Counterfeit Lawman

CHAPTER THREE

Who’re you?” The man closest to Ike roared when he divined the answer for himself. “Get ’em, boys!”

The four men lumbered forward. In a footrace, Ike was sure he could outleg all of them. They were bulky men, muscled from moving freight around. There wasn’t any call for them to be quick. That didn’t save Ike and the women, though. They were boxed in by crates and the semicircle of railroad men coming for them.

“Push,” Ike grated out. He stepped behind the ten-foot-tall roll of canvas scenery. Braced against the crates, he put his back into shoving as hard as he could. The cyclorama wobbled about. When Lily joined the effort, the column teetered about, then came crashing down.

The cyclorama knocked two of their attackers to the ground. A third tried to catch the upper end and regretted it. The falling weight proved too much for him. The roll slid through his hands and smashed down on his foot. The fourth man paused to take in the woes befalling his partners. Ike stepped up, judged distances and unloaded a roundhouse punch to the gut that lifted the man off his feet. Gasping and clutching his belly, the warehouse worker doubled over. He sounded like a set of wheezing fireplace bellows as he fought for wind.

“Run,” Ike said.

“Our property!” Lily’s mother tried to pick up a carpetbag. Ike knocked it from her hands, grabbed her elbow and half dragged her away. “But our costumes,” she protested. “The scenery!”

“Run, Mama, run! They’ll kill us if you don’t.”

“Or sell you to Mexican slavers,” Ike added. What worried Lily had no effect on her mother. She moaned about their lost luggage but trailed behind as her daughter matched Ike’s long stride out of the warehouse.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the Texas sun burn his face. It was a humid day, but the air blew hot from a half-dozen moving engines in the yard and evaporated the sweat. Shouts from behind brought him out of his momentary enjoyment of freedom.

Ike patted his waistband where he had tucked the six-shooter taken off the dead man in the freight car. He sagged in despair. Marshal Granger had it now, but having it to wave around might have bought them passage away from the trains even if Ike had no intention of actually firing. The bustle of the rail yard passed them by—or most of it did.

“They’re getting out from under the cyclorama, Mama,” Lily warned. “Don’t go back. Don’t!”

“We can’t possibly keep running from them and expect to escape. There’s too many of them.” Lily’s mother kept looking over her shoulder. Every time she did, she slowed just a little more.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Ike said. “How are you at jumping onto a freight train?” Two nearby engines built speed, both hooked to long lines of boxcars. The farther one already had built too much speed to jump aboard, but the closer one held promise.

“We can’t leave our belongings,” Lily protested.

“Good luck,” Ike said. He touched the brim of his hat politely, then dashed for the train. One freight car rattled along with its door half-open.

“You can’t abandon us! Come back here!”

Ike heard Lily’s aggrieved voice. He felt bad about leaving them, but staying to help put his own life in jeopardy. From what they’d said, their lives weren’t in danger like his. The owner of the Grand Palace—Zachary, they’d said—held a grudge about them stealing from him. From what Ike had seen of the two women, they’d charm him into letting them work off whatever amount they’d stolen. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, but they were worth more alive than dead.

He stole a final look at Lily. She was worth more alive to about everyone.

He had no idea what he had gotten mixed up in. One of the railroad detectives had shot Gregorio. The only reason Ike saw for that was the roundhouse engineer wanting to tell the other dead man something important. From the viciousness shown by Kinchloe and the other cinder bulls, it would put a noose around their necks. Or maybe it had some importance to their boss. Ike tried to remember his name, but it eluded him.

Escape mattered most to him now. Of everyone in the rail yard, he was most likely to be arrested for all the dead bodies. He pounded alongside the train, then launched himself toward the open freight car door. Fingers wrapped around the frame. With a decent kick, he swung up into the empty car.

Ike stared up at a scarecrow of a man. He stood with arms outstretched, as if to drive away birds. His mouth gaped and showed diseased gums interrupted only by one black tooth. Ike thought his clothes had seen better days after the ride from Houston, but this man’s were worse. Dirty, hanging in strips, and when he flapped his arms it looked as if he were nothing more than a garrison flag in a brisk wind.

A defeated garrison.

“Help me in,” Ike said, balancing precariously in the door. He held out his hand for the man to take.

“Bull,” the scarecrow screamed. He batted Ike’s hand away, then planted a surprisingly strong kick in the middle of his would-be traveling companion’s chest.

Ike yelped and fell backward out of the car.

He hit the ground hard, the protest dying on his lips that he wasn’t a railroad detective. By the time he got his breath back, the train had picked up speed and rattled out of the rail yard.

“That didn’t work out for you, did it?”

He looked up at Lily’s mother. She wagged her finger at him as if he were nothing more than a misbehaving student and she was a disapproving schoolmarm.

