Bad Men Die Page 9

  Bertram gestured curtly at him to stop him from saying anything else.

  It didn’t matter. Luke was no fool and had already figured out what was going on. “Exactly how much gold are you shipping out in secret on this train, Bertram?”

  The man stared at him for a second, then said, “What? Gold? I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Don’t waste your breath denying it,” Luke said. “You’re working for the mine owners who have pooled their gold to ship it to Cheyenne. It must have been refined down to ingots. I thought I saw a smelter back in the hills above Rattlesnake Wells. Raw ore would weigh too much, but you could pack a fortune in gold bars into a couple fairly small strongboxes. Let me guess. They’re up in the cab of the locomotive right now. That would explain why it was in the roundhouse longer than usual. The engineer is going to stop the train and your hired guards will carry the boxes back here to the caboose and lock them up. That’s how the plan goes, isn’t it?”

  Bertram looked more and more astonished, not to mention angry, as Luke spoke. He roared, “Who the hell are you? Chadwick, cover this man! If he reaches for a gun, kill him!”

  The conductor quickly answered, “He’s a bounty hunter, Mr. Bertram. Like he told you, that other man is a prisoner he’s taking to Cheyenne.”

  “I don’t believe it! He’s got to be an outlaw himself! These two are working together! They’re after the gold—”

  “Not hardly,” Luke interrupted in a flat, cold tone. “I told you the truth, Bertram. I didn’t know anything about your precious gold until you came in here, lost your temper, and started flapping your gums. Figuring it out from there wasn’t difficult.” He paused. “Maybe the mine owners should have hired someone a bit more . . . discreet, shall we say? . . . to get their gold to Cheyenne.” He smiled and drank some more of the coffee.

  Chadwick, evidently one of the hired guards, took a step forward. “He knows too much, Mr. Bertram. Want me to take his guns and tie him up?”

  Before Bertram could answer, Luke added to the tension by saying softly, “I don’t think you want to try that, friend.” He didn’t like having guns pointed at him.

  That could have led to trouble, but Bertram was canny enough to realize that he was creating problems where they didn’t have to exist. He held out a hand toward Chadwick and motioned him back, making a visible effort to be the voice of reason, rather than the blustery hardnose he had been mere moments earlier. “Let’s all settle down. Jensen, do you swear you didn’t know about that gold and aren’t on this train to make a try for it?”

  “I stand by what I said,” Luke snapped. “I don’t intend to take a damn oath, if that’s what you mean. But it’s the truth.” He nodded toward McCluskey, who sat on the ladderback chair with a wolfish grin on his face. “I can’t say the same for McCluskey, but in his current situation there’s not much he can do to cause trouble for you.”

  Bertram frowned. “I don’t like having a notorious outlaw on the train, whether he’s locked up or not. But I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do about it now, short of throwing you both off and making you walk back to Rattlesnake Wells.”

  “The boys and I can do that if it’s what you want, Mr. Bertram.” Chadwick sounded like he would welcome the opportunity.

  Bertram heaved a sigh and shook his head. “No, we’re going to try to make the best of the situation. Go ahead and let the engineer know he can stop any time he wants, and we’ll transfer the strongboxes back here.”

  “He’ll be glad to get ’em out of the way,” Chadwick muttered.

  “As for the two of you”—Bertram addressed Luke, including McCluskey in the statement—“I want you out of here. You’ll have to ride in one of the passenger cars.”

  The conductor looked like he was about to object to that idea. It had been his idea to take them back there, after all. He wanted to cooperate with Bertram since the man worked for the mine owners and their business was important to the railroad, but he also felt like he had a responsibility to the other passengers.

  Luke could practically see those thoughts going through his head.

  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” the conductor finally said. “Seeing McCluskey shackled like that might frighten and upset the passengers.”

  Bertram chewed his cigar. “You think I care about the other passengers?”

  “Well, I do,” the conductor said with a small show of defiance. “Look, Mr. Bertram, you have half a dozen very competent guards. Jensen won’t have any chance to get his hands on that gold. And even if he did, what could he do with it? One man couldn’t carry off those strongboxes. It takes two men just to budge one of them.”

  “Are you saying we should allow them to stay in here?” Bertram asked, seeming astounded again.

  “I just don’t see that it can hurt anything. Let’s just get on to Cheyenne as quickly as possible and get this job finished.”

  Clearly, Bertram didn’t like it, but after a moment, he nodded. “All right.” He jerked a hand at Chadwick. “Get moving. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

  Chadwick nodded and hurried out of the caboose. A few minutes later, the train began to slow.

  McCluskey looked up at Luke and asked, “How much are those rewards on me?”

  “They add up to six thousand,” Luke replied. “A very tidy sum.”

  “And how much are two strongboxes full of gold bars worth?” McCluskey asked, still wearing that savage grin on his face.

  “Considerably more,” Luke acknowledged. He smiled and shook his head. “You remind me, McCluskey, of just how inconvenient it is at times to be an honest man.”

