Only My Love (37 page)

Michael sipped the tea. It
was
soothing. "What time is it?"

"After six."

"Six! But that means I've—"

"Hush. You're getting yourself excited over nothin'. They're managin' just fine downstairs without either one of us. Dee's helpin' out more than usual and that's not killin' her." She grinned. "Ralph Hooper's been askin' for you. I think he's kinda sweet on you."

"Ralph's nice, but you're the one he likes."

Kitty blushed. "Go on. He never comes to my room."

"But does he go to anyone else's?" She drank some more tea to cut the rawness in her throat. "You know he doesn't."

"Shh. Don't talk so much. Ralph's always askin' to dance with you."

"Because I'm taken," she whispered huskily. She set the cup down on her lap and let Kitty take it away before it spilled.

"You want more? I can get you something else."

"No... nothing. I feel so weak." Her eyes closed. She wanted to touch her throat again but her arms were like leaden weights. "He's shy."

"What?"

"Ralph. He's shy."

"Oh, we're back to that, are we? C'mon. Lie down again. You're as weak as the runt of the litter."

Michael smiled weakly as Kitty fussed over her.

"Would you like another lemon drop? Dee swears by them." Kitty didn't bother to interpret Michael's murmur as acceptance or protest. She pushed the extra lemon drop Dee had given her into Michael's mouth. "Here. Suck on this. It'll help."

* * *

Twelve hours after leaving Stillwater, Ethan was setting explosives on the side span of the South Platte trestle. Two trains would cross the span before the one they wanted to stop. It would be just after midnight when No. 486 engineer would signed her approach. It was still light enough for Ethan to see what he was doing without a lantern. He had plenty of time to do thorough job.

Obie helped him, hunkered down on the abutment, passing the dynamite that Ethan had bundled earlier. Ethan knew the stress points, the wooden ties that held the most weight. A quick examination of the trestle showed him it had been built hastily, without much regard for good engineering. It supported the trains, but the weight was not distributed as evenly as it should have been. Ethan guessed that when the trains came rolling on, the entire structure vibrated like a plucked banjo string. He was doing everyone a favor blowing it up. They'd be forced to rebuild. Perhaps they'd do a better job of it this time.

He set five separate fuses using miner's safety cord. It burned evenly, even when slightly damp, so that Ethan would know how much time he had between lighting the fuse and detonation. After the robbery he wanted to give No. 486 enough time to cross the trestle before he blew the side span. He wanted himself and others to be clear of the blast as well.

Ethan climbed from the side span, moving with the agility and grace of a spider, and onto the abutment. "That should do it," he told Obie. "Everything else ready?"

"You had the hard part. Nothin' much for the rest of us to do but wait. Happy's got a little encampment set up over the ridge there. Ben says there's fresh hot coffee."

"We may as well go then."

Their waiting horses managed the rocky incline with the sure-footedness of mountain goats. It only took them minutes to reach the others. Happy had chosen to make camp in a flat lay of land sheltered by pines and a ridge of rock. The men were sitting around the small fire. Bacon sizzled and spit in an iron skillet. The aroma filled the crisp evening air. Ethan and Obie joined them.

Houston handed Ethan a cup of coffee. "I figure when the train stops because of the bonfire, you and Ben can come down on the roof of the mail car from the ridge. Pitch a stick of dynamite in the overhead vent. That'll either flush out the guard or kill him. Either way, you're in."

"Ben agree to that?" Ethan asked.

"I got no problem with it."

Houston raised the collar of his coat against the wind. "Is there a problem on your side, Stone?"

"No problem."

"Good."

Later, when they had finished eating dinner, Ethan excused himself from the card game to get the explosives he would need.

* * *

Engine No. 486 was only ten minutes off her posted schedule. She was running early. Caleb French was in the cab, pounding his engine as was his nature, keeping his fireman busy swinging a shovel from the coal tender to the furnace. When he saw the bonfire that was built across the tracks he regretted the speed he'd forced from his powerful engine. He had no real faith that he could stop her in time.

