05 Ironhorse (6 page)

Virgil turned his head slightly, listening for a second, then looked back to Emma.

Emma continued. “The conductor man told Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Lassiter to get off the train or he’d tell the man with the knife to cut Mother’s throat.”

“And they did that,” I said. “They got off?”

Abigail and Emma looked at each other and nodded.

“It . . . it was so awful,” Abigail said as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Does your father always travel with Pinkertons?” Virgil said.

Emma looked to her sister, and they shook their heads.

“As far as I know, this is the first time,” Emma said.

“Daddy generally has security,” Abigail said. “Just not the Pinkertons . . . I think they were maybe Mr. Hobbs’ men.”

“How was it you and your sister were brought forward?” I said.

“Another man came from the front, a big heavyset man. He said that the train had passed where it was supposed to stop,” Abigail said. “He said he had seen two men jumping into the engine cabin.”

“The conductor man became incensed and yelled at the big man. He told him to take us, me and Abby, and to use us to get control of the engine,” Emma said, “with whatever means necessary.”

“And he brought you here,” I said, “to the first car?”

“Yes,” Abigail said.

“He did. There were other men, too,” Emma said.

Virgil pointed to Dean. “That skinny fellow there,” he said. “Was he one of them that brought you to this car?”

“No,” Emma said. “He was already here when the others brought us forward.”

Virgil looked at me. Then he walked back toward Dean.

“Dean,” Virgil said.

“What?”

“Turn around.”

Dean turned to face Virgil.

“Who came on this train posin’ like he was the conductor?”

Dean didn’t reply.

“Answer me.”

“I don’t know ’bout no conductor.”

Virgil walked closer to Dean.

“How were you boys split up?”

“What do you mean?”

“How many in each car?”

“Oh, um, three of us in each car.”

“Who was in the Pullman?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “I was just tol’ by Vince to get in this first car and holler robbery at five-thirty.”

“Go back there and tell Vince to come up here,” Virgil said.

“Huh?”

“Tell him I need to talk with him,” Virgil said. “Tell him he’s got one chance to back out. He gives himself up right now and I’ll be nice. He don’t, I won’t.”

“I’ll do that,” Dean said and turned toward the door.

“Dean?” Virgil said.

Dean looked back at Virgil.

“Tell him if he don’t, me and Everett will kill the lot of you. All of you together, a few at a time, or one by one. Makes no difference.”

Dean turned toward the door.

“One more thing. Do like I tell you, you might have a chance to be counted. You don’t, you’ll be dead like the others.”

Dean swallowed hard.

“I’ll go get Vince.”

Dean moved to one side out of the center of the aisle and called out loudly, “It’s Dean! I’m coming out! If y’all is there! Don’t shoot! I’m coming out! It’s Dean!”

Dean opened the door a little. Then he opened it a little more, just enough for him to get through. There was no gunfire, just the partially open door, and without incident Dean left, closing the door behind him.

17

VIRGIL SPOKE TO
the dandy and Ness as he walked back up the aisle toward the front of the coach.

“You two keep your guns pointed at that door and be ready to shoot,” Virgil said.

“Thought you told that man to have another man come and talk with you?” Ness said.

Virgil shook his head.

“There is not gonna be anybody come through that door interested in talking,” Virgil said. “Just be ready.”

Ness and the dandy trained their pistols to the door.

Besides the fact Virgil was tired of Dean’s stupidity and his inability to offer much in the way of worthy information, his ploy of releasing Dean was only to buy us time. He knew it would give Vince and the others some fat to chew on as they figured out what they should do.

“What did he, this conductor, look like?” I asked.

“He was rather tall and slender,” Emma said. “He wore spectacles and had a thick drooping mustache.”

“I’m not certain, but he might have been crippled,” Abigail said. “Or injured. His left arm seemed limp.”

“And he was educated,” Emma said. “He spoke very proper.”

“What about the other man with the knife?” I said. “What did he look like?”

“Well . . . he looked as if he were a trapper,” Emma said.

“Yes,” Abigail said. “He was wearing full buckskin with fringe.”