  CHAPTER 15

  After the train had stopped, Luke watched the conductor, whose name he still didn’t know, leave the caboose. He figured the man was going to reassure the passengers that nothing was wrong and that the halt was only temporary. Since he was in charge, more than likely, he had already figured out some plausible story to explain it.

  Bertram left, too, and Luke had no doubt he was going to supervise the transfer of the strongboxes full of gold to the caboose.

  Left alone in the caboose with McCluskey, Luke considered what was about to happen. He could understand the logic of the plan. Secrecy was the goal, and loading the strongboxes into the locomotive’s cab while it was in the roundhouse had accomplished that. The gold had probably been delivered to the roundhouse in the dead of night.

  It seemed like it would have been simpler to leave the strongboxes in the cab, rather than going through the business of stopping the train and carrying them back to the caboose, but after a few minutes of thought, he had that figured out, as well. The locomotive wasn’t going all the way to Cheyenne. It would stop at the junction with the Union Pacific.

  Once there, the caboose would be shunted onto a siding, then switched to an eastbound train to finish the journey with the gold safely inside.

  Such elaborate precautions usually meant the mines had had trouble in the past getting their gold shipments out. He wondered if that was the case or if the mine owners were being extra careful because of the size of the shipment.

  “You’d better think long and hard about this, Jensen. We’re talking about enough money that you could give up bounty hunting for good. You could buy your own ranch if you wanted to. Hell, you could buy two ranches!”

  Luke knew that if he wanted, his brother would be happy to let him live out the rest of his days on the big Sugarloaf Ranch down in Colorado. As much as he liked Smoke, that idea didn’t appeal to him. “What makes you think I even want a ranch?”

  The outlaw grinned at him again. “You mean to tell me you really enjoy gettin’ shot at and dealing with lowlifes like me all the time?”

  “The part about dealing with men like you does get tiresome,” Luke admitted. “But I’ve been doing it so long I’m afraid I’m too old to change.”

  “This life will be the death of you.”

  “Sooner or later, everybody can say the sa
me thing, no matter what they do,” Luke said.

  A short time later, Chadwick and another heavily armed guard came in, followed by several burly, unarmed men in work shirts and overalls carrying a pair of wooden strongboxes strapped by iron bands. From the way the men handled them, it appeared the boxes were heavy.

  Bertram and four more guards brought up the rear. “Put them in the corner,” he ordered, pointing.

  From his seat, Luke watched the men toting the boxes—probably railroad employees, he thought—place them on the floor in the front left corner of the caboose, next to the conductor’s desk.

  As they straightened up and brushed their hands off, Bertram went on. “Remember, you men are sworn to secrecy. You can’t ever tell anyone about this, in case the mine owners want to use this method again.”

  That warning was a waste of time, Luke thought. Sooner or later, someone would let it slip what they had done. Probably as soon as he found himself in a saloon with a few drinks inside him. He would want to brag about how he had handled such a valuable load of gold ingots.

  And there wasn’t anything a stuffed shirt like Bertram could do to stop it.

  The men had nodded their agreement and left the caboose.

  Bertram continued. “Chadwick, you and three of your men will stay in here with the gold. I want two men in the next passenger car to keep anyone who doesn’t belong from coming back here. Try not to let it be too obvious that you’re guarding something, though. We don’t want to make the passengers curious.”

  Chadwick nodded and picked two of the men to go up into the passenger car. He and the remaining three men made themselves comfortable, two of them sitting down on a sofa, another reversing a ladderback chair like the one on which McCluskey sat, and Chadwick himself pouring coffee for all four of them. None seemed curious about the presence of Luke and McCluskey, so Luke assumed their presence had been explained.

  Not long after that, the conductor came in and asked, “Are we ready to roll?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, we are,” Bertram told him.

  The conductor glanced uneasily at the strongboxes, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, mopped sweat from his face with it, and muttered, “We can’t get to Cheyenne soon enough to suit me.”

  Delia was sitting with her head slumped forward a little, brooding as she tried to think of a way to get to Frank McCluskey. As she felt the train’s speed slackening, she sat up straighter and looked out the window.

  They were still passing through the same sort of terrain that had surrounded them ever since the train rolled out of Rattlesnake Wells. As far as she could see, there was no reason why the train should be stopping.

  As it lurched to a halt, a buzz of mystified conversation went through the car as people asked each other what was going on. No one sat next to Delia, so she didn’t get that question, but she wondered about it.

  A few minutes later, the conductor entered the car at the rear and started up the aisle, saying in a loud voice, “Nothing to worry about folks, just keep your seats. We’ll only be stopped here for a short time while the engineer and the fireman do a little work up in the cab.”

  “The train hasn’t broken down, has it?” a middle-aged woman asked. “I have to get to Cheyenne. My daughter is having a baby any day now!”

  “No, ma’am, nothing like that,” the conductor assured her. “It’s just a minor matter and won’t take long to fix, and then we’ll be on our way again. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if the engineer will be able to pour on enough steam that we’ll still make it to the junction right on schedule.”

  That explanation seemed to satisfy the passengers, and the conductor moved on to the other car.

