The Killing Season (29 page)

“I reckon that's how you learned what you're telling me,” said Nathan.

“Exactly,” Silver said, “but that's by no means all of it. While the Pinkertons have been unable to account for all these six men, they have learned that at least one of them was gunned down in Denver. The law called the shooting justified, and nobody's contesting that. However, the Pinkertons are claiming there's a pattern, that the man who shot Bart Hankins may have killed his six companions. You, my friend, are a prime suspect, and the recent editorials in the Kansas City
Liberty-Tribune
about the Pinkertons tracking you down so the Limbaugh woman could fill you full of lead haven't helped. You embarrassed hell out of the Pinkertons, and they'd like nothing better than nailing you on a legitimate murder charge. They aim to present your head on a platter to the Hankins family, if they can.”

“And you think they can.”

“I don't know,” said Silver, “but evidently they think they can.”

“Assuming they can,” Nathan said, “what does that have to do with me hiring on with the AT and SF Railroad?”

“If you're working security for the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe,” said Silver, “the railroad will take a dim view of the Pinkertons harassing you. You'll have the railroad on your side, and it can be made to appear the Pinkertons are after you because of all those embarrassing newspaper stories. We don't know that they aren't, do we?”

“No,” Nathan said, “but I don't want others stomping my snakes, and that includes the railroads.”

“Damn it,” said Silver, “shove that pride back in your pocket. You learned what a five-thousand-dollar reward—unjustified—can do. If the Pinkertons can lay what even
appears
to be a legitimate charge on you, the Hankins family is prepared to offer a ten-thousand-dollar reward for you, dead or alive. Are you prepared for that?”

“I reckon not,” Nathan admitted, “but why should the railroad stand up for me? I'm not the only hombre in the territory that's quick with a gun.”

“No,” said Silver, “but your record of success with the Kansas-Pacific stands mighty tall. There's nobody else around who can measure up to that.”

“Sometime back,” Nathan said, “I interrupted a holdup involving an AT and SF train, and the guards were Pinkerton men. Has there been a falling out?”

Silver laughed. “You could say that. During the very next holdup, a Pinkerton man got nervous and shot a railroad brakeman. The thieves got away with a payroll, and that convinced the AT and SF the Pinkertons weren't worth a damn as railroad detectives. That, and the train crew reminded the railroad brass that you alone, with a Winchester, had prevented a robbery and saved the payroll.”

Nathan laughed. “I felt a little sorry for the Pinkertons. They had told the railroad men the thieves wouldn't dynamite the baggage car, but when I arrived, there wasn't a hell of a lot of it left. I never saw anything in the papers about a Pinkerton man shooting a railroad brakeman, or of the Pinkertons being dismissed as railroad security.”

“The AT and SF hushed it up,” said Silver. “It would have hurt the railroad's credibility and served no good purpose. However, if the Pinkertons are hell-bent on nailing you with a murder charge, the AT and SF might change their minds. That brakeman died, and while the railroad took care of his family, railroad lawyers could prepare one hell of a negligence suit. The Pinkertons could have a day in court they'll never forget, and in the process, forget all about Nathan Stone.”

“Silver, if I'm ever on trial for my life, guilty or innocent, I want you to plead my case. Why should I limit myself to an occasional bushwhacker on some lonely trail, when I can be shot at two or three days a week, all the way from Missouri to Colorado?”

“By God,” said Silver, “you've got the straight of it. If I wasn't already in solid with the Federals, I'd root you out and take the job myself.”

“Do me one more favor,” Nathan said. “If the Pinkertons come up with charges that might put that ten-thousand-dollar bounty on my head, get word to me.”

“I'll do that,” said Silver. “I'll even go a step farther. I'll wire Foster Hagerman, of the AT and SF, in Dodge. He'll go after the Pinkertons with a fistful of legal thunderbolts.”

“Damn it, Silver, I'd prefer that the whole world not know about this investigation. Don't be telling Hagerman anything, unless you have to.”

