The Law of a Fast Gun

Special to the Globe—Intelligence received by this newspaper says that thirty-seven people were killed when Rebel raiders invaded the town of Sikeston, Missouri. It is said that the leader of the Rebels singled out all males between the age of sixteen and sixty, led them to the center of town and shot them before the eyes of their wives and children.

It is not certain who led the raid, though initial reports stated that that the leader was
none other than William Quantrill. However, subsequent information suggests that it was more likely either “Bloody Quint” Wilson or Jesse “the Executioner” Cole.

The attack, it is said, took place just at sunrise, catching many of Sikeston’s citizens during their morning ablutions. There appeared to be no military purpose to the raid, which resulted only in wanton killing and the looting and burning of homes.

“Are you sure the train will stop here, Major?” Kincaid asked.

“The train has to have water, doesn’t it, Sergeant?” Jesse Cole replied.

“I reckon so,” Kincaid answered.

Jesse pointed to the water tower that stood alongside the railroad tracks.

“Well, there’s the water. That means the train will stop.”

Jesse climbed up the rock-covered berm and stood on the track, looking back toward the east. “I sure wish it was a little darker, though.”

The full moon made it almost as light as day, making the twin ribbons of steel gleam softly.

“Hey, Jesse, do you really think there is Yankee gold on that train?” Gus asked.

“It’s Major Cole, not Jesse,” Kincaid said, correcting him.

“I didn’t mean no disrespect or nothin’,” Gus said. “But technically, he ain’t no major. The Confederate Congress ain’t never give him a commission.”

“No, but West Point did, and that’s good enough for me,” Kincaid said.

“West Point is a Yankee school,” Gus said.

“Robert E. Lee went to West Point,” Kincaid said.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Gus agreed.

“So, what about it, Major? Do you really think there is Yankee gold on the train?”

“According to the letter that was on that courier we killed the other day, there is,” Jesse said.

“What are we going to do with it? I mean, with the Yankees all around us, there’s no way we can give it to the Confederate cause.”

“We’re Confederates, aren’t we?” Jesse replied. “We’ll just give it to ourselves.”

“Yeah!” Kincaid said. “Yeah, now I like that idea. I like that a lot!”

“The only thing is, if there is Yankee gold on that train, then there’s bound to be Yankee soldiers as well,” Gus said.

“What if there is?” Jesse replied. “We’ve killed Yankees before, haven’t we?”

Gus laughed. “Yeah, we have at that. Fact is, I reckon Cole’s Raiders have killed more Yankees than just about anybody. More’n Quantrill or Anderson, or Quint Wilson.”

From behind, they heard the sound of someone urinating.

“Damn, Van, that’s the third or fourth time you’ve taken a piss since we got here,” Kincaid said. “What’s the matter? Have you got a leak in you, somewhere?”

“I can’t help it,” Van said as he finished his business and buttoned his pants. “I’m nervous, and whenever I get nervous, I pee.”

“Yeah, well, there’s nothin’ to be nervous about, is there, Major? I mean there are ten of us and there isn’t likely to be any more’n a hundred or so of the Yankee soldiers. I’d say the odds were about even.” Kincaid laughed at his own observation.

“Kincaid—”

“It’s Sergeant Kincaid,” Kincaid corrected.

“All right, Sergeant Kincaid. You’re as full of shit as a Christmas goose,” Gus said, and the others laughed as well.
“How many soldiers do you think they’ll have, Jesse…uh, I mean, Major.”

“Probably no more than three or four to guard the gold,” Jesse answered.

In the distance the men heard the long, lonesome wail of a train whistle.

“There it is,” Jesse said. “Sergeant, get the men in position, and stay out of sight until I give the word.”

“Yes, sir,” Kincaid answered.

“I don’t see it yet,” Van said.

“You will. Just keep looking that way,” Jesse said.

They heard the whistle a couple more times before they saw it. And even then they didn’t see the train, but they did see the head lamp, a gas flame behind a glass, set in front of a mirrored reflector. The reflector gathered all the light from the gas flame, intensified it, and then projected it forward in a long beam that stabbed ahead, picking up insects to gleam in the light.

