Bad Men Die (11 page)

If somebody had asked Luke, he would have said that the odds of him waking up alive were pretty damn small. But that was exactly what happened.

As awareness seeped back into him, he knew he wasn't dead.

It was the only thing he was sure of. He didn't know how much time had passed or what he would find when he finally succeeded in forcing his eyes open.

He took stock of his circumstances. He was lying on something hard, but it was too rough to be the floor of the caboose. Light beat warmly against his eyelids, shining through them a little even though they were still closed.

He was outside, he decided, almost certainly lying on the ground.

His arms were pulled back in an uncomfortable position. He tried to move them a little, just to see if he could, but they wouldn't budge. Something rough around his wrists tied his hands together—a lariat.

His feet were bound, too. He was trussed up tightly enough that all he could do was lie there.

But he wasn't blindfolded . . . or gagged, for that matter, although he didn't see what good being able to talk would do him. He opened his eyes to slits and looked around as much as he could without moving his head. If anyone was watching him, he didn't want to reveal that he was awake just yet.

He was lying on the ground, all right, off the cinders of the roadbed and about twenty feet from the rails. He could see the caboose.

A few roughly dressed men moved around. Members of Derek Burroughs' gang, Luke supposed.

As he watched, two of them climbed down from the caboose carrying one of the strongboxes. They struggled with it as if they could barely carry its weight.

“Jensen!” a man's voice whispered urgently. “Jensen, are you awake?”

Luke didn't respond right away. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't figure out who it belonged to.

The man started cursing in a low, monotonous voice about how they were all going to be killed, and Luke suddenly recognized it. He was lying next to the conductor from the train, who was probably tied up just like he was.

Before Luke could open his eyes and let the conductor know he had regained consciousness, a boot toe prodded him in the ribs, which were sore from being kicked by McCluskey earlier. A much more familiar voice said in a normal tone, “Come on, wake up, Luke. I know I didn't hit you that hard.”

Luke's eyelids fluttered open. He found himself looking up into the lean grinning face of Derek Burroughs. “You had me worried there, partner. I was afraid I might've accidentally hit you hard enough to do some real damage.”

The words felt like rusty nails in Luke's throat as he rasped, “We're not . . . partners.”

“Well, not in the formal sense of the word. But figuratively speaking. We've been through a lot together, after all.” Burroughs sighed. “When I found out you were going to be on this train, I worried that it was going to cause a problem. I hoped it wouldn't, but I know you too well, Luke. Like we talked about before, trouble just follows you around.”

Burroughs wasn't carrying a rifle. He reached down, took hold of Luke's arm, and hauled him up into a sitting position. Luke's head spun crazily for a minute as if the earth had started turning in the wrong direction. When it settled down, he could see what was going on.

The conductor was beside him, as he'd suspected, but sitting up. The man's arms were tied behind his back, and his ankles were bound together like Luke's. His black cap was missing, revealing that he was about half bald. His face was pale and haggard, partly from strain, partly from fear, and partly from the blood he'd lost from his wounded arm. At least the bleeding seemed to have stopped. No fresh blood was running down the man's arm, and the stain around the bullet hole appeared to be drying.

Not far away, quite a few people were sitting on the ground. A mixture of men, women, and children, the passengers from the train had been herded out like cattle.

Four well-armed outlaws stood guard over them, and even though the train robbers were outnumbered almost ten to one, it was obvious none of the male passengers were going to fight back. That would put too many wives and children at risk.

Several railroad employees were in the group, too, including a man in a blue cap and striped overalls who was probably the engineer. He looked up at Burroughs. “You've really taken over, haven't you?”

“That was the idea. Blow up the bridge, stop the train, take the gold.” Burroughs chuckled. “You have to admit, it's working like a charm, so far.”

Luke looked around. “How are you going to get the gold out? Pack mules? I'm not sure a wagon could make it through these mountains.”

“No, I have something a bit more ingenious in mind. I'll show you.”

Burroughs reached behind him and drew a knife from a sheath fastened to his gun belt behind his holstered revolver. He leaned toward Luke, but the gesture didn't seem menacing. He used the blade to cut the rope wrapped around Luke's ankles. Then he put the knife away and lifted Luke to his feet.

Again, the movement was enough to make Luke dizzy for a moment, and his muscles were cramped from lying on the ground and being confined. He was unsteady, but Burroughs' hand on his arm braced him until he had his legs solidly under him again.

“Come on.” Burroughs led Luke along the tracks, past the group of prisoners—some of whom regarded him suspiciously, even though he was obviously a captive, too—and on toward the river.

