Slocum #422 Page 16

  He kicked away the rocks, hefted the three bags, and staggered along for a couple steps until he got his balance. Then he would have liked to turn tail and run when he heard hooves pounding behind him, coming from the north. He got back to the Yuma Bullet before Tom. The fireman was nowhere to be seen, giving Slocum the chance to find a spot in the coal tender to stash the money bags. As he came back into the cab, he saw who had been riding so hard.

  Astride a horse with lathered flanks rode the prospector. He had traded his mule for a saddle horse and had enough ammo to begin dispensing it with wild abandon. A slug ricocheted off the engine’s side and whistled away. Slocum reached for his ­six-­shooter, then remembered he had to get more cartridges. But he had the shotgun taken from the wagon. He grabbed it, lifted it to his shoulder, and fired one barrel.

  The recoil knocked him back a half pace because he hadn’t braced for it. Worse, he remembered he hadn’t pocketed any more shells. He had one more chance to stop the prospector.

  “You thievin’, ­lily-­livered thief! That’s mine what you took. And I know you took it ’cuz I spied on you.”

  Slocum leveled the shotgun, took careful aim this time, and made the buckshot count. The prospector grunted and jerked to the side, still in the saddle. But he had dropped his ­six-­gun. He turned his horse and galloped away, letting Slocum climb down from the cab and retrieve the fallen pistol.

  He was just in time because the outraged man wasn’t running, he was regrouping. He pulled a Henry from a saddle sheath and started firing at Slocum. One or two of the pellets had caught him in the arm, throwing off his aim and making it difficult for him to lever in a new round and fire again. Slocum took a stance, aimed, and fired. The prospector jerked again as the slug hit him. But he was determined and trotted about, trying to get the rifle to bear.

  “Git on back here, Slocum. We’re leavin’ without you if you don’t climb aboard! Company policy, we don’t shoot it out with no outlaws if we kin outrun ’em.”

  The Yuma Bullet’s steam whistle cut through the air and startled the prospector into missing with his next round. Rather than continue the gunfight, Slocum ran for all he was worth, jumped, and caught the handhold on the cab. He swung around, sat, and looked for another shot.

  “Damnation, you got ’em comin’ out o’ their hill like ants!”

  Slocum saw what the engineer meant. A ­half-­dozen men galloped through the town, firing as they came. The bullets spanged! off the locomotive’s iron sides. And then the train gained speed and the horses fell behind, victims of the heat and exhaustion from such a fierce run to overtake the train. Slocum caught the glint of sunlight off at least one badge.

  A posse.

  He swung around and saw that the prospector had hightailed it due south to get away from the lawmen. The posse milled about until the one Slocum pegged as the marshal led them after the fleeing horseman.

  “I do declare, it ain’t never dull with you around, Slocum,” the engineer said. He wiped his face with an oily rag. “From the sound them wheels are makin’, it was good advice stoppin’ fer more oil. We’re gonna need it.”

  “Don’t slow down,” Slocum said. He leaned out and took a gander at the tracks behind the train. The riders had disappeared in the dust and distance.

  He pulled himself back into the cab and sat on a drop seat. This proved worse than standing. The vibration from the wheels shook him all over. On his feet, his knees took most of the punishment from the rocking, swaying engine. He tried not to look too obvious but could not keep his eyes off the spot where he had stashed the money. If the fireman or Tom discovered the bags, he could buy them off by sharing the loot. The engineer might be called Mad Tom, but he had never heard anyone call him Stupid Tom. Several hundred dollars in gold coins would be quite an enticing reward for keeping his mouth shut.

  “I’ll be glad to get on down to San Antonio,” Tom said. “I’m gettin’ sick of drivin’ Miss Burlison around.”

  “She’s a mighty ­fine-­looking woman,” Slocum said.

  “If you like the type,” Tom replied. “She’s not our kind, like me and you, Slocum. Her pa tried to raise her so she wasn’t all snooty and stuck up, but you see how she turned out. Then again, might be you don’t care, the way you and her have been runnin’ off all the time.”

