Outlaw's Reckoning Read online

  He didn’t like it one bit.

  When he thought about all the blood on those fancy clothes, Gus could hear the echoes of that woman’s screams as she’d been put through whatever hell these men in slick suits had decided to put her through. Gus had inflicted plenty of pain in his life. He’d even sent more than his share of men to meet their Maker. He knew how badly someone needed to be hurt to spill so much blood, but even he’d never thought to sop it up and send it to the man’s family. Something like that was done by a coward. Every kidnapper he’d ever met had been a coward, and these men in their fancy suits were even worse. They were smug cowards.

  Being in the presence of Smythe and the rest of those kidnappers stoked a fire deep inside of Gus McCord. The notion that all that misery had been visited upon a woman turned that fire into an inferno.

  As he looked up from the ring and into the smirking face of the man holding it, Gus was only certain of one thing: Nobody deserved what that woman was being forced to endure. All that remained was deciding what he could do about it.

  Chapter 6

  “Hand it over,” Gus said.

  The men in the dining car looked at Gus and then looked at one another. Even Doyle seemed perplexed as he studied his partner. In the space of a few long seconds, Wade and Franklin tightened their grips upon their guns and Mason took a step back from the table.

  In a low snarl, Smythe asked, “I beg your pardon.”

  “You heard me,” Gus replied. “Hand over that ring.”

  “If you intend on robbing us, you’re in for more trouble than you can handle.”

  “Mister, I don’t believe you know how much trouble I can handle.”

  As the tension within the room thickened like a cold fog, Doyle lent his voice to the mix. “My partner told you to hand over that ring,” he said as he quickly drew the gun stashed under his waistband, which Franklin and Wade had missed. “Do it and be quick about it.”

  Wade and Franklin were obviously more accustomed to dealing with scared women or lawmen who showed every card they had to play. Even after drawing their guns and aiming at Doyle, they looked at him with scared eyes.

  Smythe, on the other hand, stood as if he’d been carved from rock. “You’re making a mistake,” he said evenly. “Correct it now and we can still work together. Nobody can fault you for making a move that appears to be profitable. In fact, this display proves that you men are exactly the sorts we need.”

  “Feed that to someone who wants to hear it,” Gus said as he pulled up his shirt to show the .38 wedged under his belt in roughly the same spot Doyle had been hiding his. “Just give me that ring.”

  After calming Wade and Franklin down with a few curt nods, Smythe handed the ring to Gus. He then said, “You won’t be leaving this train with that.”

  “Right there is where you’re mistaken,” Gus said. “And when we do leave this train, we’re gonna go to wherever you’re holding that woman.”

  “What?” Smythe barked.

  While the bespectacled man had suddenly become indignant, Doyle put on a smile that nearly lit up the entire car. “Now ZZ that’s what I call an idea! Tell my partner where she’s at and maybe we’ll see about cutting you off a sliver of that ransom.”

  “You men are fools,” Smythe said. “Soon you’ll be dead fools.”

  That was all the order the guards needed to hear. Franklin’s Smith & Wesson was the first gun to explode inside that dining car and it did so at the same time Doyle dropped and spun toward him. Franklin’s shot was a bit off and shattered a stack of dishes several inches to Doyle’s right.

  Doyle returned fire, but his bullet clipped the brim of Franklin’s hat and punched through the wall of the dining car. He was quick to correct himself, however, and put his second shot through Franklin’s shoulder.

  While Doyle tussled with Franklin, Gus looked over at Wade. As he’d suspected, that man was about to fire at him, so Gus plucked his .38 from its hiding place. Even as Wade pointed his Colt Navy at him and pulled his trigger, Gus didn’t flinch. He could see the panic in Wade’s eyes and knew that would be enough to affect his aim. Sure enough, Wade’s next several shots were wild. Only one came close enough to hiss past Gus’s left ear.

  Now that he’d had the time to aim properly, Gus squeezed his trigger. The .38 bucked in his hand and set Wade spinning like a top on one foot. Wade staggered back, knocked against a table and fell over amid a downpour of silverware and china cups. Somewhere along the way, his gun hit the floor as well.

