Ralph Compton Train to Durango, page 20
“I can’t promise you the hombre that’s after me won’t try to get to me here. Take that bench farthest away, by the front wall. Whatever happens, don’t get involved.”
“Like hell,” said Whiteside. “The Winchester there under the bench is loaded. If some varmints start slinging lead, I’ll sling a double dose right back at him.”
“Bueno,” Silver said, “but don’t get yourself hurt. If this hombre stalking me plays out his hand, I may have to do some tall talking to satisfy the railroad.”
Atop the caboose, Emo Hanks inched his way along a catwalk toward the glassed-in cupola. If Silver was there, Hanks had made up his mind to try for the kill. With anything less to his credit, he dared not enter Drade Hogan’s office.
“Molly,” said Silver, “move to that bench in the front of the car. It’s time I went up this ladder.”
“The cupola’s hinged at the front and swings open,” the brakeman said.
“I reckon I can see through the glass,” said Silver.
But just ahead of the caboose, Emo Hanks hunkered atop the third passenger coach and pondered his next move. Startled when Silver’s face appeared behind the glass of the cupola, Hanks fired hurriedly. The slug shattered the glass of the cupola and slammed part of the wooden frame into Silver’s head. Stunned, he fell to the floor of the caboose, aware that Whiteside had seized his Winchester and had started up the iron ladder. Her frightened eyes on Silver, Molly had drawn her Colt.
“Hold it,” said Silver, getting unsteadily to his feet. “I’m going after him.”
“You’re hurt,” Molly cried, her eyes on the bloody gash extending from Silver’s left temple to the point of his chin.
Heeding Silver’s command, Whiteside had stepped out of the way. Silver sleeved the blood from his face, and without a word, mounted the ladder. Keeping his head down, he cautiously raised what remained of the shattered cupola. There were no more shots, and Silver climbed out onto the roof of the caboose. He had no idea where Hanks was, but he suspected the man would take refuge in one of the passenger coaches. There Silver would be at a great disadvantage, for he couldn’t risk wounding or killing another passenger in his eagerness to get at Hanks. But Hanks had not entered a passenger coach. He clung to the iron rung ladder at the forward end of the second coach, his Colt in his hand.
“Come on, damn you,” said Hanks, as Silver balanced himself atop the caboose.
In daylight, the westbound traveled at top speed. Silver moved slowly forward along the catwalk, finding it difficult to keep his balance with the swaying of the train. He had just bridged the gap between the roof of the caboose and that of the third passenger coach when, from his position between the first and second coaches, Hanks fired. The slug struck Silver in the upper left arm. Stumbling backward, he fell to his knees, causing the second slug to pass over his head. Through it all, he had clung to his Colt, and raising the weapon, he fired. His lead slammed into the iron shell of the second passenger coach, just below the roofline. There was a deadly ricochet, and a fragment of lead found Emo Hanks where he crouched between the two coaches. For a few horrified seconds, he stared at his bloody left thigh. Now afraid for his life, he forgot the remaining three loads in his Colt and sought only to escape. There was no feeling in his left leg as he mounted the ladder to the roof of the second passenger coach. Silver had been hit, but it hadn’t in the least hurt his accuracy. Hanks had barely reached the roof of the coach when a slug tore splinters from the catwalk beneath his feet. He stumbled, regained his balance, and stumbled on. His fear of Drade Hogan had given way to fear of Silver, and his mind searched frantically for a way out of what had become a life-or-death situation. He dared not leap from the train, for he had no horse, and he could feel his boot filling with blood from his wound. He must escape this devil pursuing him, reach a place of safety, and have a doctor tend his wound. Then, as though by inspiration, he realized what he must do. He stumbled on, as lead from Silver’s Colt came painfully close. He must reach the locomotive’s cab and take control of the train, but first he would rid himself of Silver.
Silver’s Colt was empty, and rather than try to reload atop the swaying, fast-moving train, he holstered the weapon. He thought he knew what Hanks had in mind, and when Hanks reached the forward end of the baggage coach, he was sure of it. Hanks disappeared between the baggage coach and the tender, but hearing the shooting, the engineer and fireman had witnessed the deadly chase. When Hanks dropped between the baggage coach and the tender, the fireman bought in. Climbing over the piled-high wood, he found Hanks between the tender and baggage coach, desperately trying to loose the coupling.
