CHAPTER 35
It was ten days later when the band dropped out of the mountains intothe Murchison Pass--a singular place for a train robbery, Andrew couldnot help thinking. They were at the southwestern end of the pass, wherethe mountains gave back in a broad gap. Below them, not five miles away,was the city of Gidding Creek; they could see its buildings and parkstumbled over a big area, for there was a full twenty-five thousand ofinhabitants in Gidding Creek. Indeed, the whole country was dotted withvillages and towns, for it was no longer a cattle region, but asemifarming district cut up into small tracts. One was almost never outof sight of at least one house.
It worried Andrew, this closely built country, and he knew that itworried the other men as well; yet there had not been a single murmurfrom among them as they jogged their horses on behind Allister. Each ofthem was swathed from head to heels in a vast slicker that spreadbehind, when the wind caught it, as far as the tail of the horse. Andthe rubber creaked and rustled softly. Whatever they might have beeninclined to think of this daring raid into the heart of a comparativelythickly populated country, they were too accustomed to let the leader dotheir thinking for them to argue the point with him. And Andrew followedblindly enough. He saw, indeed, one strong point in their favor. Thevery fact that the train was coming out of the heart of the mountains,through ravines which afforded a thousand places for assault, would makethe guards relax their attention as they approached Gidding Creek. And,though there were many people in the region, they were a fat andinactive populace, not comparable with the lean fellows of the north.
There was bitter work behind them. Ten days before they had made a feintto the north of Martindale that was certain to bring out Hal Dozier;then they doubled about and had plodded steadily south, choosing alwaysthe most desolate ground for their travel. There had been two changes ofhorses for the others, but Andrew kept to Sally. To her that journey wasplay after the labor she had passed through before; the iron dust ofdanger and labor was in her even as it was in Andrew. Three in all thatparty were fresh at the end of the long trail. They were Allister,Sally, and Andrew. The others were poisoned with weariness, and theirtempers were on edge; they kept an ugly silence, and if one of themhappened to jostle the horse of the other, there was a flash of teethand eyes--a silent warning. The sixth man was Scottie, who had longsince been detached from the party. His task was one which, if he failedin it, would make all that long ride go for nothing. He was to take thetrain far up, ride down as blind baggage to the Murchison Pass, and thenclimb over the tender into the cab, stick up the fireman and theengineer, and make them bring the engine to a halt at the mouth of thepass, with Gidding Creek and safety for all that train only five minutesaway. There was a touch of the Satanic in this that pleased Andrew andmade Allister show his teeth in self-appreciation.
So perfectly had their journey been timed that the train was due in avery few minutes. They disposed their horses in the thicket, and thenwent back to take up their position in the ambush. The plan of work wascarefully divided. To Jeff Rankin, that nicely accurate shot and bulldogfighter, fell what seemed to be a full half of the total risk and labor.He was to go to the blind side of the job. In other words, he was toguard the opposite side of the train to that on which the main bodyadvanced. It was always possible that when a train was held up thepassengers--at least the unarmed portion, and perhaps even some of thearmed men--would break away on the least threatened side. Jeff Rankin onthat blind side was to turn them back with a hurricane of bullets fromhis magazine rifle. Firing from ambush and moving from place to place,he would seem more than one man. Probably three or four shots would turnback the mob. In the meantime, having made the engineer and fireman stopthe train, Scottie would be making them continue to flood the fire box.This would delay the start of the engine on its way and gain preciousmoments for the fugitives. Two of the band would be thus employed whileLarry la Roche went through the train and turned out the passengers.There was no one like Larry for facing a crowd and cowing it. Hisspectral form, his eyes burning through the holes in his mask, strippedthem of any idea of resistance.
While the crowd turned out, Andrew, standing opposite the middle of thetrain, rifle in hand, would line them up, while Allister and Joe Cluneattended to overpowering the guards of the safe, and Larry la Roche cameout and went through the line of passengers for personal valuables, andClune and Allister fixed the soup to blow the safe. Last of all, therewas the explosion, the carrying off of the coin in its canvas sacks tothe horses. Each man was to turn his horse in a direction carefullyspecified, and, riding in a roundabout manner, which was also named, hewas to keep on until he came, five days later, to a deserted, ruinousshack far up in the mountains on the side of the Twin Eagles peaks.
These were the instructions which Allister went over carefully with eachmember of his crew before they went to their posts. There had beentwenty rehearsals before, and each man was letter perfect. They tooktheir posts, and Allister came to the side of Andrew among the trees.
"How are you?" he asked.
