men could see all five cars behind it, every window of each passenger car showing light. As the train grew closer to the water tower, it began braking.
“Wait until it comes to a complete stop,” Dodd ordered.
With a squeal of brakes, the train stopped. Then the relief valve began opening and closing, each cycle emitting a loud puffing sound. The fireman left the engine, then climbed up onto the tender and reached up for the water spout.
“All right, they ain’t payin’ no attention to us now,” Dodd said. “Let’s ease on down there.”
As the others approached the train, Bobby Lee dropped back behind to be in position. Any moment now, the car doors would open and Sheriff Wallace and his deputies would be waiting. They would confront the robbers and if Dodd tried to make a run for it, Bobby Lee would be in position to stop him.
“Conklin, you and Wayland get up into the engine cab. Make sure that engineer don’t suddenly decide to take off,” Dodd ordered.
“He ain’t goin’ to go nowhere with the fireman up on the tender like that,” Conklin said.
“Just do what I told you to do,” Dodd said. “Stillwater, you and Cabot come with me.”
The two men rode down to the engine cab, then with guns drawn, yelled up at the fireman.
“You! Put your hands up!” Conklin called out.
“Where’d you come from?” the fireman shouted, his words audible over the rhythmic rush of the steam relief valve.
“It don’t make no never-mind where we come from.”
“What’s goin’ on here?” the engineer called down from the cab. He stuck his head out through the window, but when he saw to two armed riders, he jerked back inside.
“Huh-uh, Mr. Engineer,” Conklin called up to him. “If you don’t want the fireman kilt, you better stick your head and arms back out the window and keep ‘em there where we can see you.”
The engineer complied.
While that was going on, Dodd and Stillwater approached the express car. With Bobby Lee remaining slightly behind the other two, Dodd banged on the door with the butt of his pistol.
“You boys in there got two choices!” he shouted. “You can either open the door and not get hurt, or keep the door closed and more’n likely get kilt when I blow up the car with dynamite! ”
“Oh, they are going to open the door all right,” Bobby Lee said aloud, though saying the words too quietly to be heard. He chuckled at the thought of Dodd being surprised when the sheriff and his deputy made their sudden, and unexpected, appearance.
But it wasn’t Dodd who was surprised. It was Bobby Lee. When the door to the express car opened, there was nobody there but one frightened express agent. Where was Sheriff Wallace?
It took very little persuasion for the express agent to pass down two large cloth bags. Dodd opened them and looked down inside, then let out a shout of joy.
“Yahoo! Boys, these is all twenty-dollar bills! There’s gotta be a couple thousand dollars or more! Come on! Let’s get out of here!”
Conklin and Wayland came back from the engine, and the robbers made ready to ride away. Before they left, though, Dodd turned back toward the train and shot the express agent, who grabbed his chest, then fell to the ground from the car.
“Why did you do that?” Bobby Lee yelled in shock and anger. “You didn’t have any call to shoot him.”
“He seen our faces,” Dodd replied. “Come on, let’s go!”
Bobby Lee started to ride away with the other four, but he stopped, then turned and rode back to the train. Dismounting, he hurried over to the still form of the express man. He put his hand on the express man’s neck to feel for a pulse, but there was none. The man was dead.
Damnit! He thought. This didn’t have to happen. Where was the sheriff? Where were his deputies?
By now, some of the passengers had stepped down from the train, and three of the men, holding pistols in their hands, approached Bobby Lee.
“Mister, shooting him was dumb enough,” one of the armed passengers said. “But coming back here to gloat over what you done is ‘bout the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Bobby Lee stood up. “Is the sheriff on board this train?” he asked.
“Don’t need no sheriff. I reckon we can handle you till we get you to town,” the passenger said.
“No, you don’t understand. My name is Bobby Lee Cabot, I’m with the Western Capital Security Agency. I told Sheriff Wallace about this robbery. This was supposed to be a set up to capture the robbers.”
“Well, if you and the sheriff are such good friends, then I reckon you two can get it all worked out when we get to town. Get his gun, Joe.”
The passenger named Joe pulled Bobby Lee’s pistol from his holster. Bobby Lee offered no resistance. There was no sense in it. The man holding the gun on him was right. It would be all worked out once he and Sheriff Wallace got together.
“What are we going to do with him?” one of the men asked.
“I say we hang him,” another suggested.
“Look here!” Bobby Lee said, suddenly frightened over the possibility that he might be lynched right here, before he could clear himself. “I told you, I wasn’t with them!”
