Ralph Compton Train to Durango, page 6
They left by the hotel’s back entrance, and instead of a street, there was an alley that led to a cross street that was as dark as the alley itself. There were a few points of light ahead, but Hawkins turned in the opposite direction. Uneasily, Stringfield followed, staying a pace or two behind. Suddenly Hawkins stumbled and went to his knees.
“What’s wrong?” Stringfield inquired.
“Turned my ankle,” said Hawkins. “Give me a hand.”
Stringfield reached for the extended hand, and when starlight glinted off the blade of the knife, it was already too late. Hawkins lunged forward, driving the deadly blade into Stringfield’s belly. Stringfield collapsed to his knees, only to have the blade driven in again and again. Hawkins withdrew the blade a final time, and Stringfield fell facedown. As the blood and the life drained out of him, he fully understood the purpose of his meeting with this stranger.
• • •
Drake, watching the Depot Hotel, quickly recognized Silver. He had been told that if Silver and his companions left, they were to be followed. Now he was in a quandary, for only Silver was leaving. Swallowing hard, making a decision, he followed. Silver seemed in no hurry, pausing occasionally to look into a shop window. Reflection in the glass offered him a perfect opportunity to observe activity across the street. Silver was virtually certain he was being followed, but he went on. He would find a mercantile or gunsmith, purchase the guns, and then confront his pursuer. The business district was farther away than he had expected, and he was tiring when he eventually found a mercantile. It wasn’t yet open for business, so he sat down on a bench to wait. Drake, his pursuer, could do nothing except continue the way he was headed. Silver laughed.
“Damn him,” Drake grunted. Somehow he would have to double back, and he couldn’t allow himself to be seen again, for he would be recognized.
Silver waited half an hour for the store to open, and he saw nothing more of the man he believed was following him.
“Sorry,” said the storekeeper, when Silver had made known his needs. “Not much call for them pocket guns. I don’t carry them or the shells. But there’s a gunsmith just a few blocks north of here. Right across the street from the Pretty Girl Saloon.”
“Thanks,” Silver said.
There was a back door, and Silver stepped out into an alley. Seeing nobody, he crossed the alley, making his way between buildings until he reached the next cross street. Taking a roundabout way, he kept to a parallel street until he believed he had thoroughly confused the man following him. When he again crossed to the street he wanted, he could see the towering sign of the Pretty Girl Saloon. Quickly he entered the nearby gunsmith’s shop.
“I can fix you up,” said the gunsmith. “I got four pocket Colts. Sure you can’t use the fourth one?”
“No,” Silver said. “Just the three, and a box of shells for each of them.”
“You want holsters and belts?”
“Yes,” said Silver.
“You bought more of these little guns than I’ve sold since I opened for business,” the gunsmith said. “Good luck with whatever you have planned.”
Just in case his pursuer had caught up to him, Silver again went out the back way. A side street took him in the direction he wished to go, and not until he was within a block of the Depot Hotel did he cross over. Only then did he see the stranger who had followed him. The man was across the street from the hotel, under an awning, leaning against the wall of a store building. He appeared not to notice Silver.
“Now you’re about to get a run for your money,” said Silver under his breath.
Reaching the livery, Silver found his companions waiting. His horse was saddled, and he mounted.
“Let’s ride,” Silver said. “That varmint across from the hotel’s been following me, until I managed to lose him.”
“He wasn’t there when we left the hotel,” said Wes.
“That’s why I led him on a wild-goose chase,” Silver said. “When he returned, he had no way of knowing the rest of you weren’t still in the hotel, waiting for me. I doubt that he has a horse nearby, and before he can get his hands on one, we’ll be long gone.”
Wheezing for breath, Drake reached the Grand Hotel. When he pounded frantically on the door, Gandy Franks let him in, waiting impatiently until Drake had recovered his wind and was able to speak.
“They’re . . . gone,” Drake said.
“You were to follow them,” said Franks. “Why didn’t you?”
