Luke Jensen: Bad Men Die Part 8

"That's right," Luke said evenly. He heard the contempt in the conductor's voice plainly enough but knew from experience it was best for him to keep a tight rein on his temper in such situations.

"Well, you can't have him in the regular cars. It'll frighten the other pa.s.sengers too much. You'll have to put him in the caboose, and I won't stand for any argument about it."

Since that was exactly what Luke wanted, he didn't intend to argue. He wasn't going to admit that to the conductor, though. The man might change his mind just to spite him.

Luke nodded curtly. "All right. If that's the way it has to be, I guess that's what we'll do."

The conductor sniffed as if to say d.a.m.n right you will. Luke looked down to hide the grin that flashed across his face for a second.

"Let's take him on back there now," the conductor said.

By that time, the caboose was hooked up again to the train, which rolled slowly along the rails, building up speed as it left Rattlesnake Wells. The three men walked through the pa.s.senger cars, which were behind the baggage cars, and into the car bringing up the rear that served as the conductor's office and a place for the brakemen to take it easy when they weren't working.

The brakies weren't in there at the moment.

The conductor told Luke, "You might as well put your prisoner on that chair over there in the corner. He can't get loose, can he?"

"Not likely." Luke steered McCluskey over to the ladderback chair and sat him down in it. He took out another pair of handcuffs and looped one end around one of the rungs in the back of the chair and the chain between McCluskey's cuffs. By snapping it shut, he ensured that McCluskey couldn't get up and go anywhere without taking the chair with him. As awkward as it already was having his ankles fastened together like they were, getting around while fastened to the chair would be almost impossible.

"There's coffee on the stove," the conductor said with grudging hospitality.

"Much obliged." Luke poured himself a cup but didn't offer to do the same for McCluskey. He was through showing the outlaw any consideration. "How long does it take to get to Cheyenne?"

"We'll arrive about seven o'clock this evening, if there aren't any delays."

"What's the country like between here and the junction?"

"Mostly flat, which means we make good time." The conductor's att.i.tude was warming up a little. Talking about the train that was his responsibility probably helped with that. "There's one range of pretty rugged mountains to get through."

Luke nodded. Normally he would have worried about the train slowing down to take the grades in the mountains. That would make it easier for someone who wasn't supposed to be there to get aboard.

But McCluskey didn't have a gang that would set out to rescue him, Luke reminded himself. The only person who seemed determined to set the outlaw free was Delia, and she was locked up safely back in Rattlesnake Wells.

Luke frowned slightly as he sipped the coffee. She had been behind bars when he left the marshal's office and jail earlier that morning, but he had no way of knowing if she was still there, he realized. She was shifty as a sidewinder. The likelihood of her causing any more trouble was small, but he couldn't rule it out one hundred percent.

He would be glad when Frank McCluskey was off his hands and the reward money was in his pocket.

The door of the caboose opened, and a man in a gray suit and darker gray derby hat stepped in. He had a successful, well-fed look about him, with a beefy face, thick dark mustache, and bushy side-whiskers. A short black cigar was clamped between his teeth. He stopped short as he saw Luke and McCluskey, and an angry flush began turning his face an even darker red.

"d.a.m.n it, Hitch!" he exploded. "What are these two doing in here?"

Delia sat beside the window and tried to collect her thoughts as she watched the flat terrain covered with scrub brush rolling past outside. She was still a little out of breath from rushing to the train station and from the strain of worrying that the stupid deputy's body would be discovered before she could get aboard and leave Rattlesnake Wells behind.

Killing the lawman had been a calculated risk. When she'd taken the knife from the sheath strapped to the inside of her left thigh and put it in the man's belly, she hadn't known whether he had the key to the cell on him or not. It was the only chance she had to free herself and help Frank, so she'd taken it.

She had never murdered anybody before. She'd killed two men in the past, customers of hers who'd gotten too rough with her and then lost their temper when she fought back. Those killings had been self-defense, and she'd never lost a bit of sleep over them.

She didn't think the deputy's death would bother her for very long. After all, Frank's life was at stake and she loved him. Whatever she had to do to save him was justified as far as she was concerned. She would have killed the d.a.m.n bounty hunter, too, and the marshal, and the marshal's Mexican s.l.u.t, and anybody else who got in her way and threatened her man.

If anyone had asked her why she'd fallen so hard for Frank McCluskey, Delia couldn't have said. All she knew was that from the moment he had put his arms around her and kissed her, she was his forever and would do anything for him.

Someone slid onto the empty half of the seat beside her, next to the aisle, and interrupted her musing about McCluskey. She turned, saw a man in a cheap suit. He had weaselly eyes over a long, whiskey-veined nose. A drummer of some sort, Delia thought, trying not to shudder as he boldly ran his eyes over her. She was used to being looked at like that by men, as if they could see right through her clothes to the ripe body beneath.

"h.e.l.lo. Traveling by yourself, miss?"

"No," Delia said primly. "My husband is with me."

