Slocum's Silver Burden (13 page)

“Drop the hogleg,” the man said.

“You were in Newburg,” Slocum said, playing for time. “You drove the wagon that damned near ran over me.”

“Too bad I missed. Drop the gun.” The man snugged the rifle stock to his shoulder.

Slocum did as he was told, though he knew it was likely the last thing he would do. The man's knuckle turned white as he squeezed down on the rifle trigger.

Slocum saw death in the man's burning eyes. He started to grab for his six-gun when the outlaw fired. To his surprise, Slocum didn't feel the hot streak of lead ripping through his body. The bullet sailed past his head and whined away into the distance. With a quick jerk, he brought his six-shooter up and trained it on his attacker, only to find himself pointing the muzzle at Tamara Crittenden.

She smiled as she tossed a rock the size of her fist to the ground.

“You can thank me,” she said. “If I'd been a second later, he would have killed you.”

Slocum stared at the man on the ground, moaning and reaching for the bloody patch on the back of his head where Tamara had clipped him. Before the outlaw could recover, Slocum plucked the rifle from the man's nerveless fingers and let him use both hands to hold his head. Blood oozed down and soaked his filthy coat collar.

“This is the same man who drove the wagon,” Slocum said. He prodded the felled man with the toe of his boot. “How did you hide the wagon?”

“John, please. Is that important now?”

It was to Slocum. He prided himself on his tracking abilities, and this train robber had successfully thrown him off the trail. Finding out how let him learn how to avoid such a mistake in the future—or gave him reason to appreciate how dangerous the man could be. Being outsmarted rankled.

“The wagon,” he repeated.

“Where did you hide your share of the stolen silver?” Tamara pushed Slocum aside to ask her question. “We can make a deal for it.”

“Like hell we will,” Slocum said, his anger rising.

The outlaw looked up at them, confused. He tried to shake his head, but the pain forced him to stop.

“You work for the railroad?” he grated out.

Slocum and Tamara exchanged a quick look, then both answered that they did. Slocum went further and pulled the sheaf of papers Collingswood had given him as proof of his position as a special detective.

“I can't read,” the man said.

“You're lying,” Slocum said. He saw the way the man's eyes had scanned the page, stopped at the bottom, and then worked back over details of what legal authority had been granted. The outlaw understood well enough what Slocum had been empowered to do. He just didn't know that Slocum had been fired or Tamara had walked away from her job as the vice president's assistant.

“You trailed me. I thought you were road agents. How was I to know you're railroad dicks?” He looked from Slocum to Tamara. His eyes lingered on her form, the tears in her clothing revealing tantalizing glimpses of bare skin. “Got to say, I never saw a railroad detective who looked like you.”

“Remember who crowned you with a rock,” Tamara said hotly. “I can do it again. Or maybe I'll take a short walk and leave you in the custody of the man you were going to murder.”

Slocum lifted his pistol and pointed it between the man's eyes.

“What's your name?”

“Montague. I'm just riding back to San Francisco. You don't have anything on me.”

“Pierre Montague?” Tamara stared at him. “Yes, you're Pierre Montague.”

“What if I am?”

“The Central California Railroad has a standing warrant out for your arrest. You steal company property from our depots.”

“That's not me,” Montague said, turning surly. He winced as he probed the wound on his skull.

Slocum pulled Tamara back a few paces so they could discuss their prisoner without being overheard. He kept his Colt Navy trained on the outlaw and never looked at Tamara as they spoke.

“Did the railroad have a wanted poster out for him, or did Jackson tell you the names of his gang?”

“Oh, John, I've told you. Jack was the only one I knew. He kept all the details of the robbery and his gang close to the vest. Montague
does
have an alert out on him. He's stolen a considerable amount of freight from the Oakland yard and is suspected of petty theft in both Sacramento and Virginia City.” She saw his skeptical look. “I saw the warrant when it was on Mr. Collingswood's desk. I can be a very snoopy person when I put my mind to it.”

“That's how you found out about the silver shipment,” Slocum said.

