Counterfeit Lawman

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He keeps staring at me. He knows!” Lily Sinclair swung about and peered out the window as the train began gathering speed. Marfa looked as if it moved backward and they stood still. If she pressed any harder against the window, she’d flop out of the passenger car and onto the station depot platform.

Ike took her arm and squeezed reassuringly. He sounded more confident than he felt when he told her, “Kinchloe’s done this a lot. He studies each passenger, looking for trouble.”

“He missed the robber, the one you killed.” Lily snuggled closer to him.

Ike wished she wouldn’t do that. It looked odd. The last thing he wanted was for other passengers to be whispering about how the old lady clung so fiercely—so passionately—to him. Lily had used the last of her makeup in a vain attempt to repair her disguise. Drawing attention by acting strangely forced the other passengers to see the flaws in her artistry. Ike wondered if the time for such deception was past.

Schofield and his henchmen knew their identities. Ike depended on Kinchloe or Smitty or any of the others not trying to kill them in front of the passengers. Somehow, he doubted any of the men would hesitate to murder an entire train filled with innocent people, especially if they intended to take their ill-gotten gains and disappear over the horizon. Still, as terrible a plan as it was, this was all Ike could think of. Stick with the train, Schofield and the weapons until they came upon a lawman able to arrest the gunrunners.

He wished they were away from the train and Schofield and his carloads of rifles meant to create death and destruction throughout the state. Ike had a hard time telling himself he wasn’t a real lawman. But showing the badge, carrying it over his heart, made him special in ways he never had felt before. People respected him. The cavalry patrol had even obeyed his orders, as if he were in command.

And Lily. He rested his cheek against her wooly wig. She expected him to arrest Schofield and the railroad detectives when they got enough evidence. If she hadn’t been on the train, Ike wasn’t sure he ever would have come this far. It was easier to run, to fade into the desert, to let terrible crimes be committed.

Mostly he wanted to be alone with Lily. Putting her in danger gnawed at his gut, but there wasn’t any way around it that he saw. If she’d stayed back in Marfa, there was a distant chance the crooked sheriff would harm her. Ike had no idea what Schofield had told his lawman partner about the goings-on in San Antonio.

A quick glance at the window showed Kinchloe’s reflection as he stalked up and down the aisle. Ike kept his face turned away, as if he watched the most intriguing show ever slipping by outside the train. The gaslights inside the car blanked out any chance of seeing the nighttime landscape, even if there had been something other than arid, empty desert to watch.

Kinchloe stopped a few paces down the aisle and fixed a hard stare on them. Ike squirmed. The back of his head was going to explode from that unwanted attention. Just when he knew he had to stand, whip out his six-shooter and have it out then and there with the railroad bull, Kinchloe moved on, going from the car into the third one.

Ike still considered throwing down and shooting Schofield’s henchman in the back. That eliminated one source of danger even as it opened up a new can of worms. Schofield had Smitty and a couple more of his detectives with him in the Pullman. For all Ike knew, there were others aboard. Unlike him with his assumed identity, they were used to blending in with passengers.

And what of the crew? Ike had no idea if men riding in the caboose were armed and ready to defend the safety of the three freight cars.

“They’re the only ones,” Lily said unexpectedly.

He looked at her reflection in the window. She chewed her lower lip as she did when she was nervous.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve studied all the other passengers. None of them are undercover agents working for the railroad.”

“You can’t be certain.” He saw that she was.

“I can look out across an audience and know which of them will give the catcalls and which will applaud. It’s not an innate talent. It’s . . . it’s a skill I developed over the years.”

“You didn’t read that dance hall owner aright,” he said. “Zachary. He tried to con you out of your payment and steal your belongings.”

“That was Mama’s doing. I never talked to him before she agreed to perform. By the time I saw him, it was too late. He had beady eyes. That should have warned her, but it didn’t.” Lily crossed her arms and folded in on herself. “What’re you going to do? About the guns?”

“The only thing I can do is get off the train at Fort Davis. The lieutenant I rescued will be better.” Ike silently amended, “If he survived.” Too much depended on chance, and letting others do the dangerous work. But why not? They were entrusted with keeping the peace. He wasn’t. He was a fake. Ike went on in a small, choked voice, “He’ll hear what I say and believe it. If he doesn’t, the men who rode in his patrol will back up my story.”

“The train doesn’t stop at the fort. It bypasses the town, too.”

“It’s a water stop. It must be.” Ike felt gut-clenching fear again. He had assumed that the army post was a stop along the route. Ike went cold inside, worrying that she was right. If he assumed too much they’d both end up dead—and the mischief Schofield intended for the rifles would burn across the state all the way into Indian Territory.

Yarrow would have failed. Isaac Scott would have betrayed his memory.

“It’s not,” Lily said with enough assurance to force Ike to believe her. “If you jump off the train while it’s chugging along at full speed and don’t kill yourself, you’d still need to convince the army, form a patrol and chase the train down. Then—”

“I’d do it,” he said impulsively. “You’d be aboard. I’d never leave you behind.” His words rang hollow. He had a great deal to learn about planning ahead if he intended to keep up the imposture. If he left the train, he’d have to hike across the deadly West Texas desert. Food was important. Water was vital. He wouldn’t last two days in the burning sun without water. And he didn’t even have a canteen.

