The Winchester Run Page 2

  “The more I think about it,” said Port Guthrie, “the more likely it seems that there might be outlaws who’ll try to stop the train between here and Dodge.”

  “It’s a likely enough possibility that I’m going to talk to the engineer,” Mac said.

  He headed for the locomotive, which sat chuff-chuff-chuffing, awaiting the command to depart.

  “I need to talk to you,” he shouted to the engineer.

  The engineer pointed to the iron rungs that made a ladder up the side of the cab. Mac climbed up, careful to stay out of the way, as the fireman fed wood into the firebox to keep up steam.

  “I’m Mac Tunstall. My pardners and me are along to see that nobody makes off with the freight on those flatcars.”

  “I’m Will Herbert,” the engineer said. “Welcome aboard.”

  “What would you do,” Mac asked, “if outlaws dynamited the track ahead?”

  “Stop the train,” said Herbert.

  “I don’t aim to try and tell you how to run the train,” Mac said, “but can I offer a suggestion?”

  “Sure,” said the engineer.

  “If outlaws should dynamite or barricade the track, go ahead and stop the train. Then can you reverse it and backtrack to the nearest town?”

  “Yes,” Herbert said, “but that will throw us off schedule. We may end up on the same track with the eastbound.”

  “Better that than have outlaws make off with the wagons riding those three flatcars,” said Mac. “Won’t there be a sidetrack at every town?”

  “Yes,” Herbert replied.

  “Then back up to the nearest town, and if we have to, we can wait on the sidetrack until the eastbound passes.”

  “My God,” said Herbert, “if we don’t get back to a station with a telegraph in time, the eastbound could be derailed where damaged track was intended for us.”

  “You’re getting the idea,” Mac said. “If outlaws stop the train, don’t waste any time. Get it into reverse, pronto.”

  That taken care of, Mac climbed out of the cab in time to be confronted by Watson Brandt.

  “What business do you have here?” Brandt demanded.

  “None that concerns you,” said Mac, his voice cold.

  “If you’re going with this train,” Brandt said, “get aboard. We’re leaving.”

  Watson Brandt entered the passenger car, followed by the six bullwhackers. The last to enter were Haze Sanderson and Red McLean. They stationed themselves at the rear of the car, with their Winchesters. They noted with approval that the six bullwhackers sat three on one side of the aisle, and three on the other, their Winchesters across their knees. In the caboose, Mac Tunstall and Buck Prinz sat with Andy DeVoe, the brakeman.

  “You gents lookin’ for trouble?” DeVoe inquired.

  “Not us,” said Mac. “We never look for it. It generally finds us soon enough.”

  Some ten miles west of the little town of Newton, Kansas, a dozen men had hidden themselves in a thicket near the tracks. Their horses were picketed nearby, cropping at the little graze there was.

  “I’ve heard it said dynamite shouldn’t be allowed to lay too long, once the charge is set,” one of the men said. “Why don’t we go ahead an’ blow the track?”

  “Damn it, Turk,” a companion said, “the wind’s out of the west. Somebody in Newton could hear the explosion and figure out what’s goin’ on. We got to wait till the train’s so close, it won’t make no difference who hears the blast.”

  “Since we got to wait,” Turk said, “why don’t we go over it one more time, just what we’re aimin’ to do?”

  “We’re follerin’ Brandt’s orders,” said Tucker, the boss of the gang. “Slack, Price, Oden, Driscoll, and Shelby will be with me on the north side of the tracks. Turk, you’ll be with Simpson, Welter, Coggins, Phelps, and Malone to the south of the track. Accordin’ to what we been told, the passenger coach an’ the caboose will be at the rear of the train. I want one man coverin’ the locomotive cab, when she stops. Slack, that’ll be you. The rest of us will advance on that passenger coach and the caboose. Gun down anybody comin’ out of either of ’em.”

  “I’d feel better about all this,” Phelps said, “if we’d got some money up front. Hell, we got to take all the risk, we still owe for them mule teams, and we don’t know how long we’ll have to wait for our share of the loot.”

  “We ain’t all that far from Fort Dodge,” said Coggins. “They could send soldiers after us. We can’t make any time, with them wagons loaded to the bows.”