“Silver left the hotel, and I trailed him,” Drake said. “When he returned, he didn’t go to the hotel, but to the livery. The others had saddled the horses, and when Silver joined ‘em, they all rode out. You didn’t leave me no horse. You said it would draw attention to me.”
“You were within sight of a livery,” said Franks. “I made the mistake of thinking you were smart enough to go there for a horse if you needed one.”
“But they was all saddled and ready to ride,” Drake argued. “Time I got there and got a horse saddled, I’d have lost ‘em. I didn’t think—”
“That’s your trouble,” said Franks. “You never think. Get out.”
“You want me to—”
“I want you to get out and stay out,” Franks snarled.
“But you owe me—”
“I owe you nothing but a slug in the gut,” said Franks, “and if we was anywhere else, you’d collect it now.”
“I’ll go,” Drake said, “but you ain’t seen the last of me.”
“If you’re in town this time tomorrow,” said Franks, “you’ll be gettin’ yourself measured for a pine box.”
Drake backed out the door, his hard eyes on Gandy Franks. When the door closed and Franks was sure Drake was gone, he belted on his Colt and reached for his hat. He must not allow the unwelcome news to reach Drade Hogan. He swallowed hard, recalling the disappearance of Rance Stringfield. When it came to failure, Hogan had his own grisly rewards.
• • •
“We’ll be in Boulder in less than an hour,” Silver said. “If we’re fortunate enough to board an eastbound train today, there’s a chance we can be on our way before the Dragon knows which way we’ve gone.”
“There’s always the telegraph,” said Wes. “That’s got to be the way they headed off El Lobo and me, when we left Kansas City. While I hate to give them that much credit, I’d be willing to bet they have contacts in every town of any size.”14
“Even Dodge?” Renita asked.
“Even Dodge,” said Wes. “There’s nothin’ to be gained by playing down the danger. As you and Tamara know, we left you unprotected in El Paso.”
“That was my fault,” Silver said. “I cautioned you and Palo not to reveal anything that I had told you of the conspiracy.”
“Now we have been told everything,” said Renita, “and whatever lies ahead of us, I am not afraid. I have a weapon to protect myself, and even if that bunch tracks us down and comes after us again, Tamara and me will be ready for them.”
“Sí,” Tamara said.
“Bueno,” said El Lobo.
“Both of you are more than worthy of being called Texans,” Silver said. “I’m hoping that when I lay a pistol in Molly Horrel’s hands, she feels the same way.”
Being familiar with Boulder, Wes led the way to the railroad terminal.
“Let me arrange for the tickets and a boxcar for the horses,” said Wes. “There may be some trouble getting a boxcar on short notice, unless there’s some folks here who may remember me from my days with the railroad.”
Before Wes reached the ticket office, he heard a shout. He turned, his hand near one of his Colts, and to his delight, there was Harley Stafford.
“I couldn’t believe it was you, hoss,” said Harley. “Where’s your Indian companero?”
“He’s here,” Wes said. “We’re on our way to Dodge, and we’re not alone. There’s plenty to tell you, but first, I reckon I’d better make some arrangements with the railroad. We’ll need a boxcar for our horses.”
“I already have a boxcar,” said Harley. “Your horses can travel with mine. There’ll be a train east in about two hours. Just enough time for us to eat and talk.”
Wes wasted no time introducing Harley to his companions.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Silver said, taking Harley’s hand.
“I’ve heard considerable about you,” said Harley, “but most of it from Nathan. Wes and El Lobo have told me nothing, except that a bunch of hombres were out to kill them. I could damn near have figured that out for myself, since the last time they were in Dodge they’d been shot full of holes.”
“You know more than Renita and me,” Tamara said, her eyes on Harley. “We not told they be shot in Dodge.”
“Sorry, ladies,” said Harley. “I didn’t mean to give away any secrets. They were shot before they reached Dodge. Foster Hagerman and me weren’t told anything, except that the trail they were riding might be their last. If all of you are returning to Dodge, I hope you can tell me somethin’ about this bunch with killing on their minds. If somebody’s shootin’ in my direction, I aim to shoot back.”