“Hey, you,” the railroad man shouted.
Hanks responded by drawing his Colt, but the fireman flung a heavy stick of wood. It struck Hanks in the head, blunt end first, and he was flung to the ballast beside the track. There was a scream of brakes and a jolt as the engineer sought to stop the train. Silver was thrown belly-down atop the baggage coach, and he lay there until the train shuddered to a stop. Silver sat up, aware of running footsteps, and there was Molly coming along the catwalk from the caboose. She reached Silver just as the fireman did, and this time, the railroad man had a Winchester.
“What the hell was you tryin’ to do?” the fireman shouted.
“Can’t you see he’s wounded?” cried Molly.
“I’ll live,” Silver said. “The hombre I was after is wanted by the federal government. Where is he?”
“Alongside the track,” said the fireman. “The damn fool was uncouplin’ the tender from the rest of the train. I slugged him with a chunk of wood. Now just who are you?”
“I have proper identification,” Silver said, “but before we get into that let’s find that hombre who fell from the train.”
The fireman swung down a ladder to the ground, Silver and Molly following. Far down the track, well beyond the caboose, some passengers from aboard the train had gathered. The train’s engineer and conductor were there, and they turned inquiring eyes on Silver. It was the fireman who spoke.
“This gent was chasin’ the feller that was tryin’ to uncouple the engine and tender from the rest of the train. He’s a federal man of some kind. Claims he got identification.”
“We’ll have to see it,” said the engineer. “The man he was chasin’—the one you hit with a chunk of wood—is stone dead. Busted neck.”
“Stand aside,” Silver said. “I’ll have to confirm it.”
Reluctantly they moved away, allowing Silver to view what remained of Emo Hanks. He then took his identification from his coat pocket and passed it to the engineer.
“Silver and his woman were in the caboose with me,” the brakeman volunteered. “It was the dead man that started the shootin’.”
“Untanglin’ all this is a job for the law,” the fireman said. “Let’s load this dead gent in the baggage car and get on to Dodge.”
“All you passengers get aboard,” ordered the conductor.
The fireman and brakeman carried the dead Emo Hanks to the baggage coach. Silver and Molly entered the third passenger coach and took their seats.
“Does it hurt much?” Molly asked, eyeing the blood-soaked sleeve of Silver’s shirt.
“I’ve had more pleasant experiences,” said Silver. “Here, take my bandanna and tie it as tight as you can, just above the wound. I’ll last until we reach Dodge and a doctor. I wish I’d insisted on searching Hanks, before he was put into the baggage coach.”
“You know who he was and what he was,” Molly said, “and he tried to kill you. What more do you need to know?”
“Nothing, I reckon,” said Silver. “What I’d like to know is how the hell they knew we had Shankler. They had to know, almost the minute we took him, for Hanks to get on our trail so quickly.”
“You don’t suppose Wexler . . .”
“No,” Silver said. “We left Dodge with Shankler the same day Wexler arrived. Hanks had to arrive from Denver on the same train we took to Kansas City. It makes no sense him gettin’ here so fast.”
“Perhaps it does,” said Molly, “if you forget about Hanks. Turk Pardue was dead, and Dent Shankler was in jail. Hanks could have been sent to Dodge to find out what had become of Shankler and Pardue.”
Silver laughed. “I thought I was pretty good, but you’re better than I am. When the trail pulled in from Denver, Hanks must have seen us waiting to board the train, with Shankler in handcuffs. Instead of getting off at Dodge, he followed us on to Kansas City. When he was unable to kill Shankler, he decided to come after me.”
When the westbound train reached Dodge, Silver and Molly found Wes, El Lobo, Renita, and Tamara waiting. Foster Hagerman and Harley Stafford were there as well, and while the locomotive took on water the engineer approached Hagerman. He quickly explained the shooting, mentioning the dead man in the baggage coach.