That statement had some truth to it. Someday she and Frank would be married. She was sure of it. And while he wasn't exactly with her at the moment, he was somewhere on the train, and that was close enough for her.

Being told that she was married seemed to take some of the starch out of the drummer, but he didn't deflate too much. "Oh? Where is he, then?"

Maybe he was used to women lying to avoid his unwanted attentions.

"He's gone to talk to the conductor," Delia said without missing a beat. "He's an important man. Everyone on the railroad knows him."

"Is that so? I ride this line pretty often. Maybe I know him, too."

"Oh, I doubt that." Delia's haughty tone made it clear that the traveling salesman would be beneath her mythical husband's notice.

"Well, I'm sure you won't mind if I keep you company until he gets back." And with that he slid a little closer so his hip was touching hers.

Delia felt her self-control slipping away. She slid her hand into the pocket where she had put the knife so it would be handier and turned slightly toward the drummer. He wore a look of slightly surprised antic.i.p.ation on his fox-like face.

He was about to be even more surprised, she thought, leaning toward him and putting a little weight on the knife. The tip of its razor-keen blade penetrated the man's coat and shirt and p.r.i.c.ked into his side. "I think it would be best if you went and found somewhere else to sit, instead of annoying me."

His eyes widened and his rather prominent Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard.

He stammered, "I-is that-"

"Yes, it is," Delia said. "And I'm perfectly capable of carving out your liver with it if you don't do exactly what I told you."

He had gone pale, which made the veins in his nose stand out even more. "For G.o.d's sake, lady, be careful with that! You're sticking me."

"I'm about to do worse than that," Delia told him.

He scooted away from her on the bench. She made the knife disappear back into her pocket.

"Take it easy," he muttered. "I'm going, I'm going. You don't have to be so d.a.m.n touchy. All I wanted was a little pleasant conversation to pa.s.s the time."

"All I want is for you to go away. And don't even think about going to the conductor and complaining about the crazy woman with the knife. If you do, I warn you I'll find you. Some night when you least expect it, I'll be there." She smiled at him. "And then I'll cut out your eyes and your tongue, but not before I've done some cutting elsewhere. I won't leave you with any of the things that are so important to you, mister."

He practically leaped up from the seat and hurried away.

Satisfied, Delia settled back in the seat and looked out the window again, thinking.

She had been through both pa.s.senger cars after she came aboard. Since Frank and the bounty hunter hadn't been in either one, they were in one of the freight cars or in the caboose. She considered the caboose the more likely possibility and had settled into a seat in the second pa.s.senger car closest to it.

What she would do after getting into the caboose would have to wait until she was actually in the caboose, and then she could figure it out. The goal was pretty simple, though.

Set Frank McCluskey free . . . and kill Luke Jensen.

Luke looked at the man in the derby and said in a deceptively mild tone, "Most men wouldn't take kindly to being talked about like that, mister-and I'm one of them."

The newcomer ignored him and continued glaring at the conductor. "You know there's not supposed to be anyone in this caboose except railroad employees and my guards. Who are these men?"

The conductor had a look of dismay on his face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bertram. I completely forgot about the shipment."

"Forgot?" Bertram repeated. "My G.o.d, man, how could you forget about that much-" He stopped short, glanced at Luke and then at McCluskey as if thinking that he'd been about to say too much. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"My name's Luke Jensen. This is my prisoner, Frank McCluskey."

Bertram's piggish eyes widened. He had heard of McCluskey, even if the conductor hadn't. "Frank McCluskey the outlaw?" His voice had a little squeak of alarm in it. "Here?"

"Better calm down, mister," Luke advised. "If your face gets any redder, you're liable to pop a blood vessel."

Before Bertram could respond to that, the door of the caboose opened again and a hard-faced man carrying a rifle came in. "We're ready to stop and make the switch, boss."

Bertram gestured curtly at him to stop him from saying anything else.

It didn't matter. Luke was no fool and had already figured out what was going on. "Exactly how much gold are you shipping out in secret on this train, Bertram?"

The man stared at him for a second, then said, "What? Gold? I don't know what you're-"

"Don't waste your breath denying it," Luke said. "You're working for the mine owners who have pooled their gold to ship it to Cheyenne. It must have been refined down to ingots. I thought I saw a smelter back in the hills above Rattlesnake Wells. Raw ore would weigh too much, but you could pack a fortune in gold bars into a couple fairly small strongboxes. Let me guess. They're up in the cab of the locomotive right now. That would explain why it was in the roundhouse longer than usual. The engineer is going to stop the train and your hired guards will carry the boxes back here to the caboose and lock them up. That's how the plan goes, isn't it?"

Bertram looked more and more astonished, not to mention angry, as Luke spoke. He roared, "Who the h.e.l.l are you? Chadwick, cover this man! If he reaches for a gun, kill him!"

The conductor quickly answered, "He's a bounty hunter, Mr. Bertram. Like he told you, that other man is a prisoner he's taking to Cheyenne."

