Authors: J.A. Johnstone
Hard Luck Money (14 page)
That object glinting in the sun had to be a law badge, The Kid thought.
The deputy sheriff had shown up at the wrong place and the wrong time, and all hell would likely break loose with The Kid powerless to stop it.
Chapter 25
The Kid wasn’t the only one who had spotted the lawman’s badge shining in the sun. Brattle angrily tossed his quirly to the ground and muttered an explosive curse under his breath. “It’s that damned deputy! Why’d he have to show up here today, of all times?”
“This is bad luck, all right,” The Kid said. “But it doesn’t mean we’re going to abandon the plan.”
As they watched the deputy step into the depot, Brattle’s hand dropped to the butt of his gun for a moment. His fingertips caressed the smooth walnut grips as if drawing strength from them. “We’ll have to kill the stupid SOB, that’s all there is to it.”
The Kid shook his head. “There won’t be any killing unless it’s absolutely necessary,” he insisted. He didn’t have much confidence Brattle would pay attention to what he said. In reality The Kid wasn’t running the show. Brattle was actually in charge of the train robbery.
At least that’s what Brattle and the other members of the gang believed.
As long as he was alive, though, Kid Morgan didn’t consider himself powerless. He just had to figure out how to handle the situation ... and quickly.
The Kid tugged his hat brim lower and told Brattle, “Let’s go. Follow my lead.”
Brattle grunted as he stood up from the boardwalk steps.
The Kid couldn’t tell if he was going to cooperate or not.
As they strolled toward the redbrick building, thunder rumbled again in the southwest. A gust of wind hit suddenly, swirling dust around the two tall figures crossing the open ground. Bright fingers of lightning clawed across the blue-black wall of clouds. The sun still shone where they were, making the clouds look even darker and more threatening.
No more threatening than the immediate future, The Kid thought. He had heard the eagerness in Brattle’s voice when the outlaw spoke of killing the deputy. In the long run, such a murder would actually play right into the hands of Alexander Grey’s master scheme.
If a lawman died in the course of the robbery, and “Waco Keene” was the only member of the gang who was identified, the reward on Keene was bound to go up considerably. Grey would be quite pleased.
The Kid was determined not to let that happen.
Brattle paused right outside the door of the redbrick building. He pulled up his bandanna and settled it across his nose. With his hat brim pulled low, most of his face was concealed. He put his right hand on the butt of his gun and reached for the doorknob with his left.
The Kid beat him to it, grasping the knob and twisting it. He wasn’t going to give Brattle the chance to go in shooting. He threw the door open and swiftly stepped inside. Brattle crowded in behind him.
The Kid’s gaze took in the scene instantly. The deputy sheriff stood in the depot’s one room, an elbow propped on one end of the counter. At the other end were scales for weighing freight.
A stocky, middle-aged man who wore his gun with the butt tilted forward, the deputy was shooting the breeze with the freight clerk perched on an empty, overturned crate. The clerk was younger, skinnier, and wore spectacles. He was dressed in black trousers and a white shirt with sleeve garters.
Both men turned their heads to look at the newcomers, and both jaws dropped in surprise as they saw the bandanna mask covering Brattle’s face.
The Kid knew the deputy’s instinct was to grab for his gun. Brattle, using that as an excuse to shoot the man down, was already drawing his revolver.
The Kid leaped forward, knowing he had only a split second to act. In a blur of speed, his empty revolver leaped from his holster to his hand. He struck with the quickness of a snake, bringing the gun barrel down on the deputy’s head.
The blow crushed the lawman’s hat and thudded solidly against his skull. The Kid hoped the hat had cushioned the impact enough that the deputy’s skull wasn’t cracked.
The deputy’s eyes rolled up in their sockets. With a groan, he collapsed into a heap on the floor.
The Kid kept moving, driving his left shoulder into the freight clerk’s chest and ramming him against the wall. As The Kid held the man pinned there, he jammed the Colt’s barrel against the soft flesh under the clerk’s chin.
“Give us any trouble and I’ll blow your brains out,” he growled.
The clerk’s eyes were so wide they looked like they were about to pop right out of his head. He couldn’t speak or even nod with The Kid’s gun pressed against his chin, but he was so frightened The Kid was confident he wasn’t going to put up a fight.
