The metal bit jangled against the horse’s teeth. The horse’s hooves clattered on the hard rock and the leather saddle creaked beneath the weight of its rider. The rider was a big man, with brindled gray-black hair, a square chin, and steel gray eyes that could stare through a man.

United States Marshal Ben Kyle’s boots were dusty and well worn; the metal of his spurs had become dull with time. He wore a Colt .44 at his hip, and carried a Winchester .44-40 in his saddle sheath

He dismounted, unhooked his canteen, and took a swallow, then poured some water into his hat and put it back on his head, enjoying the brief cooling effect. He was running low on water, but figured to reach the monastery before nightfall, and he knew there would be water there.

There were no natural sources for water at the monastery, but its water was carried in by barrel from a small, not always dependable, river twelve miles to the east.

Kyle was after Emil Taylor and Bart Simmons. Three days ago, the two men had held up a stage, and because the stage was carrying United States mail, Kyle, as a U.S. marshal, had jurisdiction. The trail had led Kyle here, and he was now convinced that the two were headed for the monastery. That wasn’t a hard conclusion to make because anyone coming this way would have to stop at the monastery since there was no other source of food or water within several miles in any direction.

Stagecoach robbery was not the only crime for which the two men were wanted. Kyle believed they were also involved, along with Cletus Odom, in the attempted robbery of the Bank of Wickenburg a few weeks earlier. No money was taken because of the actions of the bank teller, but those same actions also enraged the robbers so that the teller was killed. Kyle was after Taylor and Simmons, but the one he really wanted was Cletus Odom, the outlaw who had planned and led the robbery attempt. The murder in Wickenburg was not the only thing Odom was wanted for. He was a desperate fugitive whose face was plastered on reward dodgers all across the Southwest.

Kyle reached the monastery just before dark. The abbey was surrounded by high stone walls and secured by a heavy oak gate. Kyle pulled on a rope that was attached to a short section of log. The makeshift knocker banged against the large, heavy gates with a booming thunder that resonated through the entire monastery. A moment later, a small window slid open and a brown-hooded face appeared in the opening.

“Who are you?” the face asked.

Kyle was a little surprised by the question. The monk on the other side of the gate was Brother James, and because Kyle had been here many times before, he was absolutely certain that James knew who he was. Why was he pretending that he did not know?

“My name is Ben Kyle. I’m a United States marshal.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m looking for a couple of men—outlaws—who might have come this way,” Kyle said.

Pointedly, the monk cut his eyes to his left. He did that twice. “I’m sorry. This is a holy place. I can’t let you in,” he said. He cut his eyes to the left again.

Kyle nodded once, to let the monk know that he understood.

“But, Brother, I am out of water. You cannot turn me away,” Kyle said, continuing the charade.

“I am truly sorry,” the monk said. “God go with you.” The little window slammed shut.

Kyle remounted, and rode away from the gate.

 

Taylor and Simmons were standing just inside the gate.

“What’s he doin’ now?” Taylor asked.

“He’s ridin’ off,” the monk answered.

Taylor chuckled, then put his pistol away. He looked at the short, overweight monk. “You done that real good, Padre,” he said. “I don’t think he suspects a thing.”

“I am not a priest,” the monk said. “Therefore I am not addressed as Father.”

“Really? Well, hell, it don’t matter none to me what you’re called,” Taylor said. “I don’t care what I’m called either, as long as I’m called in time for supper.” Taylor laughed at his own joke. “You get it? As long as I’m called in time for supper,” he repeated, and he laughed again.

“Yes, that’s quite amusing,” Brother James said without laughing.

“Yeah, well, speakin’ of supper, what do you say we go see if the cook has our supper finished? I’m starvin’.”

The three men walked back across the little courtyard, which, because of the irrigation system and the loving care bestowed upon it by the brothers of the order, was lush with flowers, fruit trees, and a vegetable garden. There were a dozen or more monks in the yard, each one occupied in some specific task.

The building the three men entered was surprisingly cool, kept that way by the hanging gourds of water called “ollas,” which, while sacrificing some of the precious water by evaporation, paid off the investment by lowering the temperature by several degrees.

“Brother James, who was at the gate?” Father Gaston asked.

“A stranger, Father. I do not know who he was,” Brother James replied.

“And you denied him sanctuary?”

