Distant Thunder

by Lisa Bingham

  Grant Dooley yanked Susan free from the saddle and tugged her toward the hillside.

  “Grant!”

  Grant turned in time to catch the coil of rope Timmy threw in his direction.

  “Tie her up first. We wouldn’t want her to escape. Would we?” The last was a clear warning.

  Grant’s jaw hardened at the slight. He tugged her arms behind her and wound the heavy rope around her wrists. He pushed her forward. “Get going!”

  Following her as if she were a puppy on a leash, Grant poked and prodded her back, forcing Susan to climb the steep, slippery slope despite the hampering folds of her skirts. All the while she kept searching for some avenue of escape, some way of dodging free. If she could just pull the rope loose and kick Grant down the hill, she could get away.

  “Don’t even think it,” Grant warned when she edged toward the icy bluff. He pulled her across the railroad tracks and into the brush beyond, then led her to a boulder beneath a tree and pushed her down. The icy air seeped through her clothes. Since she’d been dressed for a day indoors, she was already numb from the cold. Her cloak provided scant protection from the elements, and the violet suit she wore was no barrier against the brittle cold.

  “Grant!”

  “What!”

  “Leave her there and get into the trees.”

  Grant wavered, ready to defy Timmy’s orders. Then his rebellion visibly melted and he threw the rope on the ground and stamped away. Although he longed to wrap his hands around Timmy’s neck, he knew that would have to wait.

  Susan clenched her fingers behind her and twisted her hands, but they were bound too tightly to slip free.

  Timmy waded through the snow, sank down on one knee, and pointed the barrel of his revolver at the bridge of her nose. “Don’t try anything stupid. I’ll gag you and tie you down if I have to.” He stroked her lower lip with the barrel of his weapon. “But I’d rather not do that.”

  Beeb stood. “You really are a pretty little thing. And you’ve got spirit, more than I gave you credit for.” He shook his head, clucking in regret. “I’m almost sorry I’m going to have to make you a widow.”

  The voices called to him—shouting, commanding—and Timmy Beeb retreated. Soon justice would be served. He had built a trap that Crocker would not escape, and the Pinkerton would be punished. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. He chortled in delight as he melted into the thick undergrowth. Soon he would reveal himself to his enemy, but he felt no fear, only triumph.

  The game had ended. Timmy Beeb had won. And before the day was through, he would see to it that Crocker died and went to hell.

  Chapter 26

  The first explosion rocked the boxcar, throwing Daniel, Donovan, and the Pinkertons to the floor. Almost simultaneously another explosion rumbled from behind. The train screeched to a halt.

  “Ambush!” someone shouted from overhead.

  Daniel’s hands curled around his rifle, but he didn’t rise. “Stay down!” he ordered. A barrage of bullets pummeled the upper regions of the boxcar, smacking into the wood with a dull thudding sound. Evidently the Dooleys were trying to pick off the Pinkertons clinging to the top of the train.

  Daniel inched closer to the partly open door and looked outside. A cover of trees and shrubs kept him from pinpointing the location of the men who were firing at them, but what he could see made him shudder. He and his men had fallen into the perfect trap. The serpentine railroad tracks formed a U-shaped curve. The iron rails had been blown away on either end of the turn, causing the locomotive and the first three boxcars to be thrown over on their sides and jammed together like a child’s toy.

  Damn it! He should have known the Dooleys would try something like this farther up the line. He should have taken the time to have Kutter report back to him before moving Floyd at all. But he’d blindly continued, too impatient to finish his last assignment to take the proper precautions.

  Soon after the hail of gunfire had begun, it petered out, leaving only the returning volleys from the Pinkertons on the train. Daniel grew wary, cautious. “Hold your fire!” he shouted.

  The noise dwindled to an occasional pop. Then nothing. The air echoed with the sounds of scudding timbers and heavy rocks, which had been dislodged by the blast and continued to slide down the gulch into the creek below. The air became heavy and thick with the smell of smoke and steam. And something more. Something else tainted the breeze with a desperate edge.

