The Killing Season (36 page)

“Oh, God,” Nathan groaned, “do I have to shoot the whole family?”

“Damned if it don't look like it,” said Harrington. “Momma and Daddy may be next.”

Nathan and Melanie went on to Delmonico's for supper, and there Nathan told her of his ongoing conflict with the Limbaughs.

“But how did he know where to find you?” Melanie asked.

“As long as I'm with the railroad, I can't escape the newspapers,” said Nathan. “Every time I manage to outsmart some train robbers, it's news. Every time I have to shoot some damn fool who's trying to kill me. I'm forever proving how fast I am with a gun, adding more names to a growing list of potential killers who want a reputation at my expense.”

“My God,” she cried, “when will it all end?”

“When I face a man who's faster than I am,” said Nathan. “Then he'll take up the burden I'm carrying now.”

“Why can't you just go away, where nobody knows you? Must you work for the railroads?”

“It's a problem whether I'm working for the railroad or not,” Nathan said. “It's just a little easier to find me, with the newspapers writing about me.”

“Monday morning,” said Hagerman, “there'll be another military payroll coming from Kansas City. I'll want you on that train. You knocked out two-thirds of that gang the last time they struck, but they've had time to recruit some more men.”

“I've been meaning to ask you,” Nathan said, “why these varmints always know when there's a military payroll on board. Why can't you reschedule a shipment, like we did from the mines, sending it on a different train on short notice?”

“There are several reasons,” said Hagerman. “The first, of course, is because of the way the military does things. They always pay between the first and the tenth of the month, come hell or high water. In the case of the payrolls we handle, they always come out of Fort Leavenworth, and they always arrive the day before they're to be shipped. The other reason—to answer your question—is that any band of outlaws with an eye toward stealing a payroll need only have a man watching the fort. When the payroll and its escort move out, it means one of the next day's westbounds will have the shipment aboard. The outlaws will stop every train until they get the one they want.”

“So there's no better way than just defending the train carrying the payroll.”

“That's it,” said Hagerman. “This last bunch had a fondness for dynamiting the express coach. It worked, because nobody thought of attacking them like you did. Now, we don't know how they'll come at us, so you'll have to be prepared for anything. I can send some armed men with you, if you wish.”

“No,” Nathan said, “but there is one thing you can do. Let three thirty-eight and her crew make that run.”

“They're not scheduled for it,” said Hagerman, “but if they're willing, I can make the change.”

Nathan arrived on Sunday afternoon, and went immediately to the terminal's huge call-board. The crew he had requested—Dub Collins, engineer, Amos Handy, fireman, Art Raines, baggageman, and Enos Pilpaw, brakeman—had been assigned the early-morning run which would carry the military payroll to Dodge. Nathan left his Winchester at the dispatcher's office and found a cafe. After supper, he bought copies of the
St. Louis Globe-Democrat
and the
Kansas City Liberty-Tribune.
These he took back to the terminal bunkhouse. Removing his boots and gun belt, he stretched out on a bunk and read the newspapers without finding anything of particular interest. Shortly after nine o'clock, Enos Pilpaw and Art Raines arrived. Thirty minutes later, Dub Collins and Amos Handy came in.

“I hope I didn't spoil anybody's plans,” Nathan said.

“When you work for the railroad,” said Dub, “you don't make a lot of plans. We was told you asked for us on this run, and we took that as a compliment.”

“I asked for you gents,” Nathan said, “because I know I can count on you not to fall into the jitters if the train robbers come after us. Last time, we pretty well cured them of dynamiting the express car, so I reckon we can look for something different if they come after us this time. Dub, I want you and Amos to arm yourselves with Winchesters. Enos, that goes for you, too. Art, you're the exception, because you'll be locked in.”

“No matter,” Art said. “I've cut some rifle holes in each side of the express car, so I can use a rifle, too, if they come within range.”