“I had no choice, Father,” Brother James said, rolling his eyes toward Taylor and Simmons.

“You sent him away?” Father Gaston asked Taylor.

Taylor was a small man, with a ferretlike face and skin that was heavily pocked from the scars of some childhood disease.

“He was a United States marshal,” Taylor replied. “A United States marshal ain’t exactly someone we want around right now.”

“I see,” Father Gaston said. “Still, to turn someone away is unthinkable. It is a show of Christian kindness to offer water, food, and shelter to those who ask it of us.”

“Yeah, well, there’s enough of that Christian kindness goin’ on now, what with you takin’ care of us ’n’ all,” Taylor said. “Now, what about that food? How long does it take your cook to fix a little supper?”

“Forgive me for not mentioning it the moment you came in,” Father Gaston said. “The cook has informed me that your supper is ready.”

“Well, now, that’s more like it! Why didn’t you say somethin’?” Taylor said. “Come on, Simmons, let’s me ’n’ you get somethin’ to eat.”

Brother James led the two outlaws into the dining room. The room was bare, except for one long wooden table, flanked on either side by an attached wooden bench. On the mud-plaster-covered wall, there hung a large crucifix with the body of Jesus, clearly depicting the agony of the passion. Simmons stood there looking at it for a moment.

“I tell you the truth, that would be one hell of a way to die,” Simmons said.

“What would be?” Taylor asked. Unlike Simmons, Taylor had not noticed the cross.

“That,” Simmons said, nodding toward the crucifix.

Taylor looked around, then shrugged. “Yeah? Well, I doubt that hangin’ is any better, and more than likely me ’n’ you both are goin’ to wind up gettin’ ourselves hung.”

Almost unconsciously, Simmons put his hand to his throat, then shuddered. “Don’t talk like that,” he said.

Taylor laughed. “I’m just tellin’ you the facts of life is all,” he said. He looked at Brother James. “What about that supper that’s supposed to be ready?” he asked.

“Here it comes now,” Brother James said.

Another monk, who, like Brother James, was wearing a simple, brown, homespun cassock held together with a rope around his waist, came into the dining room then, carrying a tray. Their dinner consisted of a bowl of beans and a crust of bread.

“What the hell is this?” Taylor asked.

“This is your supper,” Brother James said.

“Is this it? What about that Christian kindness you were talkin’ about? You didn’t offer us no meat,” Taylor said with a disapproving growl.

Brother James shook his head. “I’m sorry, in this order we do not eat meat. We cannot offer you what we do not have.”

“Yeah? Are you telling me this is what you people eat?”

“Only one day in three do we get beans,” Brother James said. “The other two days we get bread only.”

“Hell, it ain’t that bad, Taylor,” Simmons said, shoveling a spoonful of beans into his mouth. “It ain’t bad at all. In fact, it’s kind of tasty, and it sure as hell beats jerky.”

 

Kyle waited until after dark before he returned to the monastery. Leaving his horse hobbled, he slipped up to one of the side walls. Then, using chinks and holes in the stone facade to provide footholds and handholds, he climbed up, slipped over the top, and dropped to the ground inside the abbey walls.

Most of the buildings inside the monastery grounds were dark, for candles and oil for lamps were precious commodities to be used sparingly. Here and there, Kyle saw that some light did manage to escape through the windows of those buildings where there was light.

The grounds themselves were not totally dark, though, because the moon was full and bright, and the chapel, dormitory, stable, and grain storage buildings all gleamed in a soft, silver light like white blooms sprouting from desert cactus.

The night was alive with the long, high-pitched trills and low violalike thrums of the frogs. For counterpoint there were crickets, the long, mournful howl of coyotes, and from the stable, a mule braying and a horse whickering.

With his gun in hand, and staying in the shadows alongside the wall, Kyle moved toward the building that he knew to be the dining hall. He was sure they would be inside there, because it was one of the few buildings that had a light. Finding a window, he looked inside. There, he saw Taylor, Simmons, and Brother James. Though he had been certain that Taylor and Simmons were here, this was his first, actual confirmation of the fact.

Taylor and Simmons were eating, and Kyle thought that might give him the opportunity he needed to sneak up on them. Moving toward the front door, he opened it quietly.

