“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.”
8
The fireman and engineer didn’t waste any more time with talk as they took to task doing what Virgil instructed. Virgil grabbed one of the bandits we’d shot and slid him off the side of the train. Virgil’s move was not to remove the dead from the living as much as it was a warning sign to the other bandits. It would give them something to think about, seeing their fallen friend crumpled next to the rail. It was doubtful, though, they could see much of anything. By now, daylight had slipped away, and except for the eerie reddish light that filled the cabin when the fireman opened the firebox, it was near dark. Virgil dragged the second bandit and slid him off the opposite side of the engine cabin like he was throwing out saloon trash.
“Whether Vince and the gang see their dead lying on the side of the rail or not,” I said, “they know we got control of the engine.”
“Not stopping for their horses,” Virgil said. “They most assuredly do.”
“What do you figure we do?”
“Gonna have to go at ’em.”
“Judging by the number of horses those riders had,” I said, “we got us a handful back there to deal with.”
“We do.”
“Not just Vince we have to be concerned about,” I said. “The whole of that Bragg bunch are no good.”
“They’re mean,” Virgil said. “Bad as they come, and we can’t just wait to get bushwhacked by ’em, either. We’re gonna have to go right at them. Have to be the spider on the fly.”
When the fireman opened the firebox, I looked back behind us, down the side of the tender. The light from the boiler made it possible for me to see a narrow ledge just wide enough to get a foothold running down the length of the tender. The fireman closed the firebox, and again it was dark.
“Open that door again,” I said to the fireman.
The fireman opened the door. I pointed out the narrow ledge to Virgil.
“I’ll make my way back,” I said. “Take a look.”
Virgil leaned out and looked at the ledge.
“Reconnaissance,” I said.
Virgil looked back to me.
“See what I can see,” I said.
Virgil stepped back and tipped his head toward the ledge, giving me the go-ahead.
“Take her easy,” he said.
I leaned my eight-gauge against the cabin wall next to the engineer, stepped off the platform and onto the narrow ledge. I crawled sideways down the side of the tender toward the front coach. When I got to the back of the tender, I could see light coming from inside the first coach. I edged my eye around the corner to see what I could see and almost fell as I jerked back, seeing what I saw. I quickly took a step back toward the engine, but my foot slipped, and this time, I fell.
After all the Indians I’d been up against and the years of taking on gun hands, a damn night train was gonna get me?
I was headed for the fast-moving earth below, but I caught a grab iron, a goddamn short piece of bar that attached to the side of the tender, and pulled hard, pulling myself back up to the ledge. I caught my breath, settled, and worked my way back to the front of the tender. By the time I made it to the back landing of the engine cabin, I was breathing hard. I pulled my Colt and motioned toward the coach.
“Four men in the breach of the door,” I said. “Got two women, both wearing white dresses.”
“The daughters,” Virgil said.
“They dragged them from the Pullman,” I said. “Brought ’em to the forward for a reason.”
“By God they did.”
“Using them as barter.”
“Or shields,” Virgil said.
“Force them to come over the tender in front of them,” I said. “We drop iron or they toss the women. We shoot, we risk the women getting shot or falling.”
“Not if we go at ’em first, quick like,” Virgil said. “Like you did, down the side. They won’t figure us coming at them from the flank.”
“Don’t expect they will.”
“That’s it, then,” Virgil said. “Let’s get after ’em.”
Virgil looked to the engineer and pointed north.
The engineer offered a sharp nod, and answered by giving the engine a bit more throttle.
9
We started off. Virgil stepped from the cabin, walking the narrow ledge on the right side of the tender, and I moved back down the ledge on the left. It was hard to know exactly how this would go down. Virgil and I had been in many distressing situations, but crawling down the side of a fast-moving train in the middle of a dark night posed tall complexities. I thought about Virgil’s bum knee, and how long he would take before he’d get to the back of the tender. One thing I always knew about Virgil was that when his sights were set, time slowed down. I thought of Virgil’s words, spider on the fly, as I worked my way along the narrow ledge of the tender. When I got to the end, the first element I slid around the corner of the tender was my Colt with its hammer back; the next was my eye looking down its barrel.