Strange Perceptions (15 page)

Graves cowered, but didn’t reply.

“I asked you a question.”

“Sorry, Boss, buried. To be buried is better.”

Dry Gulch stared at Graves for a moment longer. “Well?” He looked around at the other men. “What’s everyone standing around for? Get a move on. We got a train to rob.”

I couldn’t believe it. Robbing banks was bad enough, but they were going to rob a train.

Dry Gulch left the clearing. Hutchins prodded Buster with his pistol to follow.

“Let’s go kid,” said Graves.

I looked around. If I ran I’d be dead before taking two steps.

Graves poked me in the back with his rifle. “Just so you know, when I was a kid they called me Twitchy, on account if I get surprised then I’m real jumpy. So if there are any surprises I’ll twitch my trigger finger and you’ll end up with a hole in your head.”

The look in Graves’s eyes told me he’d love an excuse to pull the trigger. I couldn’t do anything but start walking. I followed the large man out of the clearing onto a trail running parallel to the creek.

Dry Gulch had said they were robbing a train. The tracks weren’t far away, maybe a mile, but it seemed to take forever to get there. Maybe our slow progress through the woods to the tracks would give Tubs enough time to get the Sheriff. I trudged along, not seeing any way to escape, occasionally prodded from behind by Graves.

Eventually we made it to the tracks. A small train bridge spanned Trundle Creek. The bridge was short, twenty-five feet over the creek. There were two levels: the top where the tracks were, and the underside consisting of horizontal beams and vertical struts. Cross-beams made Xs along the length of each side. Duffy sat on the lower level, legs tied to a horizontal beam, back against a strut, with his arms tied behind it. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw him.

Dry Gulch stood atop the bridge, issuing orders. “Get those kids tied up. We don’t have much time.”

Graves poked me in the back again with his rifle. “Come on kid.”

As I got closer to Duffy I could see a red goose egg on his forehead.

“Sorry Billy,” he said.

I struggled up the embankment and stepped onto the underside of the bridge, next to Duffy. “Not your fault.”

“You girls want to kiss each other goodbye before I tie you up?” Graves asked.

“Quit lollygagging,” Dry Gulch voice boomed from above us.

Graves tied me against the same strut as Duffy so we were back to back. Then he walked across the underside of the bridge to the middle, stepping from beam to beam, and holding onto the bridge’s truss to balance himself. Hutchins tied Buster on the other side of the bridge, across the creek from us, and scrambled down the embankment.

“Playing Injun was my idea,” Duffy whispered. “This is my fault.”

“Nah,” I said. “I should’ve got the Sheriff instead of trying to rescue you myself.”

“The worst part is you and Buster got captured. I don’t matter. Hell, my life is already set, everyone thinks I’m worthless. I got no chance but to end up a pile of shit, but you could have done something important with your life.”

“Don’t talk like that.” I began choking up, but forced myself to stop. I wasn’t going to cry. The Sheriff could still get here and save us.

“We got six minutes,” Dry Gulch said. “How long’s the fuse?”

“Two minutes,” Graves said.

“That gives you four minutes to place the dynamite.”

It felt as if a rock had stuck in my throat. For a moment I couldn’t breathe. Time was running out.

Hutchins carried a large canvas bag halfway up the embankment and yelled at Graves. “Here.” He tossed the bag up to Graves.

Graves lunged for the bag, catching it with his fingertips. “Jesus. What’re you thinking. You could’ve killed us all.”

Graves opened the bag and pulled out several sticks of dynamite bundled together. He tied the dynamite to the bridge where a truss beam met a strut.

Dry Gulch reached down from the top of the bridge to within a foot or so of Graves. “Come on, three minutes left.”

Graves pulled the long fuse out and held it to Dry Gulch’s outstretched fingers. After Dry Gulch grabbed the fuse, Graves slung the canvas bag over one shoulder, and came toward Duffy and me.

“I know the perfect place for this one,” Graves said.

I craned my head around, to watch Graves, and was horrified to see him tying a dynamite bundle between Duffy’s legs.

Graves giggled. “Now when it goes boom, little bits and pieces of you go flying everywhere.”

Dry Gulch’s gravelly voice came from above me. “Quit fooling around. I swear, Graves, you’re slower than a slug.”

Graves handed him the fuse and started toward Buster’s side of the bridge. He seemed more confident crossing the bridge’s underside now, not needing to use his hands for balance.

I whispered to Duffy. “Where’s your knife?”

“In my back pocket. I can’t reach it. I tried.”

“Maybe I can.” I slid my butt out as far as I could, bringing my hands down. “Scoot your butt back.” He did and I got the tips of two fingers into his back pocket.

“Other pocket,” Duffy said.

I switched to the other pocket, stretched and strained until it hurt and was able to feel the knife. “Can you lift yourself up?” He did and I got the knife between my index and middle finger. I inched the knife out and grabbed it with my other hand. Opening the blade was easy, but angling it to cut the rope between my hands was difficult. I sawed at the rope, unable to apply much pressure or move back and forth very far.

“You get it?” Duffy whispered.

“Yeah, I’m trying to cut now.”

“Come on,” yelled Dry Gulch, “you got a minute left ‘til I light the fuse.”

I craned my neck around to see Graves across the bridge, tying dynamite between Buster’s legs. I doubled my effort at cutting myself free, slicing my wrist to shreds in the process, but I didn’t care. I had to get free so I could help Duffy and Buster escape.

“Got it?” Dry Gulch said. “Now get the hell out of there. I’m lighting them.”

The rope came loose. I twisted around and freed Duffy’s hands in two knife strokes.