Except for a single candle on the table, the room was dark, and that enabled Kyle to step inside, then slip quickly into the shadows.

“Bring me some more beans and bread,” Taylor said.

“Yeah, and some bacon,” Simmons added.

“I told you, we do not eat meat in this order.”

“Yeah, I know what you told us, but I think you’re shittin’ us,” Simmons said.

“Seeing as you are nothing but a turd anyway, how would you know whether he’s shitting you or not?” Kyle asked.

“What the hell?” Taylor shouted, standing up and spinning around toward Kyle.

“Hold it right there!” Kyle shouted menacingly. He cocked his pistol and the sound it made was loud and deadly. “Drop your gun belts.”

Glaring at him, their features contorted by the candlelight, the two outlaws unbuckled their gun belts and dropped them.

“What are you plannin’ on doin’ with us?” Taylor asked.

“I’m taking you back to jail,” Kyle said.

“There’s two of us and only one of you. Plus, it’s a long way back. How do you plan to do that?”

“That’s not your problem,” Kyle replied.

“You’ll never get us back.”

“Oh, I’ll get you back, all right,” Kyle said. “Either sitting in your saddle, or draped over it.”

 

When Kyle and his two prisoners rode into Sentinel two days later, the two riders were handcuffed and connected to each other by a rope. They stopped in front of the marshal’s office.

“Get down,” he said.

“It ain’t goin’ to be all that easy, what with us bein’ handcuffed and tied together with a rope,” Simmons said.

“I’ll help,” Kyle said, giving Simmons a shove. The outlaw fell from his saddle and rolled on the ground.

“You need help, too?” Kyle asked the other prisoner.

“No, I can get down on my own,” Taylor said, dismounting quickly.

Kyle herded them into the office. “Back there,” he said, pointing toward the cells at the back of the building.

“Say, Marshal, I’m gettin’ a little hungry here,” Taylor said. “What time do you serve supper?”

“I’ll bring you a biscuit and bacon,” Kyle said as put them into the cell, then closed the door and locked it. “Stick your hands through the bars.”

“Can’t get through, what with these handcuffs.”

“Hold one hand on top of the other, you can do it.”

The prisoners complied and Kyle removed their handcuffs, then hung them on a hook.

“You boys behave yourselves,” he said. “I’m going to get a beer.”

“Hey, Marshal, when you bring back them biscuits, you reckon you could bring us a beer?” Simmons asked. He laughed out loud.

“That’s real funny, Simmons,” Kyle said as he left.

 

When Kyle opened the door to the Ox Bow Saloon a couple of minutes later, he saw his deputy, Boomer Foley, sitting at a table with Sally Fontaine, the saloon owner. Boomer was a slender man, almost skinny, but appearances were deceiving. Kyle had seen Boomer in action, and he was more than able to handle himself.

Sally was a very attractive auburn-haired woman in her late thirties. She was a widow who had inherited the saloon when her husband was shot and killed by a drunken patron. Most expected Sally to sell the saloon and go back to Virginia where her father had once been a United States Congressman. They were surprised when she announced her intention of remaining in Sentinel to run the Ox Bow. Few thought she would succeed, but it was now three years since Marty Fontaine was killed, and the Ox Bow had not only survived, it did a thriving business.

“Marshal, welcome back,” Boomer said, smiling broadly. “Come over here and join us. We was just talkin’ about Doc Presnell, wonderin’ what kind of a trip he had.”

“Is Doc back?” Kyle asked.

“Not yet. He’s coming in on the seven-thirty train tonight,” Sally said.

“Where did he go again?” Kyle asked.

“Don’t you remember? He was in St. Louis attending some medical conference,” Sally said.

“Doc’s not the only one on the train tonight,” Boomer said.

“What do you mean?”

Boomer pulled a telegram from his pocket. “We got this from the marshal back in Purgatory. I reckon he sent it to every lawman between Purgatory and Yuma.” He handed the page to Kyle.

ATTENTION ALL LAW OFFICERS STOP PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT PRISONER MATT JENSEN WILL BE IN CUSTODY ON TONIGHT’S TRAIN TO YUMA STOP JENSEN HAS BEEN TRIED FOR MURDER CONVICTED AND SENTENCED TO BE HANGED STOP MARSHAL ANDREW CUMMINS

“You sure that’s tonight’s train?” Kyle asked after he read the telegram.

