Untamed Journey (4 page)

But now she’d gone from intimidated to
afraid. She might be a daydreamer, but she wasn’t a blind fool, and
knew that if Smith got the chance, he’d hurt her if she didn’t
cooperate. And if her husband would hire Smith, she didn’t think
he’d be the understanding sort if his new bride cried rape.

He might even blame her.

Ruth had seen it happen often enough during
the War. One of her school mates growing up had been attacked and
raped by two deserters – her friend had barely been fourteen, but
had taken the blame nonetheless. Most folks felt sorry for her, but
not enough to marry her afterwards. And these were the people who’d
known the girl all her life. What hope could Ruth have that a man
she’d never even met would take her word over a man who’d been
trusted to transport the new bride?

Ruth unzipped her duffle and pulled out her
small sewing kit and Papa’s gun. She quickly got to work on her two
spare dresses. No matter what she wore, Ruth wanted a way to carry
her only sense of safety close at hand.

B
ear Standish shook
his oversized head in amazement as he spotted his partner once
again begin a nightly ritual of cleaning and polishing his gun.
Bear watched as Joshua Halper carefully un-wrapped his tools and
laid them out methodically, left to right, in the precise order he
would need them.

That revolver might just be the shiniest
thing in Indian Territory, Bear thought. “Halper, if you washed
your backside as often as you washed that damn pistol, you might
get yourself a pretty whore for free the next time we pass through
Wichita.”

Halper didn’t so much as glance in Bear’s
direction as he calmly replied, “Your mama was real accommodating
the last time we passed through, and she didn’t stop to ask me to
wash anything special.”

Bear’s slightly buggy green eyes blinked
slowly several times before understanding dawned. “You lousy
bastard, I’ll –”

Before Bear could lunge in Halper’s
direction, he had the shiniest pistol in the West pointed directly
between his eyes. Bear didn’t have to look up into Halper’s eyes to
know the man was willing. If Frank Masterson had hired him, then he
was willing and more than able.

“Calma-te, my friends. We have work tomorrow
and you will wake the others,” the Mexican nodded absently in the
direction of the other gunmen sleeping haphazardly around their
small fire.

“Shut your ugly trap,” Bear ordered. “It
ain’t your mama he’s insulting.”

“Señor Bear, my own madre is a whore - the
best and richest one in the Puebla. So she would be happy to take
care of Señor Halper, if his gold was as shiny as his pistol.”

Bear’s posture visibly relaxed, as his energy
transferred into confusion over whether or not his beloved mother
had been insulted once again - or redeemed.

Halper silently un-cocked his pistol and
resumed his nightly cleaning ritual.

Since both men had relaxed, Bear naturally
followed suit. He was hungry again and wanted that last bit of
rabbit before turning in for the night. As he chewed the tough and
slightly charred foot, Bear tried to unravel Boss Masterson’s
instructions.

He still didn’t understand why the Boss Man
wanted them to kill some of the passengers on purpose, when they
could likely as not scare them into handing over their money,
without so much as a foul word thrown in their direction. The train
passengers would be mostly from back east, and scared stiff of
Indians and outlaws. They all had big dreams of striking it rich or
owning their own land, and no one wanted to get killed before they
even stepped one foot off the train.

Bear scratched his scraggly hair and decided
he’d better ask again, just to make sure. He knew he got confused
sometimes, and didn’t want to be the only one they hanged for
murder, if he could get the same money just from knocking a few
heads together. “So how come the Boss Man wants dead passengers
anyway? I don’t understand why we need to kill anyone if they hand
over their money quiet like. I got enough posters on me already in
Texas. Don’t need one for murder here too.”

Halper tipped his hat back so the big ox
could get a proper look into his eyes. “Just do as you’re told,
Bear. Masterson didn’t hire you to think.”

Truth was, Halper hadn’t quite figured out
Masterson’s scheme yet either. He didn’t mind the killing – he was
already wanted for several hanging offenses. They could only hang
him once, and the money was good. Better than good.

