Smoke handed the marshal’s pistol back to him. “Shall we go find out what this is all about?”
Surprised to have his gun returned to him, the marshal put it back in his holster, then nodded. “Yes. Let’s go find out.”
Half an hour later, the telegrapher handed the marshal a telegram.
THIS OFFICE HAS ISSUED NO FLYERS OFFERING A REWARD FOR SMOKE JENSEN ANY SUCH REWARD POSTERS AS MAY EXIST ARE FORGERIES
“It looks like you are right,” the marshal said. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“That’s all right,” Smoke said. “You were just doing your job. Or at least, you thought you were doing your job.”
“Yes, but I could have killed you.”
Smoke chuckled. “No, you couldn’t have.”
For a moment the marshal was confused by the answer, then realized that Smoke was right. Smoke had actually taken his pistol away from him.
“Come to think of it, I don’t guess I could have killed you after all.”
Smoke had no idea what woke him up. Since it was his first night in a real bed in over a week, and since he was sleeping soundly, there was no discernible reason why he suddenly awoke. But he was lying in bed, staring into the darkness overhead, wide awake.
He did not hear anything, nor did he see anything, but the same sixth sense that had awakened him told him to get out of bed. Rolling over quietly, Smoke pulled his pistol from the holster, then stepped over to the wall, backing up against it, right next to the door.
No sooner had he done that, than he heard the sound of a key being inserted in the lock of his door. The key was turned slowly, but he heard the click of the tumblers. The door opened, and in the ambient light cast through the window, dim as it was, Smoke saw the man walk over to the bed. He raised his hand over his head, and Smoke saw the soft gleam of moonlight on the blade of a knife.
“What the hell?” the man said, when he realized nobody was in the bed.
Smoke had stepped up behind him, no more than foot away. “Are you looking for me?”
“Ahh!!” the man cried, startled by the unexpected sound behind him. He turned quickly trying to bring his knife around in a slashing arc, but he was too late. Smoke took him down with a crushing hard right to the jaw.
Half an hour later they were in the marshal’s office. The deputy had awakened the marshal who was clearly agitated by being awakened in the middle of the night. “Stallings, you want to tell me why you were in Mr. Jensen’s room in the middle of the night with a knife?”
“I was trying to kill him.”
“Why?”
“Maybe you don’t know it, but there is a price on his head. The sheriff over in La Plata County has offered five thousand dollars, dead or alive, for Smoke Jensen.”
“And of course you were planning on taking him in dead, is that it?”
“Yeah. It don’t say he has to be alive.”
“You might be interested in this.” The marshal showed Stallings the telegram he had received from the sheriff of La Plata County.
Stallings read the telegram, then looked up at the marshal. “Does this mean there ain’t no reward?”
“That is exactly what it means.”
“So what you are saying is, Coltrane and Grange, they both got themselves kilt for nothing.”
“That’s right.”
“Stallings, where did you get that flyer?” Smoke asked.
“I don’t know. They’re all over. I think we got this one offen’ an old abandoned shack about ten miles east of here.”
“You said they are all over,” Smoke said. “What do you mean by all over?”
“I mean this ain’t the only one we seen. After we took this one, we seen at least five, maybe ten more, on trees, old buildings, an abandoned mine.”
“All of them east of here?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Smoke nodded. “Then that’s where they are.”
“That’s where who are?”
“Bill Dinkins and his men.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sapinero, Colorado
At ten-thirty p.m. the eastbound train number 20 arrived at the Sapinero station. Harley and the two Slater brothers, Frank and Travis, were waiting in the darkness on the opposite side of the railroad tracks from the station. They had hidden their horses a mile out of town, and the plan was to get on the train and force it to stop where their horses were.
When the train stopped at the station, the three men climbed onto the platform just behind the tender. They remained there, unseen in the dark, as the train pulled out of the station. Travis climbed up over the tender and dropped down behind the engineer and fireman, both of whom were illuminated by the yellow cab lantern. They were staring straight ahead.
“Hello, boys!” Travis called.
Startled, the engine crew turned toward him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” the engineer asked.
“You might say I’ve taken over as the conductor,” Travis said. “I want you to get ready to stop where I tell you to stop.”
“The hell I will,” the engineer said angrily.
Travis shot the fireman in the leg, and he let out a yelp of pain, grabbing his leg where the bullet struck.
“My next shot will be to his head,” Travis said.
The engineer stuck both hands out in front of him. “All right, all right. Don’t shoot him again.”
“Brake this train, right now,” Travis said.
The engineer set the brakes, and the train squealed to a halt. Travis leaned out through the engineer’s window and looked ahead. He saw a bonfire with a man standing in silhouette in front of it. The man was carrying a rifle, and he held it up, then pointed it to the right.
Travis smiled. That was the agreed-upon signal, which meant the switch had been thrown.
“All right, start her up again, but go slow.”
After proceeding forward for several feet, the train took the switch track and veered to the right.
“Where are we going?” the engineer asked. “I ain’t never left the main line.”
“Slow down, way down,” Travis said. “But don’t stop.”
“What’s going on?” the engineer asked.
“Haven’t you figured that out yet, Mr. Engineer? We’re robbing your train,” Travis said. “Slower, slower, slower.”
The engineer complied with Travis’s order until the train was barely moving. “Now stop,” Travis said.
The train stopped, as it bumped up against the track guard at the end of the spur. It had been switched onto a siding that would allow cars to be backed up to a loading pen.
“Get out,” Travis ordered. “Both of you.”
“I’m not sure I can get down, what with my leg,” the fireman said.
Travis pointed his gun to the other leg. “I can even it up for you if you want me to.”
“No, no!” the fireman said. “I’ll get down!”
“I thought you might see it my way.”
Travis stayed in the cab until both the engineer and the fireman were on the ground. The engineer, thinking it was his opportunity to run, started to do so. Travis shot at him and the engineer went down.
Harley and Frank had come out from their place on the platform behind the tender. The conductor and several passengers were also coming alongside the train to see why it had stopped as abruptly as it did.
Harley turned toward them. “Get back on the train.”
“See here, I’m the conductor. I want to know what’s going on here?”
Harley shot the passenger who was coming with the conductor.
“Get back on the train and keep your passengers there,” Harley said. “I’ll kill the next person who sticks his head out.”
Frightened, the conductor and the other passengers who had come out with him hurried to get back onto the train.
“You,” Dinkins said to the fireman, who was staring down at the body of the engineer. “Come here.”