“Where are McCluskey and Delia?” he asked.

“They're down by the river. Don't worry, I'm not going to let McCluskey or that crazy woman kill you.”

“McCluskey believes that's part of the deal he made with you.”

“I don't care what McCluskey believes,” Burroughs said. “We came after that gold. I told the men all along there wouldn't be any more killing than necessary—and no matter what McCluskey thinks, it's not necessary for you to die.”

That was where he was wrong, Luke thought.

If he came through this mess alive, he was going to hunt Burroughs down and bring him to justice if it was the last thing he did.

They went down a rocky slope toward the river. Burroughs kept his hand on Luke's arm to steady him on the rough ground. The trestle loomed above them to the left. The arching, intricate framework of crossbeams that supported it was intact except in one place, right in the middle of the trestle. The explosion had separated and twisted the rails and blown some of the beams away.

Even though the trestle hadn't collapsed, the train would have crashed if the engineer hadn't been able to stop. The locomotive would have left the rails when it reached the gap and plunged into the river, dragging the rest of the train with it. There was a good chance everyone on board would have been killed. Burroughs and his men would have had to dig the strongboxes out of the debris—and a pile of corpses.

So the outlaw's holier-than-thou talk about no unnecessary killing was just a bunch of hogwash, Luke thought. Burroughs had been perfectly willing to gamble with the lives of everyone on the train to get what he wanted, and the fact that they weren't all dead was no thanks to him.

The river was about a hundred feet wide at the point Luke and Burroughs stopped. Luke couldn't tell how deep it was, but it had a nice steady current flowing downstream. He could see the water rippling in the afternoon sunlight.

McCluskey and Delia stood on a gravel bar along the near shore. McCluskey had two pistols thrust into the waistband of his trousers, and Delia was carrying a rifle. Her blond curls were loose and moving a little in the stiff breeze that blew along the river.

“Thanks for delivering Jensen to us,” McCluskey said, baring his teeth in a savage grin. “We'll take care of him from here.”

Burroughs shook his head. “I don't think so.”

McCluskey's grin quickly disappeared, replaced by an angry frown. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. “We had a deal.”

“What's more important to you? Jensen or your share of that gold?” Burroughs nodded toward the two iron-strapped strongboxes, which sat nearby on the gravel bar with four members of the gang watching over them.

“Jensen deserves to die for all the trouble he's caused me!” McCluskey insisted.

Burroughs shook his head again. “You're going to have to make up your mind. You can't have both. And you'll have to decide pretty quick, too, because our way out is just about to get here.”

Luke couldn't figure out what Burroughs meant, but a moment later, he heard a faint rumble, accompanied by a splashing sound. The noises came from downstream, where the river went around a sharp bend, and he suddenly realized what he was hearing.

The shrill cry of a steam whistle confirmed his guess and made McCluskey and Delia turn and look downstream in obvious surprise. Luke had his eyes on the bend, too, but he wasn't surprised when a riverboat surged into view. The vessel was a sternwheeler, the sort of shallow-draft boat that had been used in earlier years to navigate the Missouri River and its tributaries as part of the fur trade. Droplets of water flung off the big revolving paddles at the back of the boat, glittering in the air as it steamed upriver toward the people waiting on the bank.

Despite the dire nature of his circumstances, Luke almost grinned in admiration of Burroughs' cleverness. “You're making your getaway in a riverboat?”

“That's right,” Burroughs replied with a chuckle. “Like you said, a wagon's just not practical in these mountains where there are no roads, and packhorses would have slowed us down too much. By the time they realize at the junction that the train's not getting through, then come out to investigate, we'll be miles upstream. I sent men ahead with most of our horses to the little settlement where the river leaves the mountains. They'll be waiting for us there. We'll split up the gold and scatter, and no one will ever find us.”

“What about Delia and me?” McCluskey asked. “Are we coming along on this little riverboat ride of yours?”

“That's up to you,” Burroughs replied with a shrug. “It's all right with me if you do.” His voice hardened. “But Luke stays here with the other passengers. The railroad will send another train to retrieve them once they know what happened.”

“You're a damn fool to let him live,” McCluskey snapped. He glanced at Burroughs' men grouped around the strongboxes. “I reckon you've got everything on your side right now. We'll play along, won't we, Delia?”

She was tired of the whole thing. “I just want to take our share of the gold and start a new life somewhere, Frank. Settle down and maybe have some kids.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” McCluskey said.

Luke could see what Delia evidently couldn't. McCluskey had no intention of staying with her, and he sure didn't plan on settling down and having children. He was perfectly willing to let her help him escape, but that was as far as their “romance” went.

