The Loner: Trail Of Blood (2 page)

Silently, he climbed onto the caboose’s rear platform and put an ear against the closed door. What he heard reminded him of why he hated outlaws so much.

Years earlier, as a young man, he had been kidnapped by lawless men with a grudge against his father to go along with their greed, leaving him
with a mutilated ear—a permanent reminder of the pain and terror he had endured. He wore his hair long enough to cover it, and most of the time it didn’t hurt anymore, but he had never forgotten what had happened.

Of course, he had suffered much greater pain since then, and that tended to dull the old aches.

As Conrad listened, he heard a man’s loud, angry voice inside the caboose—one of the outlaws yelling at the conductor and the brakemen. He waited until he had a pretty good idea of where the man was standing, then wrapped his left hand around the doorknob and threw the door open.

Instantly, his keen eyes took in the scene. The conductor was sitting at his desk, off to the left, and the two brakemen stood near him, their hands lifted in the air as a single outlaw menaced them with a drawn six-gun.

The train robber wore a bandanna over the lower half of his face like the two men Conrad had killed in his private car. The man’s head jerked toward the door where Conrad had made his unexpected entrance. The eyes above the bandanna bulged in surprise. He tried to shift his aim and bring his gun to bear on the newcomer.

Conrad’s gun blasted twice. The first slug punched into the outlaw’s gut, doubling him over. The second bullet caught him in the center of the forehead. It left behind a neat black hole as it bored into his brain. The train robber crumpled into a lifeless heap.

“Mr. Browning!” the conductor exclaimed as he recognized their unlikely savior. “How—”

“Was there just one of them?” Conrad asked sharply, interrupting the conductor’s question.

“Yeah, just one man came in here, right after somebody pulled the emergency cord. I tried to get my gun out, but the bastard winged me.”

Conrad noticed for the first time the conductor’s left hand clutched a bloodstained right arm. “He won’t hurt anybody else. Do you know how many more of them there are?”

The conductor shook his head. “No idea.”

“All right. Stay here.”

The conductor started to stand up as he protested, “This is my train, damn it—”

“And I own a considerable amount of stock in this railroad,” Conrad pointed out, “which means you work for me. You’re wounded. Stay here.” He added to the brakemen, “See if you can patch up that arm for him.”

Confident that his orders would be carried out, Conrad stepped onto the rear platform again. He checked along both sides of the train and didn’t see anyone moving around. Filling his left hand with the other .38 he dropped to the ground, and ran forward toward the engine.

Two masked men carrying canvas bags leaped from the open door of the express car, obviously not expecting any trouble, though their guns were still drawn. Spotting Conrad right away they swiveled toward him, but both his guns roared as he instinctively veered to the side to avoid any possible lead flying at him.

One of his shots ripped a bloody furrow along an outlaw’s forearm, making the man cry out in pain and drop his gun. The other bullet shattered the right elbow of the second train robber. He dropped to his knees, whimpering in agony. The bags of loot lay on the ground where they’d been dropped when bullets started to fly.

The first outlaw was still on his feet. Using his left arm he jerked a knife from his belt and lunged at Conrad, raising the knife and driving it down in a killing stroke.

Too close to the man to avoid his charge Conrad squeezed off another shot that missed as he ducked and twisted. The deadly blade whipped over his back, slicing a gash in his coat and shirt, leaving a burning trail along his skin. The two men collided and went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

In close quarters, the outlaw’s knife was more dangerous than Conrad’s guns. He threw himself aside as the cold steel swiped within a couple inches of his face. He rolled, trying to put some distance between himself and the outlaw, but the man threw himself after him, slashing back and forth with the knife.

Conrad thrust his right-hand gun up to block the blade. Steel rang against steel. At the same time, he saw an opening and his left-hand gun flashed up. Jamming the muzzle under the outlaw’s chin, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet smashed upward through the man’s brain and exploded out the top of his head in a grisly pink spray of blood, gray matter, and shattered
skull. The man’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets. Grimacing, Conrad shoved the corpse aside and rolled away.