The wheels of the train flattened against the metal rails as French threw the reverse lever. In the cars behind him he knew passengers were being thrown from their seats. Baggage was being pitched to the floor. Without looking out the window of his cab he knew that the whine and squeal of metal against metal was showering the gravel bed and ballast with blue and white sparks. His fireman had found a handle to clutch and was holding on with bloodless fists. He imagined his conductors were flat on their faces by now and his brakemen near powerless to help him.

Caleb French was only sure of one thing: he and his fireman weren't going to jump. He was staying with his engine.

Watching the approach of No. 486, Ethan began to wonder if all their planning would be for nothing. "If that train doesn't slow soon," he said to Ben, "we've got to clear the tracks as best we can."

"You're crazy!"

"Maybe, but we came to do a robbery, not mass murder. They'll jump the track and take the mountain if we don't. You forget who's on that train? Cooper will be dead, too."

"Aww, hell," Ben muttered. He watched the speeding approach of No. 486 with heightened interest.

Caleb French thought he'd been part of a miracle when he finally brought 486 to a halt only thirty yards in front of the fire. Then Jake Harrity entered the cab with his raised gun and French knew he was about to pay for the lives he'd saved.

On the roof of the mail car, Ethan and Ben moved with cat-like quickness. Ben jerked open the roof vent while Ethan lighted the fuse on the stick of dynamite. They yelled a warning, took cover on the roof of the adjoining car and waited. The side door of the mail car opened almost immediately and they saw the guard jump out. Ethan slid down the side ladder and leaped off the sill slip, tackling the guard before he could orient himself. He cuffed him solidly on the jaw and let him thud to the ground. He disarmed him, pitching the carbine well out of reach, then he climbed into the mail car.

Ben joined him a moment later. "What the hell happened to the explosion? I thought for sure—"

Ethan held up the stick and pretended to examine it. "Look, the paraffin wrapping's cracked. The explosive must be damp." He tossed it at Ben who jumped out of the way. Ethan chuckled. "Easy, Ben. It can't hurt you like that."

Ben snorted and grumbled his displeasure. "Hope you checked the stuff on the trestle better than you did that one. We're lucky the guard scared at the sight of the stuff."

Turning away to check the safe, Ethan knew he'd been lucky. He had counted on the guard being frightened enough of the lighted stick to make the jump. Ethan had cracked the paraffin seal and wet the explosive mix of nitroglycerine and guncotton himself. Ethan knelt in front of the safe and began taking cartridges from his coat pockets. "You know, Ben, if it gets much colder, that trestle's not going to blow."

"What the hell you talkin' about?"

"Dynamite freezes at 40°. It feels colder than that now."

"Fine time to be tellin' me. Does Houston know?"

"I thought he did. We discussed the problems with the weather, remember?"

"Just hurry it up."

"Oh, these sticks are all right. Don't worry about the safe."

Ben shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if the impatient movement could hurry Ethan along. As with most everything, Ethan would not be hurried.

He had pried away the safe's dial with a small iron crowbar, leaving a spindle hole opening. Cracking open a stick of dynamite, Ethan packed the hole with the charge, a mixture of nitroglycerine and other fillers like gun cotton, wood pulp, and sodium nitrate. He searched his pocket for the sliver of soap he'd brought along. Spitting on it, he gummed it up enough to serve as an adhesive so that he could affix the detonator. After placing the tiny blasting cap in the soap and sticking it against the powder charge, Ethan ran the safety fuse a few feet away from the iron door. "Better go get the mules, Ben," he said calmly. He lit a match using the lantern the guard had left, cupped it to steady the flame, and blew out the lantern. "This won't take long."

Swearing, Ben jumped from the mail car. Ethan started the fuse and followed a few seconds later. He left the car's side door open a few inches and ticked off the seconds in his mind. When the explosion came only Ben jumped.