And that was even more puzzling. Halper
wasn’t one to question good fortune, as sometimes folks just got
lucky. But he did question why all of a sudden he was getting lucky
after the crap of a life he’d been handed. He didn’t trust it.

Masterson was hiding something for sure, he
thought, as he pushed a cleaning rag into the barrel of his
favorite Colt. Halper knew to the dollar what a robbery like this
could bring just counting the passenger’s carrying money and
jewelry. And according to his numbers, Masterson was splitting it
all evenly. A snake like Masterson would sell his own mother and
Halper’s too to earn a lazy dollar. So why was he offering them all
a fair share upfront? Halper figured there was something extra on
this train. But if this bunch didn’t know to look for it, and
Masterson wasn’t here to get it himself, how was the boss going to
profit?

Halper gave his revolver one last swipe with
a polishing cloth before holstering it. He wasn’t likely to figure
it out before sunrise, so he might as well get some sleep and hope
he spotted a clue tomorrow.

“Bear, since you’re still eating, you can
take first watch. Wake me up in three hours and I’ll spell you.”
Halper didn’t wait for a response, knowing he’d be obeyed by the
lumbering ox.

“A
re they asleep?”
Mike mouthed the words in the barest of whispers to his long-time
partner as he gestured in the direction of the five U.S. Marshals
packed in tight around the cold fire pit.

A nod was Jackson’s only response, as he
scanned the open desert in full moonlight. He had scouted their
campsite himself, then briskly ordered a cold camp as they settled
in for the night. The map he’d retrieved from the dead scout had
been short on details.

Jackson couldn’t be certain he had identified
the correct location for the next ambush of the Union Pacific. So
they’d arrived early and settled on the highest ground they could
find – the crest of a hill about half a mile from the train tracks.
He now had a clear view of the tracks for a mile in either
direction, and could already hear the engine of an oncoming
train.

“That’s a relief,” Mike sighed, taking a seat
on the cold ground. “Can’t say I trust them much to watch our backs
when every word out of their mouths seems to have the sole purpose
of reminding us we fought on the losing side.”

“As if we’d ever forget,” Jackson replied,
crushing his third cigarette into the damp earth.

“‘Bout time we all did, I suppose,” Mike
muttered.

“I’m trying,” Jackson replied after a long
silence. “I’m trying real hard for my brother. If I can just make
my retirement stick and make a go of the ranch, Emmett can marry
and re-build the family.”

“You’re young yet,” Mike added cautiously.
“There’s plenty of time to have a family. You and Emmett can raise
your kids together.”

“You’re my family - you and Sue and my
brother.”

“I’m honored you’d say such a thing,” Mike
replied. “And I look on you the same way, God rest your mother’s
soul. But a worn out trapper and a retired saloon girl ain’t no
family. You’re young yet – seen too much and done too much, but
you’ve still got time to build something real.”

“Are you trying to fix me up, Old Man?”
Jackson grinned in genuine affection. “Sue’s been trying for
years.”

“She’s right, you know. Pain’s me to say it,
seeing as its Sue, but she’s right for once. I’m sure what you seen
in the War must have turned your stomach something fierce. Maybe
soured you on folks. But don’t forget how sweet a thing your mama
was and how good a life she had before your daddy died, loving him
the way she did. Don’t make that count for less than the killing
you seen or done.”

Mike never heard Jackson’s response as a
volley of shots pierced the night quiet, followed by the screech of
brakes on metal.

Jackson scrambled to the very top of the hill
while Mike turned to calm down the others. The five men had jumped
to their feet the minute gunshots disturbed their sound sleep.

“Be still,” Mike ordered. “They aren’t
shooting at us.”

The men hunkered down next to Jackson,
following the direction of his rifle barrel.

“What’s happening?” Abel Wyman demanded
curtly.

“The train’s stopping,” Jackson replied
softly to the older man. “It looks like something’s blocking the
tracks up ahead. Six shots fired from the front of the train.”

“How many men are down there?” Wyman
asked.

“I can’t tell for sure,” Jackson replied. “I
count four just this side of the engine.”