“I’m gonna let you go,” The Kid went on as he eased off a little on the pressure with the gun barrel. “But if you so much as squawk you’ll be dead a half second later. You understand what I’m tellin’ you?”
With the gun barrel moved back slightly from his throat, the clerk was able to nod. “I g-g-got it, mister.”
“You better not be lyin’, you little peckerwood.” Brattle’s voice was slightly muffled by the bandanna. “That’s Waco Keene holdin’ a gun on you, and he’d just as soon shoot you as look at you.”
The Kid gave Brattle a quick, hooded glance, the same way the real Waco Keene would have reacted to having his name tossed around in the middle of a robbery.
Grey wasn’t taking any chances on The Kid not being identified as Waco Keene. Brattle had orders to throw the name out while there were witnesses present.
There was no time to worry about that. The Kid moved back a step. He kept his left hand against the clerk’s chest, holding the man against the wall.
The deputy hadn’t budged since he sprawled on the floor. The Kid glanced down at him, saw to his relief the man was breathing. He also saw the deputy’s gun had fallen out of its holster when he collapsed.
Moving quickly, The Kid pouched his empty iron, bent down, and scooped the deputy’s Colt from the floor. Its grips rested comfortably against the palm of his hand. The weight of the weapon felt good, too.
Brattle stiffened. The Kid knew what the outlaw was thinking. He should have grabbed the lawman’s gun while he had the chance. The Kid was armed, and that might change everything.
The Kid knew it might not change a thing. He still wanted the robbery to take place successfully. Giving Brattle a curt nod, he tried to make him understand the plan would continue just as it was supposed to. There wasn’t going to be any double cross.
Thunder rumbled, closer. At the same time The Kid heard the far-off wail of a train’s whistle.
“Train’s early,” he snapped. He gave the clerk a hard look. “You’re gonna step out there and raise the signal for the train to stop, amigo. Got that?”
“I-I’m not supposed to ...”
The Kid ignored the stammered protest. “Don’t even think about tryin’ to run away. We’ll both have our guns pointed right at you, and if you do anything but raise that signal, we’ll kill you. At this range we can’t miss.”
“So don’t try anything funny,” Brattle added. “You’ll be dead mighty quick if you do.”
“Just don’t ...” The clerk had to stop and gulp before he could go on. “Please just don’t hurt the engineer. He’s m-my father-in-law.”
The Kid could tell that Brattle was grinning under the bandanna.
“Well, ain’t that cozy?” the outlaw said. “Both of you workin’ for the same railroad.”
The Kid said, “Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna get hurt as long as they do what they’re told. We’re just after the money in the express car.”
“Wh-what money?” the terrified clerk asked.
The Kid thought he was telling the truth. The clerk didn’t know about the shipment of cash bound for the banks in West Texas. Well, that made sense, The Kid supposed. There was no reason for the clerk to know.
Grinning, he used his left hand to lightly pat the man’s pale cheek. “You let us worry about that. It’s our job. Your job is to make sure that train stops. Now get out there and raise the flag.”
The flag was actually a red metal signal attached to a pole, raised and lowered by means of a lever.
Brattle opened the depot’s rear door, the one closest to the tracks, and The Kid motioned with the deputy’s gun for the freight clerk to follow orders.
Still pale and gulping, the clerk stepped out of the building, walked the ten feet or so to the signal, and reached up to grasp the lever and pulled it down.
The signal rose, letting the engineer know he needed to stop at the settlement.
“Good job,” The Kid called softly to the clerk. “Now get back in here.”
The clerk turned, and for a second The Kid saw something he didn’t like in the man’s eyes behind the spectacles. It was the wild hope he could leap away and escape being shot if he was fast enough.
“Don’t try it,” The Kid warned.
The defiance went out of the clerk’s body with a visible slumping of his shoulders. He said miserably, “Don’t kill me, mister. Please. I did what you told me.”
“Get on in here,” The Kid said again.
The clerk entered the depot. Brattle closed the door behind the young man.
Then with startling suddenness, Brattle’s gun rose and fell. It came down in a vicious, chopping blow on the back of the clerk’s head.
The Kid heard the crunch of bone shattering. “What the hell!” he exclaimed as the clerk fell to his knees and then pitched forward onto his face. He lay on the depot floor, unmoving except for a tendril of bright red blood worming its way out of his ear.
“Didn’t want to have to be keepin’ an eye on him while we were busy,” Brattle explained. “So I thought I’d knock him out for a while.”
