Charlie Sunday's Texas Outfit

by Stephen Lodge

  Flora Mae, the boy, and Buster followed along as Charley, leading Dice, walked them over to the livestock car. He looped the horse’s reins around a piece of iron that was part of the livestock car itself, tying the old horse right beside Feather’s mount, Chigger. He looked around, concerned, calling over to Roscoe, “Where’d the little fella go? Where’s Feather?” said Charley.

  Roscoe motioned to a door on the shady side of the depot. Above that side entrance was a small, hand-lettered sign that read ICED BEER.

  Charley grinned. “Keep him in there ’til we leave,” he said. “And make sure Dice, Chigger, and the team get enough water.” He moved on up to the passenger car, where a uniformed conductor stood examining his watch.

  Flora Mae rummaged through her purse, pulling out their train tickets. She handed them to Charley. “Here’re your tickets, Charley,” she said. “The claim stubs for your baggage, the buckboard, and the horses are right there with ’em.”

  “Thanks, Flora Mae,” said Charley as he handed the tickets over to the conductor.

  “You don’t have to do that just now,” said the conductor. “I’ll be collecting them officially after we get underway.” He handed the tickets back to Charley.

  “You might as well keep this one,” he said, handing one of the tickets back to the conductor. “A certain member of our outfit is still inside the depot …”

  “Uh,” said the conductor, “I met the little feller you’re talking about earlier. I’m afraid he stunk so bad I told him he’d have to ride in the mail car.”

  “What about Buster?” interrupted Henry Ellis. “Doesn’t Buster need a ticket?”

  “Who’s Buster?” asked the conductor.

  “Buster’s my dog,” said Charley. He turned to Henry Ellis. “Go tell Roscoe I got his ticket and that we’re boarding pretty soon. And tell him not to forget Feather. Then you come on back here and help Buster up these steps. I’ll go ahead and board now, find us some seats so we can sit together.”

  Henry Ellis turned and moved off toward the livestock car with the dog following.

  The conductor watched the boy walk away. When Henry Ellis was out of hearing range, he turned to Charley. “I’m afraid there ain’t no animals allowed in the passenger car, mister. All dogs, and such, have to ride in the mail car, too.”

  Charley growled, “The hell you say. Buster’s always rode in the passenger car with me before.”

  The conductor shook his head firmly. “Not anymore he don’t.”

  “But I’m telling you … he’s always rode with me.”

  “How long’s it been since you took a train trip, mister?”

  Charley sighed. “I don’t know … maybe two years ago, three … Why?” he asked.

  “Well, things have changed … the rules,” said the conductor. “Maybe your dog was allowed to ride along with you in the passenger car in the old days, but we’re about to turn a big page into a new century this year, mister, and, well, the new regulations say dogs ride in the mail car. No exceptions,” he added.

  “What’s going on, Grampa?”

  Everyone glanced over to the boy who had returned from talking to Roscoe. He had a confused look on his face while he knelt and stroked Buster’s coat. “Did I just hear him say Buster can’t ride with us?”

  Before the conductor could explain, Charley hushed him with a wave of his hand. “Mind if I handle this?” he said.

  The conductor closed his mouth, looked away.

  Flora Mae’s eyes focused on the boy.

  Charley moved in closer to his grandson, patting him gently on the shoulder. He reached down and patted Buster, too.

  “I’m afraid that’s so, Henry Ellis,” he said. “New rule says Buster’s got to ride in the mail car.”

  To everyone’s surprise Henry Ellis wasn’t the least bit discouraged. “That’s fine with me, Grampa,” said the boy. “I’ll just ride in the mail car with Buster.”

  Charley and Flora Mae traded looks.

  “I mean,” Henry Ellis continued, “someone’s gotta stay with Buster … he’s not a young pup anymore, you know.”

  Flora Mae knelt down beside the boy who was still on his knees petting the dog. She stroked Buster’s nose. “That’s a mighty fine gesture, Henry Ellis,” she said. “But y’all have a ticket to ride in the passenger coach with yer grandpa and Roscoe … where it’s warm … and they got cocoa and hot food in there, too.”