He would be wise to take care in his dealings with her, Luke thought. He had a hunch that “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” was a saying that applied to Delia Bradley in spades.

Burroughs put his hand on Luke's arm again. “Come on. We're going back up with the others. My men will get the gold loaded.”

The riverboat angled in toward the gravel bar. Its draft was so shallow it could come almost get right up to the shore.

As Burroughs led him up the slope away from the river, Luke's mind worked furiously. He didn't see any way to overcome the odds against him and the other prisoners, but the idea of letting Burroughs and his gang get away with damaging the bridge and stealing the gold rubbed him the wrong way. Not to mention the fact that McCluskey and Delia were about to get away. That was the toughest pill of all to swallow.

If he could somehow rally the captives, they might be able to overcome the guards. If they got their hands on those guns, the fight would be a good one. Unfortunately, any such attempt would risk innocent lives. The alternative was to let the outlaws get away.

“You'd better hope our trails never cross again, Derek,” Luke said as they approached the group of prisoners.

“Oh, I know that,” Burroughs replied. “I wish things were different, but I know you'll carry a grudge about this, Luke. I'll definitely try to steer clear of you in the future. Unless . . . maybe a bar of gold might tempt you to throw in with us?”

“Not hardly,” Luke said coldly.

Burroughs shrugged. “I was afraid you'd feel that way. You always were an honest man. It was worth making the suggestion, though.”

Luke didn't say anything. Burroughs didn't know how Luke had been betrayed, shot, and left for dead by men he'd considered his comrades in arms, if not his friends, back in the closing days of the war. That betrayal had been over gold, too. Something about that shiny metal did bad things to men, perverted their minds and hearts until they were willing to do anything to obtain it, no matter how evil. Luke had been accused of being mercenary plenty of times—he was a bounty hunter, after all—but he would never stoop that low.

Except for the men guarding the prisoners, Burroughs told the rest of his gang to go on down to the river and board the riverboat. He steered Luke over to where the conductor was sitting, helped him sit down, and bound his hands and feet again. “Sorry to have to do this, Luke.”

Then he turned to the prisoners. “Listen to me, folks. No more harm is going to come to you. You'll just have to wait here for a while until someone comes up from the junction to see why the train didn't arrive on time. I'm sure the railroad will take you on to wherever you were going. I'm sorry to cause trouble for you, and I'm sorry for the people who were hurt. Some things just can't be avoided.”

Most of the prisoners either gave him surly looks or ignored him.

Burroughs said to the guards, “Your horses are still here, so you'll wait until the boat's gone a mile upstream. We'll stop and blow the whistle. When you hear it, mount up and follow the river until you catch up with us. We'll wait for you.”

“You mean to just leave these people here, boss?” one of the guards asked.

“That's what I just told them, isn't it?”

The man shrugged. “Just making sure.”

Burroughs turned back to his army comrade. “So long, Luke. I'm sorry our little reunion has to end like this.”

“Maybe it hasn't actually ended,” Luke said.

Burroughs frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Maybe McCluskey was right. Maybe the best thing for you to do is kill me. I'm not going to forget this.”

Burroughs laughed and shook his head. “You sound like you're trying to talk yourself into a bullet, Luke. But I know you. You're just being honest. Like I said, that was always one of your failings.”

With that, Burroughs turned and strode away, heading for the river and the sternwheeler that had been loaded with a fortune in gold.

Luke and the others could see the top of the smokestack rising from the riverboat's boiler, even though they couldn't see the boat itself. They watched the smokestack as the sternwheeler steamed on up the river and went out of sight.

Luke knew it wouldn't take long for the boat to travel a mile upstream. The short interval when the four guards were the only outlaws still on hand represented the best chance of turning the tables, but there was no time to waste.

Unfortunately, tied hand and foot, there wasn't much he could do. He was confident he could work loose from his bonds eventually, but the guards . . . and the riverboat . . . would be long gone by then.

The conductor leaned closer to Luke and said quietly, “I've got my hands loose. Turn a little and I'll see if I can get to that rope around your wrists.”

Luke was careful to keep his face expressionless. Making it look like he was shifting around to get more comfortable, he turned so that his back was toward the conductor. A moment later, he felt fingers fumbling at his bonds.

Barely moving his lips, he asked, “How did you get loose?”

“There's a sharp rock here where they dumped me,” the conductor replied, equally tight-lipped. “I've been working at it ever since they hauled us out here. It wasn't easy with my arm wounded the way it is, but I knew I had to try. The guards didn't seem to regard me as much of a threat, so they didn't really pay attention to me.”

