“One of your men has already been here,” an irate passenger said. “We gave you everything we have.”
“Shhh,” Smoke said. “I’m on your side. I’m a deputy sheriff. Where are they?”
“There was only one in here, and he went into the next car.”
“Thanks,” Smoke said. Holding his pistol down by his side, he hurried through the first car and into the second one. He saw a gunman at the other end of the car, holding a pistol in his right hand and an open sack in the other. The passengers were dropping their valuables into the open sack.
“What are you doing in here? You get back in the other car and stay there like you were told!” The gunman said, belligerently.
“I don’t think so,” Smoke said. He raised his pistol. “Drop your gun.”
“The hell I will!”
Instead of dropping his gun, the train robber swung the pistol around and fired at Smoke. His shot went wide and the bullet smashed through the window of the door behind him. Smoke returned fire, and the gunman dropped his pistol and staggered back, his hands to his throat. Blood spilled through his fingers as he hit the front wall of the car, then slid down to the floor in a seated position. His head fell to one side as he died.
During the gunfire women screamed and men shouted. As the car filled with the gun smoke of two discharges, Smoke ran through the car, across the vestibule, and into the next car.
The gunman in the next car, having heard the shot, was looking toward the door as Smoke ran in.
“Red! McDill! Slim, getin here quick!” the gunman called.
Smoke and this gunman exchanged fire as well, with the same result. The gunman went down and Smoke was still standing. When he ran into the next car, he saw the robber dashing out through the back door. He chased him down as well, but he didn’t have to shoot him. When the gunman went into the next car, he was brought down by a club wielded by the porter. “Good job,” Smoke said.
“The other two has done jumped off the train,” the porter said.
Smoke jumped down from the train as well, then he moved away from it to try and get a bead on the two who were running. Smoke snapped off a long shot, but missed. He didn’t get a second shot because the outlaws were on horseback and galloping away.
Smoke stood there for a moment, still holding his smoking pistol as he watched the two robbers flee.
“You need to develop a better sense of timing,” someone said, and turning, Smoke saw Sally standing there on the ground behind him. He embraced and kissed her, then he pulled his head back.
“What do you mean, a better sense of timing?” he asked.
“If you had been five minutes earlier, the robbers wouldn’t have gotten my reticule.”
“Sorry. How much did they get?” Smoke asked.
“Just my purse,” Sally said with a little laugh. “I had already taken everything out of it.”
By now, several others had come down from the train and they were all thanking Smoke for coming to their rescue.
“Look here!” someone shouted. “The two that got away dropped their sacks!”
“The ones inside never even made it off the train with their sacks,” another said. “Ha! Ever’thing they took is still here!”
“Cephus, how long will it take you to get the steam back up?” the conductor asked.
“Fifteen minutes,” Cephus said. “Maybe half an hour.”
“Do you want to wait until they get the steam back up? Or do you want to come with me now?” Smoke asked. “I left a buckboard just up the track a short distance.”
“My luggage is on the train,” Sally said.
“Miss, after what your man just did, if you want your luggage, I’ll personally open the baggage car and get it,” the conductor said.
Mitchell “Red” Coleman and Deekus McDill were the two robbers who got away. They got away from Smoke’s avenging guns, but they did not get away with any money.
“Nothin’!” McDill said. “We didn’t get a damn thing!”
“Maybe the day ain’t goin’ to be a total loss,” Red said.
“What do you mean, it ain’t a total loss?”
“Look over there,” Red said.
“What, a store? What good is a store goin’ to do us? We ain’t got no money to buy nothin’.”
“Who said we were goin’ to buy anything?” Red said.
McDill understood what he was talking about then, and he smiled and nodded.
Fifteen minutes later Red and McDill rode away from Doogan’s store. Jake Doogan and his wife both lay dead on the floor in the store behind them. Their total take for the robbery was seventy-eight dollars and thirty-five cents.
CHAPTER THREE
Falcon MacCallister was sitting in a leather chair in the office of Judge Andrew Lathom. The judge was standing at his private bar, pouring brandy into two snuffers. He came back to where Falcon was sitting, and handed one of the brandy snuffers to him.
“You have chased down a lot of bad men since I have known you, Falcon. But I have a feeling that bringing in Amon Deering has given you a distinct sense of satisfaction.”
“It has,” Falcon answered.
“Why? I mean, after a while, isn’t one murderous skunk pretty much like another murderous skunk?” The judge whirled his brandy, then took a sip.
“Because of the girl, Quiet Stream,” Falcon said.
“Oh, yes, the Indian girl. But why her, in particular? She was just one of a string of young girls that Deering raped and murdered.”
“It was more than that,” Falcon added. “I knew the girl. And I knew her father. His name was Bloody Knife, and he was a scout for Custer.”
“Yes, I have heard of Bloody Knife. And you knew him, did you?”
“I was with him when he was killed,” Falcon said.
“I can see how that would make this more personal,” Judge Lathom said. “Well, Falcon, I not only congratulate you, I commend you for not letting your personal feelings get in the way. I know you were tempted to kill Deering yourself, and under the circumstances, if you had done it, there is not a man in the whole country who would have blamed you. I admire your respect for the law.”
Falcon smiled, dryly. “Respect for the law has nothing to do with it, Judge,” he said. “I never met anyone yet who wouldn’t rather be shot than hung.”
There was a knock on the door and Judge Lathom yelled for whoever it was to come in. It was his law clerk.
“Judge,” the clerk said. “They’ve got Amon Deering standing on the gallows now. The sheriff is waiting for your signal.”
“Thank you, Harry,” Judge Lathom said. He finished his brandy, then set his empty snuffer down. “You know, Falcon, I can sentence someone to die ... and in the case of a person like Deering, after the string of murders he committed, not just Quiet Stream but at least six more that we know about, every one of them a young woman, or worse, a young girl, I can do it with a clear conscience. But when it comes to the part where I actually have to give an order to kill another human being ... ,” Judge Lathom let the sentence hang.
“Who said Deering was a human being?” Falcon asked. “He is a monster masquerading as a human being.”
Judge Lathom nodded. “I was going to add that there are exceptions. There are those rare times where I