The Kid dropped to one knee beside the clerk and reached out to roll the man onto his back. The clerk’s eyes were turning glassy, and his chest was still.
“You killed him!”
Brattle shrugged. “Reckon I hit him a little harder than I meant to.” His casual tone made it clear the clerk’s death didn’t bother him the least little bit.
Rage welled up inside The Kid. Brattle had committed cold-blooded murder right in front of him, and for a second The Kid was tempted to use the deputy’s gun and ventilate the outlaw.
Brattle was watching him closely. The Kid knew if he made a move to fire, Brattle would return his shots. In the close confines of the little train station, chances were good both of them would die.
The Kid controlled his emotions and straightened. In a cold voice, he said, “Well, I guess he won’t be tellin’ anybody Waco Keene ramrodded this holdup, anyway.”
Brattle chuckled. “See how well things work out?”
Outside, thunder pealed again as the storm continued its approach.
And thunder of another kind rumbled as the train rolled in with smoke billowing from the locomotive’s diamond-shaped stack. Brakes squealed as they gripped the drivers, and rods clattered as the train came to stop.
It was time for the gang to get to work.
Chapter 26
The Kid went to the front door of the depot and looked out. The other four outlaws had heard the train approaching and converged as they were supposed to. All four men were near the depot and had their masks pulled up. Two of them split off and headed for the locomotive to take care of the engineer and fireman.
The Kid turned to Brattle and nodded.
They went out the rear door onto the small platform. Out of habit, the engineer had brought the train to a stop with a freight car next to the platform, since passengers rarely boarded there. Most of the time when the signal was up, it meant somebody had something they wanted to ship.
The express car was right behind the freight car. As The Kid and Brattle hurried toward its door, The Kid glanced toward the engine.
One of the outlaws leaned out from the cab and gave him a thumbs-up to let him know the engineer and fireman had been taken prisoner and were under control. That was one less thing to worry about.
The Kid reached up and hammered a fist on the express car door. “Big wreck up the line! Emergency trains coming! You fellas are gonna have to move over onto the siding to let them through!” It was a lie, but he figured it was one worth trying.
A man’s voice demanded through the door, “Who the hell are you?”
Before The Kid could answer, Brattle turned sharply toward him. “Here comes the conductor.”
The Kid looked over Brattle’s shoulder. The conductor was hurrying forward from the caboose. Brattle was standing with his back to the blue-uniformed man, so the conductor couldn’t see the mask over the outlaw’s face.
“Here now, what’s going on?” the conductor asked as he came up to them. “Did I hear you say something about an emergency—”
He stopped with a gasp as Brattle whirled and jabbed a gun barrel into his chest.
“Yeah, it’s an emergency, all right,” Brattle growled from under the bandanna. “You’re gonna get a hole blowed right through you if you don’t convince those fellas in the express car to open up!”
“Oh, my God! Don’t shoot!” The conductor’s hand dipped toward the pocket of his coat, and The Kid knew he was going for a small pistol. It was a foolhardy move, but conductors were known for their scrappy nature.
The Kid stepped in and grabbed the man’s arm, wrenching it behind him before he could reach the gun. Dipping into the man’s pocket, he pulled out the pistol. “Don’t try anything else,” he warned. “We don’t want to kill you.”
“Maybe Keene don’t,” Brattle said, “but I don’t mind blowin’ you to hell, mister.”
There was that name again, The Kid thought. Brattle was being sure to provide another witness by saying it to the conductor.
The Kid felt the irrational impulse to throw Brattle’s name out there, too, but he suppressed it. “Just get them to open the door.”
“There are two deputy marshals in there, and the express messenger is armed, too,” the conductor said.
Two of the other outlaws ducked around the near end of the express car, stepping over the coupling. After checking out the other cars, they had run along the far side of the train so their movements wouldn’t be visible from the row of businesses.
“No passengers,” one of them reported. “Just freight cars and the express car.”
Brattle prodded his gun barrel harder against the conductor’s chest. “Looks like we’ve got those guards outnumbered now,” he said in a tone of gloating satisfaction.
“Blast it, what’s going on out there?” one of the men in the express car demanded. “Redmond, are you there?”
The conductor swallowed hard. “Open up, Ketchum. There’s a, uh, problem up the line. I need to talk to you about it.”