  Gus knew better than to count Wade out of the fight completely, but he figured he’d bought himself a few seconds to survey the rest of what was going on. Smythe had drawn a pistol of his own and was hiding behind a pair of straight-backed chairs in front of a window a few tables away from where he’d started. Mason huddled on the floor under a window. That left Doyle and Franklin as the two kicking up the most dust.

  Franklin was still standing and firing at Doyle. Although he’d backed up a bit, there simply wasn’t anything around him with enough bulk to protect him from a bullet. Therefore, the only option left open to Franklin was to plant his feet and fire that Smith & Wesson of his. The wound in his shoulder must have been the only thing that kept him from sending Doyle to meet his Maker.

  Doyle let out a gleeful howl as he fired off a few quick shots to cover his retreat. As soon as he reached one of the tables, he kicked it over and ducked behind it. From there, he looked out and found Franklin right where he’d left him. “Is this all you brought with you?” he shouted. “No wonder Gus saw you boys as easy pickin’s!”

  Just then, the door leading out of the dining car swung open and a conductor poked his head inside. Gus sent him away with a shot fired into the wall a foot or so from the doorframe. “There’ll be more coming,” he announced.

  Smythe chose that moment to stand up and unleash a torrent of lead from his pistol. He fired one shot after another as he backed toward the door that led out the opposite end of the dining car. The moment his back touched against the door, Smythe stopped firing long enough to say, “Finish these men off!” After that, he pulled the door open and ducked outside.

  Gus cursed under his breath and rushed straight down the middle of the aisle that led to Smythe’s escape route. Along the way, Gus saw some movement to his left. If not for the fat scar that pinched that eye partly shut, he would have noticed Wade a whole lot sooner.

  “You’re dead now!” Wade snarled as he charged at Gus like a wild animal.

  Gus turned on his heels and swung his pistol around in a tight arc that connected with Wade’s skull. The .38 bounced off of Wade’s head and dropped the man to one knee. Even with that, however, Wade wasn’t about to give up. He grabbed at Gus’s arm and almost got hold of the .38, but Gus snapped a knee out to knock Wade back.

  Wade groaned in pain as blood poured from the wound that Gus had given him earlier. While it wasn’t easy to say where Wade had been hit, the front of his shirt was soaked through with blood and every movement brought more pain to his face. Despite all of that, Wade managed to pick his Colt Navy up off the floor.

  Acting out of pure instinct, Gus bent his arm at the elbow and fired from the hip. His .38 barked once and put Wade down for good. Gus stepped over the body and continued his march toward the rear door of the car. When he got there, he took a moment to peek through the small square window that looked out to the space between cars. Smythe looked right back at him from the next car.

  Gus pulled back and hunkered down as low as he could before the shots came. Three holes were punched through the door in quick succession as Smythe fired at the spot where Gus had been standing. Rather than open the door to provide Smythe with a better target, Gus pulled it shut tight and stepped away.

  At the other end of the car, Franklin poked his head up from a table and fired a shot at Doyle. Gus knew his pistol was almost dry, so he took aim and was real careful when he fired. It wasn’t much of a gamble, since he had a better angle on Franklin than
Doyle was getting. Gus’s bullet hit home and caused Franklin to jump when he was hit.

  Sensing his opening the way a shark could smell blood in the water, Doyle leapt from behind his cover and emptied his gun into Franklin before the well-dressed gunman could return the favor. Before Franklin had stopped moving, Doyle was already standing over him and stooping down to take away the smoking Smith & Wesson.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Doyle said. “Let’s just see if he’s got any ammunition for me.”

  Reloading his .38 with fresh rounds from his gun belt, Gus stalked down the aisle that cut straight through the middle of the dining car. His eyes snapped toward the window and then to the door at the other end. There was plenty of commotion outside and it was drawing closer.

  “We’re about to have company,” Gus said as he reclaimed his .44 from the man who’d taken it away from him.

