Counterfeit Lawman

CHAPTER TWENTY

They were here. I swear it. They’re gone.” Ike climbed onto a water barrel and balanced precariously as he looked frantically down the tracks. The engine with the passenger cars still stood in the station, but the freight cars along with the Pullman were gone. “The caboose! Where’s the caboose?!”

“It’s loose, just like your brains,” Dallas Stoudenmire said. “You folks have been out in the desert too long. This part of the country’s famous for sunstroke. I recommend you find yourself a saloon and set yourselves down until the hallucinations pass. Just steer clear of the Golden. That’s my place.”

“Wait, Marshal!” Lily grabbed his arm. He yanked free. For once Lily fell silent when she saw his dark look. She stepped out of his way and let him stalk off.

“Schofield’s already moved the cars. Where’d he go?”

“There’s a simple way to find out,” she said. She lifted her skirts and climbed the steps to the platform. Ike was slow following. By the time he got to her side, she was interrogating the ticket agent.

“Lady, I don’t know these things. Go ask the yard manager. He’s responsible for routing.” The man kept running his fingers along the bottom of the raised window, wanting to slam it shut and get rid of Lily’s persistent questioning.

“You were up here where you could see the train when it pulled in. When did the freight cars get moved?” She leaned forward so that the ticket agent would have had to slam the window down on her. Sliding her hands forward suggested she wasn’t above reaching through the window and grabbing him by the lapels to shake the answers from him.

“I just came on duty. If you want a ticket somewhere, I’ll sell it to you. San Antonio? That train’s not going that way. According to the schedule, it’s departing for Yuma in about an hour.”

“You haven’t answered,” she cried. “I want—”

Ike pulled a furious Lily back and said, “If Schofield intends to head for the coast and escape, he has to go through Yuma. That means he intends to sell the rifles to the Comancheros within the hour.”

“Oh, oh,” she cried, incoherent. She controlled herself, took a deep, calming breath and rested her hand over her heart as if checking its rapid beating. “That worthless marshal! He’ll be responsible for hundreds of people getting shot up. What are we going to do, Deputy?” She caught herself, lowered her voice and said, “Ike? You still want me to call you that, even though you told the marshal your real name?”

“Ike,” he affirmed. “And we aren’t going anywhere. I can find out where the cars were shipped.” He turned to the ticket agent.

The man pushed his cap back and stuck out his chin belligerently.

“What do you want now?”

Ike drew his six-gun and laid it on the counter. The ticket agent stepped back and raised his palms in front of his chest as if to push away any bullet sent his way.

“The cars weren’t moved back to San Antonio,” Ike said in a soft voice more menacing than if he’d shouted. “If they’d been scheduled to go west, there’d be no call to detach them.”

“I . . . I just came on duty. Honest, Mister. I didn’t see them being moved.”

“Where else might they be? Not south, not west. Where?” He gripped his six-gun, slipped his finger through the guard so it rested on the trigger. “There can’t be too many spur lines coming into this depot.”

“Franklin. There’s a spur out to Franklin. It’s not far. With a little engine hooked on, it’s not more ’n fifteen minutes away.”

“Do you believe him?” Ike asked Lily. She crowded close behind, looking around his shoulder at the agent.

“He seems like an honest fellow,” she said, as if trying out that notion when she knew it was not true. “And a generous one, too.”

“You can’t rob me! I don’t have any money. I just came on duty and haven’t sold any tickets yet!” He pulled open the cash drawer to show how empty it was.

“We’re not robbers. Quite the contrary. You saw us with Marshal Stoudenmire, out in the street?”

The man’s head bobbed up and down.

“He’s gone off to assemble a posse. I’d like to be mounted and on the trail of some dangerous criminals when he returns,” Ike said.

“The only problem is that we don’t have any horses,” Lily chimed in, picking up Ike’s cue perfectly.

“All I got here’s a buggy. It . . . it belongs to the Southern Pacific, and I’m not supposed to use it for anything but business.”

“This is business,” Ike said. He dropped the wallet with the badge where the clerk saw it. The man’s eyes went wider as he stepped back. If the badge had been a rattler, he wanted out of striking distance.

“Go on and tell your boss,” Lily said. She elbowed Ike before he protested. “Tell him you denied a Federal marshal the means to prevent a terrible crime.”

“A deputy marshal,” Ike said. “And one with a temper matching Marshal Stoudenmire’s.” He snatched up the badge and shoved it into his coat pocket. With a smooth motion, he lifted his six-shooter and carelessly waved it about. While he didn’t aim directly at the clerk, he made sure the muzzle swung about in his direction enough times for the man to get the idea.

The man threw up his hands high over his head, as if he were being robbed.

“Go on, take it. I can square it with Mr. Thornton.”

