B.W. collected the five hundred, gave Billy a hundred for his trouble and they spent the night in the livery stable, sleeping on hay—much to B.W.‘s satisfaction.
17
They were up early, saddling their horses when they heard a train whistle.
”The train’s here,” B.W. said. “It’s a little after seven.”
“We better high-tail it out there,” Rance said and they hurried outside to see tumbleweeds rolling down the street from a gusting wind. They hung on to their hats, mounted and took off.
The train was pulling out from the station as they rode up with their hats in their hands. They tied their horses to a hitching post and the horses turned sideways from the wind. The train blew its whistle as it crossed a dirt road on the edge of town. The horses started prancing around the station agent walking toward them. He looked like a ghost with his tall, thin frame, swinging the glowing lantern, his snow white hair and beard blowing in the early morning wind.
“Hey!” B.W. yelled. “How come the train’s leaving early?”
The man stopped and waited for them to get closer. “What’s that you say?” he asked. “Couldn’t hear you with the whistle blowing.”
“Why is the train leaving early?” Rance said.
“Leaving on time,” the man said.
“Thought it didn’t leave until ten?”
“Nope, seven-thirty like always.” He raised the globe on his lantern and the wind blew it out.
“Where’s the cattle cars?” B.W. said.
“It’s a passenger train, don’t no pull cattle.”
“Did Sheriff Shaw send a telegram to Pinefield yesterday?” Rance asked.
“Nope. Would have had me do it. I’m the only one knows how.”
“Should have asked for a copy of the telegram,” Rance said.
“He was formulatin’ this from the time he saw the money,” B.W. said. “I could see it in his eyes, thought if I gave him the horse and money it would ease the temptation. Shaw’s on that train, ain’t he?”
“He is,” the agent said. “Said he quit and was goin’ to California. Seemed all excited, kept lookin’ over his shoulder like he was expectin’ someone.”
“He was,” Rance said “We’re here.”
“Wish I had listened to B.W. now,” Tommy said. “ No way we can catch up. He’s long gone.”
“Me too,” Rance said.
“Got a leak in the boiler,” the agent said. “They’re goin’ to have to fix it when they get to Hudsonville. Got no tools here, probably take all day.”
“How far is that from here?” Rance asked.
“Twenty miles or so.”
“What’s the quickest way?”
“Follow the tracks, pretty straight shot from here,” the agent said. “Tried to tell him but he was too jumpy to listen.”
“Thanks,” Rance said and they hurried to the horses. They rode hard until their horses started puffing and stopped to rest them. They dismounted and wet the horses’ noses from their canteens.
“We gonna kill him?” Tommy said.
“Don’t know yet,” B.W. said.
“What you think, major?” Tommy said.
“I’ll let B.W. make the call.”
“I know what you was thinkin’ but everything has changed,” B.W. said. “It’s dog-eat-dog now and it’s goin’ to be that way for a long time.”
Rance didn’t say anything, just grabbed the saddle horn with his good hand and pulled himself up in the saddle. They rode another mile or two and came over a rise and saw the train in the distance, sitting at a depot on the outskirts of town, men working on the train’s engine.
“There it is,” B.W. said. “He may have figured out we’re coming and is already gone. He damn sure had money to buy a horse.”
They rode down a long slope across an open field of blue bonnets, crossed the tracks and stopped near a big man wearing overalls with a railroad cap on his bushy hair, a huge hand wrapped around the handle of a sledgehammer resting on the ground. Three Chinese men were working on the train. The big man wasn’t carrying a gun but a rifle was propped against a tree some ten feet away.
“Any of the passengers still on the train?” Rance said.
“Who the hell are you?” the man asked.
“Someone that will ask you a question if you don’t mind,” B.W. said.
“Unless you got someone on the train or you’re the law, I ain’t got time for you.”
“Not very friendly, are you?” Tommy said.
“And you don’t know how to respect your elders, do you boy?”
B.W. rode up between the man and the rifle, slid off his horse and wrapped the reins around the saddle horn.
The three men working on the engine stopped and looked at what was going on.
The big man picked up the hammer, back-peddled to the steps of the passenger car, took a firm grip on the handle of the sledgehammer with both hands. “You’re not goin’ on this train.”
“Get out of my way,” B.W. said and started walking toward him.
“Over my dead body,” the man said.
“That can be arranged.” B.W. jerked the tomahawk from his belt and hurled it toward the man, cutting off two fingers from his right hand. The man yelled in pain. The sledgehammer fell to the ground along with his two fingers, the tomahawk stuck in the handle. He dropped to his knees and grabbed his bleeding hand, looking at his fingers on the ground between his knees.
“You fuckin’ red nigger, I’ll kill you!”
“Not today,” B.W. said and drew his Colt.
“Let it go,” Rance yelled. “Check the train, I’ll take care of him.”
B.W. stared at Rance for a second, stuck the Colt back in his belt, picked up the sledgehammer beside the wounded man, pulled the bloody tomahawk out of the handle, wiped it off on the back of the man’s shirt, dropped the hammer, stuck the tomahawk in his belt and boarded the train. The three working men dropped their tools and took off running down the track.
“Where they goin?” Tommy said.
“They don’t want no part of that tomahawk.” Rance dropped down from his horse and walked up to the man.
“You goin’ to shoot me?”
“You don’t know
