Untamed Journey (5 page)

The sound of Smith’s brass buckle hitting the
floor spurred Ruth into action. She clambered up off the rolling
floor, yanking her gun with her. She then backed up as far as she
could, squeezing her back against the tiny train window. Her hands
shook only slightly as she aimed her salvation at his surprised
gaze.

Smith laughed at her. Standing with his
stained long-johns half undone, he sneered at her amateur grip on
the pistol. “Now, I sure like ‘em feisty. Lucky for you I got me a
sense of humor. You’re lucky to get me, ya know. Frank ain’t got no
sense of humor and he’d ‘a backhanded you good by now for pointin’
that thing in his face. But me, I’ll just have some fun. Come here
now – give it over.”

Just as Smith lunged toward her, the gun
seemed to go off by itself.

He grasped her left sleeve as his knees
buckled to the ground. Blood spurted slowly out of his chest, and
he could only manage an incoherent gurgling as Ruth frantically
tried to yank her sleeve free.

“Let me go,” she demanded as she started to
shiver. “Let me go.”

The sudden stop of the train, brakes
screeching and whistle blaring, knocked them both off their
feet.

Ruth almost blacked out, as she slammed her
head on the side of the wooden bunk. She rubbed her throbbing head
in confusion as she struggled into a sitting position, free of
Smith’s now lifeless grasp.

She scrambled to the opposite corner of the
small compartment, trying to get as far away as possible from the
still body of Jasper Smith. She grabbed her gun off the floor,
pointing it at him in remembered fear.

She waited what seemed like an eternity
before breathing again.

Smith wasn’t moving.

Had she killed him? Ruth wondered in shock.
Had she killed a man, the daughter of the best surgeon in
Huntsville? She quickly clamped a shaking hand over her mouth,
trying to smother the sounds escaping her pale lips.

She’d taken a life. What should she do? Ruth
wondered in growing panic.

As she felt for the door and backed out into
the corridor, she suddenly realized that the train was not moving.
That must have been what tossed them both to the side, she though
absently.

Had anyone heard her shot? Would the
conductor be coming for her any minute?

Ruth stumbled back into the sleeping
compartment and shut the door behind her. She waited and waited,
listening for approaching footsteps. She started shaking again at
the sight of Smith’s body lying just a few feet from her.

Ruth’s shivering was penetrated by unfamiliar
sounds coming from outside the train. She couldn’t quite place the
direction, so she peeked out the window, barely moving the white
lace curtains aside. There were horses everywhere and people
milling about. Some were women – she could tell by the dresses,
shimmering in the light from a full moon. They must be passengers,
Ruth thought.

What was going on?

Her thoughts settled as she realized the
entire train hadn’t stopped just for Jasper Smith and Ruth Jameson.
All those people would be crowding into her car if that were the
case, and not off the train into the freezing night air.

Ruth ducked as shots rang out and one of the
men outside her window collapsed to the ground. She lunged for the
door, quickly closing and locking it. She didn’t want to stay in
here with Smith’s body. But what if the train were being robbed or
attacked by Indians? She thought. What should she do?

Ruth decided that finding a hiding place was
the only option she had. But not in here, she thought. She had to
get away from this box. It might be her time to die, but she’d be
damned if she’d share a coffin with her would-be rapist.

She grabbed all the extra bullets from her
bag, but with her hands shaking, she couldn’t manage to re-load.
Tossing her pistol aside in favor of Smith’s still-loaded gun, she
stepped gingerly over his lifeless body. She placed her ear against
the compartment door, trying to separate the continuing gunshots
and screaming from outside with any sounds in the corridor.

Since most of the noise seemed to be coming
from outside, Ruth cautiously slid the door open an inch.

She didn’t hear any movement. After a few
seconds, she slid the door open enough for her head to squeeze
through. The corridor was empty.

She ran through several cars before coming to
a sudden stop on the outside stairs. She could see several masked
men coming out of one of the sleeping compartments, forcing an
elderly couple in her direction. She climbed down the stairs to
hide underneath the car, hoping the masked men wouldn’t try to hurt
the older couple that had befriended Ruth earlier. She didn’t know
what she could do to help them, but she now had Jasper Smith’s
revolver firmly in hand. A brief check confirmed the gun was
loaded.

