The Killing Season (30 page)

A pattern that was likely to continue, Nathan thought, but he couldn't count on that.

“I have a Winchester,” said Enos helpfully, “and I generally hit what I'm shootin' at.”

“Keep it loaded and handy,” Nathan said. “If they get past the welcome I have planned for them, I'll need all the help I can get.”

Reaching the outskirts of Kansas City, the locomotive picked up speed. For once, the flat, seemingly endless Kansas plain seemed a blessing.

“Forty miles an hour,” said Enos. “Who would ever have thought a man would travel this fast? We'll be in Wichita in a little over two hours.”

They were an hour out of Kansas City when the outlaws struck. The train had crossed a bridge that spanned a creek, when the train slowed, slamming the caboose hard into the coupling of the car ahead. Willows lined the creek, which they had just crossed, and it was from this cover the dozen mounted men emerged. Two of them split off, well out of rifle range, one to each side of the train. Their guns would cover the fireman and engineer.

“Enos,” said Nathan, “get two sticks of dynamite ready and prepare to light the fuses when I give the word.”

“They're ready,” Enos said.

On the riders came. Nathan waited until they were perilously close before opening the cupola hatch. “Dynamite, Enos,” he said.

Nathan held the explosive a few seconds until most of the fuse was consumed. He then flung the stick as high and as hard as he could. Enos handed him the second stick and he repeated the procedure. The first stick of dynamite detonated in the air above the mounted men, followed seconds later by the second explosion. Horses screamed and reared as Nathan climbed to the roof of the caboose with his Winchester. Five of the outlaws lay on the ground, while the remaining five seemed dazed. Three horses were down and the others had galloped away, riderless. The five outlaws had gotten their wits about them and had begun firing. Slugs shattered glass in the back door of the caboose, but Enos had cut loose with his Winchester. Nathan bellied down on the roof of the caboose as lead cut the air just inches above his head. One of the attackers was hit, and in rapid succession, two more. The remaining pair turned and ran back the way they had come. Lead struck the cupola, throwing splinters in Nathan's face. The two outlaws who had ridden ahead to cover the fireman and engineer were firing at Nathan. He got to his knees and then to his feet, and over the tops of the railroad cars, ran toward the outlaws, a Colt in each hand. One man was hit, and slumping over in his saddle, kicked his horse into a gallop. His companion, finding himself facing two blazing Colts, galloped away to the north. Nathan continued along the tops of the cars until he reached the tender.

“It's over, gents,” he told the fireman and engineer. “Time to see how much damage they've done to the track.”

“My God,” said the fireman, “you drove that bunch away, by yourself?”

“I had help,” Nathan replied. “The young man in the caboose can shoot. Four of these varmints escaped. Eight of them won't be goin' anywhere.”

“We'll have a look at the track,” the engineer said. “If they didn't damage the rails or ties, we can maybe patch up the track and go on.”

Nathan went with them. If there was a lengthy delay, he must telegraph Hagerman in Dodge City. Starting at a coupling joint, the outlaws had taken an ax to a dozen crossties, chopping away enough of the wood to withdraw the spikes that secured the rail. The rail had then been separated at the coupling joint, leaving enough of a gap to have derailed the locomotive.

“You gents have almighty sharp eyes,” Nathan said. “How did you spot this in time to stop the train?”

“I couldn't have done it without the help of the sun,” said the engineer. “When you're keepin' your eyes on the rails, they're like two streaks of light. When one rail has been twisted out of line, it's like a section of the light's gone out. I'm Collins, and my fireman is Handy. Will you be ridin' shotgun with us on other runs?”

“For as long as you need me, I reckon,” Nathan said. “Can you repair this damage, or should I telegraph Dodge or Wichita for a work crew?”

“Those ties can't be used,” said Handy. “If you telegraph Wichita, they can be here in maybe an hour. Tell them they'll need to replace a dozen damaged ties. When you wire the dispatcher at Dodge, have him sidetrack the eastbound from Pueblo, giving us the main line. We'll be reaching Dodge at least two hours behind schedule.”

Nathan met Enos at the express coach.

“We'd better tell Art he ain't gonna lose this one,” said Enos. He unlocked the door and slid it open.

“What in hell happened?” Art asked. “It sounded like they blew up the caboose.”

