Rebel Train: A Civil War Novel

Chapter 32

Flynn, Nellie and Benjamin hurried along the canal towpath. From the direction of the train, they heard a series of gunshots. Then all was quiet.

"You reckon the Yankees got Pettibone and the others, Flynn?" Benjamin asked.

"I reckon they did, lad," Flynn replied, puffing under the weight of the sack of money he carried.

"Even Colonel Percy?"

"Percy's a sly one. I wouldn't number him among the dead just yet."

"Do you reckon you got Lincoln when you shot through the door?"

"I must have. There's not many men who can dodge a dozen bullets."

"Stop talking and hurry it up," Nellie snapped impatiently.

"I never thought money could be so heavy," Benjamin said.

Flynn laughed. "I can think of worse burdens."

The towpath was a well-worn dirt road, a good twelve feet wide, and they covered the ground quickly. Flynn couldn't help thinking that the soldiers, who wouldn't be weighed down by sacks of money, would have an easy time chasing them down along this road.

It was growing dark. Overhead, the bare, intertwined branches of the trees served to block what light remained, so that it was as if they were moving through a tunnel. Nightfall would work both for and against them. The soldiers would have a harder time following them in the dark, but on the other hand, Flynn, Nellie and Benjamin would be traveling blindly down unfamiliar roads.

"This way," Nellie said, leading them toward a road that emptied into the towpath near one of the canal locks. Nobody was in sight.

"Where are we going, Nellie?" Flynn asked, amused that the woman had taken charge. "You act like you know this road."

"Any road is better than this towpath," she said. "As soon as the soldiers are finished with that train, they're going to come after us, and they'll make better time."

"I was just thinking the same thing," Flynn said.

"How do we know we won't run into a Yankee patrol on this here road?" Benjamin asked.

"We don't," Flynn panted. "But Nellie has a point. The more distance we put between ourselves and the railroad tracks, the better. We've got to cover all the miles we can tonight. The roads will be swarming with troops looking for us at first list. Anyhow, lad, keep that gun of yours handy."

They hurried on, with Nellie in the lead.

Benjamin stumbled. "Go ahead," he said. "I'll catch up in a minute."

Darkness was falling quickly, especially on the roadway, which ran beneath a canopy of overhanging trees. It had grown cooler, too, although they were moving so fast that they barely noticed the damp chill that crept up from the river.

"What are you going to do with your share of the money, Nellie?" Flynn asked.

"I'm going to buy a big house in a fine neighborhood in Baltimore and I'm going to have lots of Irish servants."

"Irish are too much trouble," Flynn said. "I'd look for a good English butler, if I were you."

Benjamin had caught up again. He managed to laugh, despite his heavy load. He cut himself short and stared down the road into the gathering darkness.

Nellie and Flynn saw them, too, and stopped.

Four horsemen waited up ahead, blocking the road. They were hard-looking characters. They wore wide-brimmed hats pulled low over their eyes, shading their faces. All were armed, their hands within easy reach of their guns. There was no hint of any uniform, either blue or gray, and Flynn wished he had seen the horsemen in time to duck off the road. Flynn had the uneasy feeling that the horsemen were expecting them. He was afraid they had walked right into a trap set by the Yankees.

Flynn dropped his money bag and reached for his gun. "We may be in for a bit of trouble."

Greer insisted on the hanging. It would have been easier simply to shoot the captured Rebel, but Greer would not be cheated out of his revenge. After all, Greer had chased his stolen train across two states, seen his fireman and friend Walter Frost killed, and probably lost his job with the railroad. Hanging the lone raider they had caught was a small consolation. No one even bothered to suggest that the Rebel be taken back to Baltimore so that he could be sent to military prison.

A rope was found, a noose made, and John Cook was marched at bayonet point to a suitable tree not far from the tracks. An uncomfortable silence had fallen over the soldiers. It was one thing to talk about a hanging, but now that they had the rope and the noose, no one was eager to carry out the task at hand.

"Let's string him up," Greer ordered.

"You ain't got no right," Cook protested. He was close to tears. Several of the soldiers looked away, not wanting to meet Cook's eyes. "I'm a prisoner of war. You can't hang me."

"You're a thief and a spy, you damn Reb. Now shut the hell up or I'll have a gag put in your mouth."

Cook decided to die quietly. He choked back a sob and shuffled toward the noose. His hands were tied behind his back, but his legs weren't bound.

Night was coming on fast. The train carrying Lincoln and the others had already steamed away. Greer could scarcely believe his train had been secretly carrying the president to Gettysburg when the raiders struck. He felt angry, too, for not having been told the president was aboard. He understood the need for secrecy, but if he had only known what an important passenger his train carried, he might never have stepped off the train in Sykesville for breakfast. None of this mess would have happened. As it stood now, he would always look like a fool because of the day's events. That thought snuffed any spark of mercy he might have felt toward the Rebel about to be hanged.

"Let's get to it," he growled. "There's not much daylight left."

The soldiers threw the rope over a branch, put the noose around the Rebel's neck, and tightened it. Cook was standing on an upended crate dragged out from the train for just that purpose. When everything was in place, all eyes — including the doomed Rebel's — looked to Greer.

Greer had never witnessed a hanging before, much less overseen one. He supposed there was some proper ceremony, some prayer he was supposed to utter, but he decided it really didn't matter, so long as the result was the same.

"God have mercy on your soul," he said, making an attempt at a proper hanging. He couldn't help adding spitefully, "Not that you don't deserve what's coming to you, you damn thieving Johnny Reb."