  Daniel knew their situation was critical. The train had been sealed inside the rubble as effectively as if a pair of giant hands had descended to hold the cars in place. Kutter had probably heard the blast, but he could be miles away by now. Daniel couldn’t count on his immediate intervention.

  “Damn, damn, damn!” Daniel slapped his hand on the floor. “They’ve outsmarted us again.” He turned to see Dooley’s reaction to the tumult.

  A lump of dread sank into Daniel’s stomach. Floyd Dooley sat upright in the corner of the boxcar staring sightlessly in Daniel’s direction as if accusing him. A bright stain of blood ran from a scarlet patch in his temple.

  Half bending, half running, Daniel hurried toward the far side of the railway car. Before he reached the other man, he knew Floyd Dooley was dead. And there’d be hell to pay. Soon.

  Panic clawed at Daniel. Then he felt a ruthless fury.

  “Is he—”

  “Dead,” Daniel affirmed.

  “They’ll be wanting Dooley bad,” one grizzled man stated needlessly.

  “And alive,” Daniel muttered.

  But there had been no way to prevent the outlaw’s death. The unexpected attack that had surprised the Pinkertons had resulted in Floyd’s being murdered by his own family.

  “What are we going to do?”

  Daniel gazed blindly at the half opened door, trying to think. “I don’t know. Right now they have the advantage. We’re going to have to wait and see what they want and how they planned to get Floyd out of this mess.” Daniel didn’t mention that he feared his wife would somehow be involved in forcing the issue.

  “Crocker!”

  The shout came from the edge of the trees.

  “I know you’re in there, Crocker.”

  Keeping himself concealed, Daniel readied his weapon and crept toward the doorway. He’d easily recognized Grant Dooley’s gravelly voice.

  “What do you want?”

  “Just a little exchange,” the voice called. “Something you have … for something we have.”

  Praying he could buy a little time, Daniel forced himself to laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re willing to give yourself up in order to get your brother back.”

  “No, I got something better in mind. And if you’d like to see it, I’d be glad to show you. Just tell your men on top of the train to throw down their arms.”

  “You think I’m stupid, Dooley?”

  “No. Which is exactly why I think you’ll do it.”

  “Daniel, no!”

  Daniel heard Susan’s voice. No. No! Why hadn’t he protected her? Why had he thought that he could love her and still keep her safe? Hadn’t he learned his lesson with Mama—and Annie? Hadn’t he learned that if he dared to love someone, his love would bring death.

  “Do as you’re told, Crocker, and she won’t get hurt.”

  “Damn it, you’d better not have touched her!”

  “Just do it, Crocker! Tell your men to throw down their arms.”

  Years of training and instinct played sharply against Daniel’s need to see Susan safe and away from harm. He pressed his back to the wall of the boxcar. “Do it,” he ordered his men. “Do what they say!”

  There was a second of hesitation. He could feel the surprise spreading from one man to another. Never before had Daniel put anything ahead of his job. He’d ruthlessly drawn the line between business and things that were better left private. But now he was crossing that line for the sake of a civilian. A woman.

 
One by one Daniel heard his men’s rifles and revolvers slithering across the top of the train and dropping with a clacking sound off the tops of the boxcars.

  “That’s right!” the voice crowed from the edge of the woods. “And now the men inside. Tell them to throw out their arms.”

  Jerking his head in affirmation, Daniel motioned for the men in the boxcar to throw their guns into the snow.

  “Get those Pinkertons to step into the doorway of the boxcars so I can see what they’re doing.”

  “I won’t endanger my men,” Daniel shouted back. “Not until I see if you’ve hurt her.”

  The man laughed—a harsh, grating sound that made Daniel cringe when he thought of his wife at Grant Dooley’s mercy.

  “You’re smarter than I give you credit for, Crocker.”

  There was a rustle of leaves, a whisper of brush, and then as Daniel peeked out of the car he saw Susan step into a tiny clearing not fifteen yards away.

  Her gaze met and clung to his, reassuring him that she was unharmed. Daniel pushed back the fear, focusing instead, with a fierce pang of pride, on the defiant light in her eyes. Her chin tilted at a militant angle, and she bravely walked into the clearing. Grant Dooley stood just behind her, covering her mouth with one hand, the other holding a gun at her temple.

