Assault of the Mountain Man

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Sapinero, Colorado

At ten-thirty p.m. the eastbound train number 20 arrived at the Sapinero station. Harley and the two Slater brothers, Frank and Travis, were waiting in the darkness on the opposite side of the railroad tracks from the station. They had hidden their horses a mile out of town, and the plan was to get on the train and force it to stop where their horses were.

When the train stopped at the station, the three men climbed onto the platform just behind the tender. They remained there, unseen in the dark, as the train pulled out of the station. Travis climbed up over the tender and dropped down behind the engineer and fireman, both of whom were illuminated by the yellow cab lantern. They were staring straight ahead.

“Hello, boys!” Travis called.

Startled, the engine crew turned toward him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the engineer asked.

“You might say I’ve taken over as the conductor,” Travis said. “I want you to get ready to stop where I tell you to stop.”

“The hell I will,” the engineer said angrily.

Travis shot the fireman in the leg, and he let out a yelp of pain, grabbing his leg where the bullet struck.

“My next shot will be to his head,” Travis said.

The engineer stuck both hands out in front of him. “All right, all right. Don’t shoot him again.”

“Brake this train, right now,” Travis said.

The engineer set the brakes, and the train squealed to a halt. Travis leaned out through the engineer’s window and looked ahead. He saw a bonfire with a man standing in silhouette in front of it. The man was carrying a rifle, and he held it up, then pointed it to the right.

Travis smiled. That was the agreed-upon signal, which meant the switch had been thrown.

“All right, start her up again, but go slow.”

After proceeding forward for several feet, the train took the switch track and veered to the right.

“Where are we going?” the engineer asked. “I ain’t never left the main line.”

“Slow down, way down,” Travis said. “But don’t stop.”

“What’s going on?” the engineer asked.

“Haven’t you figured that out yet, Mr. Engineer? We’re robbing your train,” Travis said. “Slower, slower, slower.”

The engineer complied with Travis’s order until the train was barely moving. “Now stop,” Travis said.

The train stopped, as it bumped up against the track guard at the end of the spur. It had been switched onto a siding that would allow cars to be backed up to a loading pen.

“Get out,” Travis ordered. “Both of you.”

“I’m not sure I can get down, what with my leg,” the fireman said.

Travis pointed his gun to the other leg. “I can even it up for you if you want me to.”

“No, no!” the fireman said. “I’ll get down!”

“I thought you might see it my way.”

Travis stayed in the cab until both the engineer and the fireman were on the ground. The engineer, thinking it was his opportunity to run, started to do so. Travis shot at him and the engineer went down.

Harley and Frank had come out from their place on the platform behind the tender. The conductor and several passengers were also coming alongside the train to see why it had stopped as abruptly as it did.

Harley turned toward them. “Get back on the train.”

“See here, I’m the conductor. I want to know what’s going on here?”

Harley shot the passenger who was coming with the conductor.

“Get back on the train and keep your passengers there,” Harley said. “I’ll kill the next person who sticks his head out.”

Frightened, the conductor and the other passengers who had come out with him hurried to get back onto the train.

“You,” Dinkins said to the fireman, who was staring down at the body of the engineer. “Come here.”

The fireman limped over to him. “Ernie is dead.”

“You’re going to be dead too, if you don’t do what I tell you to do,” Dinkins said. “Tell the messenger to open the express car.”

The fireman tapped on the door of the express car. “Miller,” he called. “Miller, this is Jasper. Open the door.”

“I ain’t goin’ to do it,” a muffled voice replied from inside.

“Open the car or we’ll blow it up!” Dinkins said.

“You go to hell!” the voice from inside replied.

Dinkins pulled a stick of dynamite from the bag he was going to put the money in, and wedged it into the door frame. The dynamite had a short fuse, and Dinkins gave a match to the fireman. “Light it.”

“That fuse is too short, and I’ve got a shot leg,” the fireman protested. “If I light that thing, I won’t get away in time.”

Dinkins pointed his rifle at the fireman. “At least you will have a chance to get away. If you don’t light it, I’ll blow your head off, right here.”

Dinkins and the other robbers stepped back from the train several feet, but Dinkins kept his rifle aimed at the fireman. With shaking hands, the fireman struck the match, lit the fuse, then, as best he could, ran several paces away from the train before he threw himself on the ground.

The dynamite exploded, tearing off the door and opening a big hole in the side of the express car.

Inside the train, everyone heard the loud, stomach shaking explosion.

“Oh! What is it?” one woman called loudly. “What is happening?”

“Listen to me!” the conductor said, holding out his hands. “The train is being robbed!”

“Oh, my God! We’ll all be killed!” another woman said. Some of the children began to cr y.

“They don’t want to kill us, they just want the money,” the conductor said. “Hide most of your money, but keep a little on your person and if they come aboard, give ’em that.”

“Why not hide it all?” one of the men passengers asked.

“If you hide all of it, they will know what you have done and like as not they’ll start shooting. You have to keep a little so they won’t suspect anything.”

“Where can we hide it?” someone asked.

“Give it to me,” a porter said. “They ain’t goin’ to be searchin’ no colored man for money.”

“Julius is right,” the conductor said. “Give him all your money.”

Quickly the men and women began taking out their money and handing it to the porter, who stuffed it into his voluminous pockets.

“How are you going to know who the money belongs to?” another man asked.

