Gun Work: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden (13 page)

“Easy,” I hissed. “Don't have the slightest doubt we can take 'em, Carl. But let's just be careful how we go about it. Don't want any of the other passengers to get hurt, if we can keep such a sorry instance from happening.”

Threw a quick glance at Nate. Man had leaned toward the panic-stricken girl. Held one of her hands in his. Figured as how he already had the fingers of his free hand wrapped around the walnut grip of the Colt lying across his belly. Crouched and tense as a freshly tightened banjo string, he appeared more than ready for a blistering fight. But the handsome young woman's presence had placed him in a rather dangerous and precarious position, one that made me uncomfortable for the safety of both of them.

From the corner of my mouth, I whispered, “Gonna stand and try to toddle across the aisle, Carl. See if I can draw their attention my way, maybe slow 'em down a mite. Stay focused. When I make my move, you take the two in back. Do not hesitate. I'll go for the leader and his idiot partner.”

Carl flashed a death-dealing grin. Hissed, “Them two snaky bastards in back're already dead where they stand. Just don't know it yet.”

Brought my hands up as though surrendering to the circumstances. Stood, then edged sidewise into the aisle. Thought for sure everything was going right well, till the feller with the sash fired a shot into the seat back right in front of me. Big gob of dust, rendered wood splinters, leather seat covering, and horsehair padding flew into the air, then rained down on everything within three feet of where I drew to a quick, unflinching stop.

Thunderous, ear splitter of a pistol shot inside the confines of that coach came nigh on to being deafening. Totally unnecessary bit of gun work scared the bejabberous hell out of that poor girl. She let out a stunned screech that sounded like a shoat caught under a wooden gate. The mind-numbing thought suddenly flashed across my mind that the crazy bastards who'd just stormed into our midst might well kill us all.

TRUTH BE TOLD, there's just nothing like getting shot at, from incredibly close range, to bring a man's jumbled, fast-moving thoughts into absolutely clear focus. Your senses instantaneously sharpen to the point where your entire body turns into nothing more than a set of oversensitive, raw nerve ends that ache for immediate release. The air, all around you, becomes crystalline, as clear as a tub of fresh-fallen rainwater. Atmosphere crackles with electricity, as though triple-tined pitchfork lightning just fell somewhere nearby. You can hear sounds normally reserved for dogs and certain breeds of south Texas fruit bat. Itching fingertips tingle for the feel of iron, heat, and gunpowder. Prospect of sudden death becomes so real, so tangible, you can taste the imminent arrival of spilled blood at the back of your throat.

Only hesitated for maybe half a second after that first pistol shot. Then, just continued my move away from Carl, until I could stand between the seats across the aisle.

In a flat, near lifeless tone, the sash-wearing bandit waved his still-smoking pistol at me. Almost jokingly, he said, “Tell you what, mister, you just go on ahead and take one more step. Guarantee it'll be your last one amongst the living. Once we're gone, your friend there'll be buryin' you outside next to the tracks.”

Palms turned up, empty hands still reaching for heaven, I smiled. “Oh, I believe you, Coog, every word. Wouldn't trifle with a man of your iniquitous reputation.”

Bandit rocked back on his heels, flashed me a big toothy grin. “Well, well, well. Ain't this somethin'. 'Pears as how you've heard of me. That right, mister?”

Always fascinated me that a universal trait of many bad men seemed to be the necessity to be “known.” “Oh, yeah,” I said. “Heard plenty about the Buford Cougar gang. Most of it from newspaper articles over the past month or so. Figure as how just about everybody in Fort Smith and the entire Nations has heard of you boys by now.”

Buford Cougar's smile grew till it almost took over his entire face. He torqued his head to one side. Cast a quick, knowing glance at the man next to him, then refocused on me again. “Here that, Buster. We're famous. This here pilgrim's done heard 'bout the Buford Cougar gang. Bet he even knows the names of all you other boys as well. Prolly read about us in that
Fort Smith Elevator
story 'peared in last week's issue, I'd wager.”

Nodded and tried to sound friendly, when I said, “Did indeed. Yes, sir, that's the pure fact of the matter. Scarifying article mentioned as how you fellers appeared to have sprung up out of nowhere like mushrooms after a heavy dew, or maybe the ghosts of walking death. Why, as I understand it, in a matter of weeks you've paved the way to the most violent crime spree since Judge Parker took his seat in the Western District Court of Arkansas. Made quite a reputation for you and your friends a very short time.”