“Here,” Lily said, reaching down to give him a hand up. Ike’s legs turned rubbery under him. She supported his weight with surprising strength.

“He thought I was a detective,” Ike tried to explain.

“You look like one,” Lily said, “except you’re a month past needing a bath.”

“I look like one?” Ike shook his head in dismay. That was the craziest thing anyone had ever said to him.

“You’ve got the right idea about getting away. The whole depot’s swarming with cops.” Lily released him. He stayed upright. She looked around. “There aren’t any more trains pulling out. What are we going to do?”

“Go to ground,” he said. Ike pointed toward a platform raised for passengers to board their trains. It stretched empty and silent now that all the trains had rolled out. “Hide under the depot until a train pulls in, then sneak aboard with the passengers.”

“The conductor will want to see a ticket. Without one, he’ll throw us off the train,” Lily’s mother protested.

“We’ll be away from San Antonio. That’ll give us new problems, but they’re not likely to be waving six-guns around with the intent of killing us.”

The words barely slid from his lips when a sharp report made him duck. Where the bullet had gone mattered less than being found again. Ike pointed to a tight knot of men. Sunlight flashed off the leading man’s brass badge.

“That’s Kinchloe,” he said. “I think he’s the boss of all the bulls.”

Stepping between them, he circled the women’s waists and herded them toward the depot. The scheme he had conjured up out of thin air disappeared like a mirage now that Kinchloe had them in his sights, but something else might turn up. All he had to do was stay out of custody by Marshal Granger—and not get ventilated by Kinchloe and his henchmen.

The former looked likely as they ran ahead of the detectives, the legitimate lawman nowhere to be seen. The latter seemed unlikely as bullets kicked up cinders and dirt all around them.

“Go, go, go,” Lily’s mother cried, jerking free of Ike’s embrace.

He tried to stop her from dashing up the depot steps. She twisted about agilely, and he missed grabbing her by inches. Then he lost his balance when Lily yanked on his arm.

“Let her go. She can take care of herself.”

“They’ll gun her down.”

“They want to turn her over to Zachary for the reward.”

He wasn’t in any position to argue. Kinchloe kept shooting. As the detective ran closer, his aim improved. Ike found himself worried more about Lily being hit by a stray bullet than catching an ounce of lead himself. Spinning around, he swung her off her feet. This let him regain his own equilibrium. He caught a last glimpse of the woman’s mother ducking inside the depot.

That took care of part of his problem. She was on her own now and likely to fare better than he was if he kept trying to protect her daughter.

Above the building billowed clouds of white steam from an engine parked on the far side. If she was lucky, she might get aboard and pull out of the station before the cinder bulls found her.

“In there,” he said, pushing Lily through the open door to a baggage storeroom. He followed her, then kicked the door shut with his heel. “Go on. Find the door leading up to the platform. Join your mother and hightail it.” Ike fell back heavily against the door, his shoulders heaving with strain.

“You can’t hold the door against them. There are too many.” Lily stood with feet wide and her fists on her hips. She had the same disapproving schoolmarm look her mother had been using with him.

Ike hunted frantically for a locking bar. There wasn’t one. Worse, a bullet tore a thumb-sized hole to the left of his head. The detectives fired through the wood door. He dragged a steamer trunk over and tipped it against the door. It barely had leaned into place when someone crashed into the door and splintered a panel. A hand clutching a six-gun poked through the hole. The pistol fired once before Ike grabbed the man’s wrist. He fought for possession of the gun. Luck went his way when he yanked down hard. The gunman let out a howl of pain as his wrist broke. The gun fell to the floor from numbed fingers.

“Find the other door. Hurry!” He scooped up the pistol and thrust it through the broken panel. His targets were hidden, but he wasn’t interested in actually hitting anyone. All he wanted was to sow panic. He began firing. Ike grunted when someone brought a steel gun barrel down on his wrist. His grip broken on the gun, he let loose and pulled back. Turnabout was fair play.

From the confused cries on the other side, he had achieved all he could have hoped, even if they had turned the tables on him.

He backed away, rubbed his wrist then turned and wove this way and that through the stacked bags and trunks. Lily waved for him to join her at the foot of stairs leading up into the depot.

He started to berate her for not preceding him. Then he saw the door at the top of the steps was securely fastened. Lowering his head like a charging bull, he ran full tilt up the steps and smashed his shoulder into the door. Wood splintered as it exploded off its hinges. He landed on top of the door, momentarily dazed. Lily stepped over him.

“Oh, don’t stare like that. Haven’t you ever seen a man too drunk to stand?” She made shooing sounds and helped him up. Her breath came hot in his ear as she whispered, “Those old biddies think you’re drunk. Act drunk.”