He nodded at the soldier who was the appointed executioner, and the man kicked the box out from under John Cook.

The rope went taut.

Death did not come quickly. Cook's neck didn't snap because the box wasn't kicked hard enough and he stepped into space, rather than fell with the full weight needed to make a clean break. His face turned blue and he made horrible strangling noises. His legs kicked wildly, trying to find a foothold that was no longer there.

Disgusted, Greer strode forward. This was supposed to be a hanging, not a torture, and he grabbed the man's dangling feet and tugged down mightily. The body suddenly went still.

"Amen," someone said.

"Let him hang for a minute, then cut him down," Greer ordered. He felt satisfied, watching the limp body swaying in the dusk at the end of a rope.

That's for taking my train, you Reb bastard. It's also for Walter Frost.

Greer had the captain send his men out to search for the remaining raiders. At most, they had half an hour before night settled over the mountains. It would be futile to fumble around in the dark, so unless the soldiers found something right away, the search would have to resume in the morning. With any luck, Greer thought, they would have need for more rope.

"Looks like home guard," Benjamin said, referring to the quasi-military patrols that roamed the roads, upholding the law as they saw fit.

"Once you start shooting, lad, don't stop," Flynn said. "Ready—"

"No!" Nellie put a hand on Flynn's arm as he was about to draw his revolver.

"Let me handle this," she said. To Flynn's astonishment, she walked out to meet the horsemen.

"We reckoned we'd find you hereabouts, Nellie," said a man wearing a long duster coat, leaning forward in his saddle and glaring at Flynn, whose hand was firmly on the butt of the Le Mat. "Where's Charlie?"

"He's dead."

"Dead? What happened?"

"We got ourselves mixed up in the middle of a train raid by some Reb soldiers." She jerked her chin at Flynn and Benjamin. "That's two of them."

"You want us to shoot them?" The horseman leveled a rifle at Flynn's chest. He was barely twenty feet away, and Flynn knew the man wouldn't miss. He held his breath and stared at Nellie, amazed.

She turned. Even in the gathering dark, Flynn could see Nellie's cold smile. She held his life, and Benjamin's, on the tip of her tongue.

"No," she finally said. "They helped me get the money off the train."

One of the men slid off his horse, and while the others covered Flynn and Benjamin with their guns, he relieved them of the sacks of money.

The man carried it back toward the horses, and as he divided the greenbacks among the saddlebags, the man with the long duster coat explained how they had come to find Nellie. They had dragged some trees across the tracks a short distance ahead as planned, in order to stop the train. But the train never arrived. Instead, they heard a crash and then gunfire. Leaving three men at their makeshift barricade, the rest had ridden the roads that paralleled the tracks, intending to find out what all the commotion was about.

"Knowing Charlie, I reckon he must have gotten itchy under the collar and raised hell," the man in the duster said. "I suppose it was enough to get him killed."

"Yes," was all Nellie said. Flynn was glad she didn't point out that he was the one who had done the killing.

"We done brought your horses along," the leader said. "Just in case we had to help you make a getaway."

Nellie walked over to one of the horses and the man still on the ground helped her swing up into the saddle. She straddled the horse, skirts and all, just like a man.

"Give them Charlie's horse," she said.

"We ain't giving them a horse," the leader protested. "These horses cost good money."

"There's Yankee soldiers on our trail," she said. "You want these two to get caught and tell those soldiers about us?"

"It ain't too late to shoot them," he offered. "They won't talk much then."

"Give them the horse."

One of the men led the animal forward and offered the reins to Flynn. He took them gladly, but couldn't take his eyes off Nellie. She had played him for a fool and outfoxed him all the way. Damn the woman.

"Might we request a few of those greenbacks for our troubles?" Flynn asked.

"I don't think so." Nellie laughed. "You have a lot of brass for asking, though. See you in hell, Irish."

The thieves turned their horses and quickly rode back the way they had come, leaving Flynn and Benjamin alone on the dark road.

"Well, it all makes sense now," Flynn said, watching as the horsemen were swallowed by the oncoming night. He sighed. "She never wanted to split the money with me in the first place. Nellie just needed someone to carry it off the train for her, so she could meet up with her friends there. That's why she wanted to make sure we were bringing the train this far. It was where those fellows were setting their ambush."

"Ain't you mad?" Benjamin asked.

"Mad? Hell no, lad. We're alive, which is more than some can say tonight." He looked back toward the river, where the railroad tracks ran, somewhere in the distance. "All the rest weren't so lucky."

"Maybe she ain't as smart as you think," Benjamin said.

"What do you mean, lad?"

Benjamin opened his coat, revealing several bundles of greenbacks stuffed into his belt. He reached into his coat pockets and pulled out more money. "Back when I pretended to stumble, I took some of the money out of the sack and put in a couple of rocks so it wouldn't seem any lighter."

Flynn stared, astonished, then threw back his head and laughed. "There's hope for you yet, lad."

He hooked a foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up onto the horse, then reached down and helped the boy up behind him. "If those Yankees chase us anything like they chased that train, they won't give up. Come morning, they'll be riding all over these mountains looking for us and that money. Only we're going to be in Virginia by then. Nellie saved our lives twice tonight, first by telling her friends not to shoot us, and then by giving us this horse. We can't ride fast or far, not with two of us, but we'll make better time than walking."

Flynn headed the horse south, toward the Confederacy. He and Johnny Benjamin were going home.