“Yes, sir, I’m sure. We got the telegram this afternoon.”

“That’s funny,” Kyle said. “I haven’t heard of any murder trial being conducted back in Purgatory.”

“Could be that it happened while you was gone,” Boomer said. “Don’t forget, you been gone for a few days now.”

“Still, that seems awfully fast to have a murder, hold a trial, then sentence a man,” Kyle said.

“Do you know this here Marshal Cummins?”

“Only by reputation,” Kyle replied. “I’ve heard that he is a pretty domineering sort.” Kyle sighed. “But, if he is the man the people of Purgatory want, who am I to question them?” Kyle turned to Sally and smiled. “I heard a rumor that a man could get a beer in this place if he knew the right people.”

Sally laughed out loud. “Fred?” she called over to the bartender. “Bring Marshal Kyle a beer.”

“Yes, ma’am, Miss Sally,” Fred answered.

“I take it that was Taylor and Simmons I seen you ridin’ in with a few minutes ago,” Boomer said

“Yes,” Kyle answered.

“Did you have a hard time trackin’ ’em?”

“Wasn’t hard at all,” he said. “Once I saw that they were going southwest from Sentinel, I knew there was only one place they could go.”

“The monastery?” Boomer asked.

Kyle nodded. “The monastery.”

Boomer chuckled. “If any of them outlaws ever get a lick of sense about ’em, this law business would be a lot harder,” he said. “You think they didn’t have any idea you’d know exactly where they would be—where they would have to be?”

“I’m not sure they even thought about it.”

“You’ll be chargin’ ’em with robbin’ that stagecoach, right?”

“Yes. But I’m also sure they took part in that bank robbery up in Wickenburg,” Kyle said. “So I’m hoping they’ll shed some light on where to find Cletus Odom.”

“Ben, do you actually think these two men will tell you anything about Odom?” Sally asked.

“I think so,” Kyle said. “As far as I know, neither Taylor nor Simmons have ever done murder. That is, until the attempted bank robbery in Wickenburg.”

“I thought all the witnesses said it was Odom who shot him,” Boomer said.

“That’s right,” Kyle agreed. “But just by being there, that makes Taylor and Simmons every bit as guilty as Odom. I want them to know that, because then I’ll offer them a deal. It could be that if they think they are facing a hanging, they may turn on Odom to save their hides.”

“I’d sure love to get Odom,” Boomer said. “He’s one evil son of a bitch. Oh, beg pardon, Miss Sally, I’m sorry ’bout that.”

Sally laughed. “No need to apologize for telling the truth.”

“Yes, ma’am, but I hadn’t ought to have used language like that in front of a lady.”

“Boomer, I run a saloon,” Sally said. “Believe me, there’s very little I haven’t heard.” She turned to Marshal Kyle. “Have you had your supper, Ben?” She asked.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Would you like to join me for supper down at Del Monte’s? My treat.”

“Well, now, how could I pass up an offer like that?” Kyle replied. “Boomer, how about getting a couple of biscuit-and-bacon sandwiches to take to our prisoners?”

“All right,” Boomer said. “Then I’ll make the rounds, but I plan to be down to the depot to meet the train when it gets in. Are you two goin’ to be there?”

Sally and Kyle exchanged a smiling glance.

“We may, and we may not,” Kyle said.

“Well, you’ll want to greet Doc, won’t you? I mean, he’s been gone for the better part of a month,” Boomer said. Then, seeing the way the two were looking at each other, he stopped in mid-sentence. “Uh—’course if you’re not there to meet him, it won’t really matter none. I’ll bring Doc down for a drink if he wants one.”

“You do that, Boomer,” Sally said. “And tell Fred that anything you and Doc drink tonight will be on me.”

“Well, Miss Sally, that’s just real nice of you now,” Boomer said, beaming at the offer.

 

As the train to Yuma hurtled across the desert, Deputy Hayes walked over to the door of the express car and slid it open. When he did so, the wind caused several papers to fly around inside the car.

“Here!” Kingsley shouted angrily as he made a grab for the papers and envelopes. “What are you doing?”

“I’m takin’ a piss out the door,” Hayes answered, laughing.

“I have to have this mail sorted by the time we reach Sentinel,” Kingsley said. “I can’t do it with all the wind coming through. Close the door.”