Ike’s vision cleared. They had burst into a waiting room. Four old ladies perched primly on a bench, lips pressed together and looking reproachful.

“Top of the morning, ladies,” he said, slurring his words just a little. “Any of you have a flask? I seem to have misplaced mine and can use a wee nip.” He worked his way down the row, each woman pointedly turning away. Not a one of them would be able to identify him because they showed their outrage by refusing to look at him, but there wasn’t going to be any need for them ever to point him out. If the marshal came to investigate a disturbance, he was caught. And if Kinchloe followed, he was dead.

Who else would cause such chaos but the man they all chased?

“This way, dear,” Lily said. She called back over her shoulder, “I’m sure we can find a saloon open somewhere.”

Ike lowered his chin and pulled his hat down further to hide his face. They still refused to look at him, but he wanted to be sure the passengers had no chance at all of positively describing him.

They left the waiting room and stumbled onto the platform. While they had been avoiding Kinchloe, a train had pulled up, loaded passengers and now was pulling out, gathering speed.

“Get on. Run. Your mother’s already aboard.” Ike had no idea if that was true, but it gave Lily reason to jump onto the train and ride off safely. He hung back when he heard a commotion from the waiting room. The railroad detectives had raced through the baggage storage room and were hot on his trail.

“The caboose,” Lily cried. “It’s almost beyond reach.” She lifted her skirts and ran. At the very edge of the platform she made a grab, caught an iron rung and was yanked out into space. She hung suspended for an instant, then found her footing on an iron step. She pulled herself up and looked back.

She reached out to him, as if her arm might telescope all the way to the platform and save him from the detectives.

His last sight of her was more shadow than light as she stood under the overhanging caboose roof. The motion of the train caused her bright red hair to flutter like a banner of shining copper. Ike bent over and let a bull stumble when he grabbed for him and missed. Not content, he thrust out his leg and the cinder dick tripped and tumbled off the platform onto the tracks. Ike recovered his balance and shoved hard, catching another man squarely in the chest. The push sent him back into Kinchloe.

Frantic, Ike looked around. The ticket agent was unlimbering a huge Remington black powder pistol from a hiding place under the counter. Two baggage handlers exited from inside the depot. It didn’t take a second for him to know whose side they were on. Thrusting out his boot again, he tripped the man trying to stand. This sent the detective and Kinchloe crashing back to the floor.

Vaulting over them, he retreated through the waiting room, much to the displeasure of the four women there. They huddled together against his new intrusion. He touched the brim of his hat politely and said, “Excuse me for the interruption, ladies.”

He heard one say something very unladylike, then he leaped down the baggage room stairs and ran for the door he had blocked previously, then shot through. Kinchloe hadn’t respected STC railroad property and had ripped the door off its hinges. Ike burst out into the rail yard and sought any possible sanctuary.

Lily was safely away on the departing train. Where her mother had gone was a mystery, but he suspected she could talk her way out of any predicament. He put his head down and ran for all he was worth, jumping over tracks and veering this way and that to take advantage of trains on sidings and others slowly moving around, preparing to take on freight or unload boxcars creaking with produce.

Without realizing it he found himself back in the warehouse where the two women had been kept chained. He slowed, then stopped, bent over and hands on knees. He sweat like a pig after running around in the fierce Texas sun. Catching his breath proved harder than he expected. After evading everyone chasing him, from Penrose back in Houston to Kinchloe and Granger here in San Antonio, he should have been in better shape.

He straightened and looked at the mountains of crates. Hiding on top of them again until nightfall was the only idea that popped into his head. The cyclorama lay on the floor.

The scrape of boots against the dirt floor caused him to look up. Someone approached, running hard. Ike flopped alongside the canvas roll and pressed snugly against it. If whomever came up wasn’t paying attention, Ike hoped they’d not see him or maybe think he was part of the cyclorama.

He wasn’t that lucky, and they weren’t that careless.

“Shoot him, Smitty. Go on. If you won’t do it, let me.”

Ike peered over the edge of the roll of scenery and stared down the barrel of Smitty’s six-shooter. Another of the bulls stood beside him, his pistol cocked and aimed, too, but held clumsily in his left hand.

“Kinch said he wanted him alive.” Smitty didn’t sound too convinced. He itched to fill his victim full of lead for the chase he had given them.

“Shoot him. We can tell Kinchloe he got the drop on us.”

Ike started to protest that he wasn’t armed, then he saw the man urging Smitty to commit murder had a right arm all cut up. Like he had shoved it through a broken door and waved a gun around before having it taken away from him and used to scatter a gang of railroad bulls. Ike remembered the satisfying feel as the man’s wrist had broken.

“Yeah, why not?” Smitty sighted along the barrel of his Colt. It had been a dangerous, deadly day, but Ike had never before seen death coming for him so vividly.