Ruth had barely scrambled down onto the
tracks before the door opened and the tiny woman, still in her
nightgown and cap, stepped off the train, being shoved none too
gently by the robber with a loaded pistol in her back.

“Watch yourself, young man!” The old woman
snapped her irritation at the masked figure. “I gave you my money
and I’m moving as fast as I can.”

“Move faster. We ain’t got all night.”

As she hid under the train, Ruth clutched her
new revolver tightly, hoping the robbers would just move on. She
wasn’t sure her courage was up to another confrontation.

“Hey, wait.” The second masked man gestured
toward the older couple huddled together at the side of the train.
“Where’s her wedding ring? Munroe, did you get a ring off
Grandma?”

Ruth watched the man addressed as Munroe
silently shake his head. The second armed man shoved the woman’s
husband to the right, so hard he fell to the cold ground. The
outlaw then reached for the wife. “I know you’ve got it hidden
somewhere, old woman. Make a choice – the ring or the old man.
Don’t make me wait.”

Ruth inched closer to the old couple. The
mutinous look on Betsy’s face didn’t bode well for any of them,
Ruth thought.

As she crept out from underneath the train,
she kept her eye on the old woman’s face, waiting for Betsy’s next
move. Ruth slowly raised the heavy revolver, thinking to brace it
on the wheel well of the train, to better her aim. She nearly
dropped the heavy gun as a gloved hand smothered her scream and
pulled her bodily back under the train.

“Don’t move. I’m not going to hurt you.” The
low voice was deep and male and unfamiliar - none of which inspired
trust on this terrible night.

Ruth struggled in vain against superior
strength, until the man flattened her out on the ground and covered
her completely. He spoke quietly into her ear once more. “Hold
still now, I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Beauregard Jackson.
I’m a U.S. Marshal hired by the railroad to stop these robberies.
I’m here to protect you.”

Ruth was too stunned to do anything more than
accede to the voice’s demands and freeze. She waited, tensed, to
feel pain at the hands of this stranger, or for his voice to call
out in camaraderie to the other robbers. But only silence and a
gentling of the grip around her waist and mouth followed her
stillness.

Jackson’s muscles tensed as the woman beneath
him took a deep breath, not sure if she was calming herself or
preparing to scream. When no sound came, he relaxed his grip even
further, thanking his maker she wasn’t prone to hysterics. He was
alone down here and the distraction of a screeching female could
get them both killed. Jackson turned his attention to the older
couple, hoping his luck would hold out with them.

The old woman appeared to be cooperating at
this point, if reluctantly, as she kneeled and started removing her
left shoe.

“Don’t hurt him. I’ve got the ring here,”
Betsy said, offering the wedding band.

Jackson watched her grasp something in the
dirt and toss it defiantly into the face of one of the bandits,
spitting her disgust and anger at him and his kind.

Jackson tapped Ruth on the hand to get her
attention. When she turned to look over her shoulder at him,
Jackson put his finger to his lips and pointed in the direction of
the old woman and the bandit. He motioned for her to stay put
before inching his way towards the outlaw.

Ruth held her breath as she watched the
Marshal stealthily come up behind the bandit, who was angrily
wiping spittle from his eye. The other robber, Munroe, wasn’t
paying much attention, as he was crouched down in the weeds,
searching for the tossed wedding band.

“Damn stubborn woman. Do you want to be rid
of your old man? I ain’t inclined to waste a bullet on one dried-up
old coot, but you’re pissin’ me off.” The bandit raised his left
hand and back-handed the woman, knocking her to the ground.

The dried-up old man launched himself onto
the back of his wife’s abuser, clutching his neck with one scrawny
arm and clawing the bandit’s eyes with the other.

Ruth watched as Jackson crept up behind the
gaping Munroe and slit his throat, all in complete silence. She
watched Betsy’s beloved wedding ring roll slowly back into the
weeds.

Ruth wasn’t sure, but she thought the old
woman saw Munroe go down. Perhaps that was what gave Betsy the
courage to attack again.

