Ralph Compton Sixguns and Double Eagles (35 page)

“I'm obliged,” said Rance Stringfield. “My activities in St. Louis have been limited.”

“We were there primarily because of the ... ah ... opportunities in New Orleans,” Hogan said, “but as you know, those opportunities have dried up. In fact, we're withdrawing from New Orleans, Carson City, and San Francisco, moving our operation inland.”

“Trouble in New Orleans began with that pair of gunmen who ruined us in Mexico,” said Stringfield. “Have they since been eliminated?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Drade replied. “They have proven elusive and hard to kill. As a survivor of their vendetta in Mexico, what can you tell me about them?”

“Not a lot,” said Stringfield. “I doubt either of them is older than twenty, and they're hell on wheels with all weapons, as well as their fists. Stone once worked for the railroad, and knows Morse as well as any man alive. He used the telegraph to destroy us in Mexico, and when they rode out, they took a couple of women with them.”

“Women? Where are they now?”

“In El Paso somewhere,” Stringfield said. “Why?”

“The surest way in the world to trap a man is by stealing a woman in whom he has a romantic interest,” said Drade. “Can you locate these women?”

“I have contacts in El Paso who can find and do whatever you want done with them,” Stringfield said, “but they won't do it for free.”

“I don't expect them to,” said Drade. “Your first assignment will be to contact them and make the necessary arrangements. We don't pay for failure, but if they're successful, they will be paid handsomely.”

“I'll take care of it, if I have to ride to El Paso,” Stringfield said.

“Good,” said Drade. “That's the kind of dedication I want and expect.”

 

When Wes and El Lobo returned to the depot, they found that the coach in question had already been moved to the side track, well away from any cover. With the butt of his Colt, Wes rapped on one of the doors. It was Rogers who opened the door.

“We just wanted to be sure you had the coach moved to the siding,” Wes said. “We're riding to U.S. Marshal Anderson's office. Is there anything more he ought to know, other than the time of the transfer in the morning?”

“No,” said Rogers. “The eastbound leaves at one o‘clock tomorrow afternoon. You are to have the prisoners aboard not later than ten o'clock tomorrow morning.”

“That's what we'll tell Anderson, then,” Wes said. “We'll see you in the morning.”

Rogers closed the door without a word. When Wes and El Lobo reached the marshal's office, they found Anderson alone.

“I talked to Silver,” said Anderson, “and as I understand it, the two of you are standing in for him.”

“We are,” Wes said, “and I think you should know the former friends of Belton and Wilks haven't given up.”

“Silver having been shot last night, I'm aware of that,” said Anderson shortly.

“Another bushwhacker took a shot at El Lobo and me while we were at the railroad depot this morning,” Wes said. “We'll be riding with you, but I think you're goin' to need all the deputies you can muster.”

“I've never lost a prisoner yet,” said Anderson testily.

Without another word, Wes and El Lobo departed. Once more, they called on Silver at the hospital. It would be their last opportunity to talk to him before the transfer of Wilks and Belton.

“It looks promising, then,” Silver said.

“About as promising as it can,” said Wes. “I think I insulted Marshal Anderson, telling him there might be trouble on the way to the depot.”

“He'll get over it,” Silver said. “That's one thing bothering me. He doesn't know these varmints the way we do, and he's inclined to be overconfident. Ride careful tomorrow.”

Wes and El Lobo reached the marshal's office at half past eight. Deputy Marshal Condon was at the desk. He pointed to Anderson's office, and Wes knocked.

“Come on,” Anderson said.

Deputies Densmore and Blake were there, as well as two men who were strangers to Wes and El Lobo.

“This is Deputies McKewin and Ellerbee,” said Anderson. “They'll be ridin' with us.”

Wes and El Lobo shook the hands of the deputies, introducing themselves.

“It's time we was ridin‘,” Anderson said. “We'll start for the depot at nine sharp.”

The seven of them rode out, McKewin and Ellerbee leading two extra horses for Wilks and Belton.