  “You don’t get a chance at a haul like this, without some risk,” Tucker said. “If we’re able to pull this off, we’ll be set for life.”

  “You’re forgettin’ somethin’,” said Slack. “Brandt gets half, just for settin’ this up. If we split the balance twelve ways, I don’t see all that much for my share.”

  “That’s because you always see things cockeyed, like they’re supposed to be,” Tucker said. “Suppose we take the whole thing and split it twelve ways?”

  Slack laughed. “You aim to double-cross Brandt?”

  “Why not?” said Tucker. “What’s he goin’ to do, tell the law we cheated him out of his share?”

  There was much laughter, and their good humor restored, they settled down to wait for the train.

  The train bearing the six wagons loaded with government cargo stopped at the little town of Newton, Kansas, for the locomotive to take on water.

  “We ain’t that far from Dodge,” said Lafe Beard, one of the bullwhackers. “If there’s any varmints of a mind to stop us, it’ll have to be soon.”

  “I’ll be glad when we get to Dodge,” Saul Estrella said, “so’s we can mount them wagon boxes and be on our way. I purely don’t like this kind of freightin’, where we got to depend on the railroad. I don’t feel like we got control of nothin’.”

  “Once those wagons roll out of Dodge,” said Red McLean, “we’ll have control over it all. That is, as much control as Watson Brandt will allow.”

  “Once we get out of reach of his daddy-in-law,” Haze Sanderson said, “we’ll show Watson Brandt how the cow et the cabbage. Once we get to Austin, I reckon he can telegraph Mr. Yeager in Kansas City, tellin’ him we’ve been bad boys, but what can Yeager do? We’ll be in Texas, then, and our work for Yeager Freight Lines will be done.”

  “I just hope when we get to Dodge,” said Gourd Snively, “we ain’t told the livery had no luck findin’ enough mules to pull them wagons. From what Yeager said, they was havin’ a problem.”

  “That ain’t your worry,” Haze Sanderson said. “If they ain’t enough mules in Dodge, we’ll just wait there until Yeager can send us a boxcar load of the varmints from Kansas City.”

  “Let’s don’t worry about problems until they become problems,” said Red McLean. “We’re not in Dodge yet.”

  The locomotive’s whistle bellowed twice. With a jerk, it tightened the couplings of the cars and the train lurched into motion. Once out of Newton, there was little to see except the flat Kansas plain that seemed to roll on to infinity.

  “My God,” said Red McLean, “I ain’t seen a bush big enough to shelter a horn toad, and there ain’t a tree nowhere. This kind of country must drive dogs crazy.”

  The train rolled on, and they were only a few miles west of Newton, when the earth shook with the force of an explosion. There was an immediate blast of the locomotive’s whistle and a grinding, shuddering sensation as the brakes were applied.

  “They’re out there!” Haze Sanderson shouted.

  But as suddenly as the locomotive had ground to a halt, it just as suddenly reversed itself and began backing toward Newton! There were shouts from the outlaws, as they all galloped after the departing train. But Haze Sanderson and Red McLean were outside the passenger coach, on the iron and steel platform. They cut loose with their Winchesters, and had the satisfaction of seeing two of the outlaws pitch from their saddles. From the rear of the train, from atop the caboose, Mac Tunstall and
Buck Prinz were firing, and two more of the pursuing outlaws were shot out of their saddles. That was more than enough for the others, and they fell back out of range. Haze and Red stepped back inside the passenger coach, to be confronted by Watson Brandt.

  “What is going on here?” Brandt demanded.

  “A gang of outlaws blew the track ahead,” said Haze, “and were about to take those government wagons off the flatcars. We shot four of them, and the others changed their minds.”

  “You . . . killed them?”

  “Hell, yes,” Red replied. “What would you have done, spanked them?”

  But Brandt was furious. “Who gave the order to reverse this train?”

  “Mac Tunstall, probably,” said Haze, “but what does it matter? Would you have preferred that it hit that broken stretch and be derailed?”

  Brandt said nothing, slouching down in his seat, while the teamsters grinned at one another in delight. The train soon reached Newton, backing in to the depot. The dispatcher was waiting on the platform, and the engineer leaned out the window of his cab, shouting.