  “Naw,” said the boy. “I can sleep next to Buster. We can keep each other warm.”

  “Well, if that’s the way you want it, son,” said Charley. “I might as well ride back there with you and Buster, too. I’ll leave it up to Roscoe and Feather to figure out what they want to do.”

  “That other fellow over there,” said the conductor, “Roscoe, I think I heard you call him.”

  Charley nodded.

  “Well, I don’t care what he wants to do,” said the conductor. “He can ride up with the engineer, if that suits him. It’s the little smelly one I don’t want mixing with the other passengers. I sure am pleased that he’ll be riding in the mail car with the rest of you.” He turned and started to go—then he turned back. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “There’ll be a couple of U.S. Marshals checking on the mail car every now and then. We’re pickin’ up the Decker Mine payroll in Del Rio before we head north. They tell me it’s a pretty large sum this trip.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  By the time the sun was setting for the day the train had traveled quite a few miles north of Del Rio. Inside the mail car Charley struck a Lucifer match, which sputtered and sparked until an orange and blue flame appeared. He lifted a dusty lantern to eye level before touching flame to wick. As he lowered the glass on the lantern, that section of the car slowly grew brighter.

  Henry Ellis and Buster had been napping next to the snoring Feather for about an hour. Charley set the lantern on the shipping crate he and the others were using as a card table; then he picked up his hand and rejoined Roscoe and Wally, the payroll guard who had boarded the mail car when the mine’s iron money box had been loaded on board at Del Rio. They resumed playing.

  Buster opened his eyes, raised his head, and sniffed the air. In a moment there was a knock at the door, which brought the dog to his feet. Henry Ellis woke up just as his grandfather said, “Come in.” The door opened wide and the conductor entered carrying several plates covered by red-and-white-checkered linen napkins. Two other men followed, both carrying more covered dishes.

  “Thought we’d better bring you folks some supper,” said the conductor as he set the plates down on another wooden box beside the card game. The other men set their plates down, too. “These gentlemen are U.S. Marshals,” said the conductor, “Bill Smith and Bob Wilson.”

  “Nice to meet you,” said Charley, not looking up from his cards.

  “Howdy,” said Roscoe, involved very much in his own hand, too.

  Both men held out their shakin’ hands without making eye contact, and the two marshals shook with them. “I see you already made acquaintance with our mine payroll escort, Wally Jones.”

  All of the men nodded, making no comment; then they continued on with their game.

  “If you got Wally here guarding the payroll, what do you need the marshals for?” Charley asked the conductor. He still didn’t look up.

  The conductor pulled up another shipping box and sat down next to Charley. “That’s the other thing we come in here for … besides our bringing you folks some nourishment. I just got word by telegraph from Del Rio that the Cropper Brothers’ Gang might try to waylay this train before it gets to Colorado. If that fool gossip turns out to be truthful, we’re all mighty lucky these federal lawmen decided to ride this train.”

  “I hope you and your friends are well heeled,” said one of the marshals.

  Quicker than a wink, Charley had his Walker Colt out of his boot and in his hand. He spun the heavy weapon not once, but twice. “Does a hungry mule eat hay?” he answered. “We’re all retired R
angers, mister, if that’ll help,” said Charley. “We’ve handled our share of trouble over the years.”

  “That’s nice to know,” said the marshal, throwing a glance to the other law officer.

  “Well, anyhow, now you got three more guns,” said Charley, “me, Roscoe, and Feather over there.” He pointed to the little old codger who was still snoring away beside the boy and the dog.

  “Are you sure about him?” asked the marshal.

  The conductor said, “He was dead drunk when we carried him aboard. He don’t look like he’d be of much help to anyone.”

  “Oh, Feather’s right fine in a tight fix,” said Charley. “As drunk as he looks on the outside, his inside Ranger instincts are as sober as you are.”