“Blake, you and Densmore come with me,” said Anderson when they had reached the courthouse.

The three of them entered, leaving McKewin, Ellerbee, Wes, and El Lobo with the horses. When they returned, Belton was handcuffed to Densmore, while Wilks had been handcuffed to Blake. Anderson followed, a shotgun under his arm. Quickly, Anderson removed the cuffs from Densmore and Blake, cuffing together the hands of the prisoners. Densmore and Blake then helped the prisoners to mount their horses, and with both the animals on lead ropes, the group set out for the Union Pacific depot.

As they progressed, Wes and El Lobo rode considerably behind the others, and it soon became apparent that Anderson had chosen the way carefully. There were few opportunities for ambush, and they reached the Union Pacific tracks without incident. Anderson made it a point not to go near the depot, but circled around, following the track in from the east. By so doing, he reached the coach on the side track, and there, with the exception of Wes and El Lobo, the group dismounted. The men within the coach had been watching, and the door was quickly opened. Belton and Wilks were taken inside and the door was closed. Wes looked at his watch, and it was exactly ten o‘clock.

“Three hours,” said Wes, “and they're out of our hands.”

Marshal Anderson and his deputies had mounted their horses, and Anderson trotted his mount to where Wes and El Lobo had reined up.

“I reckon I've done my part of it, gettin' ‘em here,” Anderson said, “but if you see the need, I can leave the deputies here until train time.”

“The coach is bulletproof,” said Wes, “and the guards inside should be armed. You've done well, and we're obliged.”

“Good luck, then,” Anderson said.

Wes and El Lobo watched as Anderson and the deputies rode away.

“We might as well find a little graze and unsaddle our horses,” said Wes.

They chose a knoll some three hundred yards from the track, where the coach was in plain view, and there they removed the saddles from their mounts.

“This be too easy,” El Lobo observed.

“That's what I've been thinking,” said Wes, “but what could go wrong, short of the train bein' stopped along the way? Even if that happens, there's four guards in there.”

Time dragged its feet, and when Wes again looked at his watch, it was one minute shy of eleven o‘clock. There was a light wind off the Pacific, and somewhere within the town, a distant clock within a steeple began striking the hour. Suddenly the earth shook, and on the railroad siding the private coach vanished in a burst of flame and smoke. So great was the explosion that debris rained down, spooking the horses. Wes and El Lobo, their heads pounding from the concussion, struggled to their feet. But the remains of the coach burned with such intense heat, they were unable to get closer than a hundred yards.

“Dragon be alive,” El Lobo said in awe. “How they do that?”

“A timing device,” said Wes. “A clock wired to dynamite. A hell of a lot of dynamite.”

“We don't think of that,” El Lobo said. “What we do?”

“Catch our horses, if we can,” said Wes, “and break the news to Silver. He'll have to telegraph Washington.”

But before they were able to catch and saddle their horses, riders from town galloped to the burning wreckage.

“What happened here?” a rider demanded.

“Somebody blew up a railroad coach,” said Wes. “What does it look like?”

Before the rest of the curious could ask foolish questions, Wes and El Lobo mounted their horses and rode away. Somewhere, Empty joined them, glad to be free of the railroad and its fearful sounds. They reached the hospital just in time to meet Buford Anderson, who was leaving.

“I just reported to Silver,” Anderson said. “What are you doing here so soon?”

“We're reporting to Silver, too,” said Wes grimly. “We overlooked the obvious. There was an explosion at eleven o‘clock, destroying the railroad coach.”

“God Almighty,” Anderson exclaimed. “Everybody dead?”

“Far as we could tell,” said Wes. “The fire was so hot we couldn't get closer than a hundred yards.”

“You didn't see anybody sneakin' around, I reckon,” Anderson said.

“No,” said Wes. “There was nobody. Sometime last night they set the charge, wiring it to a timing device. Damn it, we should have been standing watch.”

“Don't fault us too much,” Anderson said. “Them guards was almighty sure of that bulletproof railroad car. Is there somethin' I ought to do?”