  “All right, Crocker. Show me your men.”

  When Donovan would have stood as well, Daniel motioned for him to stay hidden. Earlier, when Grant had ordered the men to throw out their arms, Daniel had tossed his revolver into the pile with the others. Now he carefully set his rifle against the wall of the boxcar in silent command to the older man, who watched. Then Daniel stepped into the opening, lifting his hands wide and knowing his fate would be left to Donovan and the firearms his men had managed to hide from the Dooleys.

  Grant laughed, signaling for his companions to move away from the trees. “Did we surprise you, Crocker? I know you counted on having the Dooleys ride into your little trap. But you didn’t count on us being as smart as we really are. We got ourselves a spy.”

  As if on cue, a redheaded, freckle-faced youngster rode into view. Daniel knew him. He’d nearly killed the man months ago when he’d caught him and his brother after a pillaging and raping spree in Utah Territory. If Mackie Beeb had been dangerous, Timothy Beeb was twice as deadly. Mackie killed for money; Timmy Beeb killed for sport. Rumor had it a streak of madness ran in the family. But if that was the case, Timmy Beeb was sane enough to know how to use it to his advantage.

  Daniel didn’t speak. He merely clenched his hands into tight fists and stared at the woman standing in the snow who had come to mean so much to him. A woman he had placed in so much danger.

  “And now,” Grant ordered. “Now you’re going to have your men step down.”

  When Daniel moved to join the others who were jumping to the ground, Grant shouted, “No, not you, Crocker! You’ll stay there to bring my brother out. Then, after you’re done, I’ve promised Beeb he can have you. Seems he hates you worse than we do.”

  Daniel remained where he was while the rest of the Pinkertons were herded away from the train by the Dooley gang. When they had been taken to a clearing twenty or thirty yards away from the rails, Grant edged forward. He was still covering Susan’s mouth; but he hadn’t masked her eyes, and Daniel could tell she was about to try something desperate.

  He tried to discourage her by an infinitesimal shake of his head, but she continued to will him to believe in her. At that moment Daniel saw that Susan’s arms had been tied in back of her and Grant held the rope in the palm of his gun hand.

  In a flash Daniel knew what Susan planned to do, and by heaven he thought it might work.

  “Get my brother, Crocker!” Dooley shouted, clearly worried by Daniel’s hesitation in responding to his orders.

  Daniel ducked into the shadows and turned to the man who hid there. “Donovan, I don’t know what will happen in the next few minutes. I hope your shooting is as deadly as it used to be.”

  “I think I’d do better to concentrate on my throwing arm.” He reached into his pockets and pulled out four sticks of dynamite. “Max took a roundabout route through the Dooley hideout on his way to the orphanage. I found these as well as fuses and caps in his box of treasures.”

  Daniel stared at him. “Great bloody hell.” A slow excitement began to build. Donovan might have found a way to turn things to the Pinkertons’ advantage.

  “Do you think you can throw those far enough into the trees to avoid killing anyone, yet still create enough of a diversion for me and my men to take cover?”

  “You bet.”

  His own hands shook with nerves, but Daniel managed to show Donovan how to prepare the sticks, then gave him a tin of matches from his duster pocket. “Make sure you throw them into the trees so you don’t blow us all to bits.”

  “Crocker! I’ve had enough of your stalling!”

  Casting a glance at the dead man who had caused him all this trouble, Daniel shot Donovan a look of encouragement, took a deep breath, and dived out of the boxcar.

  Rolling onto the ground, he reached for the nearest weapon. The dirt to one side of him exploded in a roar as a stick of dynamite landed in the bushes. The Dooleys stood stunned for a split second. Long enough for Daniel and his men to take their positions. Lifting the revolver, Daniel pointed it at Grant just as Susan bit down hard on her captive’s thumb, then ducked and jerked on the rope.