  Charley slapped down his cards with a big grin. “This hand is mine, gentlemen.”

  Roscoe and the guard sighed and threw in their cards. Roscoe gathered them up and began to shuffle.

  “Hey,” said the conductor, “why don’t you gentlemen go on and eat your supper while it’s at least warm. We’ll get outta here and let you dine in peace.”

  He stood, moving over to the marshals. “That grub was kinda hot when we brung it in here for you. Hope it ain’t cooled off too much since.”

  As the conductor and the two marshals turned to leave, Henry Ellis went over to the covered plates. He removed the napkins from the food and began serving the others.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  From a low, sandy hill near Painter’s Tanks—a natural water-catch where he and his gang were camped—Sam Cropper watched through a pair of rusted Army binoculars as the single beam of a locomotive’s headlamp showed the way for an engineer who was completely unaware his train was headed for its possible destruction.

  Sam Cropper, with a slick, snake-like, black mustache centered between nose and upper lip, had dismounted. He was stretched out on his belly with his elbows dug in at his sides to help steady the field glasses. He was at the top of a small sand dune, which gave him the needed height to follow the train’s progression. He brushed back a lock of greasy black hair, then reset his hat, bringing the glasses to his eyes once again to continue his surveillance.

  “How far is it now?” asked his brother Dale—an unkempt man with long gray hair and a shaggy beard. Dale was standing close by holding their horses.

  “Not much closer than it was a minute ago when you asked me the same thing, Brother Dale,” said Sam Cropper, lowering the binoculars and getting to his feet.

  He handed the field glasses to his sibling, who tucked them away in his saddlebags.

  “If the men are ready to ride as soon as we get back to the tanks,” said Sam, “we could beat that train to Pipes Canyon with time to spare.”

  He swung into his saddle, dug in his spurs, and rode away.

  His brother followed right behind.

  Inside the mail car suppertime was over. Henry Ellis was moving around gathering the dishes while Charley and Roscoe watched Wally deal three new hands of poker. When the boy approached Feather he found that the old cowboy had fallen asleep again, this time with his nose in the beans. Buster had also noticed the untouched fare and was sitting almost nose to nose with Feather waiting to see if he was ever going to wake up and eat. The boy giggled to himself at the sight. He turned and whispered to the others:

  “Hey … you gotta see this, Grampa … look at Feather and Buster.”

  Charley glanced over along with the other two. “Go ahead and give that grub to Buster, Henry Ellis. All Feather’s doing is dribbling snot onto his potatoes.”

  Everyone laughed as the boy slid the plate out from under Feather’s nose, then set it on the floor where Buster gobbled it up in no time—snot and all.

  Right about then the train began to slow down slightly, causing Charley and Roscoe to exchange glances.

  There was a knock on the door again and the conductor stuck his head in. “I didn’t want you boys to be worrying none about the change in speed. We’re starting the climb into Pipes Canyon. It’s kinda steep at first but it levels off once we’re over the hump.”

  “Seems like a good place for a train robbery if you ask me,” said Roscoe.

  “Oh, no,” said the conductor. “Those two marshals are positive the Cropper Brothers’ll hit us somewhere near Adobe Wells, if they hit us at all. And that’s four miles on the other side of the canyon.”

  “All right,” said Charley. “Just let us know if those marshals change their minds.”

  The Cropper Brothers, along with the rest of their bunch, waited on horseback in the natural shadows of the opening to the gorge. The train chugged toward their position, on its way up the grade leading into Pipes Canyon. Sam Cropper watched as the train’s headlamp reflected off the mica embedded in the walls of the chasm. He pointed to Dale and three others. “All right, men,” he said, “you know what to do.” He pulled his neck scarf up over his nose. The others did the same.

  A moment passed, then he nodded to the rest of the gang. “As soon as we get the mine’s shipment, I’ll stop the train and you other men can come on ahead.”

  The locomotive reached their position and rolled on by. Sam and Dale Cropper spurred out alongside the rest of the train with the three chosen men following. The remaining gang watched after them as they disappeared into the darkness.