Ike figured this was the man’s employer. He dropped his six-gun back into its holster and nodded curtly. “Thank him for us.”

“He—who should I tell him took the company horse and buggy?”

“Gosling,” Lily called as she hurried to the edge of the platform. “He’s the district US marshal.”

Ike saw that the name made an impression on the clerk. Like the town marshal, Gosling was someone he’d heard of. For all Ike knew, Marshal Gosling rode the train regularly and was known to the clerk. He touched the brim of his hat and dashed after Lily. She descended a ladder at the end of the platform with more agility than he could muster. By the time he stood on solid ground, she sat in the buggy, reins in hand.

“Well, come on, slowpoke!”

She handed him the reins as he sank down beside her. Their combined weight caused the buggy to sag. He hoped the horse was rested.

“There’re tracks running north. Those are the only ones going in the right direction,” she said.

Ike coaxed the horse into a quick trot. He held his tongue because he wanted to tell Lily the horse tired fast pulling both of them and that she ought to stay behind. There was as much chance of her obeying as there was of them bringing Schofield and his men to justice. But he had to try the latter. The former took more courage on his part. Crossing the determined woman wasn’t likely to ever be successful.

“There,” she cried after ten minutes of trotting along. “There’re the freight cars. All three of them. We caught up with that low-down skunk!”

Ike saw something more than she had. A half-dozen horses were tied to a nearby hitching post. From their look, they had been ridden hard. Their riders were nowhere to be seen.

He slowed and finally halted some distance from the freight cars. The small engine that had pulled them from the El Paso depot was still attached. Black plumes roiled upward only to be caught high overhead by an air current that failed to reach the ground. The fluttering black banner seemed appropriate for a pirate like Martin Schofield.

“The Franklin depot’s still a mile farther on,” he said. “Schofield is meeting with the Comancheros where nobody’ll see him.”

“What are you going to do? Look! There’s Smitty! I’d recognize him anywhere.”

Smitty prowled about, a shiny brass rifle in his hands. The weapon flashed as he pivoted around and returned to a spot out of sight near the freight car doors.

“I can sneak inside,” Ike said, his mind tumbling with ideas. “The doors on this side will let me through the freight car so I get the drop on them.” He touched his six-shooter. Six shots. There were that many Comancheros. With Schofield and his two henchmen also in and around the railcars, he’d have to make every shot count, then reload and keep shooting.

“You can’t hope to capture them!”

Ike’s notion was more like an ambush. Shoot as many of them as he could, scatter the rest and trust to Lady Luck that he was still alive to arrest Schofield.

“Arrest,” he scoffed. He touched the wallet in his coat pocket. Carrying the badge made him think he was a lawman. Reminding himself he had never even shot at a man, much less killed one, before reaching San Antonio was important if he wanted to keep on breathing. He had learned. Whether the lessons were good ones remained to be seen.

“Faint hearts never won the day,” Lily said. She looked at him, then planted a big kiss squarely on his lips.

When she pulled away, Ike smiled, just a little.

“That’s not the quote, is it?”

“You’ve already won the fair maiden,” Lily said. Her emerald eyes sparkled. “And you had better not do anything foolish to get yourself all shot up. I’ll never forgive you, if you do.”

He started to tell her to drive over to the Franklin depot and see what help she could muster to come save him. Ike jumped down and put his hand on the butt of his six-gun. A cold shiver passed through him. He froze when he saw a long shadow engulfing his own. Someone stood behind him. From the shadow, he knew he had a six-gun pointed squarely at his spine.

“Don’t shoot,” he said. Ike raised his hands. “You got me. Let the lady go and you won’t have to bother yourself anymore.”

“You’re giving up? That easy? You surprise me, Deputy.”

Ike turned slowly. The man who had crept up on them while they tried to figure out the best way of stopping Schofield towered above him. The Walker Colt in his steady hand pointed directly at his heart.

“Do I know you?”

“Might be you arrested me once. Then again maybe not, Deputy Yarrow.” The man moved around so Ike got a better look.

Tall, rangy, he had been on the trail long enough to accumulate a layer of brown dust all over. His nose hooked like a hawk’s beak, his skin had turned to cured leather, and his deep-set dark eyes drilled into Ike. Shoulder-length brown hair bobbed as he turned his head to get a better look at Lily, but he took in her beauty with a quick glance and saw no threat. There was nothing weak or indecisive about this man.

“How do you know me?”

“I was in town and heard about your, shall we say, meeting? Yes, your meeting with the town marshal. When I heard it was none other than Augustus Yarrow locking horns with Stoudenmire, I had to see for myself.”

“You followed us?”

“How else would I know you headed to Franklin?”

