Counterfeit Lawman

CHAPTER TEN

Watch it, Mister, unless you want trouble.” The seedy man looked rode hard and put away wet. He had a week’s growth of beard, or at least long enough to let lice move in. The white mites did a square dance and disappeared when he turned his face outward so the wind whistling past the fast-moving train threatened to unseat them from their hairy lodgings.

“What are you doing between cars?”

“I could ask you the same, but I don’t go sticking my nose where it don’t belong.” The man thrust out his chin, as if begging Ike to take a swing.

Getting his fist dirty wasn’t in the cards for him. More than that, the man had a hard edge to him. The six-gun slung low on his right hip had a well-used look. The leather holster was about all that showed any sign of upkeep. It had been polished until it gleamed, unlike the man’s scuffed boots and cloudy-looking silver conchas around his hat band.

Ike resisted the urge to pull out Deputy Yarrow’s badge and flash it to see how the man reacted, but he kept looking down at the six-shooter and the way the man carried it. All of Schofield’s men looked like fashion plates in comparison, so Ike doubted this man was anything more than a querulous passenger. But starting trouble got him nowhere.

“Sorry,” Ike said, not even trying to sound contrite. He stepped across from one platform to the next, opened the door leading into the third passenger car and let it close slowly behind him.

His eyes danced along the rows of seats, checking the passengers to see if any were railroad bulls. They looked like a prosperous lot from their clothing. A couple of the men might be well-off gamblers from the headlight diamond stickpins and gold cuffs they flashed. One woman wore a string of pearls. Another sported a necklace with a small red stone. Ike wasn’t a jeweler, but he suspected it was a real ruby, matching the expensive cut of the woman’s clothing. She wasn’t one to take in washing or do cooking, from the look of her bone-china-white hands.

Ike tipped his hat as he made his way toward the rear of the car. Lily had said there were three regular passenger cars and then Schofield’s Pullman. He kept his eyes fixed on the door ahead. If it opened, he would be in trouble. That signaled Schofield or his men were coming forward again to conduct whatever business they had with the engine crew.

He reached the back of the car and put his hand on the handle, not sure what to do. A sudden rush of air at his back caused him to look over his shoulder. The man between cars he had pushed past entered now. Ike caught his breath. The man looked like a hungry rat, squinty eyes darting about as he made his way the length of the car as Ike had done. There wasn’t any mistaking how the man eyed the women, especially the one with the ruby necklace.

The man stopped just past the woman, then swung around and dropped into a seat behind her.

Ike relaxed a little and wondered why he had expected trouble. The man scooted across the seat and peered out the window, then pulled a watch from his vest pocket and studied the face as if reading all the secrets of life there. He snapped the case shut and returned the watch to his vest pocket.

Not seeing trouble behind him, Ike pushed down the handle and stepped onto the metal platform between the ordinary passenger car and Schofield’s far more luxurious one. He hopped across to press against the Pullman’s front wall. He chanced a quick look into the car through a much cleaner window in this door. Schofield and Kinchloe sat facing each other, their knees almost touching just inside. They bent forward and both seemed to be talking at the same time. Three others sat around a green felt–topped table at the rear of the car, playing cards. They had a bottle on the table, each helping himself to a generous swig before passing it along.

The rattle of the wheels kept Ike from overhearing what the railroad president and his henchman talked about so earnestly. He pressed his ear against the wall and recoiled. He hastily leaned harder into the wall. It sounded as if he were in the room, a fly on the wall. Some of what the two men said was drowned out by the clatter and clang of wheels rolling on the steel track, but he was able to get the drift of what they said.

“. . . can’t be serious, boss,” Kinchloe said. “You can’t give up such a sweet deal!”

“Getting greedy’s the surest way to get killed.”

Ike missed some of what was said, but caught the end of Schofield’s words: “. . . Gregorio found out. Who else knows?”

“Cut ’em in if they find out. Or let me and the boys take care of them.”

“You never had a better-paying job, did you, Kinch?”

The railroad bull laughed harshly and said, “You know I never did, boss. I don’t see you getting cold feet because of Gregorio. I took care of him.”

“It got that nosy Federal marshal poking around. Gregorio had a stack of papers with details I could never deny. He must have sent them to the marshal for him to poke around like he did.”

“None of that came from me, boss. Not me or the others.”

“There was no way for Gregorio to know it, either. Somebody else was responsible.”

“The owlhoot in Granger’s jail? Is that why you hired a lynch mob?”

Ike strained to hear the answer, but the train rolled around a curve in the tracks. The screeching drowned out Schofield’s answer, but Ike was sure he knew the answer. Of course the railroad man had bought and paid for the lynch mob.

“. . . stand to make a fortune with the cargo,” Schofield said. “We’ll sell it and keep on going out to California. I’m getting tired of Texas.”

“But, boss, you can keep doing the deal a few more times.” Kinchloe almost whined as he made his plea. “You never leave good money on the table. And they’ve got stacks of greenbacks just waitin’ for us to claim them.”

Ike lost part of the response to rising train noise but heard, “I don’t trust the Comancheros.”

“Me and the boys can deal with them,” Kinchloe said. “Don’t you worry none about that. We’re not goin’ to let them double-cross you.”

“There’ll be plenty to go around for all of us after this deal.”

Ike heard what sounded like chairs being pushed back. Schofield and Kinchloe joined the others in their card game at the rear of the car. More likely, they wanted to take a pull from the bottle. He dared a quick peek through the window on the door and jerked back. Kinchloe had been looking straight at him.