Sounded good bit more than a mite smug when the guy standing beside Cougar, one he'd called Buster, giggled, shot Cougar a knowing, sneering glance, then said, “Well, now, should be pretty plain as how we do work harder'n most, when it comes to our chosen profession of rapin', robbin', and killin'.”

Had them puffed up with their own self-importance. Decided to keep it up. “You boys started off over in the Sans Bois Mountains near the little town of Jasper, as I recall. Brutally assaulted a widder lady name of Harris. Story goes as how you boys caught her moving some furniture between one home and another. Shot her twelve-year-old son to death right in front of her, when he tried to protect his mother. Then took turns going at the poor woman. Story goes, she could barely walk when you finally got done. Impressive beginning.”

Buster, threw his head back, cackled like a madman, then said, “Ass-aulted. Good word fer what we done, all right. Boy hidie, 'at ole gal 'uz a sure 'nuff a fun time, tell you fer true, mister.”

“That a fact?”

“Hell, yeah. By God, she fought like a wildcat. I 'uz fourth in line, but it 'uz still some of the best stuff I done ever had. Wish she 'uz here right now. Take fourth place just so I could do her again, by God.”

Had to grit my teeth, but went on trying to lull them into doing something stupid, or losing their concentration, if for only a fraction of a second. “Reports from witnesses are that two days later you boys broke in on a farmer from over near Bee Hive Creek. Forced his wife to cook a big meal for you. Heard five of you ate three dozen eggs, whole slab of bacon, and twenty biscuits. Drank a gallon of milk.”

Buster smiled. “Yep. 'S true all right. Yep.”

“Then, each and every one of you took turns assaulting the kindhearted woman what cooked all that stuff for you. Made her agitated husband watch the entire dance. Then, just for the hell of it, you went and killed the dickens out of him. Story I read said as how one of you hit that poor man in the head with a hatchet.”

Didn't bother to turn around and look when one of the guys behind me chuckled, then said, “That'd be me, by God. Splattered his worthless brains all over hell and yonder. Made that goddamned slut a his mop all them brains up 'fore we left. But that was after we all went and took another run at 'er.” Men were so full of themselves they just couldn't pass up the chance to brag.

Heard a muffled, groaning grunt come from Carlton's direction. Knew beyond any shadow of doubt that if I didn't get a clumsy rise out of them boys soon he'd take the situation into his own hands. “Day or two later, you met a feller over near Chokecherry Hill. Stole his horse, fifty dollars, and a gold watch.”

Buster sounded right smug, near high and mighty, when he said, “Yeah, but we didn't kill 'im.”

Nodded my agreement, but added, “Well, that's true enough, Buster. But, way I heard the story, you boys stood around and debated for almost two hours about whether or not you
should
kill 'im. Even took a vote on the question. Leastways according to the
Fort Smith Elevator
's detailed chronicle of all your dastardly deeds.”

Different voice behind me called out, “Yeah. Come up three to two in favor of lettin' him live a bit longer. Personally, I wanted to kill 'im right then and there. Wouldn't be talking 'bout the son of a bitch now if'n we'd a done what I wanted.”

Cougar shot a wicked glance over my shoulder and yelped, “Well, you're an idiot, Bartholomew.”

Bartholomew didn't take well to being called an idiot. Voice from the back of the car came up in volume and tone by several notches, when he called out, “Might be the self-professed leader of this gang, Buford, but you ain't the Lord God Almighty, by God.”

Sounded to me like cracks had begun to form in their armor. Figured to keep them going when I said, “Not long after that, you boys murdered hell out of a stock trader down on the Muddy Boggy. Gent named Callaghan, as I recall.”

Cougar's right-hand man went to laughing again. Ole Buster brought one foot up, then stomped back down. “Wearing that rich bastard's boots. Hand tooled in Fort Worth by-God Texas. These here shit kickers musta cost that dumb son of a bitch three hundred dollars, if'n they cost him a red cent. 'Course, he ain't got much use fer 'em now. Given as how I blew all the brains out'n his stupid head.”

