Ironhorse

7

The train was chugging slowly as it moved up through the heavily wooded river valley. The wall of mountains to our left blocked what remained of the setting sun, and we were closing in on dark. Virgil opened the loading gate on his Colt. He replaced the spent rounds with lead-filled casings and undented primers as he looked out of the cabin, watching the woods passing by.

I reloaded my Colt as I looked closer at the dead gunmen on the cabin floor. Neither of them wore bandanas hiding their faces. I put the heel of my boot to the shoulder of the man lying on his side and turned him over.

Virgil looked back to me.

“Bragg’s hands?” he said.

“Don’t recognize either one of ’em,” I said.

“The others back there?” Virgil said.

“Not sure ’bout the hand you came up behind with the Schofields,” I said. “But the big red-bearded fellow you shot rode with Bragg. The other shooting at us was damn sure Vince.”

“Vince is a bad hombre,” Virgil said.

“Not afraid to pull the trigger,” I said.

“No, he’s not.”

Virgil shook his head and leaned out of the cabin a bit and looked back behind us.

Before I killed Randall Bragg on the porch of the Boston House Hotel, Bragg had his way with Virgil’s woman, Allison French. Virgil had a profound dislike for Bragg and his gang. The name Bragg or anyone associated with Bragg was not a welcome recollection to Virgil’s memory, especially the big Irishman. Vince challenged Virgil outside the jailhouse in Appaloosa, and Virgil backed him down in front of the whole gang. Vince threatened he’d kill Virgil one day, and Virgil didn’t much care for that notion. Virgil Cole did not take threats lightly.

“Looks like Vince finally got the opportunity he’s been waiting for,” Virgil said.

“Opportunity to kill you?”

“Yep,” Virgil said.

“Been a bunch that have had such opportunities before.”

“There have.”

“They didn’t fare so well,” I said.

“No, they didn’t.”

“Wasted opportunities.”

“Don’t see a reason to disappoint Vince of not having his opportunity,” Virgil said.

Virgil looked out of the cabin again to the solid stand of trees passing by, and then turned to the engineer.

“How long this land stay like this?” Virgil said.

“Rugged like this, you mean?” the engineer said.

Virgil nodded.

“Well, right back there, where those horses were, was the last of the open terrain. Nothing but woods going north now. Rail snakes through thick woods all the way up to Tall Water Falls, and it’s uphill to boot. After that, the woods open some. By the time we get to Division City you’re in fairly open country.”

“Can you make it to open country without stopping?”

The engineer looked at the fireman.

The fireman shook his head.

“No,” the fireman said. “Got the biggest tender of any train running, four thousand gallons. But uphill like it is, I doubt we’d even make Tall Water Falls.”

“When’s your next water drop?” Virgil said.

“Standley Station,” the engineer said. “Two hours.”

“There a town there?” Virgil said.

“Small one,” the engineer said.

“Right now,” Virgil said, “keep moving; don’t slow down any more than you have to. Don’t want these robbers getting off this train, busting free into the woods, understand?”

“I do,” the engineer said. “There’s something you should know, though.”

“What’s that?” Virgil said.

“We got the governor of Texas and his family on board,” the engineer said. “Wife, two daughters.”

“That’s why you took so long boarding in Paris,” I said.

“I reckon so,” the engineer said.

“What car they in?” Virgil asked.

“First-class Pullman sleeper,” said the engineer. “Fourth coach back.”

“Daughters?” Virgil said. “How old?”

“Grown women, that’s for sure, in their twenties.”

“Texas Rangers with them?” I said.

“No,” the engineer said. “Pinkertons.”

“Pinkertons?” Virgil asked. “How many?”

“That I don’t know.”

“Well, all right, then,” Virgil said. “You boys take care of what’s in front of us, and Everett and me will take care of what’s behind us.”