Grinning, Ethan opened the door, hoisted himself inside, and examined the safe. He'd been very fortunate to set a well-balanced charge. The locking bolts were pulled back and the door had flown open. There was no need to set multiple charges. The only damage he was able to detect in the safe was a small bulge in the front plate where he had packed the charge. "I'll be damned," he said. "Would you look at this."

Ben lighted the lantern. He didn't spare a glance for Ethan's handiwork; his eyes were filled with the sight of the bullion and payroll sacks. Jake had a similar reaction when he joined them. Working like a fire brigade they emptied the safe with efficient ease.

Jake readjusted the kerchief around his face. "Let's go see this Cooper fella and then get the hell out of here."

They walked along the outside of the train to reach the car where Houston told them to meet. Keeping with the theory that an engine pulling a few number of cars would attract less notice, No. 486 had only three passenger cars. The one preceding the caboose was a private car. Ethan, Ben, and Jake passed below the windows of dozens of subdued and resigned, if not frightened, passengers. They entered the private car.

"These are the others?" Cooper asked Houston. He was sitting in a large red leather chair. Brass tacks followed the curve of the wide arms. The tips of Cooper's nails tapped lightly against tacks, making a tiny clicking sound in the otherwise silent car.

He was a large man, not tall, but solidly built. There was evidence of a slight paunch where his silver-threaded vest was pulled taut across his belly. His neck and jowls, which may have given a better indication of his age and health, were covered by thick side-whiskers and a full beard. His hairline was receding on either side of his center part. The curling ends of his handlebar mustache were stiffly waxed.

Ethan's glance assessed Cooper's expensively tailored clothes, the gold watch chain that hung in a swag from his vest pocket, the polished shoes, and manicured nails. No dispatcher here, he thought. No menial clerk for Wells Fargo. Hell, the man looked like he could own Wells Fargo. Ethan felt his stare being returned. He looked up into a pair of eyes so pale they were nearly colorless. He knew he would never forget those eyes.

"These are the others," Houston said. "Obie and Happy have already said their piece to Cooper. They're finishing with the passengers. He's not interested in less than forty percent."

Ben looked around the plush appointed car and said what was on his mind. "It don't seem to me that a little less than forty would set you back none."

"On the contrary," Cooper said in a rich, deep baritone, "I have so much more to lose." The sweep of his mustache rose a little as he smiled. "I think you wanted proof from Houston that I exist. You can see that I do. You can be certain of my continued help as long as you are equal to the task. I have large plans for my share of the money, gentlemen." There was an ivory knobbed ebony cane resting against the arm of his chair. He picked it up and laid it across his lap, stroking the smooth wood absently. He turned to Houston. "You'll deliver my money in the same manner as always?"

Houston nodded. "I wish you could take it now. It would save me a trip to Denver."

It was the first Ethan had ever been able to learn how Cooper recovered his share. There was probably a transfer through a bank in Denver and the actual account wouldn't prove too difficult to find.

"Far from giving me the money, you're going to have to take something from me." He handed over his gold watch and chain without another thought and slipped the emerald ring from his pinkie. "Take these. I'm sure a few of the other passengers remember seeing them. Feel free to overturn some things in here. It will be more impressive." His pale glance encompassed all of them. "Oh, and I suppose it should look as if I've struggled. No one hearing this won't believe I didn't put up a fight."

"You sure?" Houston asked.

"I'm sure." He stood, leaning lightly on the cane, making it clear it wasn't necessary, but simply an affectation.

Houston stepped forward but Ethan got there first. "Let me," he said. Before Cooper could blink a protest, Ethan hammered him in the jaw. He dropped like a stone in the blood red chair.

"I think you broke it," Jake said.

Ethan shook out his fingers. "Glass jaw."

Houston was laughing. "I bet nobody's ever done that to him. C'mon. We've got a train to get moving. Jake, get Obie and Happy. Let's go."