The Kid heard a thump as the bar on the inside of the door was drawn back. He nodded to the conductor. “You just might live through this, mister.”
The Kid motioned for Brattle to step back against the side of the car. He did the same, positioning himself on the other side of the express car door as it began to slide open. They kept their guns pointed at the conductor.
Despite that threat, the man was unable to conceal the fear on his face. As one of the deputy marshals guarding the money shipment stepped into the doorway, he got a good look at the conductor and realized instantly that something was wrong. With an angry curse, he started to swing up the double-barreled shotgun he held.
The Kid acted faster, reaching up, grabbing the man’s belt, and heaving him out of the car. The shotgun went flying, and the lawman had time only to let out a startled yell before he plowed face-first into the cinders of the roadbed.
Brattle bulled the conductor aside and shouted, “Drop ’em!” as he pointed his gun into the car. The other two outlaws crowded up behind him.
The men in the car weren’t going to surrender without a fight. A gun cracked, and Brattle returned the fire, flame gouting from the muzzle of his Colt. The other two outlaws joined in. Shots rolled from their guns.
With a dull boom, a shotgun went off inside the car. It didn’t sound that much different from the thunder of the approaching storm.
The Kid didn’t know where the buckshot went, but none of the outlaws appeared to be wounded. It must have been a wild blast, triggered as a wounded man was falling.
Brattle and the other two men scrambled into the express car.
The deputy marshal The Kid had yanked out of the car stumbled to his feet. The Kid rapped him on the head with the Colt, stretching him out senseless on the ground.
A little sick because he knew Brattle and the others had been shooting to kill, he looked into the express car and saw its two defenders lying on the floor in bloody heaps. He couldn’t let on how he was feeling, so he grabbed the conductor by the collar and roughly shoved the man toward the door. “Get in there and open the safe,” he ordered.
“I—”
“Don’t waste your breath tellin’ me you can’t,” The Kid snapped. “I know good and well you can. And unless you want to wind up like those two, you will.” Alexander Grey would pay for this, he vowed. Either by death or imprisonment, the outlaw mastermind would pay.
It was the only thing that would lessen the stain of blood on The Kid’s own hands.
And even that wouldn’t wipe it out, he knew. By helping the gang he’d been doing what the Texas Rangers wanted him to do ... but the freight clerk and the two men in the express car were just as dead as if he’d really been Waco Keene.
The clerk had been married, too. The fact that the train’s engineer was his father-in-law was proof of that. So he’d left behind a widow and quite possibly some children. The Kid had no way of knowing if the same was true of the dead guards, but he didn’t have time to think about it.
At gunpoint, he forced the conductor into the car. The man fumbled a key from the pocket of the dead messenger and took another key from his own pocket. It took both to open the safe.
When the thick steel door swung back, it revealed half a dozen heavy canvas bags on shelves inside the safe. Brattle backhanded the conductor, knocking him off his feet and stunning him.
Then Brattle dragged one of the bags out of the safe, jerked it open, and reached inside to pull out a banded sheaf of twenty dollar bills. “This is it!” He waved the money triumphantly. He stuffed the bills back in the bag and started handing the sacks to the other men.
“Got the horses ready to go, out here!” a man called from outside. He was one of the two outlaws who had taken over the locomotive. If any shooting started, their orders were to knock out the engineer and fireman and grab the gang’s horses from the hitch rack. Obviously they had followed through on that plan.
The robbers leaped out of the car, taking the sacks of money with them. The Kid had one of the sacks in his left hand. It was heavy, but not as heavy as his heart. Anger burned fiercely inside him at the thought of those three dead men.
The outlaws swung up into their saddles almost as one. They galloped toward the rear of the train and swung around the caboose, leaping their mounts over the rails.
Somewhere behind them, a man yelled in alarm. Either the conductor or the surviving deputy marshal had come to, or someone else had discovered the train had just been robbed.
At that moment, thunder crashed again and lightning shot across a sky gone dark above the settlement. The storm had moved in while the men were looting the express car.
Rain sheeted down, falling in thick curtains blown around by hard gusts of wind. The Kid lowered his head against the downpour. Like the other men, he was soaked to the skin in a matter of moments.
No one would be able to come after them in the deluge, he told himself. The rain and the gloom hid them from sight as they fled. And any hoofprints their horses left would be swiftly washed away.
But not the blood, The Kid thought.
That was going to take time.
A lot of time.
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