“Mister, I reckon we just all got to be honest,” Julius said.

While all that was going on inside the passenger cars, outside the train the four robbers started shooting through the open door of the express car, even before all the smoke cleared. Then they rushed up to the car and while Dinkins and Harley stayed outside, Frank and Travis Slater climbed in to the car.

Two of the four kerosene lanterns had been extinguished by the blast, but two remained, though the thick billow of smoke made it impossible to see inside the car when they first entered. As the smoke drifted away, they saw Miller, the messenger, getting up on his hands and knees and shaking his head groggily.

“Open the safe,” Travis ordered.

“There’s not much in there,” Miller said.

“You let us be the judge of that. Open the safe.”

Miller got to his feet, then went over to the safe. “It looks damaged. I don’t know if I will be able to get it open.”

Travis pulled the hammer back on his pistol and the click as the sear engaged the cylinder was loud. “I think you will be able to open it.”

Miller turned the combination lock, then swung the door open.

“Ha!” Travis said. “I knew you could open it if you tried. Clean it out, Frank, while I keep him covered.”

Frank reached into the safe, and started pulling out the contents. He found a money bag and, with a big grin, opened it. The grin disappeared. “Travis, there ain’t nothin’ here.”

“What?”

“I mean there’s some here. Don’t look like it’s much over a hunnert dollars though.”

“Where’s the rest of the money?”

“I’m just the messenger,” Miller replied. “We don’t ever know what’s in these bags. This is what I was given when I came aboard this evening.”

Travis stepped over to the open door of the car. “Hey, Dinkins. Ain’t more’n a hunnert dollars here!”

“Are you sure?”

“You can come in and look for yourself,” Travis said. “But there ain’t no more than a hunnert dollars in the money pouch.”

“Damn,” Dinkins said. “All right, you and Frank stay with the messenger and the engineer. Wes and me will go through the train and see what we can take offen the passengers.”

Dinkins and Harley boarded the first car, which was a sleeper car. They were met by a black porter.

“You gentlemen got no right to be wakin’ up my passengers,” the porter said.

“What’s your name, darkie?”

“It ain’t darkie,” the porter bristled. “It’s Julius.”

“All right, Julius, I tell you what,” Dinkins replied. “You come along with us, and we’ll make this as easy as we can. You tell us which berths have women, and we won’t be disturbin’ them none.”

They stopped at the first set of berths.

“There is only ladies in these berths,” the porter said.

“All four of ’em? The two on each side?” Dinkins asked. “’Cause if I open one of these curtains you say has women, and I see a man, I won’t ask no questions. I’ll kill the man that’s in the berth.”

“These two has men,” Julius said quickly.

“Well now, that’s more like it.”

Dinkins jerked open the curtain. “Let me have all your money,” he said to the frightened man who was sleeping in the berth.

The man gave him eleven dollars.

“Eleven dollars? What did you do, hide the rest of it?”

“That’s all I have,” the man said.

“Hop down out of that berth,” Dinkins said. “I’m goin’ to look around and if I find so much as a nickel hid, I’m goin’ to shoot you. Now, you want to give me the rest of the money?”

“Eleven dollars is all I have,” the man repeated.

After the man hopped down, Dinkins searched under the mattress, but found nothing. “All right, you can get back in bed.”

He took money from nine other men in the sleeping car; in every case the amount was disappointingly low. He searched one more berth without success.

When they reached the end of the car, the porter stopped.

“What are you stoppin’ for?” Dinkins asked.

“This here is my car. I ain’t supposed to leave it.”

“You’re comin’ with us through the rest of the train.” Stepping across the vestibule, Dinkins pushed the porter in first, and called, “Folks! We’re goin’ to be movin’ through the car collectin’ the fare.” He laughed. “You may think you’ve already paid your fare, but this is what you might call an extry fare. Oh, and if anyone tries anythin’ funny, I’m goin’ to shoot this here darkie. You got that?”

The passengers, their faces varying in expressions from fear, to anger, even to a sense of excitement, all nodded in the affirmative.

“Julius, you hold the bag for us,” Dinkins said, and as they proceeded through the cars, the porter held the bag open, passing it from passenger to passenger to get their donation.

“I don’t believe this is all the money you have,” Dinkins said when one man dropped a dollar bill into the bag.

“It’s all I have on me,” the man answered.

“I’m going to search you. And if I find any more money on you, I’ll shoot you for lying to me.”

The man stared at Dinkins without blinking and without a change of expression on his face.

Dinkins stuck his hand in every pocket, but came away empty.

After going through two cars and getting the slimmest of pickings, Dinkins spoke out again. “What the hell?” he said loudly. “How can you people travel with so little money?”

“This is all the money my mama gave me,” one young girl, who was about fifteen, said.

“You travelin’ alone, girl?” Dinkins asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Dinkins smiled. “Well now, when you are an old woman with grandkids, you are goin’ to be able to tell ’em that you was robbed by Bill Dinkins. Think about that.”

Dinkins and Harley reached the rear of the train, then stepped onto the back platform with the porter still with them. Dinkins took the bag from the porter, then he and Harley stepped down on to the ground.

“Are you finished with us, Mr. Dinkins? Can I tell the conductor we can go on, now?” Julius asked.

“Get on back in there now, darkie, before I blow your head off,” Dinkins said with a growl.