“His hair was long,” Emma said. “Shoulder length. He had a long beard, and he wasn’t wearing a hat.”

“He had one of those beaded parfleche pouches on his waist, like Indians carry,” Abigail said. “But he was not an Indian.”

“No, he spoke English,” Emma said. “His voice was very rough and raspy.”

Virgil looked at me. He narrowed his eyes slightly.

Emma looked at Virgil and back to me.

“I know you will do everything in your power to help us,” Emma said, “and for that we will be forever grateful.”

“It’s what we do,” Virgil said.

Virgil walked out the door. I turned to follow Virgil to the platform, and Emma reached out, taking my hand.

“Thank you,” she said.

I looked at Emma’s hand holding mine, then looked into her eyes. She squeezed my hand and remained looking at me for a time. I touched the top of her hand in my hand, then walked out the door.

18

THE SPRINKLING HAD
now turned to light rain as I stepped out of the coach and joined Virgil on the platform. He wasn’t pacing, but he wasn’t still.

“That’s Bloody Bob Brandice they’re talking about,” I said. “With the pouch and knife.”

“None other.”

“That’s not good news.”

“No,” Virgil said. “It’s not.”

“Can’t think of worse news, really,” I said.

“’Specially for those within an arm’s length of him intent on living,” Virgil said.

Virgil was a man of solid resolve, a man who did not hold a grudge. There was no reason for such nonsense. He took one moment at a time, one situation at a time, and had no reason to haze his focus by allowing feelings to be part of a task at hand.
Feelings get you killed,
Virgil always said, but the thought of Bloody Bob Brandice primed the hell out of Virgil’s intentions and sharpened the bead of his aim. If there was any one association more disturbing, more unfortunate, more nagging, to conjure up than Randall Bragg’s gang it would be Bloody Bob Brandice, and now it appeared we had them both to deal with.

“Thought the son of a bitch was in prison,” I said.

“Evidently, he ain’t.”

“He got life.”

“He got out,” Virgil said.

“He’s not part of Bragg’s outfit,” I said.

Virgil shook his head.

“Don’t seem likely.”

“Don’t think he’d be part of anybody’s outfit,” I said.

Virgil shook his head.

“Don’t either,” he said.

“He’s not capable of taking orders, riding with an outfit.”

“Even if it was his
own
outfit,” Virgil said.

“He’s nothing but a hard case. A murderous loner.”

“He is,” Virgil said. “Even murderous loners got a price.”

“Hired assassin, you think?”

“Might be,” Virgil said.

“He’s no Yankee.”

“Far from it.”

“Don’t make much sense,” I said.

“No, it don’t.”

“Got Bragg’s outfit to sort out,” I said. “And now Bloody Bob.”

We thought about that for a moment.

“Don’t get much worse,” I said.

“It don’t,” Virgil said.

Virgil shook his head some. Then he looked back through the door to Abigail and Emma.

“It by God don’t.”

“What do you figure we do?”

Virgil leaned out over the platform rail and looked back behind us.

“Go after him,” I said.

Virgil looked back to me.

“We do,” Virgil said. “Sooner we get to him. More lives will be spared.”

I looked back through the coach to the rear door.

“We open that back door we’ll have a gun or two pointed at us, hammers back,” I said.

Virgil looked to the ladder. He got close to it and looked to the door window, gauging if he could be seen through the window.

“We go back over the top,” Virgil said, “come down on the platform between the first and second cars, staying tight to the ladder, they won’t see us. Least not through the door window they won’t.”

I looked at Virgil, looked at the ladder, and thought about what he was saying.

“We won’t be expected from the top,” Virgil said.

“I suspect you are right, and if they’re on the platform we’ll see them before they see us.”

Virgil nodded.

“All right, then,” Virgil said. “We go.”

19

I FOLLOWED VIRGIL
back into the coach. He called out to the dandy as he walked halfway down the aisle.

“Captain Cavanaugh, keep your eye to that door,” Virgil said. “Shoot anybody who opens it.”

The dandy saluted.

Virgil looked at the sodbuster, Ness, and pointed him toward the front of the coach.