“They didn't blow up anything, this time,” said Enos. “It was them that got blown up. It was this hombre we got ridin' with us that used the dynamite. Eight of the varmints are dead, and one of them that got away took some lead with him.”

“I need the telegraph instrument and lineman's spurs,” Nathan said. “I'm telegraphing Wichita to send a repair crew and Dodge City to sidetrack the eastbound.”

The outlaws had become so bold, they no longer bothered cutting the telegraph line, and for that, Nathan was thankful. He climbed a pole, and establishing contact with Dodge, sent Foster Hagerman's message first. He asked for an acknowledgment, and waited until he received it. He then telegraphed Kansas City, asking that a repair crew be dispatched from Wichita. He listened until he heard the order being sent to Wichita, and waited for the response. When it came, he disconnected his instrument and returned to the train.

“Nothing to do now, but wait,” said Collins, the engineer. “Lucky we took on wood and water at Wichita. At least we can keep up steam.”

Nathan and Enos walked back to the scene of devastation. Nathan didn't recognize any of the dead men.

“I wish we could have gotten them without killing the three horses,” Enos said.

“So do I,” said Nathan. “Unless the next gang is all new hands, this trick won't work again.”

“You think this same gang has been responsible for all the holdups?”

“I suspect they have,” Nathan said. “It's been my experience with train robbers that as long as they're successful, they won't change their habits. Only because we made some changes in the railroad's defense did we beat them this time. From now on, we'll have to be ready for anything.”

The work train—consisting of a locomotive, tender, and flat car—arrived an hour and a half after Nathan had telegraphed Kansas City. It cost them another hour while the crew replaced the mutilated ties and spiked the rail back in place.

“Pardner,” said Nathan to the engineer of the work train, “there's eight dead men back yonder behind our caboose. When you're ready to return to Wichita, load that bunch on your flat car. Tell the sheriff or marshal they're two-thirds of the pack of coyotes who have been stealing payrolls from the railroad. Some of them may be wanted by the law for other things.”

“I don't know you,” said the engineer. “By what right are you giving me orders?”

“This is a request,” Nathan said mildly. “If it has to be an order, we can telegraph Foster Hagerman, the division boss, in Dodge. Will that be necessary?”

“I reckon not. Who am I to say is responsible for these dead bodies?”

“Compliments of Nathan Stone. Anybody questioning my authority is welcome to telegraph Mr. Hagerman, in Dodge.”

Nathan joined Enos in the caboose, and with a triumphant blast of the whistle, three thirty-eight picked up steam, high-balling westward.

“Makes a man feel better,” Enos said, “rollin' in without our express car bein' blowed all to hell and another payroll gone.”

With three blasts of her whistle, three thirty-eight approached Dodge. The westbound waited on a siding, the engine chuff-chuff-chuffing as it kept up steam. She lurched ahead as three thirty-eight cleared the main line and rolled into the depot two hours and forty-five minutes late. To Nathan's surprise, a crowd was waiting. Among them was Foster Hagerman, and he stepped forward to take Nathan's hand.

“I just had a telegram from Kansas City,” Hagerman said. “The marshal at Wichita has identified three of the robbers. They were wanted by the law in Missouri. Damn fine piece of work, Stone. Take the next three days off. I'll talk to you again on Wednesday.”

But Nathan was besieged by the curious, one of them Eli Kirby, editor of the town's weekly newspaper, the
Dodge City Bulletin.

“Mr. Stone,” Kirby said, “you not only thwarted a train robbery, you accounted for eight of the robbers. What do you have to say that I can print?”

“That we saved the payroll and accounted for eight of the outlaws,” said Nathan.

“But how?” Kirby persisted. “I want the details. Our readers will want to know how you did it.”

“So will other train robbers,” said Nathan.

With that, he walked away, but he saw Kirby going after three thirty-eight's fireman and engineer. He wished he had cautioned Hagerman against allowing the trainmen to talk about the robbery. For sure, the next band of train robbers wouldn't ride in bunched for a greeting with a lighted stick of dynamite.

“Supper's on me,” Sheriff Harrington said, as Nathan passed the jail. “Delmonico's?”

“Yes,” said Nathan, “but give me a couple of hours. I feel like I've been throwed and stomped.”