  In the mail car Charley and Roscoe were trying to wake up Feather. Henry Ellis, Wally, and Buster looked on as the old cowboy shook off their advances. He pulled away from them and turned over. “Le’ me alone,” he mumbled, “I’m sleepin’.” As hard as they tried, Feather would not open an eye for them.

  “All right,” said Charley, “just leave him be if that’s the way he wants it.”

  Charley turned back to the others. “You got a gun, Wally?” he asked the payroll escort.

  “I sure do, Mr. Sunday,” he said. “If I didn’t I wouldn’t be much of a payroll guard, now would I?”

  He pulled a .38-caliber Smith & Wesson double action from his coat pocket and showed it to Charley.

  “Henry Ellis?” said Charley. “You go on back there and hide amongst them other parcels. Take Buster with you.”

  He turned back to the others. “Roscoe, you and Wally go on over there to the right side of the door and find yourselves some cover. I’ll just stay right here and duck down some.”

  “But the conductor said the marshals figure the robbers won’t hit us for another five miles or so,” said Wally.

  “You just do what I tell you to do. You don’t see no marshals in here giving orders now, do you?”

  “Do you think those two lawmen are in on it, C.A.?” said Roscoe.

  Charley shrugged. “Better to think they are than not, don’t you think?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Galloping hooves with iron horseshoes kicked up a lot of sparks and gravel as the Cropper brothers, Sam and Dale, along with the three other gang members, spurred their horses into Pipes Canyon following the steaming train.

  The last car in the short procession was the flatcar containing Charley’s two-seat buckboard tied down and secured at the far end.

  As the riders moved up beside the flatcar, the three outlaws transferred from their saddles to the moving conveyance.

  Sam and Dale Cropper raced on ahead before transferring from their foaming mounts to the livestock car next in line. As Dale made his leap he almost missed the metal step he was aiming for, but Sam was there with an outstretched hand for his brother and he was able to pull him to safety at the very last moment.

  By then, the other three gang members had traversed the length of the flatcar and jumped across to the livestock car, joining the Croppers. Sam gave them all a nod for their know-how—then he turned and started climbing up a ladder that led to the livestock car’s roof. Dale and the others followed behind him one by one.

  Inside the mail car everyone had slipped into their hiding places. Charley reached over and turned down the lantern’s flame until there was very little light at all. />
  About then, there was another knock on the door and the conductor shoved his face into the darkness. He held up his own lantern, then smiled. “I think they’re all asleep,” he said to one of the two marshals who were right behind him. As he turned to go back, the steel barrel of a Colt .45 crashed into the side of his head. He was immediately pulled back by the second marshal and laid out on the small platform between the cars. The door closed behind him.

  “Did ya see that?” whispered Roscoe.

  “Sure did,” said Charley in a low voice. “Ya’ll just stay put now and wait.” After a long moment he added, “Looks like I was right about them two marshals.”

  The five members of the Cropper Brothers Gang advance party made their way across the roof of the livestock car, alerting the horses below to their presence. The animals reacted with stomps, whinnies, nickers, and snorts.

  Sam made his jump from the livestock car roof to the top of the passenger car in a single leap. His brother Dale began his attempt and barely made it—slipping, and nearly falling, as his sibling kept him from an early death one more time.

  The other three robbers decided they weren’t going to kill themselves before the robbery had even taken place, so they slithered down ladders and poles, climbing up again on the passenger car, eventually joining Sam and Dale topside before they moved on.

  Inside the passenger car one of the marshals was explaining to a female passenger how the loud noises coming from the roof were nothing more than small rocks and gravel falling from the steep sides of the narrow canyon. The woman’s gaze drifted up to the ceiling.

  Up top, the outlaws had reached the other end of the passenger car and now began climbing down the iron ladder to the foot platform below. When they had all descended, they exchanged looks—then Sam and Dale drew their guns and stepped across to the mail car platform. The others produced their own pistols, crossing over after the brothers.