“Trouble is,” Nathan said, “if they come after us this time, we don't know what they might do. Dub, you and Amos keep close watch on the track ahead. They could dynamite the track and derail the train. If they rip a rail loose, like they've been doing, then we can count on them attacking the train in some manner. Our defense will depend on how they attack us.”

“If they rip a rail loose and try to rush us,” said Dub, “I can always reverse the train and leave them smelling our smoke.”

“You could,” Nathan said, “but don't do it at the risk of getting yourself shot.”

 

By five o'clock the next morning, three thirty-eight had steam up. Art Raines, Enos Pilpaw, and Nathan finished breakfast at a quarter to six and boarded the train. Nathan was again riding the caboose. They took on wood and water at Wichita, and by the time they reached Newton, Nathan was beginning to wonder if the outlaws had given up. But half an hour west of Newton, the train began to slow. Nathan raised the cupola of the caboose, and for a moment, saw nothing. He then heard shooting from the locomotive cab, and saw the outlaws approaching the train from two directions. They reined up and with rifles, began pouring fire into both sides of the engine. The fire from the cab ceased, and Nathan hoped it was because the trainmen had taken cover. Nathan climbed out on top of the caboose and began firing, but the outlaws were still out of range. Nathan counted fourteen riders. Suddenly, six of them galloped closer, and lead zipped all around Nathan like angry bees. He was forced back inside the caboose, as slugs tore into the cupola. Enos had the caboose's back door open and was leaning over the side rail, firing at the outlaws creeping alongside the train. Outlaw fire struck his Winchester, tearing it from his hands and driving him back inside the caboose.

“Four of 'em are covering the engine,” said Enos, “and the others are working their way back to us, using the train for cover. Their fire cost me my rifle.”

“Take mine,” Nathan said. “I'm going to get out on the top of this train and go after the varmints who are coming after us. Get just far enough up to see out this cupola and lay down enough fire so those mounted coyotes near the engine can't pick me off the roof.”

Nathan reached the roof, but the moment he leaned over the edge, three of the outlaws began firing. He could hear Enos firing from the roof of the caboose, and while the outlaws beyond the engine posed no threat, those creeping alongside the train were in a far better position than he. There was a tender, a boxcar, the express coach, and the caboose. In a matter of minutes, those using the train for cover would rush Enos. But suddenly the train lurched backward and began to move! Dub Collins was alive and well. Rapidly the train gained speed, exposing the ten outlaws who had been using it for cover. Nathan stood atop the swaying train, a Colt in each hand. Enos continued firing from the top of the caboose, and at least one of the railroad men was firing from the engine's cab. Ten of the outlaws were down, dead or wounded. The four mounted men galloped after the train, only to be met by fire from Enos atop the caboose and from the engine's cab. After one was shot out of the saddle, the others reined up. Dub slowed the train as they neared the outskirts of Newton. Nathan continued along the tops of the cars until he reached the rear of the tender.

“Good work, amigos,” he shouted. “Anybody hurt?”

“We're still in one piece,” said Amos. “We had to back off when things got too hot.”

“Glad you did,” Nathan said. “That was fast thinking, Dub. If you hadn't backed away from them, they'd have had us in a few more minutes.”

“There's a rail out,” said Dub. “You want to telegraph Dodge and tell them we're rid of the outlaws and needin' a work train?”

“Yes,” Nathan said, “and I think we'll stay here at Newton for a while. Not all those varmints we gunned down are dead.”

Newton had no depot as such, but there was a telegrapher's shack, and Nathan used the instrument to contact Hagerman at Dodge. He requested the work train come from Dodge rather than Kansas City or Wichita without giving a reason. He doubted there would be any more trouble from the train robbers, but he wanted the damaged track repaired before the train bearing the payroll continued on its way.

“Figure three hours for the work train to get here,” said Dub, “and an hour to repair the track, and that makes us four hours late.”

“Hell,” Amos said, “you can't have everything. We saved the payroll.”