“All right, all right, hold your horses,” Hayes said. “Soon as I shake the lily a bit, I’ll close the door.”

Matt watched and listened to the exchange between the two men. Matt could smell the smoke that drifted in from the engine, and one gleaming ember even landed on the table of the mail cabinet that was in front of Kingsley.

Agitatedly, Kingsley stamped out the glowing ember. “You’re going to set us on fire,” he complained.

Hayes slid the door shut. “Damn, Kingsley, if you ain’t like some old woman,” he said. “You ain’t done nothin’ but bitch since we left Purgatory.”

“I’m not just a passenger on the train, you know. I have work to do,” Kingsley said.

“Well, go on, I ain’t stoppin’ you,” Hayes said.

Hayes moved back up to the front of the car, where Matt was sitting on the floor, with his back against the wall.

“Hey, Jensen,” Hayes said. “You ever seen a man get hung?”

“Yes,” Matt said.

“Yeah, I have, too,” Hayes said. “It sure is fun to watch. It ain’t pretty, what with the man getting’ hisself hung havin’ his face go all purple, and his eyes buggin’ out like they do.” Hayes laughed, then slapped himself on the knee. “No, sir, it ain’t pretty, but, damn, it’s fun to watch.”

“I don’t enjoy them as much as you do,” Matt said.

“Yeah, well, maybe you’ll enjoy this one more, seein’ as you’re goin’ to be the star,” Hayes said. “Just think, you’ll be standin’ up there on the gallows with ever’one lookin’ right at you while the hangman puts his noose around your neck.”

Hayes made a motion with his hand, as if putting on a noose.

“Then, next thing you know, why, they’ll open that trapdoor under you and you’ll fall through. Skkkkkttttt!” He made the sound with his throat, then he jerked his head to one side, opened his eyes wide, and stuck out his tongue, as if he had just been executed.

Hayes laughed out loud. “Hey, what do you think? Pretty good, wasn’t it?”

At that moment, the train wheels rolled over the junction of two tracks, and the clacking sound was much louder than normal.

“What was that?” Hayes asked, startled by the change in sound.

“It was nothing,” Kingsley said. “Haven’t you ever been on a train before?”

“Yeah, sure,” Hayes said. “But I don’t think I ever been on one as loud as this one.”

“It’s no louder than normal,” Kingsley said, not looking up from his task of sorting letters.

 

The sun was a bright red disc just resting on the western horizon. Bands of red and purple laced across the sky as Cletus Odom stood in the middle of the tracks, looking back toward the east. The twin ribbons of steel glinted in the setting sun…shining red until they disappeared into the gathering dusk to the east.

“See anything yet?” one of the men behind him called.

“Not yet.”

“Maybe we’ve already missed it.”

“We haven’t missed it,” Odom said. He turned back toward the three men who were bending over the tracks. “How’s it coming?” he asked.

“We’ve pulled out a couple of the spikes,” Bates replied. “But they’re damn hard to remove.”

“They’re supposed to be hard to get out. But all you have to do is pull enough of ’em to be able to push the rail out a few inches.”

“You sure that’ll stop the train?” Bates asked.

“You ever seen a train run on dirt?”

“No.”

“Well, if you push that rail out, the only place the train can go is dirt. Yeah, I’m sure this’ll stop it.”

“Señor, how much money is on the train?” Paco asked.

“How much you got now?” Odom replied.

“Maybe I have one dollar,” Paco answered.

“Then it doesn’t really matter how much money the train is carryin’, does it? Whatever it is, it’ll be more’n you got. Schuler?” Odom called.

“Yeah?” Schuler answered.

“If we have to blow the safe, are you going to be able to handle it? Or are you drunk?”

“I can do the job,” Schuler insisted.

“You damn well better be able to do the job.”

They heard a whistle in the distance.

“Hurry it up!” Odom said, and he came over to join them as, working quickly, they pulled up two more spikes.

“Bates, you’re the biggest one here,” Odom said. “Pick up the sledgehammer and hit the rail here a couple of times—just enough to push it out.”

Bates grabbed the hammer and hit it. The rail popped out. He was about to hit it a second time when Odom stopped him.

“That’s far enough,” he said. “Hurry, get the tools out of the way and get down out of sight.”

