It wasn’t until that moment that the nervousness hit him, and his knees grew so weak that he reached out to the edge of the building to steady himself. He stood there for a long moment, taking deep breaths until he had regained his composure.
Chapter 8
El Paso was bustling when the three young cowboys rode into town on the morning of April tenth. Two trains were standing in the depot. One was a passenger train taking on travelers for its run back east. Even though the engineer was at rest, the fireman wasn’t. He was working hard, stoking the fire to keep the steam pressure up.
In contrast to the fireman’s toil, the engineer was leaning out the window of the highly polished, green-and-brass locomotive. He was smoking a curved-stem pipe as he watched the activity on the depot platform, serene in the power and prestige of his position.
A score of passengers was boarding or getting off the train as the conductor stood beside the string of varnished cars, keeping a close check on the time. Over on the sidetrack sat a second train. That one was a freight, its relief valve puffing as the steam pressure was maintained. The passenger train had priority over the “high iron,” as the main track was called, and only after it departed would the freight move back onto the main line in order to continue its travel west.
Two stagecoaches and half a dozen carriages were also sitting at the depot, while out in the street behind the depot a horse-drawn streetcar rumbled by.
As Chad, Gene, and Ken rode through the town, they looked into the faces of everyone they encountered, studying them for any reaction to their presence.
“It don’t look like anyone’s takin’ any particular notice of us,” Ken said. “Maybe don’t nobody know we’re train robbers.”
“More’n likely, they haven’t even heard about it in the first place, seein’ as how we ain’t really train robbers. Don’t forget, the train robbery never come off,” Gene said. “I don’t see no need to be worried.”
“And anyway, nobody saw us. We were down in the ditch, in the dark,” Ken insisted.
“Nobody saw us, that’s true. But they may find out who Hank and Eddie are,” Chad said. “And if they do, it won’t take much to connect them with us, ’specially since Hank was my brother.”
“So what are you saying, Chad? That we should just stop livin’? That we should run away and hide somewhere?” Gene asked.
“No, I’m not sayin’ that a’tall. But I don’t think we should ever talk about it. Don’t tell the other boys about it, and let’s not even talk about it among ourselves anymore, in case someone might overhear us,” Chad said.
“Oh, hell, I’ll go along with that,” Ken said. “What we done was so damn stupid, it ain’t somethin’ I’d ever want to tell anyone about, anyway.”
“Hey, there’s Barry Riggsbee!” Gene said, pointing to a man walking down the sidewalk. “Barry!” he called.
Hearing his name shouted, Barry looked toward the street, then smiled when he saw the three cowboys weaving their way through the heavy street traffic, working their way over to him.
“I see you got the telegram,” Barry said, greeting them as they dismounted to shake his hand. “Me an’ Tennessee both got one, too, telling us to come here.”
“That’s what ours says as well. Have you seen Jim and Frankie yet? Are they in town?”
“They’re not only in town—they’ve got money for anyone who signs up for the job. Me’n Tennessee have already got ours.”
“Where are they?”
“I’d try the Border Oasis if I was you. That’s a saloon just down the street. They’re supposed to meet Clay Allison there sometime today, so I reckon they’ll be hanging around there till he shows.”
“Who?” Ken asked.
“Clay Allison. Haven’t you ever heard of him?”
“Of course I’ve heard of him. What’s he got to do with anything?”
“Well, if you take the job the telegram was talking about then you’re going to be working for him. We all are. Seems he’s bought some horses he wants us to bring up from Mexico.”
“What’s he paying?” Gene asked.
“That’s the best part,” Barry answered. “He’s paying two hundred dollars apiece, and like I told you, you’ll get the first hundred soon as you agree to hire on.”
“Have you and Tennessee hired on?” Chad asked.
“Yep. So far there’s Tennessee and me, Jim Robison, and Frank Ford. And now you three, if you’re goin’ to do it.”
“Hell yes, we’re going to do it,” Chad said.
“Good, good. Glad we’ll be working together again. By the way, how’s your brother gettin’ along? And where’s Eddie Quick? Don’t seem right, seein’ you three without them along.”
“They, uh, didn’t make it,” Chad replied.
“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that,” Barry said. “But I read where a lot of good men died out durin’ the winter.”
Chad, Gene, and Ken looked at each other. They hadn’t said anything that would suggest Hank and Eddie died during the winter. And they said nothing to correct Barry’s misconception.
“I’ve got two questions to ask,” Chad said. “How do we get that money? And when do we start after them horses?”
Barry pointed to the Border Oasis. “Like I said, you’ll prob’ly find Frank Ford or Jim Robison in there. And one or the other of them will have your money. But as for when we start after the horses? Well, I don’t reckon that’s goin’ to happen until after Clay Allison gets here.”
Approximately six miles from El Paso, nineteen-year-old Marilou Kincaid walked out to the barn to call her sister and brother in for breakfast. Brenda, her seventeen-year-old sister, was milking, while fifteen-year-old Nate was pitching hay for the animals.
“Breakfast is ready,” Marilou said.
“Good,” Nate said, resting on the pitchfork. “I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” Brenda said.
“At least I’m not so skinny I look like a rope with knots tied in it,” Nate teased, tossing some hay at his sister.
“Hey, watch that! You’re getting hay in my hair,” Brenda complained.
“What are we having?” Nate asked.
“Biscuits, sausage, and gravy. I made the biscuits myself,” Marilou said proudly.
“Don’t eat the biscuits, Brenda! You’ll probably get poisoned,” Nate teased.
“You don’t have to eat them.”
“Oh, I’ll eat them, I suppose,” Nate said as the three started back up toward the house.
“Now there’s a big surprise,” Marilou said, and she and Brenda laughed out loud. They were still laughing when Nate pushed the door open, then came to a complete halt, his eyes wide with confusion.
There were three strange men in the kitchen. One was stockily built, with red hair. He was standing behind the children’s father. Another was a medium-sized, pale-skinned albino, with eyes so light a pink as to almost be colorless. The albino was holding a knife to their mother’s throat.
The third intruder was small, wiry, and dark, with a narrow nose, thin lips, and a jagged purple scar that started just above his left eye, slicing down through it and leaving a puffy mass of flesh, then running down his cheek to hook up under the corner of his mouth. He was standing by the table eating a biscuit-and-sausage sandwich.
“Well, now, would you lookie at these two girls? They’ll do fine, just real fine,” the scar-faced man said, looking at the two girls with unabashed lust in his eyes.
“I know who you are,” Nate said. “I seen your picture on a wanted poster. You’re Will Shardeen.”
“Boy, you ain’t needed,” Shardeen growled. He pulled out his gun and, before anyone could say a word, yanked the trigger. The gun roared, a wicked flash of flame jumped from the barrel of the gun and a cloud of smoke billowed out over the table. The bullet hit Nate in the forehead and as he fell back, heavy drops of blood from his wound splattered Brenda’s face and hair.