“Gimme the knife,” Duffy said.

I handed it to him and went to work untying my legs. The knot was difficult. I worked on it a bit and realized it would be easier to cut than untie. “Duffy, I need the knife.”

Duffy had freed his legs and cut the lit fuse from the dynamite between his legs. He slid the rope off the dynamite and dropped the bundle into the creek below. I cringed waiting for the dynamite to shake the bridge, but no explosion came.

“Here,” Duffy said, tossing the knife.

As the knife arced toward my hand a shot rang out. The bullet pinged near me, hitting the bridge.

I missed the knife, watching in horror as it fell out of reach.

“Billy,” Duffy said. “You get through this, let people know I’m not like my old man. I’m better than he is.”

He turned and ran across the underside of the bridge to the center. With each step he took, bullets ricocheted off the steel beams. Halfway across the bridge Duffy went down. Luckily, he fell along a beam and caught himself. Six inches of water in the stream below ain’t enough to dive into. He struggled back to his feet and stood there for a moment, a strange look on his face. He staggered back a step, leaning against a strut, and clutched his belly with both hands. Slowly, he brought his hands up, looking at them. They were bloody.

They had shot Duffy.

He moved in slow motion, leaning down and tearing loose the dynamite. He tried pulling the fuse out but his hands were so slicked up with blood he couldn’t get a grip.

Oh no. If he tossed the lit dynamite off the bridge, we’d still be blown to hell.

Duffy clutched the dynamite to his chest and started across to Buster’s side, the fuse burned, sparking and sputtering behind him, getting shorter with each step he took.

Another shot rang out. This one near me. I scooted my feet out and tried to lay flat, making myself as small a target as possible. Lying on my back, I rolled my head and watched, upside-down, as Duffy tore free the dynamite tied between Buster’s legs. He held this dynamite close to his chest with the other bundle. The fuses were short now. I didn’t know how much more time we had.

Duffy saw me watching and shot me his shit-eater. It was just a moment, less than a second, but his look told me everything. I could hear his thoughts, clear as day, “Hey, I’ll be all right. I’m off on another adventure. I’ll see you later.”

He turned, stepped onto the embankment and took off, half limping, half running, away from the bridge.

“No!” I screamed.

Even though I expected the explosion I wasn’t ready for it. It was louder than the cannon Ol’ Man Bowles fires off every Fourth of July. It was louder than cherry bombs or gunshots. It was so loud I couldn’t hear a thing but a ringing in my ears afterwards. It rocked the bridge.

I couldn’t believe it. Duffy had sacrificed himself to save us. Right then, I realized that if Dry Gulch came back and finished us off, Duffy’s sacrifice would be for nothing.

I sat up and clawed at the knot still holding my legs. I tried not to think about what Duffy had just done, but I couldn’t help it. Tears blurred my vision. A fingernail tore off, but I kept at the knot. I expected, at any moment, to feel a bullet ripping through my flesh, but none came. The knot loosened. I yanked my feet free and raced across the underside of the bridge to Buster.

The bridge began to vibrate. I almost lost my footing and grabbed onto a vertical strut. The vibrations became so violent I thought the bridge was collapsing. A train roared past above me. The clanking and shaking and clattering jarred me to the bones. I clenched my teeth together, hugged the vertical strut, and waited for the train to pass.

Though tears blurred my vision, I saw Dry Gulch and his men gather in the stream below the bridge. He stood there, hat in one hand, scratching his bald head with the other, as if he didn’t understand why the bridge still stood.
Didn’t he see Duffy run off with the dynamite? He had to of heard the explosion, and his men firing at us.
Maybe Dry Gulch had cowered behind some rock and didn’t see a thing.

From my vantage point I could also see Tubs had brought the cavalry—the Sheriff and several deputies surrounded Dry Gulch and his gang from behind. The four outlaws stood, staring at the bridge in disbelief, totally unaware the Sheriff had got the drop on them.

The Sheriff and his men rushed forward, putting their rifles in the outlaws backs. The Sheriff said something but with the noise of the train overhead I couldn’t hear him.

The outlaws put their hands up. It looked like the Sheriff would bring the gang in without firing a shot, but Dry Gulch had a different idea.

Keeping his hands in the air, Dry Gulch turned to face the Sheriff.

The train passed and I was able to hear Dry Gulch speak. “Now this ain’t a very friendly way to greet heroes, Sheriff. We was only trying to rescue these boys.”

The Sheriff looked confused.

“We was minding our own business, when—” And Dry Gulch made his move. He twisted sideways while bring his arm down, knocking the rifle to the side with his forearm. The Sheriff fired, but the shot went wide. With his other hand Dry Gulch went for his pistol. Just as he gripped the handle another shot rang out. Dry Gulch’s legs crumpled and he fell, face first, at the Sheriff’s feet.

The Sheriff nodded at the deputy who had fired. “Thanks Pete.”

I made my way to Buster.

His eyes were wide, his dirty cheeks muddy with tears. “Why’d Duffy do it?”

I untied Buster’s hands and choked up a bit. “I don’t know. He wanted to save us.”

“Stupid git was the best person I’ve ever known.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

“Jolly good tale,” Thackeray said.

“It’s all true.” Billy held his hand in the air as if taking an oath. “I swear to God.”

“Son, I’ve listened to many a tale, both tall and true, and I’ve learned to tell the difference between them. You said you
thought
that was the last time you’d see your friend. Clearly, because of the explosion, you couldn’t have seen him again.”

Billy looked at Thackeray and cocked his head sideways. “I have seen him. But that’s a story for another time.”