The train whistled again, and this time they could hear the puffing of the steam engine as it labored hard to pull the train through the night.

“Remember, nobody makes a move until I give the order,” Jesse said. “We don’t want to take a chance on being seen.”

Jesse walked up onto the track and stayed there until all his men were in position. He looked to see if any of them could be seen from the approaching train, then, satisfied that they could not, he ran back down to join them. He watched the train approach, listening to the puffs of steam as it escaped from the pistons. He could see bright sparks embedded in the heavy black smoke that poured from the flared smokestack. More sparks were falling from the fire box, leaving a carpet of orange-glowing embers laying between the rails and trailing out behind the train, glimmering for a moment or two in the darkness before finally going dark themselves.

The train began squeaking and clanging as the engineer
applied the brakes. It grew slower, and slower still, until finally it approached the water tower. The engineer brought his train to a stop in exactly the right place. By now the fireman was already standing on the tender, reaching for the line that hung down from the curved mouth of the long water spout.

For a long moment the area was very quiet, the solitude interrupted only by the sigh of escaping steam and the snapping and popping of bearings and fittings as they cooled. The fireman grabbed the water spout, swung the spigot down and guided it to the open mouth of the tender. He pulled on the valve rope and the water started thundering into the cavernous tank.

The door to the express car slid open and the express messenger stood in the door a moment, backlit by the kerosene lanterns that burned inside. He jumped down and walked forward to call up to the engineer.

“Hey, Ben! How long are we going to be here?” the express messenger asked.

“No more’n fifteen minutes,” the engineer answered. “Why?”

“It’s stuffy in there. I thought I might get out and take a walk around.”

“Be my guest,” the engineer replied. “But if you aren’t back by the time this water tank is filled, I’m pullin’ out without you.”

“I’ll be back in plenty of time,” the express man responded.

The express man walked up the track a few feet, then stopped and looked directly toward Jesse and his men, all of whom were waiting just under the berm. His eyes grew wide in fear when he realized what he was seeing.

He turned to run back to the train, but before he got more than a couple of steps, Jesse threw his knife. The knife buried itself in the express man’s back, and he fell, then rolled back down the berm, winding up in a ditch alongside the track.

“You men,” Jesse said. “Spread out and cover us. Sergeant
Kincaid, you take charge of security. Van, Gus, you two come with me.”

The three men ran alongside the track, bent over behind the berm so as not to be noticed by the engineer or fireman, until they reached the express car and climbed in through the open door.

There were two soldiers in the car. One was asleep, the other was smoking a pipe and looking at a newspaper by the light of a lantern. The soldiers’ rifles were in the corner.

“What the hell?” the soldier reading the newspaper said in shock and alarm when he saw Jesse and the other two climb into the car. He started for his rifle, but it was too far away. Jesse shot him, and as the other guard woke up in surprise, Gus shot him.

Sitting in the floor of the car was a strongbox, held closed by a clasp and padlock. It took two shots to blow the lock off. Jesse jerked open the lid, then smiled at seeing several stacks of money.

“There it is, boys,” he said.

“It’s paper!” Gus said. He spat in disgust. “We did all this for paper money? I thought we was doin’ this for Yankee gold.”

“It’s Yankee greenbacks,” Jesse said. “That’s as good as gold, and a lot easier to carry.” He began stuffing bound packets of bills into his pockets and shirt. “Start grabbing,” he told the other two men.

But before either of them had even reached for the money, they heard shots outside.

“Gus, take a look and see what’s going on,” Jesse ordered.

“Son of a bitch!” Gus shouted, peering out the open door. “It’s Yankee soldiers. Dozens of ’em! I thought you said there’d be no more’n three or four!”

“This must be a troop transport train,” Jesse said. He came to the door to look out. As Gus had indicated, there were dozens of soldiers already out of the passenger cars, and dozens more were following them out. All were armed.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Jesse shouted. “Jump!”

Jesse, Van, and Gus jumped down from the express car, then ran back to join Kincaid and the others, who were already engaging the soldiers in gunfire. Van didn’t make it back.

The soldiers were infantrymen, carrying rifles that were accurate and hard-hitting weapons, but had to be reloaded after each shot.

