Shootout of the Mountain Man

“It has to be as high as the headlamp on a train,” Dodd said. “I want the engineer to think he’s about to run smack dab into another train.”

“How’s that goin’ to work?” Stillwater asked. “This here lamp ain’t a’ goin’ to be movin’ none. It’ll just be sittin’ here.”

“Believe me, when that engineer sees another headlamp in the middle of the track, he ain’t goin’ to think about whether it’s movin’ or not. And so what if it ain’t movin'? It would still look like a train is here, even if it’s just a’ settin’ still, and he damn sure ain’t goin’ to be wantin’ to run over it.”

“How’s this?” Conklin asked after repositioning the lantern, which was an actual lamp taken from the front of an engine.

“Yeah,” Dodd said. “Yeah, that’s just about perfect. Come on down now, and get your ladder out of the way.”

Wayland Morris laughed. “I have to hand it to you, Frank. When you said you wanted to steal a headlamp off the front of an engine, I thought you was plumb loco. But this here is a good idea.”

Phillips and Garrison had joined Dodd, so that there were six men waiting alongside the track for the arrival of the Prospector, which was the name of the train that made this run every night.

“Conklin, as soon as the train stops, I want you and Stillwater to ride up to the cab. Make certain the train stays here. Morris, you and I will hit the express car. Phillips, you and Garrison go through the train and collect whatever money the passengers might have.”

“Wait, that ain’t fair. Is that all the money we get?” Garrison asked.

“Just do what I tell you, Garrison,” Dodd said.

A distant whistle came through the night.

“Get ready,” Dodd said. “It won’t be long.”

When the engineer of the Prospector came around a long, sweeping curve on the Nevada Central, he saw the headlamp of an approaching train.

“Sweet Jesus, Ernie! Look at that!” he shouted, even as he pulled the brake lever to full emergency stop.

“Where’d that come from?” his fireman shouted. “There ain’t supposed to be no train a’ comin’ this a’ way now!”

* * *

Smoke was in the bottom berth. He was sound asleep when the train made the abrupt stop. Reaching up, he grabbed the assist strap to keep from being tossed out. Some of the other sleepers were thrown from their berths, and Smoke heard sounds of surprise, pain, and anger.

Having taken off only his boots when he went to sleep, he sat up now and began pulling them on. He had no idea why the train had come to such a sudden stop, but it couldn’t be good. He also didn’t like the fact that the conductor had taken his pistol and holster when he’d boarded the train earlier that night.

There was a time when Smoke had worn two guns, a .44 on his right hip and a .36 on his left, which he had worn butt-forward. But sometime ago, he had given up that habit, and now wore only one pistol in his gun belt.

There was, however, a habit he had not given up. Smoke had long carried a two-barrel derringer in his boot, and even as he put on his boots, he pulled the derringer out and held it in the palm of his hand. Now, dressed and so armed, he stepped out into aisle of the car.

The car was dimly lit, illuminated by two lanterns that hung from the ceiling. As he started toward the front of the car, he saw the conductor.

The conductor wasn’t alone. There was another man with him, and the man with him had one hand on the conductor’s shoulder. There was a pistol in his other hand, and that pistol was pointed at the conductor’s head. Even in the dim light, Smoke could see the absolute terror in the conductor’s face and eyes.

“Mister, just where the hell do you think you’re a’ goin'?” the man with the gun asked.

“The train came to a sudden stop,” Smoke said. “I thought I would investigate the cause.”

“Investigate the cause? Haw!” the man laughed. “Mister, you sure talk fancy. But you don’t need to do no investigatin'. I’ll tell you what’s happenin'. We’re robbin’ the train and I come in here to collect ever’body’s money. So you might as well get whatever money you got, and put it there on the floor. All of you folks that’s hidin’ behind them curtains, drop your money out onto the floor.”

“I’ll just bet that none of these folks want to give you any of their money,” Smoke said calmly. “I know I don’t want to give you any of mine.”

“Haw!” the man said, laughing again. “You don’t want to give me any of your money, eh? Well now, tell me, mister, just how in the hell are you goin’ to stop me from takin’ it?”

Smoke raised his hand and pointed his derringer at the train robber.

“I’ll shoot you if you try,” Smoke said.

“Mister, can’t you see that I’m pointin’ this pistol at the conductor’s head?”

“And can’t you see that I’m pointing my pistol directly at your head?”

“You don’t understand,” the train robber said. “If you don’t put down that little peashooter of your’n, I’m goin’ to blow this little feller’s brains out.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Smoke said. “I met the conductor earlier today, and I don’t like him. In fact, I don’t think anyone on this train likes him all that much. So I don’t care whether you blow his brains out or not. But just think of this. While you are killing him, I’ll be killing you.”

“No, my God, no!” the conductor shouted in a high-pitched, panic-stricken voice. He soiled his pants.

“You’re—you’re crazy!” the train robber shouted. He pushed the conductor out of his way and tried to bring his