“If you jump off in the middle of nowhere, I’d have to go with you. Kinchloe would swoop down on me like a vulture if you weren’t here to protect me. He’d be curious where we’d vanished, and that’d give them all time to prepare.” Lily made a clucking sound, like a mother chastising her toddler. “He can get mighty persuasive asking questions. Someone among the passengers will have figured out why we’re no longer aboard.” She raised her wrists to show that Kinchloe had chained her up.

Ike knew it would be more than that. Kinchloe had yanked him off the train after he’d found the cases of rifles. The fight had been brief, but Kinchloe had failed to kill him. The next time would be more carefully planned.

He was sorrier than ever that he hadn’t shot the railroad bull in the back when he had the chance and dealt with the resulting chaos. At least Schofield would be without his right-hand man.

“Think of something, Ike. If you can’t arrest them all, why not uncouple the freight cars?”

He looked at her. That had never occurred to him. Rob Schofield of his deadly cargo. Leave it along the route. Separating the seller from his product might infuriate the Comancheros to the extent they settled Schofield’s hash once and for all.

Ike could get them to do all the dirty work! Then he shook his head sadly. Too much depended on luck and Schofield being a fool, which he wasn’t.

“He’d know right away. Backing up a locomotive might take a while, but it’s not impossible. All that does is slow him down.”

“He must be chewing nails and spitting tacks by now,” Lily said. “Think of the delays from the Apaches and the robber. How long will his gun buyers wait for him?”

“Instead of uncoupling the freight cars, derailing them would be more effective.” He sat straighter as he warmed to the idea. “There’s only one set of tracks. That means they have sidings for trains bound in the other direction to pass. How can I switch to one of those sidings and get the cars off the track?” His mind raced, but he had little knowledge of how railroads operated.

“Wait a minute,” Lily said. She leaned over him and waved to attract the conductor’s attention.

“Sir, pardon me. How often do we take on water? For the boiler?”

“Won’t be until close to dawn, ma’am.”

“Is there a side track? A spur line? I don’t know what you call it for the train to leave the main tracks.”

“You should be the one designing the route, ma’am. There is.” He touched the short brim of his cap and moved on.

Lily settled back and crossed her arms as if everything had been decided.

“Uncouple the freight cars on the siding when we take on water?” Ike said the words but nothing came together for him.

“The train fills its tank, pulls out from the siding and onto the main tracks. If the freight cars are left behind, how hard would it be for the engineer to back onto the siding?”

“No harder than getting the locomotive in reverse,” Ike said. “But it will complicate everything for Schofield if another train is on the tracks. The best they could do would be to hook onto the cars and carry them along.”

“That removes the rifles from Schofield’s possession,” she said.

Ike settled back, his mind racing. Whatever they did only delayed delivery of the rifles. He had to alert the authorities. Somewhere. If Fort Davis was out of the question, other forts along the route were possible oases for him. He had heard of a Fort Quitman, but dredging through his memory warned him it had been abandoned years ago. More than a decade?

Crossing the desert on foot without supplies to an abandoned fort was a sure way to die.

“El Paso,” he said in resignation. “That’s our best hope. Our only hope.”

“We can’t ride all the way and trust we won’t be killed,” she said. Lily rested her cheek on his shoulder. “But you’ll think of something. You’re clever. That’s your reputation, isn’t it, Mr. Lawman?”

“My reputation,” Ike said, more to himself. He should never have kept the badge or dared to assume the identity of a lawman, much less one as notorious as Augustus Yarrow.

He drifted off to a troubled sleep filled with flashing six-shooters and Indians stabbing him with lances, only to turn into a laughing Kinchloe. As one thrust straight for his heart threatened his life, he was shaken awake.

“We’re there. It’s dawn and we’re there, Ike.”

“El Paso?” He’d jump off and find the nearest lawman. Fists working to rub sleep from his eyes, he realized they hadn’t yet arrived. This was the pull off to take on more water for the boiler.

“Are you going to decouple the cars? It occurred to me that you can disconnect the Pullman car, too, and strand Schofield and his men. That can give us time to reach El Paso and—”

“And get the army to send a patrol,” Ike finished for her. “I’ll have to get the drop on the engineer to keep him steaming along, though.”

“Do it, Ike. That’s the best plan you’ve come up with yet.” She gave him a kiss. He hoped none of the other passengers noticed. It wouldn’t do Lily’s reputation any good, especially since she still wore, more or less, the old-lady makeup.

The sleep cleared rapidly from his brain as his excitement mounted, and he knew her words inspired confidence the plan could succeed. That it was more her idea than his didn’t matter, not if he carried it out perfectly.

He made his way forward and leaned out from between the passenger cars. The engineer edged forward and screeched to a halt in just the right spot for the water spout to be pulled down. His young fireman had already climbed the ladder and grasped the rope.

They called back and forth to each other to be certain everything was aligned properly, then the fireman yanked hard and swung the spout around over the opened boiler. With an agility that’d put a snake to shame, he worked his way up to the valve and began turning it.

