Midnight Rider (Ralph Cotton Western Series) (18 page)

At the high end of the long incline, Grolin saw the flare of the match and lowered the lantern he’d used to signal Casings and the Giant. He killed the lantern light and handed it over to Lambert Kane, one of the two Kane brothers seated in the wagon beside him. Lambert took the lantern and stood it on the floor of the buckboard between his boots.

“Take it on down, Bobby,” Grolin said to the younger of the brothers.

“You heard him, little brother, let’s roll,” said Lambert, a long shotgun standing from his thigh.

The younger man slapped the reins to the wagon horses’ backs and sent them bolting forward.

“
Yeehiii!
Yes, sir, brother Lamb!” he called out above the pound of hoof and the creak of wagon. “Let’s go make ourselves rich!”

“Make our mama
proud
!” said Lambert, grinning, bouncing and swaying on the hard wagon seat.

“Make our pa smile down upon us,
rest his soul
!” said Bobby, the buckboard sliding a little sidelong on the steep treacherous path.

“Or
up
at us,” said Lambert.

“Whichever the case may be!” said Bobby, the wagon rumbling on.

Stupid rube bastards…,
Grolin told himself as the wagon disappeared down the dark hillside. He’d already made a mental note—he needed to thin out his crew once this job was finished.
Wait!
What the hell was he thinking? he corrected himself. After this job, he was out of this frontier squalor for good.

Damn right.
… He bit the tip off a cigar, stuck it in
his mouth and turned his horse to the same trail, now that those inbred Kane idiots were far enough down to not run over him.

In the glow of firelight from the open grate on the engine’s big iron boiler door, the train engineer looked over his shoulder at the fireman, Tom Bratcher. As the train slowed down with a lurch and started up the long uphill grade, Bratcher stood with a shovel in his hands, wearing a pair of elbow-length leather stoker gloves.

“I’ll fill her some more, you want me to,” Bratcher said.

Neither man heard Pres Casings and the Stillwater Giant ride up alongside the slowing train and scramble from their saddles onto the front platform of the disguised U.S. Treasury transport car.

“She’s as good as you can make her for now,” said the engineer, Odell Cheney, above the roar of the rails and the billowing fire in the boiler furnace.

“All right, then,” said the fireman. He shoved the iron door closed with the toe of his boot and stuck his shovel in its slot on the wall.

“You best go wake the captain,” Cheney said over his shoulder. “He said we should wake him at Signal Hill.”

“I’ll do it,” said Bratcher, taking off the long, thick gloves and hanging them beside his shovel. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, to be honest with you,” he said. “I don’t even know if he’s a real army captain, him and his boys not wearing uniforms. It don’t seem right.”

“Just wake him up,” said Cheney. “I’m learning that what’s
right
at breakfast is
wrong
by suppertime these days.”

Shaking his head, the fireman stepped out of the engine, walked around the walkway and into a mail car.

“Ain’t nothing like it’s supposed to be no more,” he grumbled under his breath.

He walked through the middle aisle of the loaded mail car and out onto its rear platform. On either side of the train, he saw the night moving slower and slower past him. The train shuddered beneath his feet.

When he’d walked past a freight car to a passenger car, Pres Casings and the Giant slipped from the shadows and went to work. Casings tied a safety rope around the Giant’s waist and tied the other end of it to the handrail. The Giant stepped down between the two cars holding a can of oil and stood over the iron link pin connector that held the cars together. He stooped and poured the oil down into the connector while Casings watched from the swaying platform. Then he grinned, raised an arm and made a muscle.

“Don’t fool around, Giant!” Casings said in a hushed tone, unheard by the rumble of the train.

The Giant stooped down over the iron pin holding the two cars together and wrapped his huge fingers around a steel ring that ran through the round head of the pin. Then he took a deep breath and pulled up on the pin with all of his enormous strength.

“My God!”
Casings whispered to himself in awe,
seeing the iron pin rise upward slowly in spite of the weight of the two rail cars pulling against it. The Giant stood up with his wide grin and stepped quickly onto the platform, iron pin in hand, as the iron oblong link holding the cars together slid open and the cars separated slowly.

“I done good for us, huh?” said the Giant.

“Yeah, Giant,
real
good,” said Casings.

Closing the mail car door behind himself, the fireman stepped inside a passenger car. His entrance wasn’t quick enough to keep the sound of the rails from reaching inside and waking up a tough-looking young army captain lying sprawled in a seat, his army carbine across his knee. His head had lolled with the rhythm of the train until he jerked up with a start. The carbine swung up, pointed at the fireman.

“Don’t shoot, Captain Boone!” the fireman cried out. “You said to wake you and your men when we reached Signal Hill.”

“Right you are,” said the captain, springing up from his seat. In the seat behind him, a man a few years his senior awoke and stepped out into the aisle, also carrying a carbine. He shook the shoulder of one of the two men in the seat behind him. In all, Captain Boone and five riflemen arose from their seats and took quick stock of themselves.

The fireman stared at them from the car door. The men all wore riding dusters and slouch hats. They busily gathered carbines, saddlebags and checked their big Colt sidearms.

“Not a uniform amongst ’em.” He shook his head and grumbled under his breath. “There’s nothing right about it.”

Turning to the fireman, Captain Boone looked him up and down and said, “That will be all, sir.”

As the fireman turned and left, Captain Boone called out to the five men as they finished preparing themselves for the trail.

“All right, troopers,” he said. “This be just a trial run, but let’s treat it like it’s the real thing, because Thursday night it will be.” He looked around over his shoulder as if to make certain no one was listening. Then he turned to the sergeant beside him and said, “Sergeant Goodrich, proceed with the exercise.”