Held the most obvious back till last, when I said, “And, so far, you've robbed half a dozen of the Katy line's trains. Got a sizable sum of money posted on your heads as a consequence.”

Buford Cougar waved his crew into silence. “Actually this 'un here is our ninth. Near as we've been able to tell, damned railroaders are so stupid they can't even keep track of who's robbin' 'em or how many times we do it.”

Not to be left out, Carlton snarled, “Oh, I'm sure M.K. and T. management will know all about what you boys did here today.”

Cougar looked so proud he could've licked himself all over. “Good. Damned good. See, we're a bad bunch, mister. Time we're finished, this here gang of mine's gonna be the most famous crew of robbers and killers ever done come outta the Nations. Have our names in newspapers all over the country. Even places like San Fran-by-God-cisco. Not just that pissant rag in Fort Smith.”

“Seems to me you boys are studying for a hanging, Cougar. Sure that's what you want?” I said.

“Hell, yes. Wasn't nothin' till we started robbin' and killin' folks. Now, names of Buford Cougar, Buster Lucky, Bartholomew January, Samuel Boston, and Edgar Sampson gonna be spoken in whispers by scared kids and terrified parents. We're gonna be feared and respected from the Verdigris River in the north, all the way to the Red in the south. But right now, we've got a train to rob.”

Cougar's helpmate flashed a snaggle-toothed, twisted grin, shoved one pistol behind a broad, silver-buckled, leather belt, then strolled up beside the Indian girl. He slipped several fingers into her hair. Held it up as though looking at a vein of hand-spun, Black Hills gold. Glanced back at his boss. “Why don't we do fer this here gal first, Buford. Damn, but she's a looker. Won't even mind goin' fourth agin fer a piece a this stuff. Hell, I'll even go fifth. Dip my wick in her fine-lookin' gloriosity any ole time, any ole way.”

Barely heard him when Nate growled, “Touch her again, you ugly stack of walking horse manure, and it'll be the last thing you ever do.”

Buster's pistol barrel caught Nate a glancing blow across the cheek. Rocked my friend's head sideways. His hat flipped into the aisle. Hit the floor and twirled around like a kid's top. Surprised me the blow didn't knock him cockeyed and unconscious.

Buster grabbed the girl by the arm, then glared at Nate. “Maybe I'll let you watch while I do 'er, you smart-mouthed son of a bitch. Cheerin' audiences don't bother me none. Hell, more the merrier's what I always says.”

“Let it go, Buster,” Cougar yelled. “We've got way more important fish to fry right now.”

Nate's cheek leaked blood when he snatched the girl back into her seat, then came up with an open-palmed, roundhouse right that damn near knocked Buster Lucky's eyes clean out of his head. Stunned gunman spun around, ricocheted off a couple of empty seats, then bounced against the front wall of the car.

Crazy son of a bitch regained his footing, stormed back over to the girl, and grabbed her by the arm again. “I want some of this woman, Coog,” Buster yelped. Then, he leaned over Nate. Shoved the muzzle of his pistol barrel into Nate's ear. “And when I'm finished with her, wanna kill the hell outta this here bastard.”

One of the bandits behind me took considerable pressure off Nate when he called out, “Gonna have to get in line fer some a that gal, Buster. Figure all a us'll have a bit 'fore you get any. ‘Sides, if'n I 'uz her, or any other woman for that matter, wouldn't want you gettin' anywheres close to me with that ugly little thang of yours.”

Buster Lucky cast a wild-eyed glare toward his cohorts at the back of the car. Thin, cruel lips twitched and slobbers dripped from his quaking chin when he said, “Maybe I won't be the last 'un this time, Sam. Just maybe not this time, by God. I found 'er. Pretty good chance I'll be first today. Maybe I'll kill everbody here, do as I goddamned well please. Sendin' all you bastards to Jesus ain't no problem fer a man as bad as me.”

Tension level shot through the roof. Knew I had to do something before the killing got started. Anything. And damned quick.

OF A SUDDEN everything got numbingly quiet. Seemed as though I could hear the hair in my ears growing. No doubt in my mind, none at all. Bony-fingered Death had stepped onto the M.K. & T. Flyer's day coach. Old soul stealer had his blood-smeared sickle sharpened up and ready for use.