  Doyle still had his hand in the dead man’s pockets as he glanced toward the nearest door. “Yeah, I suppose we did make some noise in here. Did you put down your two?”

  “Smythe got away.”

  Holding his .45 in one hand and Franklin’s Smith & Wesson in the other, Doyle grinned and said, “Not for long.”

  Gus stomped away from the door and said, “Leave him be for now. He’s waitin’ to pick off whoever comes after him. Collect our guns.” As he walked past Mason, Gus extended a hand and grabbed hold of the man’s battered, dirty coat and hauled him to his feet. “You’re coming with us.”

  Mason struggled to get away but didn’t have much strength left. “What more do you want from me? I tried to get everyone working together, but you went and ruined it! This whole thing is all messed up now!”

  Ignoring everything Mason said, Gus shoved him toward the door that led to the sleeper car. He didn’t have to look back to know that Doyle was right behind him. “You’re going in there and telling whoever’s in that compartment that you’re on the winning end of the fight.”

  “But he’ll ask me—”

  “Just say what I told you,” Gus said as he kicked open the door and shoved Mason out of the dining car.

  The three of them crossed from one car to another, which gave Gus plenty of time to survey what was happening outside of the train. From between the cars, he saw several armed men in railroad uniforms gingerly approaching the front end of the train. One of them caught sight of Gus, Mason and Doyle and started to shout something, but Gus had already shoved Mason into the sleeper car before he could catch any of it.

  Mason muttered to himself while staggering toward the door of Smythe’s compartment. Gus reached past him to pull open the door and then stepped aside so Mason could do his part. Pale as a sheet, trembling like a leaf and dripping with sweat, Mason walked into the compartment and tried to say what he’d been told to say. His first few words were a mess, but Gus stood aside and let Mason go. He was playing his part just fine.

  “I heard shooting,” the man inside the sleeper compartment said. “What happened? Where’s Smythe?”

  Mason drew a breath and replied, “Smythe is chasing those two off the train. Franklin and Wade are circling around to help.”

  “Really? I’ll just stay here then and wait for them.”

  As soon as he heard the first glimmer of hope in the man’s voice, Gus stepped in to dash it on the rocks. Sure enough, the man in the sleeper compartment was on the edge of his seat and fully expecting to ride out the storm without having to fire a shot. Seeing Gus shove Mason aside and enter the compartment hit him like a kick in the stomach.

  Aiming his Colt at the startled man’s face, Gus walked up close enough to tap the gun’s barrel against his forehead. That gave Doyle just enough room to squeeze into the compartment and shut the door behind him. Mason would have tripped over his own feet, but fell onto the bunk before he got very far. The older man reflexively tried to jump to his feet.

  “Stay right where you are,” Gus snarled. “This ain’t gonna take long.”

  “Wh-where’s Smythe?” the man asked.

  “Dead. They’re all dead.” When he saw the other man look to Mason for confirmation of that, Gus snapped, “Forget about him. You got us to contend with and we’re only offering you one chance to get out of this alive.”

  The older man had the look of an accountant, from the neatly greased hair right down to the rodentlike eyes. The black case was on the bunk opposite of Mason, but he clutched a satchel to his chest as if it was his firstborn. Somehow, the accountant still managed to grow more of a spine than Mason. At least he wasn’t reduced to a shaking, blubbering mess.

  “It sounds like you’ve got some troubles of your own,” the accountant said, surely referring to the voices and stomping footsteps that were growing closer every moment.

  Gus nodded. “Perhaps we do. And if we need to stay here long enough to fight those men, then we might as well drop you first.”

  The accountant kept his head up, but lost the defiance in his eyes.

  Sensing the change in the accountant, Gus quickly said, “Hand over that satchel.”

  With both Gus and Doyle aiming pistols at him, the accountant could do nothing but comply.

  “Where’s the woman being held?” Gus asked.

  “Woman?”