  “I wouldn’t call it running off,” Slocum said. “Fate’s thrown us together. Ever since I fetched her and Sarah Jane from a”—he bit off the description of the maid spying on a couple screwing their brains ­out—“from a tight spot in San Diego.”

  “Sarah Jane,” Tom said, his eyes going distant. “Now there’s a fine woman, but you know that. You and her done spent so much time together, you savin’ her life and all.”

  “That’s the start of a tall tale,” Slocum said. “I can’t say I saved her from anything much.”

  “Bullets were flyin’ and men was huntin’ you two down.”

  “The posse,” Slocum said, wanting to look at the tracks behind them again. He realized how guilty this made him look, but Tom didn’t know they had outrun a posse. For all he knew, the men shooting at them were robbers.

  “What’s that whistling noise?” Slocum stood and looked forward. “You sprung a leak in the boiler. There’s a plume of steam coming from the side.”

  “Damnation, you’re right. We’re losin’ pressure. Ain’t much so far, but we can’t keep up this pace and hope to reach Deming in one piece. We’re still ­five–­six hours away, and that’s at top speed.”

  “Better to limp along and keep moving than to blow a rivet,” Slocum said, thinking how determined the posse had to be. They had ridden the entire way from Deming, where the bank had been robbed. How long they had been scouring the desert for the ­robbers—­and the stolen ­loot—­was a question he needed to answer. The longer the posse had been out on the trail, the more determined they’d be to bring the robbers to justice.

  With so much gold and silver coinage at stake, the reward had to be considerable.

  “I reckon I ought to go pay my respects to Miss Burlison,” Slocum said. There wasn’t any more to do here as the train chugged along.

  “If that’s what you call it now, go on. Jist don’t get caught.” Mad Tom laughed and slapped Slocum on the back.

  Slocum made his way along the tender, wondering if Tom or the fireman would find the gold. What they did then depended on how honest they were. If they had the morals of a railroad bull, splitting the gold with them or even giving it away would end the problem. Honest men would be harder to deal with since they would turn him in to the Deming marshal.

  Slocum swung around and landed on the platform between cars. He considered knocking but there was little reason to do so. The sound of the wheels drowned out any such polite noise. He opened the door and went inside, immediately aware something was wrong.

  Marlene sat facing away from him. She didn’t move as he made his way toward her. Then he caught her reflection in a mirror mounted on the rear wall of the car. Her eyes were closed and her mouth slack. She wasn’t sleeping; she was unconscious. As he came even with her, he saw movement out the rear door. Tending the boss’s daughter should have taken priority over everything else, but she was in no immediate danger.

  Sarah Jane was.

  She struggled with the conductor, pushing him away, only to have him grab her and whirl her around to get a choke hold intended to subdue her. Slocum slammed the door open as hard as he could. Hanks either had to release Sarah Jane and hang on to the handrail or go tumbling to the ground. Even at the Yuma Bullet’s leisurely twenty miles an hour, such an impact would do more than clack his teeth together.

  Sarah Jane sat, gasping for breath and clutching her throat. Slocum saw Hanks reach under his left arm. The wind flapped his ­ill-­fitting coat open to reveal a shoulder rig and small pistol hidden there.

  Instinct rather than thought drove Sl
ocum’s fist to the side of Hanks’s head. The conductor jerked away, got his pistol out, but was facing in the wrong direction. Slocum grabbed him by the seat of his pants and the back of his coat and heaved as hard as he could. The man sailed through the air. From the way he landed headfirst, he wouldn’t bedevil Sarah Jane again. Or anyone else. Slocum was sure he had killed the conductor.

  “What was going on?” He helped her to her feet.

  “I, he, he tried to kidnap me!”

  Slocum looked back into the Pullman car, where Marlene Burlison slumped against the side of the car, still uncon­scious.

  “He won’t bother you again. And I doubt he intended to kidnap you when Miss Burlison would make for better ransom.”