"I don't believe it! He's got to be an outlaw himself! These two are working together! They're after the gold-"

"Not hardly," Luke interrupted in a flat, cold tone. "I told you the truth, Bertram. I didn't know anything about your precious gold until you came in here, lost your temper, and started flapping your gums. Figuring it out from there wasn't difficult." He paused. "Maybe the mine owners should have hired someone a bit more . . . discreet, shall we say? . . . to get their gold to Cheyenne." He smiled and drank some more of the coffee.

Chadwick, evidently one of the hired guards, took a step forward. "He knows too much, Mr. Bertram. Want me to take his guns and tie him up?"

Before Bertram could answer, Luke added to the tension by saying softly, "I don't think you want to try that, friend." He didn't like having guns pointed at him.

That could have led to trouble, but Bertram was canny enough to realize that he was creating problems where they didn't have to exist. He held out a hand toward Chadwick and motioned him back, making a visible effort to be the voice of reason, rather than the bl.u.s.tery hardnose he had been mere moments earlier. "Let's all settle down. Jensen, do you swear you didn't know about that gold and aren't on this train to make a try for it?"

"I stand by what I said," Luke snapped. "I don't intend to take a d.a.m.n oath, if that's what you mean. But it's the truth." He nodded toward McCluskey, who sat on the ladderback chair with a wolfish grin on his face. "I can't say the same for McCluskey, but in his current situation there's not much he can do to cause trouble for you."

Bertram frowned. "I don't like having a notorious outlaw on the train, whether he's locked up or not. But I don't suppose there's anything I can do about it now, short of throwing you both off and making you walk back to Rattlesnake Wells."

"The boys and I can do that if it's what you want, Mr. Bertram." Chadwick sounded like he would welcome the opportunity.

Bertram heaved a sigh and shook his head. "No, we're going to try to make the best of the situation. Go ahead and let the engineer know he can stop any time he wants, and we'll transfer the strongboxes back here."

"He'll be glad to get 'em out of the way," Chadwick muttered.

"As for the two of you"-Bertram addressed Luke, including McCluskey in the statement-"I want you out of here. You'll have to ride in one of the pa.s.senger cars."

The conductor looked like he was about to object to that idea. It had been his idea to take them back there, after all. He wanted to cooperate with Bertram since the man worked for the mine owners and their business was important to the railroad, but he also felt like he had a responsibility to the other pa.s.sengers.

Luke could practically see those thoughts going through his head.

"I really don't think that's a good idea," the conductor finally said. "Seeing McCluskey shackled like that might frighten and upset the pa.s.sengers."

Bertram chewed his cigar. "You think I care about the other pa.s.sengers?"

"Well, I do," the conductor said with a small show of defiance. "Look, Mr. Bertram, you have half a dozen very competent guards. Jensen won't have any chance to get his hands on that gold. And even if he did, what could he do with it? One man couldn't carry off those strongboxes. It takes two men just to budge one of them."

"Are you saying we should allow them to stay in here?" Bertram asked, seeming astounded again.

"I just don't see that it can hurt anything. Let's just get on to Cheyenne as quickly as possible and get this job finished."

Clearly, Bertram didn't like it, but after a moment, he nodded. "All right." He jerked a hand at Chadwick. "Get moving. The sooner we get this done, the better."

Chadwick nodded and hurried out of the caboose. A few minutes later, the train began to slow.

McCluskey looked up at Luke and asked, "How much are those rewards on me?"

"They add up to six thousand," Luke replied. "A very tidy sum."

"And how much are two strongboxes full of gold bars worth?" McCluskey asked, still wearing that savage grin on his face.

"Considerably more," Luke acknowledged. He smiled and shook his head. "You remind me, McCluskey, of just how inconvenient it is at times to be an honest man."

CHAPTER 15.

After the train had stopped, Luke watched the conductor, whose name he still didn't know, leave the caboose. He figured the man was going to rea.s.sure the pa.s.sengers that nothing was wrong and that the halt was only temporary. Since he was in charge, more than likely, he had already figured out some plausible story to explain it.

Bertram left, too, and Luke had no doubt he was going to supervise the transfer of the strongboxes full of gold to the caboose.

Left alone in the caboose with McCluskey, Luke considered what was about to happen. He could understand the logic of the plan. Secrecy was the goal, and loading the strongboxes into the locomotive's cab while it was in the roundhouse had accomplished that. The gold had probably been delivered to the roundhouse in the dead of night.

It seemed like it would have been simpler to leave the strongboxes in the cab, rather than going through the business of stopping the train and carrying them back to the caboose, but after a few minutes of thought, he had that figured out, as well. The locomotive wasn't going all the way to Cheyenne. It would stop at the junction with the Union Pacific.

Once there, the caboose would be shunted onto a siding, then switched to an eastbound train to finish the journey with the gold safely inside.

Such elaborate precautions usually meant the mines had had trouble in the past getting their gold shipments out. He wondered if that was the case or if the mine owners were being extra careful because of the size of the shipment.

"You'd better think long and hard about this, Jensen. We're talking about enough money that you could give up bounty hunting for good. You could buy your own ranch if you wanted to. h.e.l.l, you could buy two ranches!"