“Yes, and it's how I found out about you.” She moved closer, but Slocum stepped back. Tamara started to protest, but Slocum silenced her.

“Montague won't talk. I've seen his kind before, and he will die before he tells us where the silver is hidden.”

“He and the other two have formed their own gang. They must have left all their shares from the robbery in a single place.” Tamara hardly contained her excitement at this. Slocum had to dissuade her.

“We don't know that. I think Jackson going his own way tells the story. They didn't trust each other. We can play on that distrust.”

“You mean I can play on it, don't you, John?” Tamara grinned. “You saw how he stared at me. It's the same way you do when you think I'm not looking.”

Slocum couldn't disagree with her. He grew impatient with the endless futile search for the stolen silver. Riley and Harry were greedy and hunting for the same treasure trove. David Collingswood might have sent out an army of other railroad dicks on the same mission.

“Go on,” he said softly. Louder, “You're loco. We have to get rid of him before the train comes.”

“There is a reward on his head.”

“It's nothing compared to the reward for finding the silver.” Slocum saw her face light up as she understood what to say.

“We did a good job on that, John. Mr. Collingswood will give us a bigger reward for getting so much back. Although the reward for Montague is only a few dollars, it's more than we have now.”

“We let the crew load the silver. There's no need to get greedy when we've done our job.”

“And you've done it so well, John.” She ran her hand down his chest. Her fingers danced lightly and slipped under his vest to press into his gently beating heart. “Are you sure we can't, umm, sample some of the silver before they take it back to San Francisco?”

“No. That'd be stealing, just like that son of a bitch and his partners did. The silver belongs to the railroad.”

“You're right, of course.” She stepped away and cast a quick look at Montague, who took in every word they said. “Is that the train coming now?”

“I can't tell.”

“Go up to the summit and look. I'll guard our prisoner.”

Slocum nodded, whispered, “Be careful,” and then rushed off without a backward look.

He went a dozen paces and stopped, pretending to wait for a train highballing from Oakland.

Tamara's steps crunched on cinders as she went back to Montague. She made no effort to keep her voice low.

“He doesn't know that it'll take a week before the train arrives to recover the silver. Can you get away with it all before then?”

“What silver?” Montague said suspiciously.

“I'm tired of him. He wants to return all the silver to the railroad. They don't need it. The Central California Railroad is filthy rich—like I want to be. You and me, we can team up.”

Montague surged, but Tamara had her .22-caliber pistol out and trained on him.

“Neither of us gets rich if you don't throw in with me,” she said. “You will be hanged or spend a very long time in prison. San Quentin always has another cell waiting for a train robber.”

“You'd double-cross him?”

“We found the silver, but there's so much of it. You have the wagon you bought back in Newburg?”

“I hid it and rode the team. With two horses, we can get a lot of the silver from the hiding place.”

“I just have my horse. You've got both from the team?”

“I'm riding one. The other can be used as a pack animal.”

“How far do you think we can get in a week? I don't know these things.”

“Far enough that they'll never catch us,” Montague said. “You've got the gun. Kill him, and we'll get the silver.”

“I can trust you?”

“You were the one who told Jackson about the shipment, weren't you? So you're already on the wrong side of the law.”

Tamara laughed.

“I wondered how long it would take for you to figure that out. He doesn't know.” She jerked her thumb in Slocum's direction.

“Shoot him, and we can get on the way. To the silver.”

Tamara turned and started walking toward Slocum. He watched her and tried not to smile as she lifted her Colt New Line and pointed it in his direction. From where Montague stood, it had to look as if she had him dead in her sights. When she fired, Slocum threw himself backward and flopped onto his back. She had fired a couple feet to his left.

She came over and looked down at him, grinning.

“I like it when you're on your back.”

“I like it when you're straddling me,” he said. “Fire again, to convince him.” Slocum peered around the woman to where Montague watched. “He's still suspicious.”

“He'll be more than that if he doesn't lead us to the silver.” Tamara pointed the pistol at a dirt clump and fired. A tiny puff of smoke and dust rose.