“All right, men,” said the sergeant, “we’re going up Signal Hill—the most likely place for a robbery. You heard my captain, tonight is a trial. When the time comes, three of you will be positioned on and around the Treasury car. But rather than reveal ourselves tonight, we’ll proceed to our horses, ready them for the trail and stand by.” He looked back and forth. “Are you men ready to chase outlaws?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” the four men replied as one.

Beside the sergeant, a young corporal named Thomas Rourke stood awaiting an order.

“Corporal Rourke,” said the sergeant.

“Yes, Sergeant.” The corporal snapped to attention, standing in his long trail duster and slouch hat. He stood with the bearing of a military man in spite of his civilian trail clothes.

“Lead these men to the Treasury car as if we were
under attack. Proceed to the freight car, check your mounts and stand by.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” said the corporal. He turned quickly to the three riflemen.

Standing beside the captain, the sergeant said sidelong under his breath, “Captain, if I may speak?”

Captain Boone only nodded.

“This is a load of bull, Captain,” said Goodrich. “These men need no
practice
exercise. These are crack troops.”

“I am aware of that, Sergeant,” said Boone. “But these are the orders. Tonight through Wednesday night, we will go through our exercises—prepare to expect the unexpected, as General Edwards always says.”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir,” the sergeant said. He looked himself up and down, his riding duster, his slouch hat in his right hand.

“Sergeant Goodrich, come quick! Our horses are gone!” Corporal Rourke called out from the rear platform through the open door.

“What the—” The sergeant rushed through the open car door, Captain Boone right behind him. Shoving their way past the three riflemen, both men stood beside the corporal, staring down the dark, empty tracks behind them. “The whole blasted train
is gone
!” the sergeant said.

“Son of a bitch,” said Captain Boone in a low, even tone. “This is no longer a
training exercise
. Rourke, go tell the engineer to stop this train.” He looked around at the other men while the corporal hurried back
through the long, empty car. “Sergeant Goodrich, you and your men follow me.” Before the sergeant could say a word, the captain jumped down from the platform onto the tracks and faded into the darkness behind the train.

“All right, you heard him, troopers,” the sergeant bellowed to the men. “Does my captain have to do this job alone? Follow me!” He leaped out onto the tracks, his long duster tail flaring out behind him like wings. The other three men held their carbines high and followed close behind him.

As the four severed rail cars slowed to a halt and began rolling backward down the long grade, the Stillwater Giant and Pres Casings hurried into the freight car that housed the soldiers’ horses. The animals were rested, saddled and ready to ride.

“Holy Moses,” said the Giant, “there’s a posse on the train. They were aiming to ambush us! How’d they know about this job?”

The two stood staring, stunned for a moment at their discovery. Finally Casings pushed his hat brim up and grinned at the Giant, looking relieved.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but let them wait.” He nodded toward the far end of the car.

Leaving the freight car, the two hurried down the aisle of the loaded mail car and out the rear door. They stood for a moment looking at the big Treasury car swaying along behind them.

“You can bet there’s guards waiting for us in there,” Casings said in a whisper.

“You suppose Grolin figured on it?” the Giant asked.

“If he didn’t, he’d better,” said Casings. “Come on. Watch your step.”

The two crossed onto the Treasury car platform and climbed the iron brakeman ladder to a catwalk running the length of its roof. They hurried in a crouch along the swaying walkway and climbed down at the other end as the separated cars continued gaining speed, rolling backward.

Nearing the bottom of the grade, the two saw a lantern wave back and forth slowly in the air, where another set of iron rails intersected with the track. The intersecting rails ran seventeen miles north to a siding depot at an abandoned trade settlement.

“Looks like Grolin’s right on time,” Casings said to the Giant. Then he glanced at the rear of the Treasury car and said, “Keep your gun on that door, in case anybody inside wants to give us some guff.”

The Giant drew a big Army Colt from under his coat and turned facing the back door of the car. The large Colt looked like a child’s toy in the Giant’s enormous hand.

“Anybody
inside
there better stay
inside
, until we tell them otherwise,” the Giant said, loud enough to be heard by anyone listening on the other side of the thick railcar door.

As the cars coasted into a wide swing onto the siding tracks, a young thief named Lionel Sharp ran forward with the switchman’s lantern and rifle in hand.

“Going my way?” he said, joking as he swung himself onto the platform beside Casings and the
Giant. The Giant grabbed the young man’s shoulder and steadied him until he secured his footing.

“Depends on where you’re going,” Casings replied, recognizing the man.

The Giant gave his big grin and said, “And what you’re going to do when you get there.”

Casings looked him up and down, took the lantern he was holding and hung it on an iron hook beside the rear car door.

“Well, Sharp,” he said, “it looks like you finally landed yourself work with some real long riders.”

“Yeah, and I can tell you, I’m damned grateful for it,” said the young outlaw. “I’m so sick of working with rubes and pumpkin busters.…” He leaned forward and looked around Casings at the Giant. “You must be the Stillwater Giant. I’ve heard so much about you,” he said.

“What tipped you off?” the Giant asked with a flat, harsh expression.

Sharp stared up at the huge man, not knowing what to say.

Finally he managed “I—I didn’t mean nothing—”

“He’s funning with you, Sharp,” Casings said, cutting the young outlaw off before he embarrassed himself.

Sharp looked relieved. “I’m mighty glad of that,” he said.

“Tell me, Sharp,” Casings said, “how many of you Denver City boys did Grolin bring in on this?”

“I don’t know. Seven, eight maybe?” said Sharp, estimating. He shrugged. “I see some faces here that I’ve never seen before.”

“Jesus…,” said Casings, shaking his head, staring ahead into the darkness as the loose cars slowed to a crawl along the iron rails.

As the train rounded a long turn in the darkness, the Giant nodded toward a glaring headlight shining through a stand of pine.