“You’re not a Comanchero, are you?” Ike saw the man’s face about crack as he laughed quietly.

“Can’t abide by them.” He pulled back his coat and glanced at his vest. “Dang it. I’ve been on the trail from Fort Worth and not had a chance to clean up.” He brushed off his vest. A small silver badge caught the light and blinded Ike.

“You’re a Texas Ranger,” Lily said. “I’ve heard tell you pound out your own badge from a Mexican silver dollar.”

“They don’t call ’em that, but you got the right idea, miss. My name’s Ezekiel Thorne, and I’ve just been transferred to the local Ranger district and haven’t been given an assignment yet. When I heard about your run-in with the marshal, I poked around, watched you convince the depot agent to loan you this here buggy and, well, curiosity got the better of me. I trailed you.”

“Get more help. Lily, go to town and rustle up a posse.” Ike was beside himself. Schofield and the Comancheros were obviously nearing the end of their negotiations.

“Don’t you trouble yourself none going back to El Paso. Head to Franklin. It’s about a mile off. Send a telegram to the district Ranger headquarters, let Captain Nathan know what’s going on and be sure to put in the word ‘scabbard.’ ”

“What’s that mean?” Lily looked increasingly frightened as the Comancheros began whooping and hollering.

“That’s something me and him know about. Just put it in and my captain’ll know what to do.”

“It’s still two of us against all of them until they arrive,” Ike said.

“Well, now,” said Thorne, rubbing his stubbled chin, “you got a point. The odds don’t seem the least bit fair.”

Ike saw that the small locomotive was building a head of steam, ready to pull out. Wherever the weapons-laded railcars headed, it’d be too far to chase them down.

“When I said I don’t like the odds, I meant for them. Why, a deputy US marshal and a Ranger pitted against them? We got ’em outnumbered, outgunned and out-thunk.” The Ranger checked his Walker to be sure he had a full load. He let his Colt slide back into its holster, squared his hat and fixed his eyes on the outlaws.

“Be careful, Ike.” Lily gave him a quick kiss. He wondered what her reaction would be if he confessed that he wasn’t a Federal marshal. Ike started to find out when she pulled away, snapped the reins and got the horse trotting off.

Thorne shoved Ike hard and sent him staggering. The Ranger was quick to follow.

“The buggy drew their attention.” Thorne pointed, and Ike saw that they were now hidden by the bulk of the freight car, but Lily had been noticed as she drove off.

He dropped to his knees and looked under the railcar. He saw the boots of at least six men pacing back and forth. When Schofield’s fancy shoes appeared, he pointed them out to the Ranger.

“That’s the varmint, all right,” Thorne said, pressing close to him. “Nobody on the trail’s going to wear anything that expensive. It’s time we did our duty. Are you up for it, Deputy?”

Ike nodded, not trusting himself to speak. If his voice cracked with strain, the Ranger would doubt him. He’d doubt himself.

They advanced until Thorne jangled the wire sealed with a lead slug intended to show if anyone had opened the freight car door. With a smooth movement, he whipped a Bowie knife from a sheath at the small of his back and cut through the wire like it was fresh-baked bread. Ike strained to slide open the heavy door a few inches.

Both of them peered inside. The door on the far side stood wide open, but no one had entered the car. Thorne heaved hard to roll their door open a few more inches, then slithered like a snake belly down across the floor. A quick hand motion urged Ike to join him.

Ike quaked inside but obeyed. He flopped down prone next to the Ranger. The Comancheros milled around a dozen feet away, nervously pacing and looking about as if they expected immediate attack. Ike almost laughed. They looked everywhere but at the real menace.

He glanced at Thorne. They both pulled their guns, but before either called out the order to surrender, Smitty shouted a warning.

Ike had seen hot water poured down an anthill cause less commotion. Irons cleared holsters, and lead flew wildly. The Comancheros had no idea where the threat to them came from, but Schofield’s henchman had given the warning. That was all it took for the air to turn deadly with bullets hammering into the freight car and sailing off into the desert.

Thorne began firing methodically, taking careful aim and loosing death with every shot. Two of the Comancheros closest to the freight car snapped around. One fell flat onto his back. When he landed on the hot sand, he never stirred a muscle. The Ranger’s aim was deadly, and he never hesitated as he sought targets, aimed and fired at the outlaws.

“You got him,” Ike congratulated. The words slipped unbidden from his lips. The Ranger’s second shot had also brought down one of the gunrunners. He twisted about like a corkscrew and sank into a heap as another slug ripped into his chest.

But Ike’s words drew attention to them. As if a puppet master controlled all of the Comancheros, they turned as one and fired into the freight car.

The tide of the slaughter shifted from the outlaws being killed to Ike and Thorne having no chance to escape.