It was less than two minutes after the men put the tools away when they first saw the train. It was approaching at about twenty miles per hour, a respectable enough speed, though the vastness of the desert made it appear as if the train was going much slower. Against the great panorama of the desert the train seemed puny, and even the smoke that poured from its stack made but a tiny scar against the orange vault of the sky at sunset.

They could hear the train quite easily now, the sound of its puffing engine carrying to them across the wide, flat ground the way sound travels across water. As the engine approached, it gave some perspective as to how large the desert really was, for the train that had appeared so tiny before was now a behemoth, blocking out the sky.

“Get ready, boys,” Odom said. “It’s nearly here.”

 

“Say, how long before we reach the next town anyways?” Hayes asked. “What I need to do is, I need to get off this train and get me a beer. And maybe a bottle of whiskey, too.”

“No alcoholic spirits are allowed in the express car,” Kingsley said.

“Yeah? So what are you going to do about it? Go to the law? I’m the law!” Hayes said with a cackling laugh.

“No, I’m not going to the law. If you want to drink I can’t stop you,” Kingsley said. “But I can report you to the railroad.”

“Yeah? And what will the railroad do? Tell me I’m a bad boy?” Hayes laughed out loud.

“Well, for one thing, they will see to it that you can’t ride the train anymore.”

“And that’s supposed to mean something to me?” Hayes asked.

“It means that you’d better not consider going anywhere you can’t walk or ride a horse,” Kingsley said.

Matt laughed.

“What are you laughing at?” Hayes asked.

“Seems to me like Mr. Kingsley has the upper hand,” Matt said.

“Yeah?” Hayes replied. Stepping over to Matt, Hayes suddenly slapped Matt in the face. “There ain’t nothin’ you can do about that, seein’ as you’re all chained up like you are.” Hayes slapped Matt a second time. “Tell me, Mr. Killer, who has the upper hand now?” he asked, laughing.

Hayes was standing over Matt with his legs spread, looking down at Matt, who was still on the floor.

Matt smiled up at him.

“What are you smiling at, you son of a bitch?” Hayes asked.

“I’m about to show you who has the upper hand,” Matt said. He kicked upward, and the toe of his boot caught Hayes in his most sensitive area.

“Ooof,” Hayes said with an expulsion of breath and a gasp of surprise. He bent over double from the pain.

It was at that exact point in time that the engine ran across the place where the rail had been compromised. For a moment the train continued on, as if nothing had happened.

“What the hell?” Bates asked in confusion where the outlaws were hiding. “Nothin’ happened! The train didn’t stop!”

“Just wait,” Odom said.

Less than a second later, they saw the engine quiver, then drop down on one side. The engine continued forward, but now one side was producing thrust, while the other had lost its purchase. The driver wheels, in the dirt now, continued to churn full speed, and they began throwing up a huge rooster tail of sand. There was a loud, screeching sound, as first the engine, then the tender, then the express car tumbled over on their sides. The following cars were dragged along the track with a horrendous screech of metal and then the cacophony of breaking glass and collapsing wood as they began breaking apart and falling in upon themselves.

The boiler of the engine suddenly exploded with the roar of a hundred thunderclaps. Huge pieces of heavy metal, set into motion by the explosion, were hurled high into the sky, before tumbling back down to land several feet away, each falling piece of metal adding its own sound to the terrible noise of the wreck.

Finally, the screeching, grinding, banging, crashing sound stopped, to be replaced for a moment by total silence. But the silence was quickly filled with cries of pain, shouts of anguish, and calls for help.

The explosion of the boiler had sent hundreds of burning embers of coal from the engine’s firebox. Those coals had landed on the wooden passenger cars, most nearly reduced to kindling wood by the wreck, so that within seconds, the cars, many of which still had people trapped in the wreckage, caught on fire.

“Son of a bitch!” Schuler said. “That wasn’t supposed to happen! I thought all that would happen was that the train would stop. I didn’t know it was going to wreck.”

“Yeah, well, the train did stop, though, didn’t it?” Odom said. “Jesus, most of the passenger cars are on fire. Come on, let’s get in the express car, get the money, and get out before it catches fire, too.”

“This ain’t right,” Schuler said. “You never said anything about killing all these people. All you said you was goin’ to do was rob a train.”