  “Why, yes, of course,” Sarah Jane said. Flustered, she pushed past him into the Pullman. She hesitated when she saw Marlene, then went to the girl’s side. “Get some water for her, John. There’s a pitcher up front.”

  Slocum saw the small rack with glasses and a fancy painted porcelain pitcher. He poured a glass and brought it back. Marlene was awake and looking frightened. She stared up at him and started to speak, but Sarah Jane cut her off.

  “John saved us, Marlene. He saved us.”

  “But ­I—” The blonde took the glass and clutched it in both hands, still spilling a fair amount as she drank.

  “I’ll thank him for you, Marlene. You rest up from your ordeal.”

  “This has gone too far,” Marlene said, shaking her head. She took another sip of the water to wet her whistle. “We’ve got to tell ­him—”

  “This has been such a shock to your system. I’ll deal with it for you.” Sarah Jane pushed Slocum toward the rear of the car and said in a low voice, “Poor thing is overcome by the kidnap attempt.”

  “He tried to kidnap you, not her,” Slocum said.

  “I drew his attention away from her. That was a mistake, I know, but I kept him from harming her. From Miss Burlison.”

  “That was mighty brave of you,” Slocum said, looking from the ­dark-­haired woman to where Marlene clung to the now empty glass as if her life depended on it. “You decoyed him away?”

  “Why, yes, that’s what I did.”

  “A kidnapper ought to know who he’s sent to snatch.”

  “The heat, everything is so confused,” Sarah Jane said. “Let’s not worry our heads about it. I’ll go look after her. You ride with the engineer. Marlene is distraught enough and shouldn’t engage in conversation for a while.”

  Slocum let her herd him forward and push him out of the car. He made his way back to the engine cab.

  “What went on back there? I heard a shot and thought I saw Hanks jump from the train.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Slocum said. “I just lightened the load a mite.” The engineer could nurse the train along to the depot. Slocum would do all the worrying about Marlene Burlison and how close a kidnapper had come to successfully spiriting her away.

  17

  “Don’t be silly. It’s safe, John.” Sarah Jane clung to his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. “This is an S&P town.”

  “That ­conductor—­Hanks—­got hired on here, deadheaded to Yuma, and then tried to kidnap Marlene. It wasn’t chance. Her pa’s enemies sent him. I’d bet money on that.”

  Sarah Jane stirred uneasily and clung more tenaciously to him. The day was cooler than previous ones because of clouds scudding in from over the Pelonsilla Mountains to the southwest, but any chance of rain cooling the stifling heat even more was slim. Slocum moved away enough to let air circulate between him and the girl.

  “Mr. Burlison has enemies everywhere.”

  “That’s why he hired me to look after Marlene.” Slocum looked around uneasily. Being so far from the Pullman car, where Marlene took a siesta during the afternoon heat, reminded him how he had almost failed her.

  That worry festered into something more he couldn’t quite figure out. Since pulling into Deming, Sarah Jane had done all she could to keep him away from the woman he had been hired to protect. Mad Tom worked to fix the boiler on the Yuma Bullet, but it had been a day already and might be another before repairs were completed for the final run across New Mexico and down the western border of Texas following the newly completed S&P tracks.

  “You’re doing a fine job of it. She couldn’t be happier. And safer.”

  “When we got to the depot, there were only two other engines here. Now there are eight. The Yuma Bullet has held up traffic going west.”

  “I heard a train coming from the west last night. The Colorado River bridge must be fixed.”

  “I didn’t hear anything.” He tensed. Any train coming from the direction of Yuma might bring a posse with it. And the one out in the desert where the prospector had fought off the lawmen from Deming had plenty of time to reach a depot with a telegraph.

  He wished he hadn’t stashed the gold in the engine. When Tom and his fireman had gotten to serious work on the locomotive boiler, he had removed a steel plate in the tender’s wall and stuffed the three sacks of coins in a recess. With the plate bolted back into place, the entire train had to be dismantled to find it. Still, getting caught with the stolen money meant a noose for him. If the Deming marshal bothered to inquire, San Dismas would reply that he was wanted there, too.