  A barrage of gunfire came from the Pinkertons who had immediately dropped to the ground and drawn their hidden weapons. Their position to one side of Daniel kept him out of their line of fire, yet gave them ample opportunity to pin most of the Dooley gang in their sights. The screams of dying men began to pepper the chaotic din.

  Daniel heard Donovan yell, and then another piece of land exploded. Grant aimed, but his shot went wild, the bullet winging Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel fired at the first man to lift his weapon—Marvin Dooley, who stood only a few feet away. Then he ran forward, threw Susan behind the shield of his body, and aimed his gun at Grant Dooley’s head. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

  Simultaneously the air was filled with the sounds of battle as Kutter and his men galloped over the summit of the hill and down into the gulch.

  Grant swung his foot, knocking the revolver out of Daniel’s hand. Daniel dived into Susan, rolling her to the ground and covering her with his own body as Grant took aim. But another round of rifle shots splatted into the snow at Grant’s feet. He ran into the cover of scrub and trees. “Where’s Marvin?” he shouted at Beeb who had run for cover at the first hint of trouble.

  “Dead.” Beeb dug his heels to the flanks of his horse.

  Looking back, Grant saw his brother’s lifeless form in the snow. Dazed, he mounted and followed Beeb into the hills.

  Susan struggled to escape the heavy weight that had her pinned to the ground. “Daniel?” She rolled him over. Pushing aside the thick fabric of his coat, and clawing at the layers beneath, she finally found his wound. She gasped at the bright patch of scarlet spreading from his upper arm.

  His eyes flickered and opened. They filled with caution and an instinct for survival, and he grasped the back of her neck, pulling her to the ground even as his body twisted to cover her and his hands fumbled to reload his revolver.

  “Daniel? Are you all right?”

  “Shh.” His exhaled warning was shaky. Cautiously he lifted his head. Some men were gathering a few of the Dooleys. Others scrambled to remove their mounts from the train. He sat up, and Susan knelt beside him.

  Kutter’s horse cantered toward them and came to an abrupt stop just inches away from where they sat.

  “Floyd and Marvin Dooley are dead,” Daniel stated bluntly. “And your new man, Timmy, is one of the Beebs—Mackie Beeb’s avenging brother.”

  “That bastard!” Kutter’s face creased in frustration, and he swore. Seeing Susan, he muttered an apology. “Does Grant know his brothers h
ave gone to their Maker?”

  “I’m sure he knows about Marvin, but not about Floyd.” Daniel winced as he gestured to the boxcar. The movement reminded him of the dull pain throbbing in his shoulder. “I don’t think so.”

  Kutter’s gaze swung from one end of the train to the other, taking in the red-stained snow and the chaos surrounding the Pinkertons gathering their horses in preparation for the hunt. “We’ve got to find Grant and Timmy Beeb before they disappear into the high country. The Dooleys are bad enough, but I don’t relish the idea of having them combine forces with a Beeb. Mixing the two families together is like mixing fire and kerosene.”

  Daniel tried to rise. Susan helped him when he wavered. “I’ll just get my horse.”

  “Hell, man, you don’t think you’re going to ride after them?”

  “It’s my job!”

  Kutter leaned out of his saddle, spearing him with a fierce gaze. “Not anymore, it’s not,” he snapped. “As of now you are officially discharged.”

  “Damn it, Kutter, I—”

  “No! You listen to me, Daniel. Until now I’ve enjoyed seeing you take your own lead. It’s done me good more than once. But right now I’m putting my foot down. Grant Dooley’s been after you for years. Once he finds out his brothers are dead and his cousins have been apprehended, your life won’t be worth spit. I can’t even begin to imagine what Timmy Beeb would do to you if he found you.” He stabbed him with an emphatic finger. “I am ordering the two of you to get the hell out of here, Crocker. You know how I feel about involving civilians in Pinkerton business. If you won’t leave for me, then do it for her.” Kutter gestured to Susan with his chin.

  As if suddenly becoming aware of her presence, Daniel grew quiet.

  “I want you to take him away,” Kutter ordered Susan softly, his tone low and not to be disputed. “Get a horse from the boxcar and leave as fast as you can. And by God, you two had better find yourselves a good place to hide until this is all over.”