“Yeah? Well, how the hell was I supposed to get it to stop? Stand in front of it and hold out my hand?”

 

When the train left the track, Matt felt the sudden drop of the left side of the car. He had no idea what caused it, but he knew at once that it was very bad, and he spun himself around to put his feet on the lower wall to brace himself.

The car rolled violently onto its side. It slid along the ground for several feet while, inside the car, fixtures broke loose and cargo began sliding around. The mail cabinet fell over on the express man, crushing him beneath its terrible weight. Hayes was slammed against the wall so hard that he was knocked out. Only Matt, of the three, escaped injury because he had managed to brace himself against the wall.

“Mr. Kingsley! Mr. Kingsley!” Matt called, but the express man didn’t answer.

“Hayes? Hayes, are you all right?”

Hayes groaned, showing that he was still alive, though, for now, Matt had no idea as to the seriousness of his condition.

From outside, Matt could hear the wails and cries of the injured, and he wondered what had happened and how bad the wreck was. He pulled himself through the strewn wreckage of the car until he reached Hayes.

“Hayes?” he said.

Hayes was out cold, but his steady breathing told Matt that he wasn’t dead.

Matt searched through Hayes’s pockets until he found the key to his shackles. He was just about to unlock them when he heard someone jerking open the door.

He wasn’t sure who was trying to get in to the car, but because he was in shackles, he thought it might not be a good idea to be seen. Holding on to the key, he moved away quickly, then hid behind an overturned cabinet.

He saw four men, with guns drawn, climb into the car. The fact that they were holding guns told him that they weren’t here as rescuers. A closer look at one of the men confirmed that, when he saw that it was the same man he had encountered in the alley back in Wickenburg. This was Cletus Odom.

Odom, this is the second time I’ve met you, and I haven’t liked you either time, Matt thought as he watched the men step inside the overturned car and look around.

“Señor, hemos hecho un desorden grande,” one of them said as he looked around the car.

“What’s that, Paco? I don’t speak Mex,” Odom replied.

“I said, we have made a big mess,” Paco repeated in English.

“What did you expect? When you wreck a train, you make a mess,” Odom replied. “Let’s find the safe. Schuler, get ready to blow it.”

“There are women and children on this train,” Schuler said. “You didn’t tell me that we might be killing women and children.” Schuler was slender, almost gaunt. “This ain’t right. I wouldn’t have come along if I’d known this was going to happen. We ought to do something to help these people.”

“Are you crazy? You want to get hung? That’s what’s going to happen if you start trying to help anyone now. All you got to do is blow the safe so we can get the money and get out of here.”

“Ain’t no need to blow the safe,” one of the others said. This man was the biggest of them all.

“Why not? What are you talkin’ about, Bates?” Odom asked.

“The money is all in a canvas pouch. I found it.” Bates said.

“Is the pouch locked?”

“Nope,” Bates replied. He stuck his hand down inside and pulled out a couple of bound stacks of currency notes. “It’s full of money.”

“Damn, I wonder how much.”

“Twenty thousand dollars,” Bates answered without hesitation.

“What? How do you know that?” Odom asked.

Bates pulled out a piece of paper, then smiled at the others. “’Cause it’s all been counted out for us,” he said.

“Twenty thousand dollars! Caramba, that is a lot of money, I think,” Paco said

“We’re rich, boys! We’re rich,” Bates said happily.

“This ain’t right,” Schuler said, shaking his head. “There ain’t none of this right!”

“Well, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to take your cut,” Odom said. “Come on, boys, let’s go.”

“What—what happened?” Hayes asked, groaning, and trying to sit up.

“Shit, he’s alive!” Bates said.

Drawing his gun, Odom aimed it at Hayes and fired. His bullet hit Hayes in the forehead and Hayes fell back.

“Not no more, he ain’t,” Odom said. “The dumb son of a bitch. All he had to do was be quiet for one more minute and he wouldn’t of got hisself kilt. Come on, let’s get out before somebody looks in here.”

Matt waited until all four men had left the car before he moved from his hiding place. Using the key he had taken from Hayes, he unlocked his shackles. After that, he strapped on Hayes’s pistol, then looked down at him.

“Like the fella said, Hayes. If you had been quiet for one more minute, you’d still be alive.”

Armed and free, Matt climbed out of the car.