’t you have a corkscrew?”

  Ely looked confused. “I don’t know what that is,” he said.

  “Never mind, I’ll take care of it.” Tangeleno said. Pulling up his trouser leg, he took a knife from a sheath that was strapped to his ankle. He sliced off the top half of the cork, then pushed the bottom half down into the bottle.

  “I’ll say this for you,” Ely said. “You seem to keep knives and guns all over the place.”

  “Get us some glasses,” Tangeleno ordered.

  Ely started to reach for a glass.

  “Clean glasses,” Tangeleno said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tangeleno poured himself a glass of wine, then handed the bottle to Vizzini. Vizzini poured his own wine, then resealed the bottle with the top half of the cork. He didn’t make any effort to pay for the wine, and Ely didn’t ask.

  Tangeleno and Vizzini took their glasses of wine with them and walked over to one of the tables.

  Everyone in town feared Tangeleno now. It wasn’t just the fact that he had killed both Deekus and Farley, it was the absolute cold calmness of his demeanor afterward. One person described looking into Tangeleno’s eyes as “gazing into the portals of hell.”

  “Damn me if that new feller don’t look near as bad as Tangeleno,” one of the men said q
uietly. “You reckon he carries him a gun under his jacket too?”

  “From the looks of things, I’d say more’n one gun. And maybe two or three knives to boot,” Ely replied.

  “Why do you reckon they carry their guns under their jacket?”

  “Why not?” Ely asked. “I reckon he can carry it about anywhere he wants to carry it.”

  “Well, come on, you can’t make no fast draw from there.”

  “‘Fast draw’?” Ely said, laughing dryly. “Fast draw is for folks who make a game of killin’. If you take a good look at these two fellers, killin’ ain’t no game. For them it’s all business.”

  “What do you think they are doin’ in Bellefont, anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” Ely answered. “But I hope they don’t stay long.”

  Back on the train, Dallipiccola waited all day and into the night, looking for the perfect opportunity to kill Hawke and Rachel. Then, at midnight, when he was certain that nearly everyone on the train was asleep, he left his car to go find them. He would kill them both quietly, in the middle of the night, then he would leave the train and be halfway back to St. Louis before the bodies were even discovered.

  The porters kept the train cars dark, in order to provide a relaxing atmosphere for the passengers. With only low-burning gimbals mounted lanterns at the front and rear walls kept the cars dark so the passengers could sleep. The day cars were the easiest to check, because all the seats were exposed and filled with passengers, twisted in tortured positions in an attempt to get comfortable.

  The two sleeper cars were more difficult to check because all the berths were behind curtains. There were porters in each of the sleeper cars, but, like their passengers, they were asleep. The porters were sitting on a small stool at the back end of their respective cars, leaning against the wall, moving slightly with the sway of the train.

  When Dallipiccola opened the first curtain, he realized, to his frustration, that it was too dark to see anything. He was about to give up, when he saw a candle lying on the bed. Evidently before the passenger had gone to sleep, he had been reading by candlelight.

  Dallipiccola carried the candle down to the lantern, lit it, and then used it to illuminate the berths. He initially planned to examine every berth, but then reasoned that if he found one of them in the top berth, the other one would surely be in the bottom.