"Scared to death," said Andrew truthfully. "I'd give a thousand dollars,if I had it, to be free of this job."
Andrew saw that hard glint come in the eyes of the leader.
"You'll do--later," nodded Allister. "But keep back from the crowd.Don't let them see you get nervous when they turn out of the coaches. Ifyou show a sign of wavering they might start something. Once they make asurge, shooting won't stop 'em."
Andrew nodded. There was more practical advice on the heels of this.Then they stood quietly and waited.
For days and days a northeaster had been blowing; it had whipped littledrifts of rain and mist that stung the face and sent a chill to thebone, and, though there had been no actual downpour, the cold and thewet had never broken since the journey started. Now the wind came like awolf down the Murchison Pass, howling and moaning. Andrew, closing hiseyes, felt that the whole thing was dreamlike. Presently he would openhis eyes and find himself back beside the fire in the house of UncleJasper, with the old man prodding his shoulder and telling him that itwas bedtime. When he opened his eyes, in fact, they fell upon asolitary pine high up on the opposite slope, above the thicket whereJeff Rankin was hiding. It was a sickly tree, half naked of branches,and it shivered like a wretched animal in the wind. Then a new soundcame down the pass, wolflike, indeed; it was repeated more clearly--thewhistle of a train.
It was the signal arranged among them for putting on the masks, andAndrew hastily adjusted his.
"Did you hear that?" asked Allister as the train hooted in the distanceagain.
Andrew turned and started at the ghostly thing which had been the faceof the outlaw a moment before; he himself must look like that, he knew.
"What?" he asked.
"That voicelike whistle," said Allister. "There's no luck in thisday--for me."
"You've listened to Larry la Roche too much," said Andrew. "He's beengrowling ever since we started on this trail."
"No, no!" returned Allister. "It's another thing, an older thing thanLarry la Roche. My mother--"
He stopped. Whatever it was that he was about to say, Andrew was neverto hear it. The train had turned the long bend above, and now the roarof its wheels filled the canyon and covered the sound of the wind.
It looked vast as a mountain as it came, rocking perceptibly on theuneven roadbed. It rounded the curve, the tail of the train flickedaround, and it shot at full speed straight for the mouth of the pass.How could one man stop it? How could five men attack it after it wasstopped? It was like trying to storm a medieval fortress with a popgun.
The great black front of the engine came rocking toward them, gatheringimpetus on the sharp grade. Had Scottie missed his trick? But when thethunder of the iron on iron was deafening Andrew, and the engine seemedalmost upon them, there was a cloud of white vapor that burst out oneither side of it and the brakes were jumped on; the wheels skidded,screaming on the tracks. The engine lurched past; Andrew caught aglimpse of Scottie, a crouched,
masked form in the cab of the engine,with a gun in either hand. For Scottie was one of the few naturaltwo-gun men that Andrew was ever to know. The engineer and the firemanhe saw only as two shades before they were whisked out of his view. Thetrain rumbled on; then it went from half speed to a stop with one jerkthat brought a cry from the coaches. During the next second there wasthe successive crashing of couplings as the coaches took up their slack.
Andrew, stepping out with his rifle balanced in his hands, saw Larry laRoche whip into the rear car. Then he himself swept the windows of thetrain, blurred by the mist, with the muzzle of his gun, keeping the buttclose to his shoulder, ready for a swift snapshot in any direction. Infact, his was that very important post, the reserve force, which was tocome instantly to the aid of any overpowered section of the activeworkers. He had rebelled against this minor task, but Allister hadassured him that, in former times, it was the place which he tookhimself to meet crises in the attack.
The leader had gone with Joe Clune straight for the front car. How wouldthey storm it? Two guards, armed to the teeth, would be in it, and thedoor was closed.
But the guards had no intention to remain like rats in a trap, while therest of the train was overpowered and they themselves were blasted intosmall bits with a small charge of soup. The door jerked open, thebarrels of two guns protruded. Andrew, thrilling with horror, recognizedone as a sawed-off shotgun. He saw now the meaning of the manner inwhich Allister and Clune made their attack. For Allister had run slowlystraight for the door, while Clune skirted in close to the cars, goingmore swiftly. As the gun barrels went up Allister plunged headlong tothe ground, and the volley of shot missed him cleanly; but Clune thenext moment leaped out from the side of the car, and, thereby gettinghimself to an angle from which he could deliver a cross fire, pumped twobullets through the door. Andrew saw a figure throw up its arms, ashadow form in the interior of the car, and then a man pitched outheadlong through the doorway and flopped with horrible limpness on theroadbed. While this went on Allister had snapped a shot, while he stilllay prone, and his single bullet brought a scream. The guards weredone for.
