Chapter Ten
Dodd, Conklin, and Stillwater rode hard for several minutes until the train was far behind them. Finally, Dodd held up his hand, calling them all to a halt.
“Hold it up here. We’ll give the horses a blow,” Dodd said.
The horses whickered and panted from their recent effort.
“What happened?” Conklin asked. “I thought we had ever’thing set up? Was there law on the train?”
“I only seen one man,” Stillwater said.
“You mean one man kilt three of us?”
“We don’t know that Morris, Phillips, and Garrison are dead,” Dodd said.
“Morris is dead. Did you see the way he fell? He hit his head on the track and it didn’t even bother him. He’s dead,” Stillwater said.
“They was a couple of shots inside the train before that fella stuck his head out,” Stillwater said. “So I figure Phillips and Garrison is probably dead too.”
“So what if they are?” Dodd replied. “Turns out they wasn’t worth much anyway.”
“What do we do now? “ Conklin asked.
“We’re goin’ back to Desolation,” Dodd said.
“They’s only three of us left,” Stillwater said. “We’re goin’ to have to get some new folks to ride with us afore we try this again.”
“You let me worry about that,” Dodd said. His horse whickered, and Dodd reached down to pat it on the neck. “The mounts has caught their breath. Let’s get out of here.”
Austin was a silver-mining town, the county seat of Lander County, and with almost ten thousand people, the second largest town in Nevada. The train was no more than an hour late when it rolled into Austin, but because of the attempted train robbery, the sheriff interviewed the train crew and the passengers, so they were delayed in Austin a few hours.
Sheriff Jacobs invited Smoke, who was again wearing his pistol, to his house for breakfast. Breakfast was pancakes, eggs, ham, biscuits, and fried potatoes. Smoke chuckled as he saw all the food being put out on the table.
“Mrs. Jacobs, I do believe that you and my wife, Sally, went to the same school of cooking,” he said. “And the first lesson must have been, ‘Do not allow a guest to leave the table hungry.'”
“I do like to see a man with a healthy appetite,” Mrs. Jacobs replied. The fact that both she and the sheriff were considerably overweight showed that they had healthy appetites.
“The engineer and the firemen said that they recognized Frank Dodd,” Sheriff Jacobs said. “They’ve mostly stayed down in Nye County. I must say I’m a little surprised to see them up here in Lander County.”
“Did you find out the names of the ones I killed?”
The sheriff nodded. “I know two of them. The one with the beard was Cory Garrison, the one with red hair was Jake Phillips. I’ve had both of them in my jail more than once. I’ve always thought they were sort of minor crooks, never did anything very big that I know of. I must say, I’m surprised that they were riding with Frank Dodd. I still don’t know who the third one is.”
“Let me know if you find out who it was,” Smoke said. “I’ve had to kill enough men as it is—I don’t ever want to get to the point to where they are just nameless bodies.”
“I’m told that you took the two who came into your car out with a derringer. Is that true? “ Sheriff Jacobs asked as he spooned a very healthy helping of fried potatoes onto his plate.
“I used a derringer, yes.”
“Most people couldn’t hit the side of a barn with a derringer, and I hear you did it from at least thirty feet away. That is some shooting for a derringer.”
Smoke took a swallow of coffee, primarily to keep from having to respond to the compliment.
“I’ve heard a lot of stories about you, Smoke Jensen, but I have never heard that you used a derringer.”
“The derringer is a backup gun only,” Smoke said. “And I had to use it this time because the conductor insisted that I not board the train wearing this.” He patted the pistol at his side.
“Ha! I never thought Smoke Jensen would give up his pistol so easily.”
“I need to go to Cloverdale and the Nevada Central is the only train that goes where I want to go, so I decided not to make an issue of it.”
“Yes, well, I always knew that Barney Polosi was a pain in the ass. But I never knew he was such a weak sister,” the sheriff said. “Why are you going to Cloverdale?”
“To see a friend,” Smoke replied without specifics.
“Do you know the sheriff there?” Sheriff Jacobs asked.
“No. Do you?”
“His name is Wallace. Herman Wallace. I know him, but I don’t trust him.”
“Why not?”
“I told you that Frank Dodd and his men work mostly in Nye County?”
“Yes.”