  “Don’t play with me, mister,” Gus warned as he allowed every bit of anger in his belly to rise to the surface and twist his face into something even more gruesome than normal. “You’re gonna tell me everything I want to know, or by God, I will put you through that window.”

  The accountant turned to look at the window directly behind him. It was a few feet wide and slightly rectangular, but just large enough to accommodate him.

  “Where’s the woman being held?” Gus asked.

  More angry voices echoed from the hall outside the compartment. Doyle shifted on his feet as he tightened his grip upon his .45 and the Smith & Wesson he’d taken. “We can’t lollygag for much longer, Gus,” he said. “Them conductors are checking every door.”

  “You’re scared,” the accountant said. “Scared and desperate.”

  Either the accountant was bolder than he looked or he had an ace up his sleeve, because the little man stood his ground without a thing in his favor.

  “You haven’t convinced me that I should do anything besides wait for help to get here,” the accountant said as a way to press his supposed advantage. “By the sound of it, it will be here soon enough, and if you intend on killing me, you’ll do it no matter what.” Secure in his position, the accountant added, “The woman is ours and there’s no way you’ll get her back. We’ll tear her to shreds before anyone can get close to her. Or, I should say, tear her apart more.”

  Gus lunged at the accountant like a wildcat. Pure animal instinct drove him across the compartment and caused him to forget about his gun for the moment so he could get his free hand around the other man’s throat. Once he had ahold of the accountant, Gus lifted him from his chair and slammed him against the window. Knocking the accountant against the window with every word, Gus said, “You’ll do no . . . such . . . thing!”

  The first couple of times the accountant hit the window, cracks formed in the glass. When his back hit a third time, those cracks stretched all the way out to the frame. On the fourth knock, the glass shattered to allow the accountant’s backside to bulge from the train completely.

  Gus felt like he’d won the battle of wills between him and the accountant when the other man opened his mouth to let out a frightened squeak. It felt too good for him to end it by pulling the little man back inside the train.

  So . . . he didn’t.

  Chapter 7

  Gus leaned with all of his weight against the accountant. Most of the glass had already been knocked out and the accountant’s flailing body cleaned out the rest very nicely. A short drop from the train ended with a jarring impact against the ground. Actually, it was less jarring for Gus since he landed partially on the accountant.

  Since he knew Doyle would be right behind him, Gus re
gained his grip upon the accountant’s shirt and roared down at him, “Where’s the woman being held?”

  In stark contrast to the last time the question had been asked, the accountant couldn’t answer fast enough. “She was just moved from New Mexico!” he gasped after the wind had been knocked from his lungs. Despite the fact that he could barely suck in any air, he managed to keep talking. “There’s . . . a small camp southeast of . . . Ewell’s Pass. She’s there but . . . you’ll never . . . get to—”

  “Where in the camp?”

  “Bateman Supply Company. That’s where she is, but you’ll—”

  Gus wasn’t interested in the accountant’s threats before and he was even less interested now. He stood up and tried to clear his head from the fall while the other man prattled on some more. In that time, Doyle jumped through the window amid a loud, glorious howl.

  Hitting the ground on both feet, Doyle fired a few shots through the broken window. “They found our room,” he said. “Not that you were trying to be sneaky or nothin’.”

  “Fine. Let’s get out of here.”

  “What about Mason? Did you want him to come along?”

  Gus started walking alongside the train. Holding his gun at the ready, he replied, “I’ve got the satchel and I got what I needed to know from that one there. We don’t need Mason. Besides, he’s too scared to be of much use.”

  “What about him?” Doyle asked as he glanced down at the accountant.

  “Leave him to explain himself. We don’t have time to fool about no more.”

  Doyle chuckled as he followed Gus along the side of the train. “You know we could have snuck off that train? If you wanted to jump out the window, we coulda done it quieter than that.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “You realize all that shooting probably made it a lot harder for us to skin out of here?”

  “Yeah,” Gus replied with more of an edge in his voice. “I also realize your plan wasn’t going anywhere.”

  Holding his hands up, Doyle said, “All right, then. What’s your big plan for leaving this place?”