Smoke leaned down far enough to make certain the cab crew could see him, then put his finger across his lips as a signal to be quiet.
“You got no right to be collecting money from our passengers,” the engineer said.
“Well, the Denver and Rio Grande collects its fees, and we collect ours,” the gunman said with a cackling laugh.
In mid-cackle, Smoke reached into the engine cab, grabbed the man by his shirt, and pulled him through the window, then let him fall headfirst to the ground.
“Hey, what—” was as far as the man got, before contact with the ground interrupted his protest. Looking down at him, Smoke could tell by the way the man’s head was twisted that his neck was broken, and he was dead.
Smoke swung himself into the engine cab.
“Who are you?” the engineer asked.
“Smoke Jensen. I’m a deputy sheriff. How many more are there?”
“Four more,” the fireman answered.
“Five,” the engineer corrected. “I saw five.”
“Where are they now?”
“Well, sir, after they found out we wasn’t car-ryin’ any money in the express car, they decided to see what they could get from the passengers, and that’s what they are doing now.”
“How about the two of you going down to move that body? I don’t want any of the others to look up this way and see him lying there.”
“Yeah, good idea. Come on, Cephus, let’s get him moved.”
As the two train crewmen climbed down to take care of their job, Smoke crawled across the coal pile on the tender, then up onto the top of the express car. He ran the length of that car, then leaped across to the baggage car and ran its length as well. Climbing down from the back of the baggage car, he let himself into the first passenger car.
“One of your men has already been here,” an irate passenger said. “We gave him everything we have.”
“Shhh,” Smoke said. “I’m on your side. I’m a deputy sheriff. Where are they?”
“There was only one in here, and he went into the next car.”
“Thanks.” Holding his pistol down by his side, Smoke hurried through the first car and into the second. He saw a gunman at the other end of the car, holding a pistol in his right hand and an open sack in the other. The passengers were dropping their valuables into the open sack.
“What are you doing in here? You get back in the other car and stay there like you were told!” The gunman said belligerently.
“I don’t think so.” Smoke raised his pistol. “Drop your gun.”
“The hell I will!” The train robber swung his pistol around and fired at Smoke. His shot went wide and the bullet smashed through the window of the door behind him.
Smoke returned fire, and the gunman dropped his pistol, staggering backward, his hands to his throat. Blood spilled through his fingers as he hit the back wall of the car, then slid down to the floor in a seated position. His head fell to one side as he died.
Women screamed and men shouted. As the car filled with the gunsmoke of two discharges, Smoke ran through the car, across the vestibule, and into the next car.
The gunman in the next car, having heard the shot, called for his partners. “Red! McDill! Slim, get in here quick!”
Smoke and the gunman exchanged fire, with the same result. The gunman went down and Smoke was still standing. Running into the next car, he saw the robber dashing out the back door. He chased after him but didn’t have to shoot him. The gunman was taken down by a club wielded by the porter in the next car.
“Good job,” Smoke said.
“The other two has done jumped off the train,” the porter said.
Smoke jumped down from the train, then moved away from it to get a bead on the two who were running along the tracks. He snapped off a long shot, but missed. He didn’t get a second shot. The outlaws were on horseback and galloping away.
Smoke stood there, holding his smoking pistol as he watched the two robbers flee.
“You need to develop a better sense of timing,.”
Turning, Smoke saw Sally standing on the ground behind him. He embraced and kissed her, then he pulled his head back. “What do you mean, a better sense of timing?”
“If you had been five minutes earlier, the robbers wouldn’t have gotten my reticule.”
“Sorry. How much did they get?” Smoke asked.
“Just my purse,” Sally said with little laugh. “I had already taken everything out of it.”
Several others came down from the train and all thanked Smoke for coming to their rescue.
“Look here!” someone shouted. “The two that got away dropped their sacks!”
“The ones inside never even made it off the train with their sacks,” another said. “Ha! Ever’-thing they took is still here!”
“Cephus, how long will it take you to get the steam back up?” the conductor asked.
“Fifteen minutes,” Cephus said. “Maybe half an hour.”
Smoke looked at Sally. “Do you want to wait until they get the steam back up? Or do you want to come with me now? I left a buckboard just up the track a short distance.”
“My luggage is on the train,” Sally said.
“Ma’am, after what your man just did, if you want your luggage, I’ll personally open the baggage car and get it,” the conductor said.
Mitchell “Red” Coleman and Deekus McDill were the two robbers who got away. They got away from Smoke’s avenging guns, but they did not get away with any money.
“Nothin’!” McDill said. “We didn’t get a damn thing!”
“Maybe the day ain’t goin’ to be a total loss,” Red said.
“What do you mean, it ain’t a total loss?”
“Look over there.”
“What, a store? What good is a store goin’ to do us? We ain’t got no money to buy nothin’.”
“Who said we were goin’ to buy anything?” Red said.
Finally understanding what Red was talking about, McDill smiled and nodded.
Fifteen minutes later they rode away from Doogan’s store. Behind them, Jake Doogan and his wife lay dead on the floor. The total take for the robbery was seventy-eight dollars and thirty-five cents.
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2011 William W. Johnstone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-2915-0
Notes
1
The Last Mountain Man—The Legend Is Born