Jesse’s men were all armed with at least two pistols each, which meant they could fire six rounds to every one round fired by the soldiers. That gave them enough of an advantage to be able to hold their own, despite the imbalance in numbers. They began cutting the soldiers down, shooting them until bodies were piling upon bodies. However, the sheer number of soldiers arrayed against them was having an effect as well, and all around him Jesse could see his own men going down.

The train started moving, and realizing that it was pulling away, the soldiers now hurried back to jump in. They paid no attention to the bodies they were leaving behind.

In frustration, Jesse fired at the train, but it gathered speed quickly and within moments was disappearing down the track. He remained standing on the track, pistol in hand, his arm hanging by his side. Only then did he look around. He saw nothing but bodies; bodies of slain Union soldiers as well as his own men.

“Kincaid?” he called. “Gus? Teague, Chandler, Van? Is anyone left alive?”

“I think it’s just you and me, Major,” Kincaid answered.

“God have mercy, this was a slaughterhouse,” Jesse said.

“There’s no God here, Jesse. This is hell,” a strained voice said.

Jesse whirled toward the voice, his pistol at the ready, and saw a wounded man in the uniform of a captain in the Union Army.

“I’m no danger to you,” the captain said easily.

“Bert?” Jesse said, lowering his pistol. “Bert Rowe, is that you?”

“Captain Bert Rowe, at your service, sir,” the Yankee said. “It looks as if you, your sergeant, and I, are the only ones left alive.”

“How badly are you wounded?”

“Perhaps more in dignity and spirit than in fact,” Bert said. “I expect I will survive. How about you? Were you wounded?”

“No,” Jesse replied.

“Good.”

“You’d better throw your pistol over here, Bert,” Jesse said.

“Come on, Jesse. Do you really think I would shoot you? My old roommate?”

“We aren’t West Point roommates anymore, Bert,” Jesse said.

“It’s empty,” Bert said, pointing it straight up and pulling the trigger. The hammer fell on an empty chamber.

“Throw it over here,” Jesse insisted.

“All right,” Bert agreed, tossing his pistol.

Jesse picked it up and looked at the cylinder. There was a round in one of the chambers.

“Bert, Bert, Bert,” Jesse said, clucking and shaking his head. “You were holding back on me, weren’t you? I’m ashamed of you.”

“It was my duty as a soldier,” Bert said. “You do know what it is to be a soldier, don’t you? You stood on the plains at West Point with me and the rest of our class, taking an oath to serve your country. Tell me, Jesse, did the words duty, honor, country, mean nothing to you?”

“The words mean everything to me,” Jesse said. “But sometimes a man’s honor requires that he serve a greater duty.”

“Jesse, is it true what they say about you? Did you really kill all those women and children when you raided Spring Hill?”

“You talk too much,” Jesse said.

“We were coming to get you, you know. That’s why there were so many soldiers on the train. The army’s determined to get you, Quantrill, Anderson, Wilson, and all the other irregulars. That means that even after the war is over and all the other Rebs go home, we’ll still be looking for you.”

“Major, we’ve got to get out of here,” Kincaid called to him.

“He’s right, Bert,” Jesse said. “I’ve got to go.”

“Yes, you’d better. Oh, you wouldn’t have a blanket, would you? I don’t know how long it’ll be before the train comes back.”

“Yeah, hold on, I’ll get it.”

Jesse walked over to where the horses were tethered and reached for a blanket.

“Major, we can’t leave him alive,” Kincaid said quietly.

“What do you mean we can’t leave him alive? Bert and I are old friends. We were roommates through four years of West Point.”

“Like you said, Major, you ain’t roommates anymore. If they come back and find him dead, and all of our men dead, they’ll think everyone was killed. If he’s still alive, he’ll tell them we survived, and probably even tell them which way we went. Hell, he was going to kill you, remember? What did he say? It was a soldier’s duty?”

Jesse stood there a moment, as if trying to make up his mind.

“We don’t have much time, Major,” Kincaid said. “You know damn well that whoever is in charge of the soldiers on the train will get to the engineer and order him back. We don’t have much time to hang around. We need to get out of here. And we don’t need anyone left.”

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