“He already knows the story, and he's quite familiar with the manner in which the Pinkertons tried to set you up for an ambush. You have friends, Nathan. Swallow some of that pride and don't wait until you've been gut-shot to allow some of them to help you.”

The time spent at Fort Worth with Byron Silver had done wonders for Nathan. While he still missed Cotton Blossom and always would, he had accepted the fact the faithful dog was gone. Nathan rode west to Fort Griffin and north from there, avoiding Indian Territory entirely. The first thing he learned, after reaching Fort Worth, was that there had been a major battle in the Texas panhandle between buffalo hunters and plains Indians. Twenty-eight men, with only an adobe ruins for cover, had driven away seven hundred Cheyenne, Kiowa, and Comanche warriors, led by the young Comanche chief, Quanah Parker.
¹⁵

The buffalo had been virtually cleaned out in west Texas, further infuriating the plains Indians. The ride from Fort Griffin to the Cimarron was more than two hundred miles, and Nathan spent two nights on the trail, depending on his horses to warn him of danger. He breathed easier when he had crossed the Cimarron into Kansas Territory.

“Good to see you again,” Sheriff Harrington said. “You just missed a friend of yours when you were here the last time.”

“I spent some time with him at Fort Worth, and he convinced me I should accept that railroad security position with the AT and SF. I'm supposed to meet Foster Hagerman here.”

“My God, will he ever be glad to see you,” said Harrington. “Three damn robberies in July, and three lost military payrolls. Where's your dog?”

“Dead,” Nathan replied. He again told the story, finding it less painful as he repeated it. Harrington was properly sympathetic.

“You should meet Hagerman before you do anything else,” said Harrington. “He'll be able to get you a monthly rate at the livery, and he keeps a few rooms reserved at the Dodge House. It's by far the best hotel in town.”

The AT and SF offices were located in one end of the railroad terminal, and Nathan had no trouble finding Foster Hagerman.

“Come in, come in,” Hagerman invited. “I've been expecting you.”

“Silver and the damned telegraph,” said Nathan.

Hagerman laughed. “Mr. Silver understands our dilemma. I've delayed a payroll in Fort Leavenworth for about as long as I can. Are you prepared to take a train to Kansas City tonight and ride the baggage car back tomorrow?”

“I reckon,” said Nathan. “I'll need a hotel room for my belongings and a livery for my mount and my packhorse.”

“Here,” Hagerman said, passing Nathan several sheets of paper embossed with the AT and SF logo. “One of these you'll present to the livery, the other to the desk clerk at the Dodge House. You have two hours before train time. Take your meals at Delmonico's. You have a tab there.”

Nathan rode to the livery, presented his authorization, and left his horses. At his request, his saddle and packsaddle were stored in a tack room. From there he went to the Dodge House, received his key, and found his room. Dropping his saddlebags in a corner, he changed his mind and took them with him. Including the four thousand he had won on the horse race in Uvalde, he had almost six thousand dollars in the saddlebags, too much to leave in a hotel room. He went to the Dodge City bank and deposited all but five hundred dollars. With that, what he had on deposit in the Kansas City bank, and the five hundred from the railroad each month, he might never have to gamble again. He hadn't thought of Eulie Prater in a long time, but he did now. She had hated having him in the saloon to gamble, and when he had shot his way out of one in San Antonio, she had saved his life. Leaving the bank, he started for Delmonico's arriving just in time to meet Sheriff Harrington.

“You were right,” Nathan said. “First class all the way. Join me for supper?”

“Don't mind if I do,” said the sheriff. “When do you start?”

“In less than two hours,” Nathan replied. “I'm taking the next train to Kansas City and riding west in the morning, with a payroll.”

“Be careful,” said Harrington. “I think these robberies can all be laid to the same pack of outlaws. They manage to get close enough to dynamite the express car.”

“You've just given me an idea,” Nathan said. “I need to talk to Hagerman one more time before I go.”

“He'll still be there,” said Harrington. “He goes early and stays late.”