“There are two more riders at the rear of the
train,” Emmett chimed in softly.

“We can take them easily,” Wyman insisted.
“Let’s head out.”

“Wait,” Jackson cautioned. “There may be more
on the other side. And at least one of the shots I heard came from
the last sleeping car toward the middle of the train. That’s seven
or more men altogether. We might be outnumbered and we’d be riding
with no cover in this moonlight.”

“Well, damn it, you picked our lookout,”
Wyman said. “What good is it if you can’t give me an accurate
count?”

“It’s the best choice we had,” Jackson
replied calmly at the insult.

As another two shots rang out, the Marshals
grew restless, and Jackson heard several muttered comments.

“Let’s ride.”

“We can take these bastards.”

“Settle down,” Mike advised. “Jackson’s
right. We can’t go riding in hot-footed with no cover and no plan.
They’ll pick us off one-by-one or just shoot a few passengers to
halt us in our tracks”.

Jackson crawled back from the edge on all
fours until he was certain he wouldn’t be seen from below. As he
stood, he started laying out orders. “Mike. You and Emmett ride to
the far side of the train. Position yourselves to come up from the
back at my signal.” Jackson turned his steady gaze to the oldest
Marshal. “Wyman, you take the rest of the men and ride in closer to
that clump of trees. The shouting from the passengers should muffle
any noise you make. Wait there for my signal.”

“And what will you be doing, Reb?” The young
New Yorker barely sprouting his first beard demanded.

Jackson approached the speaker until a mere
six inches separated them. “I’m going down there. I can take out
one or two of the men quietly – improve our odds and offer some
protection for the passengers. When I signal, you come in hard and
fast.”

Jackson stood his ground until the young man
turned away to fiddle with his perfectly maintained rifle.

Once the last of the men reluctantly grumbled
acceptance of the plan, Jackson changed out his boots for moccasins
and headed out with one last order for his men.

“Give me twenty minutes. No more.”

R
uth awoke with a
start. It was pitch black, as she’d dozed off close to dusk. She
remained perfectly still, afraid to move, not knowing what had
pulled her out of a sound sleep.

She heard the sound again, a small scraping
against the door and a man’s low-voiced curse. Someone was trying
to get through the locked door, she thought. Ruth saw the handle
start to move and heard the distinct sound of a key sliding into
the lock.

Where is the pistol?

She rolled to the ground, frantically feeling
around under the bed.

Nothing
.

She thought she had put it on the tiny
nightstand while she worked on her sewing, but it wasn’t there
now.

“God Damn it!��� a familiar voice cursed. “I
should’ve got me a light from that useless conductor.”

Ruth froze when she recognized the voice of
Jasper Smith. He was crawling on the floor now, searching for the
stolen key in the dark.

“There you are,” he crowed.

Hearing his low cry of triumph, Ruth quickly
crawled out of bed, trying not to make any noise. She knelt on the
chilly floor and silently thanked God she’d decided to sleep fully
dressed. She felt along the floor and into the corners of the
sleeping compartment, but couldn’t find the pistol.

More cursing and scuffling as Smith tried to
fit the key in the lock.

Ruth wiped the sweat out of her eyes, not
understanding how she could be hot and cold at the same time. She
gasped for air as the door slid slowly open.

“Well, lookey here,” he cackled. “You’re
already awake and on your knees – like you was waiting for me all
along.”

His rotting teeth grinned at her in the pale
moonlight shining through the tiny train window.

Seeing Smith close and lock the door behind
him spurred Ruth into one last frantic search for a weapon. A
terrible sense of calm settled her rapid breathing as her right
hand felt the cold metal of her missing pistol.

Ruth had to clear her throat twice before
whispering. “Get out. You have no right to be here.”

“Now the Law don’t agree, missy. I’m your
official husband now. I got papers that say so.” Smith fondly
patted his jacket. “Now, you and me both know you can scream and
cry all you want, and just maybe someone will hear. But it’ll be
too late. There ain’t no one in this whole train car but you and
me. I made sure of it.”

He tugged at his belt and dropped his
pants.