“Their mistake,” Luke said.

Time seemed to rush by as the conductor struggled with the knots in the rope, while still pretending that his own hands were tied so the guards wouldn't notice anything wrong. He had only one good hand, and Burroughs had done a good job of tying Luke.

Luke felt the delay gnawing at him. With every minute that went by, the riverboat was traveling farther upstream to the spot where the guards were supposed to rendezvous with it.

To make matters worse, one of the guards took it into his head to stroll over toward Luke and the conductor. The conductor had to stop what he was doing, just as Luke sensed a little more play in the knots.

The hard-faced, beard-stubbled outlaw glared down at Luke. “I think the boss is makin' a mistake lettin' you live, Jensen. I've heard of you. Damn bounty hunter. How's it feel, makin' a livin' off blood money?”

“I've never lost any sleep over it,” Luke replied coldly.

The outlaw snarled and looked like he was about to draw back his foot and launch a kick, but he spat and turned away.

Luke supposed he had decided that anything else was too much trouble and let out the breath he'd been holding, happy with the guard's decision. His ribs already hurt.

The conductor went back to work on the knots, grating his teeth together as if in pain.

The ropes came loose and fell away from Luke's wrists. He flexed his fingers to get some circulation going in them again.

Less than a minute later, the high-pitched sound of the riverboat's whistle drifted downstream along the little valley through which the river flowed.

That was the signal. The guards backed toward their horses, keeping their rifles leveled at the prisoners. But they were in a hurry to leave and get to the gold, so they turned their backs as they reached their mounts.

Luke leaned forward, reached for the ropes around his ankles, and tore desperately at them.

Burroughs hadn't been quite as careful with those bonds. The knots came loose without much trouble. Luke threw the rope aside and surged to his feet. His muscles were stiff, but he forced them into action and sprinted across the rocky ground toward the guards as they swung up into their saddles.

It was impossible to rush the outlaws without making some noise. One man still on the ground looked over his shoulder and yelled in alarm. He twisted around and clawed at the gun holstered on his hip.

Luke heard feet slapping the ground right behind him and glanced back to see that half a dozen male passengers and the burly engineer had joined his charge. Seeing his example had been enough to jolt them into action.

As the outlaw's gun cleared leather, Luke left his feet in a diving tackle. The gun roared as he crashed into the man and drove him back into the horses. The animals shied violently from the collision, and the two outlaws halfway into their saddles were thrown clear. They yelled as they sailed through the air.

The shot had gone wild, missing Luke by several feet. He and the guard he had tackled were sprawled on the rocky ground, practically underneath the stamping hooves of the spooked horses. As the guard brought the gun to bear again, a steel-shod hoof came down hard on his hand, crushing bones. The outlaw screamed. Luke ended his pain momentarily by slamming a punch to his jaw that bounced his head off the ground. The outlaw went limp.

Luke heard other shots as he scrambled to his feet. A wild melee had broken out between the prisoners and the other three guards. One of the passengers was down, clutching a wounded leg, but the others were giving the outlaws all the fight they could handle. The train's engineer wrenched a revolver away from one of the outlaws and swung it in a looping blow that caved in the man's head. The remaining two bandits went down in a maelstrom of flying punches and kicks.

The fighting was fierce but short-lived. When the prisoners—former prisoners, now—stepped back, one of the outlaws was dead and the other three were out cold.

Luke picked up a couple pistols that had been dropped during the fracas and felt better as soon as his hands wrapped around the gun butts. They were Colts instead of his Remingtons, but they would do nicely. “Some of you men grab those horses,” he ordered. “We can't let them get away.”

The wounded man's wife rushed up to fuss over her husband as Luke checked the man's injury and saw that it wasn't too serious. “He'll be all right, ma'am.”

He looked around at the others. “I need three volunteers to come with me. Three who can handle a gun.”

The conductor stepped out of the group. He had untied his feet and was making his way around a little unsteadily. “I'll come.”

Luke shook his head. “You've done enough, friend. You've lost quite a bit of blood and need to take it easy as much as you can.”

The engineer stepped forward. “If you're going after those train robbers, mister, count me in. They killed my fireman. I got a score to settle with 'em.”

Two more men spoke up, neither of them married.

That was a good thing, Luke thought. They'd be going up against heavy odds and there was a good chance none of them would come back alive.

But . . . no matter how dangerous it was, Luke was going after Burroughs and the rest of the gang, not to mention McCluskey and Delia. He told his volunteers, “Grab the hats and vests these owlhoots are wearing. Here's what we're going to do. . . .”