Returning to his room at the Dodge House, Nathan let himself in and locked the door behind him. He threw his hat on the bed, unbuckled his gun belt, and tugged off his boots. He then peeled off his shirt, trousers, and socks, and pouring water into a basin, proceeded to give himself as much of a bath as was possible. Using a large towel provided by the hotel, he dried himself and stretched out on the bed. Awakening refreshed, he got up, took clean clothes and socks from his saddlebag, and got dressed. Reaching Delmonico's he found Sheriff Harrington already there, drinking coffee and reading a copy of the Kansas City
Liberty-Tribune.
Nathan hooked a chair with his foot and sat down.

“You're becoming a celebrity,” said Harrington, looking at him over the top of the newspaper.

“Not by choice,” Nathan replied. “Damn it, this is all I need. There'll be gun throwers taking the train just to get a shot at me. I can hold my own with the outlaws. It's all the young fools who haven't started to shave, looking for a fast reputation, that bother me.”

“I'll help you all I can,” said Harrington. “Any of them that show up here, I'll take away their guns, put ‘em on a fast train, and send 'em home.”

Nathan laughed. “I'm obliged, Sheriff.”

Knocking on Foster Hagerman's door, Nathan was bid enter. Hagerman nodded toward a chair, and Nathan sat down. The railroad man shuffled through some papers on his desk until he found the one he wanted. Finally he spoke.

“Saturday, you'll be taking the train to Pueblo. Monday morning, you'll take the eastbound for Kansas City. There'll be no passengers, with stops only for fuel and water. On board will be a shipment of more than fifty thousand dollars in raw silver. Need I say any more?”

“My God, no!” Nathan replied. “That's enough to draw every outlaw from the Trinity to the Yellowstone. But why are we taking this shipment? Most of the silver mines are near Denver. Why risk hauling that much silver a hundred miles, when the Kansas-Pacific has a terminal in Denver, with a line straight through to Kansas City?”

“Ah, the Kansas-Pacific has its share of holdups, too. The mines have taken to alternating their shipments, hoping to confuse the robbers. They managed to get their last shipment through on the Kansas-Pacific, but they aren't willing to gamble on a second one. They believe they stand a better chance, wagoning the silver to Pueblo under heavy guard and having us take it on to Kansas City.”

“It strikes me thieves wouldn't have to be too bright to unravel a system like that,” Nathan said. “They must have some idea as to the time schedule, when a shipment's ready to be sent east.”

“You may be proven right,” said Hagerman. “All we know is that it's worked so far, and until it fails, I suppose we'll continue.”

“How far is Pueblo from Kansas City?” Nathan asked.

“A little more than six hundred miles,” Hagerman replied. “Including water and fuel stops, about sixteen hours. If there are no delays, you should reach Kansas City about ten o'clock Monday night. You can lay over until Wednesday and take three thirty-eight back here on Wednesday morning.”

Nathan returned to the Dodge House. It was by far the best frontier hotel he had seen. Thanks to the railroad, there were almost always current copies of the St. Louis and Kansas City newspapers. Nathan bought a
St. Louis Globe-Democrat
and a
Kansas City Liberty-Tribune.
He read the Kansas City paper first, for it always seemed to have news of what had happened in Texas. There had been a shooting in Comanche, Texas, involving twenty-one-year-old John Wesley Hardin. After an argument in a saloon, Hardin had been involved in a shootout with Comanche County Deputy Sheriff Charles Webb. Assisted by his two companions, Jim Taylor and Bill Dixon, Hardin had killed Webb and had escaped with his companions. But in retribution, Tom Dixon, along with Hardin's brothers Joe and Bud were caught and lynched. In a separate incident in Comanche, Wild Bill Longley had killed a man. Longley had been caught and jailed, but had bought his way out. Turning to the St. Louis paper, Nathan found a piece involving the Younger gang. Following a train robbery, John and Jim Younger had been involved in a shootout with the Pinkertons near Monegaw Springs, Missouri. John had killed a Pinkerton man and had in turn been shot dead. Wounded, Jim Younger had escaped. Nathan put the papers aside. In between runs for the railroad, there was little to do except eat and sleep. Unless, of course, he started gambling again. But he wasn't hurting for money, and he resisted the urge to go back into the saloons.