A low oath came from Wainright and he uncoiled to his feet. "Let's go get them," he spat out.
"Help yourself," Danner replied.
Wainright checked himself, indecision and eagerness conflicting within him.
"We know what's there now. Why wait?"
"As long as they remain there, our smartest move is not to move. Brant will be here with a posse before the day is over."
Reluctantly, Wainright hunkered down again, laying the muzzle of the twelve-gauge across his thigh.
Browder halted his buggy in front of the open door. Without getting down, he issued a series of orders, gesturing toward the train. The Grells faded into the building and reappeared herding three other men.
"Three more!" Wainright exclaimed.
"No," Danner shook his head. "The three in front of the Grells are the train crewmen—engineer, fireman and brakeman. Something has stirred up Browder, perhaps my talk with him yesterday. They seem to be planning to move the train."
"Then let's go stop them," Wainright hissed, once again jumping to his feet.
"There's no hurry." Danner almost smiled at Wainright's boyish zeal. The Grells started toward the locomotive, herding the three crewmen ahead of them. Danner figured he had about half an hour before the boiler would be hot enough to move the train. Then he felt the weight of Wainright's animosity thrusting against him.
"I won't wait much longer," Wainright warned. "Whether you go or not."
"You'll get your fill of fighting soon enough," Danner answered. He watched the crewmen climb into the cab of the locomotive, followed by the Grells. Then Danner felt Melinda's hand on his arm.
"Couldn't we keep the train here by going back up the track and removing a section of rail?" Danner shook his head, bringing a frown to her face. That'd be quite a trick, he thought, the three of them pulling spikes without tools and lifting a twenty-eight-foot rail off the roadbed. And even if it could be done, it would only stop the train. The men would scatter like a covey of quail. He wanted those men—and a pin-fire pistol—more than he wanted the train. He felt a desire to explain all this to Melinda, who still frowned at him. But he didn't.
Movement in front of the building caught Danner's attention. Browder turned his buggy and drove inside the granary, the others following. That was the break Danner had been waiting —but not hoping—for.
"It's time to go," he snapped. Looking at Melinda, he said, "You stay here." To Wainright, he gestured toward the train. "The Grells will be busy watching the crew in the cab. We can walk up the track unseen, I hope. When we get to the engine, we split. I'll move around the side next to the building. If we are lucky we can get both Grells and use their guns to arm the three crewmen. That'll make the odds even against that bunch inside the granary. Any questions?"
Wainright shook his head, his eyes once again shining with anticipation. Danner cast a glance at the abbreviated twelve-gauge Wainright clutched.
"Be careful with that spray gun," Danner warned. "With those barrels cut that short, the buckshot will cut a path six feet wide by the time the shot gets only a few feet from the muzzle. I don't want the train crewmen killed."
"Let's go," Wainright demanded.
Nodding, Danner moved out of the grove and down the slope at a trot. He reached the tracks and headed toward the engine, drawing his pistol. As he had expected, no one looked out the cab windows. But he was fifty yards short of his destination when he heard a slug whistle by his head at the same instant he heard the crack of a six-gun.
Ears Dooley crouched in front of the granary door, thumbing off another shot. Without slowing, Danner snapped a shot at Ears, heard the slug careen off the front of the granary and fired again. Ears folded slowly, holding his stomach. Danner reached the locomotive just as one of the Grells stuck his head out of the cab. Danner's shot caught him in the temple, spilling him to the ground with the top of his head blown off.
Then the blast of Wainright's cannon ripped the air, hurling the remaining Grell out of the cab to land face down by his brother, his backbone severed by buckshot.
Danner scrambled up the ladder of the cab, then whirled to face the open door of the granary, breathing heavily. Wainright crouched at his side, aiming his shotgun at the doorway thirty yards away as if a shot would be effective at that range.
Danner glanced over his shoulder at the three train crewmen. "Get the boiler hot enough to move out," Danner said.
Wainright whirled on Danner viciously, snarling. "Great Plains Central owns this train and it isn't leaving here until we get the rest of them."
"It's good to know we agree on something," Danner said with a trace of irony.
"Just so—" The drum of hoofbeats interrupted him. Two riderless horses galloped from the granary, followed by three others bearing riders bent low over their saddles. Danner thumbed three quick shots at the nearest rider and saw Garr Green spill to the ground. Then he sighted on the thick body of Tuso, but before he could fire, Wainright's shotgun blasted not two feet from the side of Danner's face. Concussion and heat from the muzzle jarred his vision. When he focused his eyes again, Carp and two horses lay sprawled on the ground. Tuso raced away to the west, well out of pistol range, and in a moment vanished over the edge of the bowl.
Bitterly, Danner cursed the spot where he had last seen Tuso and he cursed himself for wasting his first shots on Green. When he reloaded he found all six chambers empty. He couldn't have stopped Tuso even if he had pulled the trigger. That type of carelessness could get him killed. Jumping to the ground, Danner approached the sprawled forms. The buckshot had made a mess of the slightly built Carp, even at thirty yards, and two of Danner's slugs had pierced the chest of Green. But Ears Dooley moved slightly, moaning and holding his stomach while his life's blood spilled out between his fingers to the ground.
Dooley opened his eyes and when he saw Danner, recognition brought shining hate to the twisted face.
"Damn you, Danner," Dooley spat out. "Damn you, damn you." His voice rose to a scream of mixed hatred and pain. "Damn you to hell."
Wainright pointed his shotgun at the twisting figure, but Danner shouldered him aside. "He'll be dead in a few minutes. Don't make it any easier for him."
Without pity, Danner watched the last of the five Dooleys who had played so big a part in the hell he had known starting with the Spaulding robbery. Then Danner hunkered down close to Ears.
"Who was the fourth man in that Spaulding robbery?"
Dooley's only answer was glaring hatred. "You'll be dead in minutes. Give me his name and I'll square accounts for you."
Viciously, Dooley cursed him until another spasm of pain choked him off. When the pain subsided for a moment he glared at Danner with clouded vision.
"It had to be you or—"
"Or who," Danner demanded, grasping Dooley by the shoulder.
"Damn you," Dooley spat out, and turned his face away. Wainright interrupted them.
"Browder is still inside," he said, fondling his scattergun. The action so far hadn't lessened his thirst for violence. Reluctantly, Danner stepped away from Dooley and drew his Colts. Browder would be as difficult to take as a wounded grizzly.
Moving to the edge of the doorway, Danner used his gun to motion Wainright to the far side. At another gesture they sprinted inside. Heavy silence greeted them, and a vast emptiness. Browder's buggy—without its horse—stood near the entrance. With an oath, Danner started running toward the far end of the building.
He stopped after twenty yards and gazed at the west wall of the building. A gaping hole let in the afternoon sunlight. Browder had knocked out the siding, apparently, and had made his escape riding the buggy horse bareback. The horse couldn't carry his four hundred pounds very far. Wainright raced over to the hole then.