A bullet kicked up dust in front of his face, spraying grit into his eyes and blinding him.

“You son of a bitch!” a man yelled.

Unable to see much of anything, Conrad blinked furiously and scrambled toward the roadbed underneath the express car figuring the voice belonged to one of the outlaws who’d been robbing the passengers. Another slug spanged off the steel rail on the side of the train. Rocks chewed into Conrad’s hands and shredded the knees of his trousers as he dived forward into the shade underneath the car.

He blinked rapidly, suppressing the urge to paw at his eyes. Grinding the dirt into his eyeballs would do more damage. Better to let his eyes water and wash the grit out.

“He’s under the train! The bastard’s under the train!” The harsh shout was followed by the rapid thud of footsteps.

Conrad shook his head from side to side, his vision starting to clear. Spotting a pair of boots running alongside the train, he aimed at them and squeezed off a couple shots.

The man howled in pain and fell hard in an out of control sprawl as one of the bullets busted an ankle. He came to a stop staring at the space underneath the express car.

Conrad shot him between the eyes, turning the outlaw’s face into a crimson smear.

“Move the train!” a man yelled. “Move the train!”

Conrad bit back a curse as he rolled onto his back and jammed both guns into their holsters. He could hear the train engine rumble and feel the vibration in the roadbed beneath him. It still had steam up. With a clash and clatter, the drivers engaged. Conrad reached up, grabbed one of the iron rods that ran underneath the car, and wrapped his legs around it. He lifted himself from the roadbed a scant second before the train lurched into motion.

It didn’t go very far, just far enough he would have been revealed had he stayed where he was. When the train jolted to a halt again, he dropped to the ground and rolled out the far side, hoping the remaining outlaws wouldn’t expect him to be there.

Surging to his feet he drew his guns again. He had lost track of how many men he had killed and had no idea how many more outlaws there were. Obviously some of them were up in the cab, or they wouldn’t have been able to force the engineer to move the train. Conrad sprinted for the locomotive.

“Over there!” a man shouted from the other side of the train. “He’s headed for the engine!”

A man leaned out of the cab and drew a bead on him. Before Conrad could react, someone jumped the outlaw from behind, tackling him and knocking him out of the cab. Both men fell to the ground. Conrad knew from the clothes of the
man who had pitched in to help that he was the fireman.

The outlaw rolled over and swung his gun toward the fireman. Conrad got there first and launched a kick that slammed into the outlaw’s head and drove it far to the side. The man’s neck broke with a sharp crack like that of a snapping branch. The gun went off as his finger involuntarily jerked the trigger, but the bullet screamed off harmlessly into the vast West Texas sky.

Conrad holstered his left-hand gun and grabbed the fireman’s arm to haul him to his feet. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” The man stared at him. “Good Lord! Ain’t you Mr. Browning?”

Conrad didn’t waste time answering him. “Do you know how many more of them there are?”

“At least two.”

From the corner of his eye, Conrad spotted a cloud of dust boiling up a couple hundred yards from the train. As it came closer, he realized the outlaws would have had at least one member of the gang bring their horses. The odds were about to get worse … and he had already overcome more than any man, by rights, should have been able to.

But not every man was the son of Frank Morgan.

“Get back in the cab,” Conrad snapped. “Tell the engineer to get the train moving again. Open it up. I want us rolling away from here before the rest of the gang shows up.”

The fireman jerked his head in a nod. “Sure thing, Mr. Browning.” As he climbed back into the
cab, he called to the wide-eyed engineer, “Full throttle, Asa! Mr. Browning says we’re gettin’ the hell outta here!”

Conrad hurried along the tracks. The train was a relatively short string: a couple freights, the two passengers, the baggage and express cars, Conrad’s private car, and the caboose. By the time he reached the first passenger car, smoke was billowing from the locomotive’s diamond-shaped stack and the train was moving again.

He reached up for a grab iron and swung himself onto the steps, hoping the rolling train would take the gang members still alive by surprise and they wouldn’t have time to get back on board. Screams came from inside the car as he lunged onto the platform.

