Flynn and Benjamin stood side by side at the front of the car, keeping watch over the passengers. Captain Fletcher guarded the back door.
"I don't like it one bit, lad," Flynn whispered to Benjamin. "It's been too damn easy so far."
"Ain't that good?" Benjamin asked.
"Nothing worth doing is ever easy, lad. Just remember that. I have a bad feelin' that this won't turn out quite the way we hoped."
"Then why did you come along?"
"Why, for the fun, boy." That couldn't be further from the truth, but Benjamin didn't need to know that. Besides, it was too late for any of them to turn back now. Their only hope was to run for the valley.
Nearby, the passengers strained to hear what was being said. Flynn gave them an impish grin. "Why don't you pull up a chair?"
The matronly woman sniffed. "If we thought there was anything intelligent being said, we might."
Flynn tried to appear shocked. "Do you hear the insults she's hurling at us, lad?"
Her husband spoke up. "There's no need to go picking on women."
Flynn ignored him. "I don't believe we've been introduced, ma'am."
"Mrs. Henrietta Parker." She turned to her husband. "This is Alfred, my husband."
Flynn winked at Benjamin and made his way down the aisle to where the Parkers sat. He transferred the Le Mat revolver to his left hand and offered his right to Alfred Parker, who, in confusion, gripped it in a weak handshake. "Sergeant Thomas Flynn at your service," he said as they shook. "The young fellow there is Private Johnny Benjamin and that's Billy Fletcher in the back."
"Captain William Fletcher," the officer corrected him, sounding annoyed.
Flynn turned to the lawyer from Baltimore. The man still appeared shocked at having seen Flynn kick the bodies off the train because he regarded the raider with the sort of nervous look reserved for wild beasts and Indians. "The captain there has been wondering if you could write a will for him, Mr. Lawyer."
"A will?" Mrs. Henrietta Parker sniffed again. "I dare say you'll all be needing one of those. I can only hope this outrage ends with several hangings. It's the best end for cheap Rebel trash."
"Why, Mrs. Parker," Flynn said, winking. "That's not very Christian of you. Now mind you keep quiet, or I'll hang you out the window."
He turned his back on the indignant noises the woman was making and went to stand beside Benjamin near the stove. He kept the Le Mat in plain view of the passengers, hoping that the sight of the huge revolver would discourage any more bravery like the episode which had already left two men dead.
He stopped in front of the couple from Baltimore, the dandy and the woman. The woman stiffened and the man scowled.
"Can't you find another train to steal?" he said.
"We like this one," Flynn said.
"Goddamn Johnny Rebs."
The woman gripped her partner's arm. "Charlie Gilmore," she said sharply. "Leave it alone."
"Listen to the woman, Charlie."
Flynn moved on. The car was not entirely full, but Flynn was aware of the many eyes fixed hatefully upon him. Some of the eyes held fear, others anger, which was fine with Flynn. However, the eyes of the couple from Baltimore were filled with contempt, a far more dangerous emotion. People who were afraid could be told what to do. People who were angry could be intimidated by the big Le Mat pistol. But there was no controlling contempt. It was a rebellious emotion. As far as Flynn was concerned, the sooner they unloaded the passengers, the better.
Flynn leaned toward Benjamin. "Keep your eyes on those two," he whispered. The boy stared at the couple. "They're trouble, lad. Maybe not for us, but they're trouble in general."
Benjamin nodded. At the back of the car, Captain Fletcher kept watch, his eyes going everywhere, self-important as always. He looked the part of an officer right down to his immaculate uniform, but Fletcher wouldn't be worth a damn if there was any shooting.
Flynn cast a sideways glance at Benjamin. The boy had been looking pale since that morning's gunfight. Killing was never easy work, Flynn thought.
He motioned Benjamin out of earshot of the passengers. "Listen, lad," he whispered. "That was good work this morning. Now I know why I gave you that new Colt. You saved the day. That was just a lucky shot I got off. I can't hit a damn thing with a pistol."
The boy shrugged.
"Now, I've noticed you've been kind of quiet. I'm thinking it may be the first time you killed a man."
Benjamin shrugged. "I reckon," he finally said.
Flynn nodded. "It's no easy thing, killing a man. It's not like killing a chicken or a pig or a goat. Not at all like that. The priests will tell you it's a mortal sin, except in war, when you get a dispensation from the church for killing, although I sometimes wonder if God takes the same view. Killing some men isn't a sin at all, because some bastards deserve it. Now, if those two heroes this morning hadn't tried to be brave and foolish, they would still be alive. Don't you think?"
"I suppose they would be."
"Now, the real question to ask yourself is whether or not you'll hesitate next time before you shoot. Don't freeze up. That's war for you, lad. Hesitate, give the other fellow a chance, and you're a dead man. I don't know about you, lad, but I'd much rather be alive and feeling guilty than dead. Any day, lad. Any day it's better to pull the trigger and stay alive. Remember that."
Benjamin was silent for a moment, then asked, "You know something, Flynn?"
"What's that?"
"Pettibone's right. You talk too damn much."
But he was smiling when he said it, so Flynn knew the boy would be all right.
Just then the whistle blew one short, sharp blast and the train began to slow. In the car, raiders and captives alike looked at each other uneasily, as if to ask, "What next?"
Colonel Percy jumped down from the engine, shouting as soon as his feet touched the ground. "Hazlett! Flynn! Leave one man to guard the passengers and the rest of you get out here. We have work to do."
Moments later, Percy gave his orders. The raiders swarmed toward the locomotive for the tools they had commandeered from the repair crew. They grabbed up the crowbars and mauls, then headed for the tracks at the end of the train. The tracks crossed a road and creek below using a stone, twin-arched bridge, with one span for the road and the other for the waterway. The railroad bed leading to the bridge was very high and steep. Deep ravines filled with rocks and brush bordered the tracks.
"Just two rails is all you need to pull up," Percy said. "Two rails on each side and anyone following us will go right off the track into that ravine."
The raiders set to work. Crowbars slipped under the rails. Hazlett and Hudson alternately pushed down and pulled until the veins stood out like wires in their necks. Pettibone grabbed a maul. Flynn fitted the slotted end of a crowbar to the head of a spike and tugged and twisted, trying to work it free.
While the others worked, Captain Fletcher only stood and watched. Even Percy had grabbed hold of a maul and was pounding at a rail, sweating and cursing with his men.
"Pitch in any time, Fletcher," Percy called out.
"I'm an officer," Fletcher sniffed. "I don't work with my hands."
Percy straightened up and handed his maul to another man. "Is that so?"
"Yes, Colonel, that's my right."
Percy stood, staring for a moment at the priggish captain. Then his hand casually drifted to the hip holster that held his Colt revolver. He drew the weapon, cocked it, advanced a few steps toward Fletcher, and shoved the muzzle into the captain's face.