“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to do it. I just said I didn’t like it.”
“All right, then stop worryin’ about who might get hurt. Ain’t nobody ever goin’ to get out of life alive anyhow.”
“Dodd, I hear the train a’ comin',” Conklin said.
“All right, the palaverin’ is over now. Get back, all of you,” Dodd said.
As the others got back out of sight, Dodd bent down over the detonator generator. A wire from the generator ran to sticks of dynamite that had been carefully placed on a wooden trestle that spanned a gulley forty feet deep and 150 feet long.
Clark watched as the train approached the trestle. He had an inclination to suggest that Dodd blow the bridge now, for doing so would prevent the train from going any farther and might spare the lives of the passengers. But he said nothing because he knew that Dodd was right. With a shipment of money as large as this train was carrying, it would be heavily guarded, and simply stopping the train wouldn’t be enough. They would still have to deal with the guards. Clark drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. His share would be fifteen thousand dollars. He concentrated on the amount he would get from this job. Fifteen thousand dollars.
As the train approached the trestle, Clark thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. It was like a painting, the engine headlamp stabbing forward, the boiler shimmering in the moonlight. Some of the car windows were glowing, but most were dark.
By the orange light of the cab, Clark could see the engineer leaning out the window of the cab, looking forward down the track with the stump of a pipe clamped securely in his teeth. It was, Clark knew, the last few seconds of this man’s life, and he felt an intense pain, not only over what was about to happen, but that he was a part of it.
The train moved onto the trestle, and Clark saw Dodd push down on the generator handle. Instantly thereafter, the dynamite exploded in a great, bright flash. A moment later, the sound of the explosion reached Clark’s ears, but even as he was listening to the blast, the trestle began to give way, first the supports that were directly involved with the blast, then the others, upon which the total weight of the train had been transferred. Unable to accommodate the increased weight, the remaining timbers also buckled and the engine, with the wheels still turning, left the bridge.
Back in the rearmost car, Smoke and Bobby Lee were engaged in conversation, and Smoke was telling his brother-in-law about Sally, Pearlie, Cal, and his ranch.
“I’m glad you’ve got a new family, Smoke,” Bobby Lee said. “And Sugarloaf sounds like a great place to live.”
“It is a great place to live,” Smoke said. “You’ll have to come visit me there, maybe stay for a while.”
“Ha. If I found a place like that, I would be likely to stay for years, not just a while,” Bobby Lee said.
“You are family, Bobby Lee. You are welcome as long as you—”
Smoke’s reply was interrupted by a loud crashing sound. The car came to an abrupt halt, and he and Bobby Lee, along with several other passengers in the car, were thrown from their seats.
His attention fixated on the events unfolding before him, Clark watched as the engine plummeted downward, moving slowly as if time had been suspended, until it hit the ground below. The boiler exploded, and bits and pieces of the engine and the first two cars were blown high into the air, chunks of wreckage seeming to hang in place for a long moment before tumbling back down, many of them falling dangerously close to Clark and the others.
The other cars were dragged down into the gully, the first two telescoping, with one car sliding into the other, the remaining cars buckling and breaking before coming to a smashing rest. As the sound of the gushing steam and explosion drifted away, nothing was left but the wails and cries of the injured.
Smoke banged his shoulder on the seat in front of him, then barked his shin painfully as he was thrown to the floor. Even before the sounds of splintering wood, breaking glass, and twisting metal subsided, there were the screams and shouts of surprise, fear, and then pain from the other passengers in the car.
“Bobby Lee!” Smoke shouted. “Are you all right?”
Bobby Lee was lying facedown in the aisle. Getting up slowly, he turned toward Smoke, and Smoke saw blood coming from a wound over his eye. Closer examination of the wound, however, showed that it appeared to be superficial.
“What happened?” Bobby Lee asked.
“We’ve had a train wreck,” Smoke said. “I think Frank Dodd has just hit the train.”
“Let’s go,” Dodd called to the others. “Let’s get the money and get out of here.”
The others started toward the wreckage, but Clark hung back.
“Come on, Clark!” Dodd called. “That is, if you want your share of the money.”
“My God,” Clark said under his breath. “What have we done?”
Clark had come too far and sunk too low to back out now. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he joined the others as they hurried toward the wreckage.
* * *
“Help me! Help me, mister, help me!” a man said, lying under a twisted mass of wreckage. His right leg was grotesquely twisted almost all the way back.
Clark stumbled over something and looking down, saw that it was a severed head. When he saw the pipe, still clenched in the teeth, he realized it was the engineer’s head.
“Oh, my God!” Clark said.
“Hurry up!” Dodd called. “Let’s get the money and get out of here!”
When they reached the express car, Clark saw that the messenger and all three of the guards from the Western Capital Security Agency were dead, but the safe was under the bulk of the overturned car. It was going to take all of them several minutes to pull the wreckage aside so they could reach the safe.
“We’re never going to get this out of here!” Conklin complained.
