“Want me to go check with you?” Sally asked.
“No need for you to get out in the cold,” Smoke replied. “You stay inside here, warm and comfortable. I’m just going to walk up to the engine and back and look into all the cars. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Smoke pulled on his sheepskin coat. He saw his pistol belt hanging from a hook but started toward the door without it. He got as far as the door, then turned around and came back for his pistol. He had no idea why he thought he might need it in the middle of the night, but he just didn’t feel dressed without it.
Even above the venting steam and the snap and pop of cooling journals, Smoke could hear the sound of water rushing into the tank, and, in the moonlight, he saw the fireman standing up on the tender, directing the flow of water. Smoke continued to walk down the side of the train, in the shadows of the cattle cars. He could smell and sense the cattle that were packed in the cars and he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for them. Crowded together as they were, they would be unable to rest for the two days of the journey. Also, they would have very little food and water to sustain them for the trip. They would be much better off when they got out on their own with plenty of room to move around, and plenty of grass to eat.
Despite the quarter-moon, Smoke couldn’t be seen as he walked along the side of the train, because he was so close to it that he was in the shadow of the cars. He had not detected any problems when he reached the first car, which was the next car behind the tender. There, he turned and started back, but stopped when he heard someone call out.
“Fireman! You, up on the tender! Get your hands up, and climb down here!”
“Who are you?” the fireman asked. “What are you doing here?”
A gun roared, its muzzle-flash lighting up the night. The fireman slapped his hand over the wound, staggered to the edge of the tender, then pitched forward off the car. He landed hard on his back and Smoke knew that even if the bullet wound hadn’t killed him, the fall did.
“Get up there! Get the engineer!” someone yelled from the darkness.
Smoke saw someone put his hand on the mounting ladder, then start to climb up into the engine cab.
“Hold it!” Smoke shouted.
“What the hell! Where did you come from?”
The man who yelled at Smoke fired his pistol at the same time he yelled. Smoke saw the muzzle-flash, and felt the puff of air as the bullet whizzed by his ear. Smoke returned fire and one shot was all it took to drop the man who had been shooting at him.
“Burgess! Burgess!” someone shouted from the dark.
“Burgess has been hit! What’ll we do now, Red?”
“Shoot ’im! Shoot ’im!”
At least three pistols began firing from the darkness and Smoke was able to return fire, shooting slightly above and to the right of the flame patterns. Two of the men went down, but the third disappeared. A moment later he heard the thunder of hoofbeats as the last would-be train robber galloped away.
Smoke ran down the berm and, bending over and keeping alert, started toward where he thought the two assailants would be. He found the first one lying on the rocks. His eyes were open and fixed, and a quick look confirmed that he was dead. Smoke heard a low groan from the sagebrush, and holding his pistol at the ready, moved to the sound.
“Where are you?” he called.
“Here,” a weak voice replied.
Seeing him then, Smoke realized at once that the man represented no danger. Returning his pistol to his holster, he hurried over to him.
“Who are you?” Smoke asked.
“The name is McDill. I’m gut-shot. Please help me, I’m gut-shot.”
Smoke dropped to a knee beside the man, but one look was all it took to tell him that the man was a goner.
“I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for you, McDill,” Smoke said.
“I’m dyin’, ain’t I?”
“Yes,” Smoke said.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Coleman told us it would be easy. We would just take the ...” the man gasped, then died with a long, life-surrendering rattle.
“Smoke! Smoke, where are you?” It was Sally’s voice and there was a worried sound to it.
“I’m all right, Sally, I’m down here,” Smoke called back.
“I’ll come down,” Sally said.
“No need for you to do that. I’m coming up,” Smoke replied as he climbed back up the steep slope of the berm.
When he reached the top of the berm he saw that Sally was holding a pistol, and he knew it wasn’t a foolish show. Had she been needed, Sally would have acquitted herself well, because she could shoot as well any man, and much better than most.
By now the engineer had climbed down from the cab and stood looking down at the body of the fireman.
“Are you all right?” Smoke asked.
“Yes, sir, I’m fine,” the engineer said. “They didn’t have no business killin’ Jerry. All he was doin’ was puttin’ water into the tank.”
“If you can help me, we’ll put him up in the cab until we reach the next town,” Smoke said.
“Thanks. We’d better hurry though,” the engineer said. He took out his pocketwatch and looked at it. The next train is due within half an hour, we need to be out of the way.”
“Where’s the nearest sheriff?” Smoke asked.
“Las Animas. It’s about fifteen miles farther down the track,” the engineer said.
“We’ll tell the sheriff about the other three bodies out here. I expect he will want to come out and pick them up.”
“Ha!” the engineer said. “I wouldn’t doubt but what there’s a reward on these galoots, and it’ll be owed to you.”
“Does your friend have a family?” Smoke asked, indicating the fireman.
“Yes, sir,” the fireman said. “Jerry had him a wife and two kids. He was just tellin’ me about the kids talkin’ about Santa Claus and all.”
“If there is any reward, see to it that it goes to her.”
The engineer nodded. “Yes, sir, that’s mighty kind of you.”
Red Coleman had been riding hard since the bungled cattle robbery attempt. He slowed to a walk to give his horse a rest, then looked back over his shoulder. He had come at least two miles, maybe more, from the track and he was sure nobody was after him. He wasn’t sure who it was he had tangled with back there, but whoever it was was damn deadly with a pistol. And, as he recalled from the failed bank robbery, Smoke Jensen was deadly with a pistol, so it wouldn’t surprise him if it had been Smoke Jensen.
“All right, Mr. Smoke Jensen,” Coleman said aloud. “If I can’t take a fourth of your cows, I’ll figure out a way to take every damn one of them.”
Clay Ramsey and his party were camped on the north side of the Cimarron. They had passed through both the Choctaw and Creek nations without any difficulty, and now were in Osage territory. They had no cattle with them so had not experienced any tolls being collected. Clay had brought along three extra horses with him to give to the Indians if that became necessary, but so far he had not had to part with any of them.
They were sitting around a campfire, having had a good supper of chili verde and tortillas. For dessert they had sopapillas with molasses.
“I tell you what,” Dusty said. “I been trailin’ man and boy for near forty years now, and I’ve never had trail food like this. Most of the time we have nothin’ but beans and chuck wagon chicken.”
“Chuck wagon chicken?” Maria repeated with a little chuckle.
“He means bacon, ma’am,” Mo said.
“Would you play the guitar for us, Senor Dusty?” Maria asked.