  The sooner he got to San Antonio and lit out across the Texas prairie on horseback, the safer he would be.

  “I need some things for the trip,” Sarah Jane said.

  “Send one of the depot employees,” he said, not wanting to leave Marlene unguarded. More than that, he had a ­gut-­wrenching fear he would be recognized. Staying in the rail yard was the best thing he could do to avoid the town marshal.

  “Oh, John, you can be so ignorant. These are things for Marlene, and I have to pick them out. She needs them for the trip.”

  “She can wait until San Antonio.”

  “Now, now,” Sarah Jane said sternly. “You will accompany me into town to buy what ­I—­we—­need.”

  “I need to talk to the engineer. Wait here.” Slocum saw a flare of defiance that died quickly.

  “Hurry, John. You don’t want me to get bored and wander off on my own. What would Marlene say if you let me go unescorted into such a dingy frontier town as this?”

  He barely heard. He called to Mad Tom and asked, “How long before the boiler’s fixed up?”

  “Another hour, maybe two. We got to hook up four passenger cars, a mail car, and a caboose.”

  “What? Why? Burlison said this was an express intended to get his daughter to San Antonio as fast as possible.”

  “The traffic in both directions done got screwed up with the bridge goin’ down the way it did. With the Yuma Bullet pluggin’ up traffic, too, well, we were as responsible fer the bottleneck as anything. The dispatcher’s workin’ hisself into a dither tryin’ to get all caught up.”

  “A train came in last night?”

  “Early mornin’, actually. It’s already steamin’ on down into Texas. I tried to convince the dispatcher to couple on Miss Burlison’s car, but her pa said no. He’s burnin’ up the telegraph wires with instructions. He trusts me and the Yuma Bullet to get her home safe ’n’ sound, not some other walleyed, drunk son-of-a-bitch engineer.”

  “I’m going into town.”

  “You escortin’ her?”

  “We’ll be back before you pull out.”

  “Won’­t—­can’­t—­leave without you and her. ’Specially her. But don’t go dallyin’ none.” A loud crash made Tom turn and shake his head. “What’s with you buzzards? You all born stupid and with ten thumbs?” He went to help lift a large curved plate into place.

  Slocum saw that this was the final piece. Once it was riveted on, the Yuma Bullet need only build up steam and pull out. Already the additional cars were being attached.

  Sarah Jane ta
pped her foot impatiently when he got back to her.

  “Took you long enough,” she said. “Now, the first place I want to go is the dress shop on the plaza. The last time we were through, they took measurements and should have a dress ready.”

  She chattered on as Slocum walked beside her, looking about suspiciously. She jerked him to a halt in front of a bookstore.

  “Oh, I must see if they have anything new to read. I finished that Mark Twain book.”

  Slocum started to say he would wait outside, in spite of the heat, when he saw someone down the street that made him reach for his ­six-­shooter. The first thing he had done after arriving in Deming had been to take his Colt Navy to a gunsmith, have it repaired, oiled, and loaded with fresh rounds. His foresight paid off now.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The prospector,” Slocum said. “The one from the ghost town. That’s him. He must have been on the train that arrived this morning.”

  “Are you sure?” Sarah Jane squinted. “I can’t be certain, but then I never got a good look at him.”

  “We’re going back ­and—”

  “We’re doing no such thing. I am going to peruse the new titles, then we will pick up the dresses.”

  “Look at your books. I’ll do the rest of your errands.”

  Sarah Jane looked amused. “You? Going to a ladies’ dress store?”

  “Or we go back.”

  She sniffed, stood on tiptoe, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before bustling into the bookstore. Slocum wasted no time going after the prospector. The man was as tenacious as the bounty hunter had been, but with better reason. All that gold could convince a man to circle the world and then some.

  Slocum crossed the plaza and sought the man, but when he reached the general store where he had spotted the prospector, he had disappeared. Slocum stepped into the cool interior and looked around. The clerk dozed behind the counter. The prospector hadn’t come in here. Slocum backed out and wondered if the man had gone into a ­saloon—­or had seen him and now became the hunter.