“I’ll get you a blanket to cover the dead man,” said Hagerman. “A couple of you take him into the waiting room, until the sheriff gets here.”
“We’re already behind schedule,” the engineer said.
“Then go on when you’re ready,” Hagerman replied. “Sheriff Dumery knows Silver, and a report from him should be sufficient.”
“Let it wait until I’ve seen a doctor,” said Silver. “I’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“I’ll get you a hack,” Wes said.
He whistled, and one of the hacks drew up beside them. Silver and Molly climbed into the back.
“To the nearest doctor,” Wes ordered.
“We’ll see you at the Dodge House,” cried Molly.
“We might as well start back,” Renita said.
“Sí,” said El Lobo. “Silver have much to say.”
An hour later, a hack drew up before the Dodge House. Silver and Molly stepped down, and Silver paid the driver. Molly carried Silver’s bloody shirt, and his left arm had a bandage from shoulder to elbow.
“Why don’t you rest until suppertime?” Molly suggested.
“Because there’s some talking to be done,” said Silver. “I’ll rest after supper. Go get Wes and Palo.”
“Renita and Tamara too?”
“If they want to come,” Silver said.
Wes, El Lobo, Renita, and Tamara came in. Molly closed and locked the door behind them. Wes and El Lobo hunkered on the floor, their backs to the wall. The others sat on the bed. Molly had gotten Silver a clean shirt.
“We got the captive to Fort Leavenworth alive,” said Silver. “His name is Shankler, and his partner—the varmint that was killed—was Turk Pardue. The hombre that came after me aboard the train was Emo Hanks, from what Shankler told me.”
“We’ve heard of Hanks,” Wes said. “He’s the bastard that tried to use a pair of New Orleans whores to lure Palo and me into a trap in Kansas City.”26
“You do not tell me of that,” said Tamara, looking accusingly at El Lobo.
“Madre mia,” said El Lobo, shaking his head.
“Hanks tried to bushwhack Shankler,” Silver continued, “but the sheriff in Kansas City rounded up some soldiers bound for the fort, and we had a military escort.”
“Shankler talked then?” asked Wes.
“He did,” Silver said. “When Hanks tried to kill Shankler, he wanted my promise that if he talked, we’d guarantee his safety and that the law would go easy on him. He’s locked in the post guardhouse at Fort Leavenworth, and I have the post commander’s promise that he’ll remain there until we’re ready for him.”
“My hat’s off to you,” said Wes. “This is the first one of the varmints that was taken alive and made to talk.”
“Now I’m going to read you my notes,” Silver said. “Stop me if you hear anything that sounds familiar.”
They were silent as Silver read from the notebook.
“One important fact is missing,” said Wes, when Silver had finished. “We don’t have any idea where the Golden Dragon is hoarding the gold.”
“I fought as hard for that as I could,” Silver said, “but Shankler didn’t know. He said there’s a lot that he and others like him are never told. I questioned him at length as to where their supplies of silver, gold, and copper were coming from, and again Shankler just didn’t know.”
“That, or he was afraid to tell,” said Wes.
“I don’t think he knows,” Silver said. “He told me enough to get himself shot dead at least ten times, if the Golden Dragon could get its claws into him.”
“We go to Denver,” El Lobo said.
“Yes,” said Silver.
“But not until your wound heals,” Molly said.
“We don’t have that much time,” said Silver. “This Drade Hogan that Shankler swears is the brains behind the Golden Dragon is nobody’s fool. He’s heard nothing from Pardue and Shankler, and when he gets no report from Hanks, he’ll expect the worst. I think it’s time Wes, Palo, and me take tomorrow’s westbound to Colorado.”
“Not without me,” Molly cried.
“Nor me,” said Renita and Tamara in a single voice.
“You’re all making it difficult for us,” Silver said. “When all hell busts loose, it’s hard for a man to just keep himself alive. The whole idea of coming to Dodge was to leave the three of you safe in a friendly town.”
“I don’t think of it as a friendly town anymore,” said Molly.