  Delia wasn’t satisfied, though. Surprised, but not satisfied. Maybe she was just naturally suspicious, but she had a hunch something else was going on, although she had no idea what it could be.

  Looking through the window, she saw a group of men move past the car, heading toward the rear of the train. Four of them were moving a cart of some sort, two pushing and two pulling. Although she couldn’t see what was on the cart—it was covered by a blanket—she could tell it was heavy. She frowned. Men walking along with them all carried rifles.

  No one else in the car seemed to pay any attention to the odd procession, but when the conductor came back through, she held up a hand to stop him. “What were those men doing outside the train a little while ago?”

  “Men? What men?” the conductor asked.

  Delia saw right through that. No man could lie to her and get away with it. She knew good and well he knew what she was talking about. “Close to a dozen men,” she said with a frown. “They were moving something on a cart.”

  “Oh, that.”

  Delia didn’t believe his nonchalance for a second.

  “That was just some, uh, railroad equipment. Something to do with that mechanical problem.” He sounded like he was getting a little impatient. “I really don’t know all the details, miss. I’m the conductor, not the engineer.”

  Delia put a simpering smile on her face. “Well, I don’t really understand all that sort of thing, either, Mr. Conductor. But I appreciate you trying to explain it to me. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

  The act mollified him. He shook his head. “It’s no bother, ma’am. I’m here to assist the passengers in any way I can, after all. It’s part of my job.”

  He moved on, and the smile disappeared from Delia’s face. She was more convinced than ever that something strange was going on, and it had to do with the caboose. She felt sure Frank was back there, so she was doubly determined to get into the caboose herself.

  Not only did she have to rescue Frank, but whatever those men had taken back there might be something well worth the two of them getting their hands on.

  The train started moving again a short time later, and just as the conductor had predicted, the engineer poured on the steam. They barreled along the tracks at breathtaking speed.

  Delia felt her pulse pounding as she looked out the window at the landscape whipping past. She had been on a train only a few times in her life and never one going so fast.

  She told herself sternly not to be distracted by such things. She had work to do, serious work. Anyway, the mad dash across the plains didn’t last long. The train slowed as the tracks began to climb into the foothills at the base of a small mountain range.

  Mountains were good, Delia thought. Mountains provided a lot more places to hide than open plains did.

  She stopped the conductor as he came through the car again.

  With a slight show of annoyance, he asked, “What is it this time, ma’am?”

  “I’ve never made this trip before. What’s it like on the other side of these mountains?”

  “We’ll be back down on the flats until we get to the junction.”

  “It shouldn’t take long, then.”

  “No, ma’am. Another hour, maybe.”

  “Thank you.” Once again, her smile made the conductor’s irritation vanish.

  She was running out of time, she thought as she sat back against the hard bench seat. Surely, someone had already found the slain deputy’s body back in Rattlesnake Wells and knew she was missing. The marshal would send a wire to the station at the Union Pacific junction asking that the train be searched and that she be taken into custody. She had to free McCluskey and escape before that happened.

  She had to act while the train was still in the mountains.

  She felt the train leave the foothills and begin climbing toward a pass. She could see it up ahead, at the top of a long, curving grade.

  Once they were through the pass they’d be heading down the other side and the train would probably pick up speed. There was no time to lose.

  As the train’s engine labored to make the climb, she stood up and turned toward the rear of the car. It wasn’t swaying as much now that the train had slowed, but it still moved enough so that Delia had to rest her hand on the back of a seat now and then to
steady herself as she approached the door to the rear platform.

  She felt a little shock of surprise as she recognized the men sitting in the last seats, one on either side of the aisle. They had been with the group moving the thing on the cart toward the caboose while the train was stopped earlier. Both men were dressed like businessmen—plain tweed suits and flat-crowned brown hats.

  As she approached, one stood up and moved to block her path. “Sorry, ma’am, no one is supposed to go out on the platform while the train is moving.”

  “Really? It’s sometimes called an observation platform, isn’t it? I want to take a better look at these mountains we’re passing through. They’re really beautiful.”

  The man shook his head. “No, I reckon you’d better stay in here. Even though the train’s not moving as fast as it was, you sure wouldn’t want to fall off.”

  “Well, you’re not the conductor,” she said with a frown. “I don’t think you have any right to stop me.”

  “I work for the railroad, ma’am, and I’m asking you to go back to your seat.”

  She didn’t know if he was telling the truth about working for the railroad, but it didn’t really matter. His coat was open a little, and she was close enough to see that he wore a revolver butt-forward in a cross-draw holster on his left side. That was perfect for her.

  She moved forward, and he moved to get in her way, and for a second they did that little dance people do when they’re trying not to run into each other.

  Delia’s real objective was to get close enough to do what she did next. With her left hand, she brought up the knife she had hidden against her body and plunged the blade into the man’s belly just above his waist.

  His mouth opened and his eyes bulged as she ripped the knife to the side and felt the hot gush of blood over her hand. As he started to double over, he reached for his gun.

  She beat him to it, sliding her right hand under his coat and closing it around the butt of the revolver. She jerked it out of the holster, pivoted, and pulled back the hammer as she aimed at the other man.