In the distance he saw a knot of people standing by the tracks, some mounted, others holding extra horses.
Sergei saw them, too. "That is the real getaway," he declared. "The train was to get out of town. Then they'd ride cross-country."
But the planned rendezvous wasn't kept. Despite wav- ings and shoutings up ahead, the locomotive thundered past. A couple of the waiting conspirators tried to spur after the parlor car. But when the rest spotted Sergei's uniform, they scrambled into the saddle and began tearing out of there.
"We're never going to beat that thing in a straight chase," P. J. called, watching the train outrun the pursuing riders. "Is there some way to cut across the way it's going?"
Sergei pointed up ahead. "There's a path that goes up the lower slope, but it's very steep-better for mountain goats than horses."
"We'll have to try it," P. J. replied. And take the chance, he thought.
Sergei's path was even worse than advertised, a bare scratch up a steep, stony slope. At points P. J.'s mount was just about jumping from rock to rock. The horse wasn't happy, especially since its rider kept urging it to greater speed. P. J. wasn't exactly delighted himself. One wrong move, and the horse would go down, probably breaking a leg. And that would mean shooting the poor animal, something he hated to do, even in a sim.
Considering how I'd look after the horse fell on me> I would probably need to be shot, tooy P. J. thought. Provided I didn't break my neck first and save everybody the trouble.
The horse scrambled up onto the railroad tracks just after the train passed. P. J. hauled round on the reins and spurred his mount in pursuit. It was hard use for an animal, even a virtual one. The horse was blowing hard, its flanks lathered.
But P. J. didn't have a choice-not if he was going to catch up with that train.
You know it can be done, he told himself as he galloped after the back end of the parlor car. Train robbers did it in the old days. Stunt men have been doing it for train robbery movies ever since.
He brought his horse level with the open platform at the rear, leaning out to grab hold of the steel ladder that led to the roof of the car. P. J. missed on his first grab. Urging his steed to one final effort, he matched speeds with the train, leaned out, and caught on. Kicking loose from the stirrups, he swung from the back of the horse, his hands cramping from their desperate grip on the steel rungs…
Megan scooted herself backward along the floor, frantically parrying the hammer-blows her opponent rained down on her.
Tac-tac-tac-TAC! Somehow she managed to keep her blade in the way of each of his chopping attacks. He leaned back for another swing and was thrown off balance as the train lurched, screeching through a turn. Megan took advantage of the distraction, throwing herself under the mahogany table, scrambling across the width of it, finally managing to get to her feet.
Meanwhile, on the other side, the red-haired guy she'd nailed in the shoulder pulled himself upright, tearing the curtains away from one window as he did so. He stared outside, then turned with a shout. "The backup party- the getaway horses-we just went right by them!"
Staggering, he snatched up the end of the speaking tube and blew. "Zoltan!" he yelled into the metal cup. "ZOLTAN!"
Then he dropped the end of the speaking tube. His normally ruddy face, pale already, went paler still. "No answer," he announced. "We're on a runaway train!"
The blond guy with the leg wound began hopping for the rear exit. "Heck with this!" he yelled. "I'm getting out of here!"
He jumped, but his scream as he landed cut through the noise of the chugging of the locomotive like a horrible parody of a train whistle. The red-headed guy looking out the window shuddered.
Megan took a deep breath. The only other way out of this mess was to go through the front of the car, across the coal tender, and into the locomotive. And she-and her sword-were in the way.
The last armed kidnapper came at her with fury in his eyes. His blade beat against Megan's as he tried to get past her guard with sheer physical force. Each time she managed to get her saber back in line-but she was being forced to retreat along the side of the big table. Once he had more room to get at her…
Finally he managed to pin her weapon against the mahogany tabletop. His eyes burned as he reached for the wrist of her sword arm.
And then P. J. Farris was advancing through the car, his big Colt leveled.
The dark-haired swordsman's yell was more a scream of frustration. He brought his saber back-was P. J. too late?
Chapter 14
Megan twisted desperately, trying to get free of the iron grip on her wrist holding her implacably in place for the final, fatal, slash.
P. J.'s big Army Colt boomed in the tight confines of the parlor car.
The dark-haired kidnapper was probably dead even before he hit the floor.
Even as he fell, however, the swordsman wasn't through. His blade whistled through the air as he twisted from the bullet's impact. The Wilkinson saber in his hand shattered one of the crystal lamps on the table. Oil spattered onto the carpet and the drapes. The furnishings in the wooden train car might be opulent, but they weren't fireproof. Flames immediately began licking along the rich fabrics.
"Over here!" Megan called desperately to P. J.
He made it to her side of the parlor car just before the spreading fire cut them off. The two remaining kidnappers, slowed by injury, remained screaming on the other side.
Megan and P. J. burst onto the forward platform to face a big bin full of coal-the tender. Over the chugging of the laboring locomotive, they could hear an ominous hiss. "That boiler's going to go!" P. J. panted.
Great, Megan thought. A choice between being blown up or roasted to death. The things I do for fun! She pointed between the two cars. "The coupling!" she shouted.
P. J. leaned down, trying to disconnect their car from the train. He even kicked desperately at the coupling. "Need a lever," he said.
Megan looked at the Wilkinson saber in her hand- thirty-four inches of the world's finest steel. Wordlessly, she handed the sword to P. J. He jammed it into the stuck coupling, heaving with all his strength.
It was an ignoble end for the sword, which broke. But so did the coupling. The locomotive shot forward. The parlor car rolled on a bit from sheer inertia. Then gravity started pulling it back along the rails.
"Gotta jump before it picks up too much speed the other way!" P. J. shouted. He made a cowboy's idea of a courtly gesture. "After you, ma'am!"
Gathering her long skirts together, Megan jumped. She hit the ground hard, rolling along the gravel-bedded railroad tracks.
Between my butt and my shoulders, Vm going to have some glorious bruises tomorrow, she thought. What next? Splinters from the wooden railroad ties?
From up ahead came an earth-shaking roar like the end of the world. The locomotive's boiler had blown up! Megan was suddenly glad she was already hugging the ground.
P. J.'s voice sounded slightly tinny in her ears as he slowly pushed himself up. "Come on, your Majesty, we've got a long walk back to town. Sergei was ridin' along after me, so he should be able to help…."
He looked back along the tracks, toward the still- moving parlor car. By now, even the roof was ablaze.
"Providin', of course, that the Rolling Inferno there doesn't run him over first."
P. J. extended his hand. Slowly, shakily, Megan got herself to her feet. They began hiking along the tracks, back in the direction of Herzen.
After only a few minutes, Megan was painfully aware that she wasn't wearing walking shoes. She glanced over at P. J., who was also limping slightly.
"Not as bad as high-stacked cowboy boots," he said, ruefully holding out a pair of finely made city shoes. "But not designed for a stroll like this, either."