“Wes and Palo had been sworn to silence,” Silver said, “but things have changed to the extent that you can be told probably more than you’ll want to know. We have some talkin’ to do.”
• • •
Gandy Franks wasted no time getting to the telegraph office. He sent coded messages to contacts in Cheyenne, Boulder, Kansas City, and Dodge. Only then did he call on Drade Hogan with his admission of failure and what he had done to counter it.
“So they’ve given us the slip again,” said Hogan. “At least you had the presence of mind to use the telegraph. As long as we know where they’re going, they haven’t escaped.”
“I didn’t telegraph west or south,” Franks said. “I could think of no reason for them going back to California, or south to Santa Fe or El Paso.”
“There is one thing bothering me,” said Hogan. “The Denver and Rio Grande has plans to go south all the way to El Paso. End of track is near Santa Fe now. I’ve learned that Silver, Stone, and Elfego rode to Durango—a hundred miles—and from there took a train to Denver. Why?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” Franks said. “You think they had a reason?”
“Of course they had a reason,” said Hogan irritably. “We chose Durango because of its virtual isolation and the railroad connecting it to Denver. Now I don’t intend to see all those plans shot to hell because of Silver and his gun-throwers. We must warn Hawk and Denbow. I want security doubled, and I want them made aware of the penalty for failure.”
“There’s the telegraph,” Franks said.
“Too risky,” said Hogan. “I intend to send a messenger.”
“You want me to go?”
“I want you right here, keeping track of Silver and his men,” Hogan said. “What do you think of Turk Pardue and Dent Shankler from our operation in Carson City, and Emo Hanks from New Orleans?”
“I haven’t seen any of ‘em in action since they come here,” said Franks. “I reckon one is good as the other. Only thing I have against any of them is that they’ve all had a shot at these two gunslingers ridin’ with Silver, and they’ve all failed.”
“That’s sound thinking,” Hogan said. “I should have considered that before Stringfield rode to El Paso. I’ll send somebody else to Durango.”
Sighing with relief, Franks departed, closing the door behind him.
• • •
Harley Stafford listened in amazement as Bryan Silver told him as much as he needed to know about the Golden Dragon, and of their need to ensure the safety of Renita, Tamara, and Molly.
“I reckon they’ll be safe enough in Dodge,” Harley said, “but arming them is the smart thing to do. I saw what those varmints did to Wes and Palo after stopping the train on its way to Dodge. Hagerman’s a member of the town council, and I’m sure he’ll do anything that he can.”
“Who’s the sheriff in Dodge?” Silver asked.
“Jack Dumery,” said Harley. “They don’t last long, and he’s the latest. Good man, far as I know.”
“Seems like the trail towns would settle down, now that the cattle drives are done,” Silver said.
“They have, to some extent,” said Harley, “and now that they can’t blame all the hell-raising on Texas cowboys, they’re havin’ to face up to the real problem. All the killers and renegades are still holed up in Indian Territory, and following their bank, train, and stage robberies, they return there. The federals should send a company of soldiers in there and clean up the territory.”
“Maybe when it becomes a state,” Silver said.15
“I reckon that’s one possibility we didn’t consider when we thought of Dodge,” said Wes. “The kind of money the Golden Dragon throws around—even if it is phony—could recruit an army of killers just a day’s ride away.”
“Maybe after we reach Dodge, we’d better allow them a few days to come after us,” Silver said. “Since our only lead was in Denver, and it didn’t pan out, we really don’t have any sense of direction.”
“If you lost them before leaving Denver,” said Harley, “how are they going to know where you are?”
“They’ll know,” Silver said. “By the time we’re ready to board the train for Dodge, I suspect they’ll be watching us.”
“My God,” said Harley, “they might stop or derail the train.”
“I doubt it,” Silver said. “They know Renita and Tamara are with us, and that we’ll be taking them to a place of safety. They’ll telegraph ahead to Dodge and Kansas City, having somebody waiting at both railroad depots. I think we’ll check in at the Dodge House and wait for them to make their move.”