He caught his breath and rested his hand on the butt of his six-shooter. The wind ripped past him and whistled in his ears, making it impossible to hear if the railroad detective walked toward him. Ike half drew when he thought the door onto the platform was opening. His heart hammered wildly, then settled down when the door remained closed. Against all common sense, he sneaked another quick look around into the car.

Kinchloe had come forward to take a chair back to the card table. Ike wasn’t sure if anyone inside the car could even see him peering in, but he wasn’t taking any more chances. He dropped the gun into his holster, stepped over to the forward platform and opened the door in time to hear a woman scream.

He pulled the door back shut until he had a couple inches to look past. For a moment he failed to see what caused the alarm. Then he heard a woman crying.

“You can’t take it! It’s a family heirloom. It belonged to my grandmother in Germany!”

“Gimme.”

Ike heard a dull thud as if a fist hit flesh. He pushed the door open and snaked past to stand with his back against the wall. The man he had tangled with earlier ripped the ruby necklace from the woman’s throat and then punched her. She huddled on the seat, face in her hands, sobbing.

“The rest of you. Put your jewelry, watches, money, anything worth a bucket of spit in the bag. Hold back and I swear I’ll fill you full of lead. Man or woman!” He tossed a cloth bag to one of the men Ike pegged as a gambler.

The robber stood with his back to Ike. Carefully drawing his six-shooter, he leveled it at the thief.

“Shoot him! Shoot the son of a bitch!” The gambler touched the headlight diamond in his cravat. His shouted command caused a reaction he hadn’t expected.

The robber pulled the trigger at point-blank range. The gambler cried out and grabbed his chest as he fell back. The headlight diamond vanished from a quick grab by the train robber. Ike saw the gambler’s vest sparking and smoldering from the burning gunpowder spat out by the close-range shot. He also saw that the wounded man wasn’t stirring.

“More, all of it. Gimme everything or you’ll end up like him!” The outlaw paid no attention to Ike. It took a split second for Ike to realize the robber thought the gambler had tried to distract him rather than ordering someone to shoot.

“Drop the gun,” Ike called out. Ike flushed when he realized his voice came out as hardly more than a croak. “Drop it!” This time he shouted and the robber heard.

The outlaw jerked around and blazed away wildly. He hit another passenger. Ike was more careful aiming. He jerked the trigger and missed a clean shot, but he hit the robber in the arm, spinning him around. For a brief instant, Ike thought the fight was over and done.

Then the outlaw dropped to his knees, twisted about and fired straight down the aisle. The bullet ricocheted off a seat and tore a hole in the wall between Ike’s legs. Ike took better aim. This time his slug blew the heel off the outlaw’s boot. This sent the man scuttling along like a crab between the seats.

They both fired at the same instant, the outlaw spraying lead everywhere and Ike trying to aim more judiciously. The hail of slugs caused the passengers to panic and flail about, making it harder for Ike to shoot without injuring an innocent bystander.

The outlaw scrambled to the front door and opened it. Ike had to push his way past passengers getting out of their seats. Where they thought they were going, he had no idea. He stopped beside the woman who had worn the ruby necklace.

“I’ll get it back, ma’am. I promise.”

She looked up through teary eyes and asked, “Are you a lawman?”

Ike answered, “Yes,” before he could stop himself. He dodged another woman filling the aisle and reached the connecting door to the forward car.

The only thought he had was to keep the outlaw from rampaging through the car where Lily waited for him. He had saved the actress a couple times. This time he might not be so lucky. The bandit was injured and frightened and as dangerous as a cornered rat.

Ike tried to open the door, but the outlaw clung to the handle and prevented it. Ike showed him his six-shooter. The man’s eyes went wide with fear, but he refused to release his grip on the door handle. Knowing it was dangerous and foolish, Ike pressed the muzzle against the dirty glass and pulled the trigger.

The hammer fell on a spent chamber.

Not even thinking about it, he slammed the butt into the glass. It shattered, forcing the outlaw away. Ike shoved through.

“Give up. You’re under arrest!”

The outlaw shot him a contemptuous look, then jumped. Ike saw the man hit the ground and roll. The train rattled on, not slowing. Not thinking about what he was doing, Ike grabbed the railing and leaned out from the train to catch sight of the outlaw. Even if his pistol had been loaded, he didn’t have a good shot. As he pulled himself back, his hand slipped. The outlaw had bled all over the iron rail.

Ike made a wild grab, but the blood turned the metal too slippery. His fingers lost grip, and he tumbled off the train. He hit the ground hard enough to jar him. The only thought in his head was to not pass out. He’d be at the mercy of the train robber.

Rather than stand, Ike rolled over and over. He winced as he wrapped himself around a cactus, then forced himself to sit up. He held his gun as if to shoot, even though he knew it was empty. All he had to do was bluff the robber for an instant.

He swiveled about, taking in the desert terrain. The train robber was nowhere to be seen. Before he stood, Ike reloaded his gun, saw that he ran short of ammunition, then carefully returned the six-shooter to his holster. Cactus nettles worried at him until he plucked the last of them from his clothing and made sure the leather gun belt was clean. Being distracted by a thorn if he had to throw down meant the difference between life and death, even if he wasn’t the fastest gunman in the West.

“Or the fastest anywhere,” he said glumly. Ike got to his feet and hunted for the robber. The man had evaporated like water spilled on a desert rock. Worse, the train had continued racing along the tracks and was out of sight now. He was stranded.

He hitched up his gun belt and searched for the robber’s tracks. If he was marooned here, he might as well accomplish something. Bringing the outlaw to heel was the best Ike could think to do.