“It will be safer than it has been,” Silver said, “because we’re going on the offensive. We’ll be going after them, instead of them coming after us. You can have an extra bed brought in, and the three of you can stay in the same room until we return. Remember, all of you are armed.”
Renita and Tamara looked at Wes and El Lobo, but found no compromise. Molly said nothing more, and when they reached Delmonico’s for supper, it was a somber occasion. Renita finally spoke.
“When . . . will you be going?”
“On tomorrow’s westbound,” said Silver. “I’ll be talking to Sheriff Dumery before we go, asking him to look out for you while we’re away.”
As though on cue, Sheriff Dumery entered the cafe, and not waiting for an invitation, he took a seat at Silver’s table. Wasting no time, Dumery spoke.
“I reckon I ought to talk to you about the dead man that come in on the westbound, Silver. Just for the record, of course.”
“Of course,” Silver said.
Sheriff Dumery had only a few questions, which Silver answered readily.
“Thanks,” said Sheriff Dumery. “I reckon I don’t have to tell you that Ashe Wexler is raisin’ hell over the dead hombre. He’s demanding that the three of you leave town and not come back.”
“We’ll be able to meet half that demand, Sheriff,” Silver said. “Tomorrow the three of us will be taking the westbound to Colorado. Molly, Renita, and Tamara will remain here at the Dodge House. We’ll appreciate your looking out for them while we’re away.”
“I will,” said Sheriff Dumery, “and I’ll ask Harley Stafford to help me. He’ll be in town for the next two weeks.”
“Bueno,” Wes said. “I’ve never had a better friend than Harley, and with a pistol, he’s almighty sudden.”
• • •
Denver, Colorado, April 15, 1885
Drade Hogan sat at his desk, puffing a cigar and drinking coffee. Though there had been no word, Hogan believed Shankler and Pardue were dead, or worse, that they had been taken alive. Hogan then turned his thoughts to Emo Hanks. While Hogan had warned them all against careless use of the telegraph, he had given Hanks a coded message to report the success of his mission. Yet he had heard nothing. Not until one of his men, Abel Hamlet, rode in from Boulder was there any news, and it was all bad.
“I thought you ought to know about this,” Hamlet said. “It come in this morning on the westbound.”
Hogan took the Kansas City newspaper, and a big black headline leaped out at him.
A bushwhacking and a shoot-out in Dodge. Two men dead in the street.
Ashe Wexler had written the piece, and Hogan read it with growing anger. He ground his teeth as he learned that not only had Wes Stone gunned down Curly Dismukes, he had killed one of two bushwhackers who had been siding Dismukes. One of the bushwhackers had been taken alive, and Bryan Silver had taken him to Fort Leavenworth. There he was to be held as a witness for the federal government.
“Damn it,” Hogan bawled aloud, “where is Emo Hanks?”
The receptionist thought Hogan was shouting at her, and opened the door.
“I just read something in the paper that made me angry,” said Hogan. “Get on back to your desk, and if anybody wants me, I’m not here.”
Drade Hogan had prepared for just such an occasion. He quickly addressed half a dozen envelopes and then wrote a brief message for each of them. These he took to the girl in the front office.
“Take these downstairs to the courier’s,” Hogan said. “It’s important that they be delivered immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” said the receptionist.
Hogan returned to his office to await the expected responses.
• • •
Dodge City, Kansas, April 16, 1885
“I wish I was going with you,” Renita said, as Wes prepared to leave for the depot.
“But you can’t,” said Wes. “We’re going to make it so hot for them, they won’t have the chance to even think of you in Dodge.”
Silver and El Lobo were having an equally hard time leaving Molly and Tamara behind.
“I’m going to the depot with you,” Molly said.
“No,” said Silver. “That’s an unnecessary risk.”
“I have a gun,” Molly said.
“Damn it,” said Silver, “I didn’t buy you the Colt so you could go looking for trouble. I don’t want the three of you leaving the Dodge House, except to eat at Delmonico’s, and that rule’s in effect until we return. I’m depending on you to keep Renita and Tamara in line. They’ve been through hell in Mexico, and they’re just reckless enough to follow us on the next train.”