Slocum fought to keep from sneezing. He kicked once and lay still.

“There,” Tamara said loudly. “That takes care of him.”

“Where are your horses?” Montague asked.

“Mine is down the line a ways. I don't know where his went. I rode around separate from him.”

Montague shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if undecided what to do next. Then he said, “In a draw, not too far off. I left them there when I climbed the hill to take a potshot at you.”

“I forgive you, now that we are partners. Come along. I'll get my horse.”

Tamara herded him along to where her horse pawed the ground. It took a few seconds to gentle the horse after it had gotten all het up from the gunfire. She mounted, looked down at Montague, and said, “Let's get your horses and retrieve the silver.”

“There is time if the railroad isn't sending anyone to take it away for a week.”

“You know Collingswood. He might have a fire lit under him and will send out men sooner than that.”

“I don't know him. That was Jackson's part.”

“And mine,” Tamara reminded him.

She rode behind as he circled the hill. Two horses had been hobbled in a ravine. Montague released both, and hopped bareback onto one.

“This is the easier one to ride without a saddle.” He rode closer to Tamara. When the other horse reared and distracted Tamara, Montague leaned over and shoved her from her horse. Tamara hit the ground hard, shaken.

“So long,” Montague called. He snared the dangling reins on her horse and hopped from bareback into the saddle. He settled down. “I hate bareback. Now I have tack—and three horses!”

Tamara sat up and drew her pistol.

“You can't do this to me!” She fired, missing him when the outlaw ducked. She fired repeatedly until she came up empty. With the two she had shot at Slocum, the remaining five all sang off wildly to urge Montague on his way.

Slocum rode up on his mare when Montague was out of sight. He laughed at how indignant Tamara looked.

“He stole my horse!”

“We wanted him to escape,” Slocum pointed out. “With you along, he'd never go to the silver. Why needlessly split his loot with an interloper? Now he thinks he has two packhorses.”

“He stole my horse!”

Slocum reached down and waited for Tamara to take his hand. She did so, and he pulled her up behind him. The mare sagged under the additional weight but plodded on. Now that Slocum had a fresh trail, one marked by three horses, he had no trouble tracking Montague.

“How much of a lead should we give him?” Tamara asked. She rested her cheek against Slocum's shoulder and clung around his waist.

“You don't sound in too much of a hurry to catch him,” Slocum said. For his own part, he liked the feel of her arms circling him and the way she pressed into him from behind.

“How far do you think he got with his share after the robbery? Jack carried his almost ten miles.”

“We don't know what Jackson did with his,” he reminded her. “That map of his was worthless.”

“It meant something.”

“Only to Jackson.” Slocum settled down and let the mare choose the gait. If they closed too soon with Montague, they'd spook him. The outlaw had no reason to think anyone was on his trail. Slocum ought to have been dead and Tamara left on foot. “If I was him, I'd ride fast a mile or two, then slow down, maybe check my back trail, then make a beeline for the silver.”

“Do you think Harry and Riley are anywhere near?”

Slocum had no answer to that. He had been thinking more about Montague and the silver than the two specials. They had lit out after the other two train robbers. There was no telling where they had gone. He thought little of their skills, but even a blind squirrel found an acorn now and then. If the robbers got careless, the specials could have boxed them in or followed them to the silver.

“John, the bend in the canyon. Be careful.”

He saw what had alerted her. Tamara hadn't been as content to ride along heedless of her surroundings as he'd thought. He had laid out how he would have sought the silver if he were Montague, and this was a perfect spot to lie in wait for anyone on his back trail. Slocum drew rein and studied the area. The sun was sinking fast now, but the long shadows cast betrayed Montague. The man stood just beyond the bend in the canyon.

Slocum got his bearings. The mountainous terrain had been hell for the railroad. Steep-walled canyons made travel even by horse difficult. Wrestling the stolen silver this far would have shown more determination than he expected from the robbers, though the sheer number of silver bars would feed their greed and push them to extraordinary lengths.

“He's running, John. Look!”