  “Outlaws dynamited the track maybe fifteen miles out. At least four of ’em dead. Get on the wire and try to stop the eastbound.”

  Mac Tunstall and Buck Prinz stepped down from the caboose and approached the depot. Watson Brandt was standing there as though uncertain about his next move.

  “Brandt,” said Mac, “are you going to telegraph Mr. Yeager, or must I do it?”

  “I am in charge of this expedition,” Brandt snapped, “and if there’s telegraphing to be done, I will do it.”

  “Then do it,” Mac snapped back. “It’s unlikely that track will be repaired in time for us to reach Dodge today. Since you’re in charge, make some arrangements for us tonight, including grub. If you don’t have that much authority, then telegraph Mr. Yeager.”

  If looks could have killed, Mac Tunstall would have been dead. Brandt stalked away to the railroad depot, and Tunstall laughed behind his back.

  CHAPTER 1

  Newton, Kansas. September 16, 1873.

  Mac Tunstall, his three pardners, the six bullwhackers, Watson Brandt, and the train crew remained at the hotel in Newton until the following day. When the damaged track had been repaired, the train bearing the six loaded wagons continued on to Dodge. There was no evidence of the outlaws, and the train reached Dodge in the early afternoon. When Mac and his three pardners stepped down from the train, they were surprised to find a sheriff waiting for them.

  “Tunstall and friends, I reckon,” the lawman said.

  “I’m Tunstall,” Mac said. “This is Buck Prinz, Haze Sanderson, and Red McLean.”

  “I’m Sheriff Harrington. I have a telegram from the sheriff in Kansas City, sent at the request of Hiram Yeager, of Yeager Freight Lines.”

  “We’re working for him,” said Mac. “There are six wagonloads of military goods going to Austin, Texas, and it’s our responsibility to see that they arrive safely. We’ve had a bunch of outlaws stop the train on the way here.”

  “I heard about that,” Harrington replied, “and you persuaded that bunch it wasn’t a good idea. Yeager wants me to offer you hombres as much support as I can. He believes there might be an attempt during the night to shanghai those wagons you’re guarding. He didn’t say what led him to that conclusion, but I promised to do what I can.”

  “We aim to spend the night with the wagons,” said Mac. “While we’re obliged, I don’t know what you can do, short of being a fifth man.”

  “What I have in mind,” Harrington said, “is deputizing the four of you. We’re fifty miles from Indian Territory, and during the summer and fall, there are trail herds from Texas, so we have our share of hell-raising. There have been so many killings, the town council is on the prod. If you have trouble tonight, we’ll all come out of it lookin’ better if the four of you are lawmen. Comprende?”

  “Sí,” said Mac. “Can you do it here? We need to keep an eye on those wagons.”

  “Yes,” Harrington replied. “Let’s go into the depot waiting room. There’s no reason for the entire town to know what we’re doing.”

  The swearing-in was done quickly. Harrington presented each of them with a deputy’s star and then shook their hands. He then went on his way, and when the four Texans left the depot, they came face-to-face with Watson Brandt.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Brandt demanded, his eyes on the stars they wore.

  “Why don’t you telegraph Mr. Yeager and ask him?” Mac suggested.

  Brandt said nothing, and the four of them positioned themselves near the wagons on the flatcars. In less than an hour, the six bullwhackers returned to the train.

  “We won’t have the necessary mules until sometime tomorrow,” said Port Guthrie. “I see we’ve gained some lawmen while we were gone.”

  “Sheriff Harrington’s idea,” Mac said. “Has Brandt arranged a place for you to sleep, and grub?”

  “Not yet,” said Guthrie. “We’re thinking of sleeping in the passenger coach, with our Winchesters handy. We figure if these owl hoots are that damn determined, we’ll have to fight ’em sooner or later.”

  “We’ll appreciate the company gents,” Red McLean said.

  “It’s likely to be a long night,” said Gourd Snively. “When it’s time to eat, two of you can go with three of us. Then when the first five is done, they can come back and guard the wagons while the others eat.”

  “That’s mighty generous,” Mac said. “Have you cleared that with Watson Brandt?”

  “No,” said Snively. “We didn’t feel the need to.”