Conrad could tell the engineer had the throttle wide open. The train began to rattle and sway as it picked up speed. He paused on the platform long enough to thumb fresh rounds into both guns, then threw the door open and dived inside.

He slid to a stop on one knee with both guns leveled. At the far end of the car, one of the outlaws had an arm around the neck of a female passenger, dragging her backward as he held a gun pressed into her side. The other passengers in the car were hunkered on the seats, trying to stay out of the line of fire.

The robber’s bandanna had slipped down to reveal a hard, heavy-jawed face with dark beard stubble on it. “Stay back, mister!” he yelled at Conrad. “I’ll blow a hole right through her!”

“If you do, you’ll be dead a second later,”
Conrad said. “You know that. You might as well drop the gun and save your life.”

A savage grin twisted the outlaw’s face. “You can go to hell!” he cried. “You can’t shoot me without hittin’ her!”

That wasn’t strictly true. Conrad could see enough of the man’s face looking over the woman’s shoulder that he thought he could put a bullet in the outlaw’s eye. But it was chancy, and he couldn’t guarantee the hostage wouldn’t be hurt. He held his fire for the moment, as the outlaw continued to back up with his hostage in tow until they reached the vestibule and were almost to the platform.

Conrad glanced through the window to his left. Though much of the West Texas landscape was featureless, making it difficult to know exactly where they were, there were a few landmarks. One of them flashed past as he looked out the window.

As a major stockholder in the line, Conrad had ridden the route a number of times, and he recognized the elevated water tank they had just passed. Normally, the train would have stopped there to take on water, but the engineer still had it barreling along the tracks.

In less than a mile, the tracks angled sharply to go around a mesa. Knowing that put an idea in Conrad’s head. “Let the woman go,” he called to the outlaw. “If you do, I give you my word you won’t be killed.”

“What’ll you do? Send me to prison for twenty years? No thanks. I’d rather take a chance on a bullet.”

“If anything happens to that woman, it’ll be a hang rope, not prison,” Conrad promised. “I’ll see to that.”

“Who in blazes
are
you, mister?”

“My name is Conrad Browning. I own this railroad.”

That was a stretch. He actually owned only part of it. But his father owned another block of stock, and between them they had almost a controlling interest.

The train robber didn’t believe it. He laughed harshly as he backed onto the platform. “That’s a damned lie. You’re a gambler or a gunfighter. No damn railroad tycoon could ever handle a gun like you!”

Conrad smiled thinly as he approached, both guns still in his hands. “It’s true.”

“Stay back!” the robber snapped. “Send word to the engine to stop this damn train so my pards with the horses can catch up.”

Conrad shook his head. The train was almost at the bend. “Give up now, while you’ve still got a chance.”

A snarl curled the outlaw’s lips. He spat, “Go to hell—”

The train hit the bend.

At that high rate of speed, the turn was almost too much. But the engineer knew his train, knew it would stay on the rails. The sudden lurch was violent enough it threw the outlaw on the platform off balance. He yelled in surprise, staggering toward the edge. His gun fell away from the
hostage as he windmilled his arm in an attempt to keep from falling off the train.

It was what Conrad had been waiting for. His right-hand gun snapped up and blasted. His shot drilled the man’s forearm and sent the gun flying away.

The outlaw howled in pain, let go of the woman, and stumbled backward. Conrad leaped forward, grabbed the woman, and practically threw her behind him. He reached for the wounded outlaw next, but he was too late. The man had staggered too close to the opening in the railing around the platform. With a shriek of terror, he toppled backward through it, landing on the coupling between the cars and sliding off to wind up underneath the wheels. His scream ended abruptly as those flashing wheels chopped him to pieces.

Conrad caught hold of the woman’s shoulder as she sobbed in relief. “Are there any more of them?”

She shook her head. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I … I don’t know!”

Conrad pushed her into the car, then turned toward the second passenger car.

It might not be over yet.

But it was, Conrad discovered a moment later. He met the wounded conductor and the two brakemen coming forward through the second passenger car, and they reported the surviving pair of train robbers had been left behind, along with the other outlaws who had tried to rendezvous with them.