After supper, Nathan left Sheriff Harrington at Delmonico's and returned to the depot where Hagerman's office was located. He knocked on the door and was bid enter.

“Just one thing more I need,” Nathan said. “When that payroll train heads west in the morning, I want you to be sure there's a caboose. In that caboose, I want a case of dynamite with sufficient caps and fuse.”

“But the payroll will be in the express coach.”

“Which is where it should be,” said Nathan, “and that's where the thieves will expect you to have a guard. Can you limit the train to four cars, the fourth being the caboose?”

“Yes,” Hagerman said. “The brakeman will be riding with you.”

“Good,” said Nathan. “Will he have the sand to do what I tell him to do, under fire?”

“He'll side you, up to and including gunfire, if need be. He's Enos Pilpaw, brother to a brakeman who was killed during a robbery last month.”

“Be sure there's a sending instrument aboard,” Nathan said. “I'll telegraph you if we need help repairing damaged track.”

Arriving in Kansas City, Nathan was assigned a cot in a room directly behind the railroad dispatcher's office. There he lay awake far into the night, unable to sleep for the continuous clang of locomotive bells and the shriek of whistles. Eventually he slept until he was awakened at six o'clock by the dispatcher on duty.

“Train time is eight o'clock,” the dispatcher said. “Plenty of time for breakfast.”

Nathan left his Winchester with the dispatcher and had breakfast in a cafe near the railroad depot. When he returned to the dispatcher's office, the big clock on the wall said seven forty-five.

“That's your train on track two,” said the dispatcher. “Engine three thirty-eight. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Nathan replied. Taking his Winchester, he walked to the train. The door to the express car was open, and he stopped there. He had no trouble getting the attention of the expressman because he was expected.

“God, am I glad to see you,” the railroad man said. “I'm Art Raines. I'm glad to have you ridin' with me.”

“Sorry,” said Nathan, “but I won't be riding with you. They'll expect that. I'm Nathan Stone, and I'll be in the caboose. I aim to see to it they don't get to you.”

Nathan went on to the caboose, climbed the metal steps, and opened the door. He was greeted by a young man who couldn't have been more than twenty-two. He grinned and offered his hand.

“I'm Enos Pilpaw,” he said.

“I'm Nathan Stone. I asked for some dynamite; is it aboard?”

“It's here, with caps and fuse.”

“That cupola up there,” said Nathan. “Does it open to the roof of the caboose?”

“It does,” Enos said, “but it's glassed in. You can see in any direction with it closed.”

“That's good,” said Nathan, “but I'm going to need to reach the roof, and I don't aim to step out that door and climb the ladder.”

The caboose lurched as the locomotive took up the slack, and there were three blasts from the whistle. A trainman slid the express car's door shut and locked it. Slowly the train began to move.

“It's time to fuse and cap the dynamite,” said Nathan. He dragged the wooden box out from under one of the bench seats and found the lid had been removed. Removing the coil of fuse, he found the end and with his knife, began cutting what he hoped were forty-five-second lengths. He then fused and capped two dozen sticks of the explosive, and from his shirt pocket he took an oilskin pouch of matches.

“I may need your help, Enos,” he said. “If I need this dynamite, I want you to light the fuses one at a time and pass me the sticks until I stop you.
Comprende?”

“Yes, sir,” said Enos.

“I'm going to climb up there on that high bench so that I can see out,” Nathan said. “Do the outlaws usually stop the train by ripping up some of the track?”

“They always have when I've been on this run,” said Enos. “They usually come at us from behind the train. They'll leave one man to cover me, and then move on to the express car. There's always a man within rifle range on each side of the engine, keepin' the engineer and fireman covered.”

“Allowing them to dynamite the express car,” Nathan said.

“Yes, sir. The Pinkertons always rode inside the express car, with the payroll.”

“This time,” said Nathan, “I aim to stop them before they reach the express car. Does this train stop anywhere between here and Dodge?”

“There's a water stop at Wichita,” Enos said. “Most of the robberies have taken place between Wichita and Dodge.”