“A big part of the credit goes to you gents in the cab and Enos in the caboose,” said Nathan, “and I aim to see that the railroad knows it.”

They waited two and a half hours before they saw the dirty gray of smoke against the blue of the western sky. There was a blast of the work train's whistle, and Dub replied with an equal blast of three thirty-eight's whistle. Nathan and Enos returned to the train's caboose and it lurched into motion. When they reached the site of the attempted robbery, none of the fallen outlaws were there.

“I don't believe it,” Enos said. “I know I shot two of them.”

“We hurt them,” said Nathan, “and they didn't want us to know how bad. They toted away their dead along with the wounded.”

By the time three thirty-eight was within sight of the twisted rail, the work train had arrived and men were hard at work. A little more than an hour later, three thirty-eight was steaming toward Dodge City, on the tail of the returning work train.

“Another good piece of work,” Hagerman said, when Nathan reported to him.

“I couldn't have done it without Dub Collins and his crew,” said Nathan. “The outlaws tore up the track and then rushed us. Dub allowed most of them to dismount and begin working their way along, using the train for cover. Then he backed up, exposing them to our fire. We killed or wounded eleven of the fourteen. They carried away the dead so we'd not know how badly we hurt them.”

“Another fight or two like that,” Hagerman said, “and it'll be damned hard for them to keep adding men to replace those who have been killed or quit.”

Nathan returned to the Dodge House. There was little else to do until the next shipment.

“I have almost a month until time for the next shipment from the silver mines,” said Nathan. “Is there anything in particular you'd like to do?”

“No,” Melanie said. “I'm just enjoying the peace and quiet, without being cussed and slapped around. It's so nice to be able to get up in the morning without being afraid of the day ahead.”

“Then we'll just lay low here in Dodge,” said Nathan.

Ten miles south of the Silver Slipper, where they would load the shipment, Nathan reined up his teams. He gathered the riders around him.

“Gents,” he said. “I need the loan of a horse. Nobody is to know of this shipment, and I need to ride ahead and be sure it's safe for us to continue with the wagons.”

“Take my horse,” said Crump.

Nathan rode on toward the mines. Shanklin's wagons should have been there and taken the bogus shipment the day before, but Nathan had to be sure. Reaching the mine, he found Bammister in the office.

“We handled it the way you told us to,” the mine superintendent said. “The genuine shipment is ready to be loaded.”

Nathan returned to the wagons and the waiting riders. Returning Crump's horse, he mounted the wagon box and led out. Loading the wagons required less than half an hour. Nathan signed a receipt for the shipment and the caravan headed south, toward Pueblo.

“Tomorrow,” said Clell Shanklin, “we'll ride south. By then, Gonzolos and his bunch should have the shipment and be well on their way to New Mexico Territory.”

“I don't see why we couldn't have gone on to Santa Fe and met them there,” Elsa said. “I don't relish the idea of riding four hundred miles with a thieving Spaniard and his greasy gang of train robbers.”

“That's just too damn bad,” said Shanklin. “I don't relish the idea of having them take those wagons somewhere else, leaving me settin' on my hunkers in Santa Fe. We'll catch up and trail them as far as it takes, to get our cut.”

“I suppose it hasn't crossed your mind,” Elsa said, “but there's other ways to take it all for themselves. They could just kill us.”

“They could,” Shanklin agreed, “but I'm worth more to them alive than dead.”

“When you're dealing with thieves and killers,” said Elsa, “that can change.”

 

Far to the south, near the Cimarron River, Chapa Gonzolos and his riders were having their share of trouble. While they had stopped the Kansas-Pacific eastbound and had taken what they had every reason to believe was a fortune in silver, they now gathered around a disabled wagon and cursed their luck. The wagon had seldom been greased, and the rear axle had snapped where the left rear wheel joined. Gonzolos had taken an ax from one of the wagons, and he pointed the handle of it at four of his dozen comrades.