  “Neither do we,” Mac replied. “It’s up to us to get these wagons safely to Austin, and I get the feeling we may have to do it in spite of Mr. Brandt.”

  “That’s pretty much how we feel,” said Port Guthrie. “I reckon there’ll be plenty of shootin’ between here and Austin, and it ain’t uncommon for a bothersome jasper to be shot accidental, by his own outfit.”

  “I’ve heard of that,” Mac replied. “It happened some during the war.”

  They had no idea what had become of Watson Brandt, and by eating five at a time, all had a good meal at Delmonico’s. With the train and its wagons loaded with priceless cargo on a sidetrack, the ten men commissioned to get the wagons safely to Texas settled down for the night. Lamplight streamed from windows, and from a distant saloon there was the tinkle of a piano and the laughter of women.

  “This is Tuesday night,” Red McLean said. “This must be some hell of a town, come Saturday.”

  “I’ve heard tell it is,” said Lafe Beard. “Fort Dodge is maybe eight miles downriver, and them soldiers is a bunch of wampus kitties. I hauled freight there long before the railroad come through. I wouldn’t be sheriff of this town for all the money in Kansas.”

  Watson Brandt had rented a horse at the livery and, under the cover of darkness, had ridden to Fort Dodge.

  “Sorry, sir,” said the sentry on duty, “but civilians are not allowed to enter the fort after dark.”

  “I only want to see a friend of mine,” Brandt pleaded. “He’s Sergeant Jernigan, the quartermaster. If I can’t go in, can’t you send somebody to bring him to the gate?”

  “I’m not sure, sir,” said the sentry. “I’ll find out. Sergeant of the guard, post one!”

  “This is Sergeant Cooper,” the sentry said, when the sergeant of the guard arrived.

  “I’m Watson Brandt, Sergeant, and I want to see a friend of mine, Sergeant Jernigan. I’ve been told I can’t go in Is Jernigan allowed to come out and visit a few minutes?”

  “If I can find him,” said Sergeant Cooper. “Wait here.”

  “Much obliged,” Brandt said. “Durin’ the war, we fought together for the Union.”

  It was true up to a point. Brandt had deserted under fire and had done time, after a court-martial. Jernigan had been too seriously wounded to run, and had remained in the service. Following the war, Brandt had discovered Jernigan had become a sergeant, an
d was in charge of buying beef for Fort Dodge. It had been a simple matter for Brandt to organize a gang, rustle cattle in Texas, and sell them to the military through Jernigan. He had conspired with Jernigan to steal the weapons and ammunition, promising a split he had never intended to make, had the robbery of the train been successful. Now it was neck meat or nothing, and one plan having failed, he must depend on an alternate plan devised by Jernigan. Jernigan soon arrived, joining Brandt outside the gate.

  “Damn it,” Jernigan said, “what are you doing here? I told you never to come here.”

  “I had no choice,” said Brandt. “That bunch I had lined up to take the wagons from the train failed, and four of them were killed. Yeager hired some gun-throwing Texans, and they’re guarding the wagons tonight.”

  “You spent weeks planning to take those wagons,” Jernigan said, “and now that you have failed miserably, you expect me to do the job in ten hours.”

  “All right,” Brandt snarled, “I’m admitting I failed. I’m offering you a chance to prove your plan is better than mine, and I’m willing to take a lesser cut, if you can pull it off.”

  Jernigan laughed. “How much less?”

  “Twenty-five percent, instead of fifty,” said Brandt.

  “And what are you going to do to earn that twenty-five percent?” Jernigan demanded.

  “Whatever I must,” said Brandt.

  “Ah,” Jernigan said, “that’s what I wanted to hear. I have a bunch waitin in Indian Territory that would slit their own mothers’ throats for the kind of loot we’re after. I got a pass to get me out of here, and it’ll be sometime after midnight before I can get this bunch to Dodge.”

  “Just get them there,” said Brandt. “I don’t want to lose out on this.”

  Brandt mounted his horse and rode away, and Jernigan went immediately to the post orderly room for his pass. He had a hard ride to Indian Territory and back, but within his reach was a veritable fortune in guns and ammunition. A fortune he had no intention of sharing with Watson Brandt.