Longarm and the Train Robbers (15 page)

"That's exactly
what I mean.  And I'll shoot you if you let him run away in this
storm!"

The fireman raised
his rifle, took aim on Fergus's chest, and said: "You're coyote
bait if you move, mister."

Longarm hurried
over to the horses and quickly removed their saddles, blankets,
and bridles.  He carried his own saddle, Winchester, bedroll, and
canvas bag with provisions to the train, where a conductor helped
him and his wounded prisoner climb on board.

"United States
Marshal Deputy Long," Longarm announced to the handful of
startled passengers, most of whom had been sound asleep when the
train had jarred them awake during its sudden and unscheduled
stop.  "And this here is my prisoner, and don't go feeling sorry
for the bastard because he's part of the same bunch that wrecked
the train at Laramie Summit."

The passengers
appeared to be shocked by this announcement.  Or maybe it was
Fergus's deathly pallor that shocked them as well, because the
wounded outlaw was trembling with cold and fear.

"Is he going to
die?" an old lady asked.

"I doubt it,"
Longarm said.

"If he does, it
would serve him right for his role in killing so many innocent
people up there on the summit."

"I couldn't agree
with you more."

It was only after
the train was rolling along slowly again that a tall, lean cowboy
with missing front teeth whistled, "What about them horses that
you turned loose?"

"What about
them?"

"Well, you comin'
back for 'em?"

"Not
likely."

A moment's
silence, then he said, "Three good saddle horses and two saddles
is worth at least two, maybe three months' cowboyin'
wages."

"You might not
even catch them," Longarm said, reading the cowboy's intent. 
"And this train has already gone at least a mile-"

"I don't mind the
walk, sir.  I'd walk back to Laramie for the value of them horses
and saddles."

For some reason,
Longarm felt compelled to make one final argument.  "My friend,
it's freezing out there and not only might you get stranded, but
you also might catch your death of pneumonia."

But the cowboy was
already up and moving down the aisle.  "I'd like to take my own
chances, if you don't mind.  That sorrel horse was a damned
fine-looking animal."

"He was as good as
his looks," Longarm replied.  "And if you can find him in this
storm, then he's yours with the American taxpayers'
blessings."

"Well, thank you,
America!"

And with that, the
cowboy dashed out of the coach and disappeared into the driving
sleet.

CHAPTER
12

Longarm put Fergus
up against the window and took the aisle seat.  He was bitterly
cold and wet.  At the rear of the coach, a middle-aged and very
undistinguished-looking couple held a quick whispered
conversation.  Moments later, the couple came forward to stand
beside Longarm.

"We want to trade
seats with you," the man announced.  "You're cold and wet and our
seats are close beside the stove."

Longarm looked up
at the man.  He thought that he should decline the generous
offer, but his teeth were chattaring and he knew that would be
foolish.

"We're much
obliged," he said.  "But I must warn you that our seats are going
to be damp and..."

"Never mind that,"
the woman said with a warm smile.  "We've some blankets we can
spread over them."

"You're very
kind."

"We are the
Friedlanders."  The couple were like a pair of sweet-faced
marionettes.  They bowed slightly in unison as the woman said,
"My name is Ida and this is my husband, Luke.  We are originally
from Kentucky."

Longarm removed
his hat.  He knew that he must look a fright.  He smiled.
"Kentucky is the flower of the South.  And you are fine people to
be so charitable."

"We respect the
law and have no wish to see anyone suffer needlessly," Ida said. 
She smiled, and her blue eyes flicked to Fergus and then returned
to Longarm.  "Which brings us to another matter."

"And that would
be?"

"My father was a
surgeon in the Confederate Army.  I traveled with him and...
well, it was a terrible thing for a child to see, but I learned a
great deal about bullet, shrapnel, and saber wounds.  In the
years we have been together, my husband and I have patched up
many a brave man."

"There is nothing
particularly brave about either myself or this prisoner," Longarm
said, "but seeing as how I doubt we'll find a surgeon until we
reach Rock Springs, if then, you're welcome to have a look at his
bullet wound."

But Fergus
recoiled.  "You're mighty kind, ma'am, but I don't want no woman
diggin' around in my shoulder.  I'd just as soon wait for a real
doctor."

"That would be a
mistake," Ida said.  "I can tell by your color that you are about
to go into shock.  Probably the cold has something to do with it,
but so does blood loss.  Furthermore, a bullet should never
remain buried in flesh.  It quickly causes corruption and blood
poisoning."

"My wife knows
what she is talking about," Luke said quietly.  "Ida has more
experience than most any surgeon that you'd be lucky enough to
find this side of Reno.  And she always carries her father's
surgical instruments--just in case we have the opportunity to
help save a life."

"I damn sure do
want to live long enough to see Deputy Long get shot," Fergus
snarled.

"Then you'd better
let Ida dig out that bullet," Longarm said.  "It doesn't matter
one way or the other to me.  You already gave me the names of the
members of the gang when you thought I was going to let the train
run you over.  I was bluffing, of course, but it worked just like
I'd expected."

"You
bastard!"

Longarm balled his
fist, but Ida Friedlander objected.  "This man may be a murderer,
but he is still a human being made in the image of
God."

"If so," Longarm
said, "the Father's image is tarnished beyond
recognition."

"Please let us
take him into a car where we can examine him and remove the
bullet if that is possible."

"All right,"
Longarm agreed, "but I'm coming along and I won't take my eyes
off him for even a minute.  Fergus may look like a whipped dog,
but he's as cunning as a fox and as ruthless as a
wolverine."

"He is a human
being," Luke said.  "We may hate the sin but not the
sinner."