“With Sheriff Rigger dead,” said Wes, “I reckon this should be reported to somebody. You got any ideas?”

“Not really,” Anderson said. “It's a federal matter, and it'll be up to Silver to telegraph Washington. If he expects anything more of me, ride by the office and tell me.”

Wes and El Lobo asked for Dr. Hanover, and when he greeted them Wes spoke.

“We have some bad news for Silver. How is he?”

“Stronger,” said Hanover. “Can't it wait?”

“I don't think so,” Wes said. “He'll need to send some telegrams, and we should send them today.”

Silver eyed them grimly, knowing something had gone wrong. Wes didn't spare him, quickly relating what had happened.

Silver sighed. “They've whipped us, this time. We have no witnesses, and not a single damn lead.”

“El Lobo and me should have been watching that coach last night,” said Wes. “I reckon we thought the thing was invincible because it was bulletproof.”

“If there's any blame, it rests square on me,” Silver said. “See if the doc will allow me some paper and a pencil. You'll have to send some telegrams for me.”

Wes found the doctor, and Hanover honored Silver's request. Wes and El Lobo seated themselves and waited for Silver to write his messages. When he had finished, he handed the papers to Wes.

“Use the card I gave you, and send them yourself,” Silver said.

“I will,” said Wes. “Do we wait for an answer?”

“No,” Silver said. “You can ride by there tomorrow. I'm in no hurry now.”

Not knowing what to say that might ease Silver's feeling of guilt, Wes and El Lobo left the hospital and rode to the telegraph office. While the telegrapher obviously wasn't happy at the prospect, he surrendered the instrument, allowing Wes to send Silver's messages.

“You expectin' an answer?” the telegrapher asked when Wes had finished.

“I'm not sure,” Wes said. “I'll come by tomorrow.”

Wes and El Lobo had mounted their horses before El Lobo spoke.

“What he say?”

“I reckon you're entitled to know,” said Wes. “In one of them, he reported the burning of the railroad coach, the deaths of Belton and Wilks, and the four guards. In the other—the short one—he offered to resign his post in Washington.”

“He give up?”

“That's what it amounts to,” Wes said, “but I reckon it might not be his choice. From what he told us, these bastards within the Golden Dragon have him by the short hairs and now it looks like they've beaten him.”

“He
bueno hombre
,
”
said El Lobo. “Who else do better?”

“I doubt anybody can,” Wes said, “and for his sake, I'm hoping Washington sees it in the same light. I reckon we'll know tomorrow.”

“Per‘ap we go to El Paso then?”

“When Silver's up and about,” said Wes. “While I doubt there's anything we can do, I hate to leave him while he's flat on his back in a hospital bed.”

While Wes and El Lobo were cautious, they were not molested. Finishing breakfast, they returned to the hotel. There they waited until past noon before returning to the telegraph office. There was a single message awaiting them, and Wes was almost afraid to read it. When he did, he sighed with relief.

“What it say?” El Lobo asked anxiously.

Wes read it aloud: “Resignation refused stop. Take thirty day leave of absence starting immediately.” It was unsigned.

“He don't quit,” said El Lobo, elated.

“No,” Wes said, “but he's been given some time to rest. I aim to suggest he buy himself a horse and saddle and ride to El Paso with us. A few days of good grub there at Granny Boudleaux's will do him good.”

Reaching the hospital, they found Silver in a grim mood, obviously expecting the very worst. Wes and El Lobo said nothing as Wes handed Silver the brief message.

“Sounds like they're puttin' me out to pasture a little at a time,” Silver observed, but he was pleased, and the worry lines had disappeared from his face.

“Soon as you're able to get out of here,” said Wes, “we aim to leave for El Paso, and we want you to go with us. You've been given time, and there's nothing wrong with you that Granny Boudleaux's grub won't cure.”

“That's the best proposition I've heard lately,” Silver said. “Maybe that's what I need. I kind of like that livery horse. See if you can buy him and the saddle for me.”