“I’ve had three husbands before this one, you
bastard! I figure I could find myself a fifth if need be, so do
what you must.” The old woman threw a large rock straight into the
shocked face of the crouching man just as husband number four was
tossed off his back. The rock threw the bandit off balance, and he
dropped his pistol.

Ruth scrambled out from her hiding place and
surprised herself more than anyone when she ran up behind the
robber and pressed the cold metal to the back of his head. “Don’t
move. Please don’t move and make me shoot you in the head.”

Jackson left the robber no choice, clubbing
him across the side of the head, knocking him unconscious.

“Here, tie him up.” Jackson tossed a length
of rope to the old man, who took care of the job quickly.

Jackson turned his piercing gaze to Ruth,
taking in every inch of her shaking body. “Would you really use
that thing?” he asked in genuine curiosity.

Ruth almost laughed at the irony of his
question. “I know how to shoot,” she replied with more confidence
than she felt.

“I didn’t ask if you knew how, but if you
would. There are at least six more men in this gang, up toward the
engine, dividing their stolen loot and deciding if they’re going to
leave witnesses. I walked in alone, but I have more men on the
ridge waiting for my signal. They’ll come in firing, and you’ll be
in danger. So I’m asking again. Will you use that thing?”

Ruth nodded her head.

Jackson turned his attention to the old man
and asked, “How’s your aim?”

“I can’t see anything but shadows out of my
left eye, so my aim isn’t what it used to be. But I can still pull
a trigger. And I figure my Betsy will do as she threatened and
trade me in for a fifth husband, if I cower in fright under the
train. You can count on me,” he concluded with a toothless
grin.

“All right, then. Let’s go.” Jackson motioned
for Ruth to stay behind him as he crept his way forward.

The old couple followed her, efficiently
picking up the pistols of the two bandits. Jackson looked over his
shoulder, wondering if he’d lost his mind. Why else would he be
taking on armed robbers in the dead of night, on unfamiliar
territory! But what choice was there? He’d already watched their
leader shoot one bystander for standing up to him. Jackson didn’t
figure that bastard was leaving any witnesses to murder. The leader
would get hanged for the robbery alone, so a few more deaths on his
hands wouldn’t change his fate.

J
ackson cursed
steadily as he spied a dust cloud coming from the stand of trees
where Wyman and his men were hidden. The damned fools had jumped
the gun and ignored his orders. He figured he had less than a
minute to get into a better position before the riders were
spotted.

He backtracked to find Ruth and the old
couple, who were waiting exactly where he’d left them, hidden
between two cars.

“What’s happening young man?” the old woman
whispered, clasping her wrinkled hands together.

“My men are on the way,” Jackson quietly
replied, gesturing toward the oncoming riders. “But we’re in no
position to help from here. We need to get out in front of the
engine and place the gunmen between us and the Marshals on
horseback.”

Before they had moved even ten yards in the
direction of the engine, gunfire erupted.

“Run!” Jackson shouted the order as he pulled
Ruth behind the cover of his body.

The old couple scrambled to follow, but were
nearly run down by a dozen panicked passengers screaming for help.
Ruth watched as Betsy decked a hysterical woman who had clutched
her by the sleeve and wouldn’t let go. The old woman knocked her
senseless and was pulled into cover by her husband. “She’ll be
safer out cold,” Betsy offered by way of explanation to the gaping
Ruth.

Jackson yanked Ruth down until she was fully
sprawled on the ground. “Crawl underneath here and take aim at the
skinny one in the checked shirt. Lower your head as soon as you get
off a shot, and make sure none of the Marshals is in your line of
fire. If you’re not sure, just fire in the air. The robbers will
think they’re trapped either way.”

Ruth nodded her understanding of the orders
and shimmied into the tight space behind the wheel well of the main
engine.

He placed the old couple ten feet to the
right of Ruth and went hunting for a better position for
himself.

As he moved quickly along the tracks, Jackson
urged passengers to the ground as a wild shot from the charging
Marshals zinged past his ear. He grabbed the third rung of a ladder
and hefted his body up the side of the dining car. He then inched
over the top of the carriage, coming to the very edge, where he
carefully aligned his Sharps rifle. This gave him a clear shot of
at least two of the robbers, who had all of their attention focused
on the oncoming horses riding full bore into rifle range.