“You, Ness,” Virgil said. “Like you to come up here with me.”

Ness turned, saying something to his wife.

Emma stood up in front of me as I turned to walk back to the front platform.

“What will you do?” Emma said. “What are you planning?”

She was close to me. So close I could feel the warmth of her breath on my face.

“Virgil and I have been doing this kind of work for a long time,” I said. “At this very moment all I can readily allow is we don’t have any plans on quitting.”

Emma didn’t move. If anything, she moved slightly closer to me, just looking in my eyes.

“Here,” I said.

I handed her one of the pistols I had picked up.

“Take this,” I said. “Keep it at ready.”

Emma looked at the pistol. She took it in both hands, then looked in my eyes again.

Virgil and Ness started back toward me.

“If you feel the need to use it,” I said. “Use it.”

Emma kept looking in my eyes as she took a step back. I offered her my most reassuring look and stepped out onto the platform. The rain was falling steadily now. Virgil followed me out, followed by Ness. Virgil turned to Ness. He spoke fatherly-like to him.

“Everett and me are going back over the top of this car. Mix things up a bit. What I want from you is, climb this ladder after us, position yourself with Everett’s eight-gauge there. Everett, hand him that brush hog.”

I handed Ness the shotgun, unbuckled my shell belt, and draped it over his shoulder.

“Keep watch,” Virgil said. “Any one of the robbers get around us somehow, tries to come over the top of this car, send them lead from this side-by-side.”

“Yes, sir,” Ness said.

“I can count on you to do that?” Virgil said.

“Yes, sir,” Ness said. “You can.”

Virgil looked at me and tipped his head sharply to the ladder.

“Let’s go,” Virgil said.

I climbed the ladder and peeked back over the roof. It was difficult to see much, but I could see well enough to know there was no one in sight. I hoisted my body to the roof, and Virgil followed. I started moving toward the rear of the coach and quickly realized it was a hell of a lot easier walking in the direction the train was traveling than walking in the direction from which the train came. I figured Virgil felt the same as he grabbed a handful of the back of my coat, stabilizing himself as we walked slowly with the strong wind and rain pushing at our backs. The rain started coming down harder and harder as we moved slowly, one solid step at a time. When we got toward the end of the coach we crouched low. As we got closer we dropped to our bellies and inched up so we could see between the cars. The rain started coming even harder, and water was rushing by us, channeling off the coach and onto the platform.

No bandits were on the platform. I quickly slid myself toward the platform ladder and, shrouded in water, dropped down the ladder and onto the platform. I stood off to the side of the platform and could see the door window of the rear coach was completely fogged over.

I looked up and motioned for Virgil to come down the ladder.

For having a busted knee, Virgil’s ability to maneuver always surprised me.

Virgil positioned himself sideways and slid one leg down to the ladder, followed by the other, and, in an instant, he was now on the platform beside me and we each had a Colt in each hand with their hammers back.

I ducked under the window and positioned myself on the opposite side of the door from Virgil.

From inside the coach, a hand wiped the fog from the window and a pair of bandit eyes peered out. With Virgil and me off to each side of the door and the bandit keeping watch on the front coach door, we were unseen.

The water was falling off the front coach and pouring over the top of us like a waterfall, making it difficult to see, but I could see Virgil well enough to see him nod
Go!

20

IN AN INSTANT,
I swiveled back a step and kicked the door right under the brass lever, knocking the bandit on the other side backward. He raised his pistol, but I shot him first. Virgil shot a skinny bandit behind him who managed to clear leather with his pistol. Vince had just entered the rear door but was backing out. Dean was with another robber, five rows from the rear of the coach. He had another revolver and got off a shot as he backed up. The bullet pinged off the ceiling. Virgil’s shot hit Dean in the chest. The fourth bandit also got off a shot, but it hit the back of the seat just to my left, and I sent two shots to him and he fell back. Vince got his Hopkins & Allen pointing at me. He fired a shot that registered just above my head. Then he ducked back out the rear door before I could get a clear shot. Virgil shot just as Vince closed the door, and we could hear Vince yell, “Goddamn it! Goddamn it!”