“Ain’t got much left in the tower,” the fireman called. “You think them Injuns been drinkin’ our water?”

“I think the lazy no-account who’s supposed to keep it filled has been lying down on the job. Is there enough in there to get us to El Paso?” The engineer took off his striped hat and waved it around to evaporate the sweat on the inner band.

“Reckon so. Here it comes.” The boy gave the valve a final turn. The spout bucked as water gushed forth.

Ike slipped to the ground and pressed close to the cars as he made his way toward the caboose. Lily’s idea about decoupling everything behind the third passenger car solved most of their problems. If Ike stranded him, Schofield wasn’t going to abandon the freight cars with the rifles. He’d still be here when the cavalry arrived. Without horses, he and his henchmen had no way to escape.

Ike snorted. Staying here, the gunrunners had water enough to survive. If Schofield decided to tramp across the desert his life would be in danger. And he had plenty of food aboard his fancy Pullman car. It hardly seemed fair. He lived it up until he was arrested.

Ike hurried to the coupling behind the third passenger car. Staring at the mechanism told him running a railroad was more complicated than he expected. The levers and hoses somehow controlled the coupling. He tugged and pushed and tried to unlock the cars to no avail. Frustrated, he began kicking and pulling at the mechanism. Whatever sequence was required to uncouple the cars, he failed to find it.

At the front of the train, the fireman yelled to the engineer that the last of the water had been drained from the water tower. Ike became frantic. One rod stuck up and gave fleeting hope he could unhook the cars. Lever in hand, he applied as much pressure as he could. Nothing budged. He dropped to his knees and looked under the coupling, hoping to see a pin or something simple defeating his effort.

Nothing.

He traced the hoses around and decided these worked a braking system and had nothing to do with the coupling itself. That left the lever. It should have yielded when he tugged on it. Even applying his full strength, it refused to budge.

But the train was moving. The whistle let out its shrill warning that they again pulled onto the main tracks on their way to El Paso.

He made one last effort, then had to hop onto the platform behind the Pullman car or be left behind. Ike sat panting from the exertion. His hands were covered with grease, and the coupling remained fully locked. The train lurched and finally left the siding. Staring down at the tracks he saw the difference. These rails were shinier from being run over at full speed and, somehow, were sturdier in appearance.

“They use defective tracks on the sidings,” he muttered aloud. “Or not.” He was past caring. The plan with the best chance of succeeding was now out of the question. If he couldn’t uncouple the Pullman, freight cars and caboose standing still, there wasn’t any way he’d ever succeed with the train gathering speed.

Ike tried to open the door into the third passenger car. His hands were too slippery with grease. Grumbling, he wiped his right hand off on his pants and turned the handle.

The door slammed shut, and the handle slid from his grip.

“What’re you doing? You were tinkering with the coupling. What’d you do?”

A heavy fist slammed into the back of his head. The rabbit punch drove him to his knees. Through blurred eyes, he saw boots step onto the platform.

“You. You don’t have sense enough to let us be!”

Kinchloe grabbed Ike by the collar and lifted. The railroad dick was inches taller and caused Ike to scuffle back and forth, trying to gain his feet. His toes dragged along the metal platform.

“You and the woman. You’re up to something, but I don’t want to hear it from you. I’ll beat it out of her—after you’re gone!”

Kinchloe lifted Ike entirely off the metal platform and swung him around. Dangling over the rapidly passing land brought everything into focus. Without traction, he had no chance to punch the railroad detective. Ike’s hand flashed for his six-gun.

Again the grease on his hand betrayed him. His fingers slipped off the butt. For his effort, he got a loud burst of laughter from his assailant.

“Mr. Schofield might want to ask you some questions, but I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Kinchloe pulled Ike in to his chest with the intent of heaving him outward by a sudden straightening of his arms. This gave Ike the opportunity he’d missed before. Ike grabbed Kinchloe’s lapel with his left hand and pulled with all his strength. The bull shoved, but Ike curled around and slammed into the rear wall of the passenger car instead of sailing out into the desert.

Still unable to get traction, Ike brought one leg up and forced his knee between their bodies. Kinchloe growled like a bear and regained his grip. Before he swung Ike out to be thrown from the train, Ike wiped his hand off on the man’s coat.

This time when his hand flashed to his six-gun, he didn’t slip. Ike drew and discharged the Colt point-blank into Kinchloe’s chest. There was hardly any report from the pistol. With the muzzle jammed hard into the man’s body, the shot was muffled. Flames from the wadding spread across Kinchloe’s coat and vest like a tiny forest fire.

The railroad dick reached down and, insensibly, tried to beat out the flame. Ike grabbed for an iron rung as Kinchloe stumbled past him. His hands caught Ike’s coat sleeve and tore it. For an instant, the two stared at each other, inches apart.

Then Kinchloe seemed to melt. He sagged down. His grip weakened. And he finally tumbled over the low railing between the cars. As he flailed about, one arm bounced off the steel track. The rest of his body followed.

Ike recoiled as a spray of blood blasted upward. Kinchloe was no longer a threat. To anyone ever again.