“You’re that sure they’ll be coming?” Harley asked.
“I’m sure,” said Silver. “They want us dead.”
“Sí,“ El Lobo said. “They come.”
Chapter 4
Boulder, Colorado, March 28, 1885
While the locomotive got up steam, Silver, Wes, and El Lobo led their five horses into the boxcar Harley Stafford had provided. Silver, Wes, El Lobo, Renita, and Tamara then joined Harley in one of the passenger coaches. Unseen eyes watched, and when the train pulled out, a stranger was aboard in the coach directly behind Silver and his party.
• • •
In Denver, Gandy Franks read with satisfaction the telegram he had sent to Boulder, and a second one that had gone to Dodge. Hutsinger and his deadly Winchester would be aboard the eastbound train, with instructions to kill. If, for any reason, Hutsinger failed, yet another trusted member of the legion of outlaws, Gannon, would be waiting in Dodge. He would immediately telegraph Denver, so that Franks would know if Silver and his party left the train at Dodge, or continued on to Kansas City.
• • •
Aboard the eastbound, Hutsinger got up and made his way to the end of the coach, to the glass-paneled door that opened to the observation deck. He opened the door and went out, coughing as smoke from the locomotive’s stack swirled about him. When the smoke cleared, he stepped across to the deck of the coach that was coupled behind his own. He removed his hat and knelt down, so that he could see through the door’s glass panel with little chance of his being seen. He noted with satisfaction that Silver, Harley Stafford, Wes, and El Lobo sat in seats facing the opposite end of the coach. Their backs were to him, with only the two women facing him. He would be returning to Boulder afoot, so he could not afford to stay aboard the train much longer. Swiftly he drew the Winchester from its canvas pouch, jacking a shell into the chamber. He got to his knees, prepared to shoot through the glass panel of the door. Wes Stone and Bryan Silver, the backs of their heads to him, were perfect targets. There were no other passengers in the way. Only Renita and Tamara were facing him. Slowly his finger tightened on the trigger. . . .
“Asesino!” Tamara shouted.
She had earlier belted the .31-caliber Colt around her slender waist, and with a swiftness that her companions would later recall with wonder, she drew the weapon and fired. While the slug missed Hutsinger, it shattered the glass in the door, and the slug from the bushwhacker’s Winchester ripped into the ceiling of the coach. In an instant, Silver, Wes, El Lobo, and Harley had their Colts out, and answering lead screamed through the shattered door. Hutsinger dropped the Winchester, seeking only to escape with his life. But one of the slugs sang off the iron railing of the adjoining coach, and the deadly ricochet ripped into the unfortunate gunman. With a scream, Hutsinger slipped between the coaches and fell to the track below.
“Sangre de Christo,” said El Lobo, struggling into the aisle.
In the coach ahead, the conductor pulled the emergency signal, and the train lurched to a shuddering, grinding halt. Wes, Silver, and El Lobo were thrown to their knees in the aisle, their Colts in their hands. Empty crept fearfully from beneath a seat, not quite sure the world hadn’t come to an end. Tamara, her teeth clenched and her face pale as death, still gripped her Colt.
“Por Dios,“ El Lobo said. “You save us.”
Glass from the shattered door panel rattled to the floor as the conductor came in. He looked from one to the other, before riveting his eyes on Silver.
“What in the world happened back here?”
“Somebody was hunkered outside that door with a Winchester, trying to kill us,” said Silver. “We returned the fire. I think one of us got lucky.”
“There’s blood outside the door,” the conductor said. “Some of the crew is searching the tracks and the right-of-way.”
Only then did they discover Harley Stafford was gone. When he returned, he came in through the undamaged door at the other end of the coach.
“A ricochet got him,” Harley said. “If that wasn’t enough, he fell beneath the wheels of the train. We gathered up what’s left of him in a piece of canvas. He’s in the caboose.”