Two deaths, Andrew supposed. But presently a man was sent out of the carat the point of Clune's revolver. He climbed down with difficulty,clutching one hand with the other. He had been shot in the most painfulplace in the body--the palm of the hand. Allister turned over the otherform with a brutal carelessness that sickened Andrew. But the man hadbeen only stunned by a bullet that plowed its way across the top of hisskull. He sat up now with a trickle running down his face. A gesturefrom Andrew's rifle made him and his companion realize that they werecovered, and, without attempting any further resistance, they sat sideby side on the ground and tended to each other's wounds--a ludicrousgroup for all their suffering.
In the meantime, Clune and Allister were at work in the car; the waterwas hissing in the fire box as a vast cloud of steam came rushing outaround the engine; the passengers were pouring out of the cars. Theyacted like a group of actors, carefully rehearsed for the piece. Notonce did Andrew have to speak to them, while they ranged in a solidline, shoulder to shoulder, men, women, children. And then Larry laRoche went down the line with a saddlebag and took up the collection."Passin' the hat so often has give me a religious touch, ladies andgents," Andrew heard the ruffian say. "Any little contributions I'm suregrateful for, and, if anything's held back, I'm apt to frisk the gentthat don't fork over. Hey, you, what's that lump inside your coat? Lady,don't lie. I seen you drop it inside your dress. Why, it's a nice littleset o' sparklers. That ain't nothin' to be ashamed of. Come on, please;a little more speed. Easy there, partner; don't take both them handsdown at once. You can peel the stuff out of your pockets with one hand,I figure. Conductor, just lemme see your wallet. Thanks! Hate to botheryou, ma'am, but you sure ain't traveling on this train with onlyeighty-five cents in your pocketbook. Just lemme have a look at therest. See if you can't find it in your stocking. No, they ain't anythinghere to make you blush. You're among friends, lady; a plumb friendlycrowd. Your poor old pa give you this to go to school on, did he? Son,you're gettin' a pile more education out of this than you would incollege. No, honey, you just keep your locket. It ain't worth fivedollars. Did you? That jeweler ought to have my job, 'cause he surerobbed you! You call that watch an heirloom? Heirloom is my middle name,miss. Just get them danglers out'n your ears, lady. Thanks! Don't hurry,mister; you'll bust the chain."
His monologue was endless; he had a comment for every person in theline, and he seemed to have a seventh sense for concealed articles. Thesaddlebag was bulging before he was through. At the same time Allisterand Clune jumped from the car and ran. Larry la Roche gave the warning.Every one crouched or lay down. The soup exploded. The top of the carlifted. It made Andrew think, foolishly enough, of someone tipping ahat. It fell slowly, with a crash that was like a faint echo of theexplosion. Clune ran back, and they could hear his shrill yell ofdelight: "It ain't a safe!" he exclaimed. "It's a baby mint!"
And a baby mint it was! It was a gold shipment. Gold coin runs aboutninety pounds to ten thousand dollars, and there was close to a hundredpounds apiece for each of the bandits. It was the largest haulAllister's gang had ever made. Larry la Roche left the pilfering of thepassengers and went to help carry the loot. They brought it out inlittle loose canvas bags and went on the run with it to the horses.
Someone was speaking. It was the gray-headed man with the glasses andthe kindly look about the eyes. "Boys, it's the worst little game you'veever worked. I promise you we'll keep on your trail until we've run youall into the ground. That's really something to remember. I speak forGregg and Sons."
"Partner," said Scottie Macdougal from the cab, where he still kept theengineer and fireman covered, "a little hunt is like an after-dinnerdrink to me."
To the utter amazement of Andrew the whole crowd--the crowd which hadjust been carefully and systematically robbed--burst into laughter. Butthis was the end. There was Allister's whistle; Jeff Rankin ran aroundfrom the other side of the train; the gang faded instantly into thethicket. Andrew, as the rear guard--his most ticklish moment--backedslowly toward the trees. Once there was a waver in the line, such asprecedes a rush. He stopped short, and a single twitch of his riflefroze the waverers in their tracks.
Once inside the thicket a yell came from the crowd, but Andrew hadwhirled and was running at full speed. He could hear the others crashingaway. Sally, as he had taught her, broke into a trot as he approached,and the moment he struck the saddle she was in full gallop. Guns wererattling behind him; random shots cut the air sometimes close to him,but not one of the whole crowd dared venture beyond that unknownscreen of trees.