Longarm wasn't
sure that he agreed.  Furthermore, this new development was
annoying.  A few minutes before he thought that he'd be spending
time beside the stove to thaw out his bones.  Now, he was going
to have to search out some cold baggage or mail car and stand
guard while these two Good Samaritans tried to save the wounded
outlaw's worthless life.

"Let's get this
over with," Longarm said after a long, uneasy silence. "But Ida,
if my prisoner does not survive the operation, I want you to know
that you will not greatly disappoint me or any of the passengers
fortunate enough to survive the Laramie Summit train
wreck."

Ida gave him a
look that said she felt pity for a man so unforgiving as
Longarm.  With her husband in the lead, she walked down the
aisle, and then was followed by Fergus, while Longarm marched
along behind.

They had to go all
the way back to the mail car before they could find a place to
examine Fergus.

"Take off your
coat and your shirt, please," Ida requested with a smile of
encouragement.

"I'll freeze to
death!"

Luke moved over to
the small stove and addressed the frightened mail clerk.  "Do you
suppose we can stoke up the fire and get some warmth in
here?"

The clerk, a thin,
ascetic-looking fellow, bobbed his pointed chin like a bird.  His
voice was high-pitched and carping when he complained, "They
don't give me enough coal to burn.  Not near enough!  I really
freeze in this weather, and I'm trying to ration it out to last
until this train makes Rock Springs."

Longarm went over
to the coal bin and, sure enough, there was not more than a few
shovelfuls.  It might get the car warm enough so that you could
not see your own breath, but not much warmer.  "This is all the
coal you have?"

"That's right!"
the clerk complained wearily.  "It's awful, isn't it?"

"I'll get you more
coal at the next stop," Longarm promised as he took the shovel
and emptied the bin into the stove.  "But right now, we've got to
have some heat.  I'm about to freeze to death myself."

They waited a few
minutes for the stove to warm up the mail car, and then Fergus
gritted his teeth and worked himself out of his coat and
shirt.

"Please sit down,"
Ida requested.  "I'm a head shorter than you, young man.  I can't
begin to examine your wound standing on my tiptoes."

Fergus took a
seat.  He was shivering violently despite the new-found warmth of
the crackling stove.  His shoulder wound was a mess.  There was
just no other way for Longarm to describe the damage caused by
his bullet.

"What do you
think?" Fergus asked nervously.  "It's pretty bad,
huh?"

"It looks worse
than it is," Ida said, shifting around the chair to probe around
the area of Fergus's shoulder blade.  "I think the bullet is very
near the blade bone.  I believe that it can easily be
removed."

"Are you sure?"
Fergus asked, looking very nervous.

"No one can be
exactly sure," Ida said.  "But that's my opinion."  She motioned
to Luke.  The man nodded his head and hurriedly left the mail
car.

"Where's he
going?" Fergus asked in a thin, reedy voice.

"To get my
father's medical bags.  We have a bottle of
chloroform."

Fergus gulped
several times.  He even looked to Longarm with a plea in his eyes
and said, "You think that I ought to let her do this,
Deputy?"

"It's a long way
to Reno, the first place where we're likely to find a real
surgeon.  If it was me, I'd give Mrs. Friedlander the benefit of
the doubt."

"I don't know
about that there chloryform stuff she's talking about.  I'd
rather have some whiskey."

"Too bad," Longarm
said.  "That's not possible."

"The chloroform is
better," Ida said.  "You won't feel as bad afterward. It's a
little more difficult to administer the precise dosage necessary,
but I've done it many times before and I'm absolutely convinced
that I will not put you to sleep permanently."

"Well,
good!"

Ida smiled.  "I
should tell you that there is already suppuration leaking from
the wound.  It doesn't smell good, but I've some medicines that
will fight the gangrene.  I would not do this operation if I did
not feel confident that your life can yet be saved."

Fergus wrapped his
arms around his bony torso and hugged himself to keep from
shaking.  He looked as white as snow, very thin and very
worried.  "I just don't know what to do!" he whined.

"Do what the lady
says," Longarm advised, sure that he could also smell the
gangrenous rot.

Maybe Fergus could
smell it too, because he chewed his lower lip for a few seconds
and then finally nodded his head.  "All right, let's get this
over with.  But I want whiskey, not that chloryform
stuff!"

Longarm was about
to tell Fergus that it didn't matter what he wanted, that whiskey
was out of the question unless perhaps as a farewell
drink.

But Ida said, "I
have some whiskey in the medical bag.  It's a good painkiller as
well as disinfectant.  You can have the whole bottle."

Fergus brightened
considerably at this news.  "Now you're talking!"

A few minutes
later, Fergus was guzzling whiskey and Ida was spreading out her
father's medical kit.  She neatly arranged the shiny surgical
instruments on the mail car worktable.  When everything was in
readiness, she said, "I think we had better get started, Mr.
Fergus."

The outlaw showed
no interest in relinquishing the bottle of whiskey, which he had
already half emptied.  He eased back on the table, and his eyes
burned with hatred when he stared at Longarm.  Then, turning back
to Ida Friedlander, he said, "All right, let's get the damn
bullet out."

"Roll over on your
stomach."

Fergus rolled over
and pushed himself up on his elbows so that he could pour whiskey
down his gullet.  When he finished the bottle, he dropped it on
the floor.  It rolled up against the wall and Fergus hissed,
"Let's go!"

Longarm watched
closely as Ida took a scalpel from her husband.  She made a
quick, deep incision that lifted Fergus howling off the table. 
Then he gripped the edge of the table and ground his
teeth.

Ida Friedlander
proved herself to be a skilled surgeon.  She was into the wound
in seconds, and her husband kept feeding her forceps to clamp off
the worst bleeding.  She quickly dug Longarm's misshapen bullet
out, and packed the wound with disinfectant powder before
suturing the incision.