David Healey - Rebel Train

Nellie Jones stood up. “Colonel, with your permission, I’d like to stay and care for the wounded lieutenant.”

Percy appeared surprised. “That’s more kindness than we could accept, ma’am.”

“Please let me stay, Colonel,” Nellie insisted. “Not every passenger on this train is a damn Yankee, you know.”

At the remark, Mrs. Parker’s eyes bugged out of her fleshy face.

Flynn suppressed a smile. He had to admire Nellie’s gumption. He alone knew, of course, that her motivation came from the payroll money still undiscovered in the baggage car rather than any Rebel sympathies. The question was, would the colonel allow her to stay? If he did, Flynn knew he and the woman might just leave the train very rich indeed when the time came.

“All right, ma’am,” Percy agreed. “Ordinarily I would say no, but under the circumstances we need all the help we can get.” He turned to Flynn. “Sergeant, give her all the help she needs.”

“Yes, sir.”

Percy left and headed for the next car to make a similar speech to the passengers there.

“Well, I never,” Mrs. Parker said. She scowled at Nellie. “A Rebel sympathizer in our very midst. My dear, I know you’re young… don’t you realize what these soldiers will do to you once they get you alone? They can’t be trusted.”

Her husband interrupted. “Henrietta—”

Flynn was thinking Nellie probably knew more about soldiers — and men in general — than the matronly Mrs. Parker could ever guess.

“Get off the train, ma’am,” he said.

But Mrs. Parker wasn’t through with Nellie. “You’ll get what you deserve if you stay with these Rebels,” she said. “Why, they’re vermin! Thieves! Calling themselves soldiers—”

Her husband reached for her arm. “Henrietta.”

He managed to get her out to the landing, but she paused on the steps. “They’ll be hanged when they’re caught. Every last one of them! Strung up by their necks—”

Flynn had heard enough. He drew back his leg, put the heel of his boot in the small of Mrs. Parker’s fat back, and shoved. She shrieked and landed in a heap of billowing hoop skirt and indignation. She lay on the ground, whimpering, “Oh, oh, oh—”

“Shut up, woman.” He tossed the Parkers’s valise after them. It hit the ground and burst open, scattering shirts and underclothes.

“Was that really necessary?” demanded a voice at his elbow. Flynn turned to face the fat lawyer, Prescott. Flynn put a hand on the huge Le Mat revolver on his hip and smiled wickedly. “How fast can you move, Mr. Prescott?”

Prescott’s eyes widened with fear. He dropped his own valise and half-jumped, half-fell down the iron steps to the ground.

Flynn laughed. “You’re all a bunch of cowardly Yankees.” He picked up Prescott’s valise and hurled it at him. Prescott gave a startled cry and weakly threw up his hands, but it wasn’t enough to stop the force of the valise, which struck him in the chest and knocked him down.

“Sure, and was that really necessary, Mr. Prescott?” Flynn laughed, then turned to shout at the remaining passengers. “Get off! Get the hell off this train. I’ll shoot the next one of you yellow Yankees who so much as says a word.”

Thinking the sergeant had gone mad, the passengers stumbled over each other in their hurry to get down the steps to the safety of the ground. Mrs. Parker had regained her feet, and stood with hands on her hips, huffing, as her henpecked husband scurried to pick up their scattered clothes.

Captain Fletcher had witnessed all the commotion, and he stepped in front of Flynn and said in a low voice, “There’s no need to torment the passengers, Flynn. They’re civilians. Marylanders, too, just like me.”

“Then you’d best get them off the train, Captain. Because I meant what I said about shooting the next one that squawked.”

“I am your superior officer,” Fletcher reminded him.

“Fletcher, what you are is Colonel Norris’s boot-wipe. Now get the hell out of my way.”

Fletcher hesitated a moment, taking the measure of Flynn’s hard face, then did as he was told. He stared after Flynn with hateful eyes, and determined that it was the last time Flynn — or anyone else — would disrespect him.

Hazlett, who had come out the door of his own car to get the passengers there off, had witnessed the confrontation.

“That Paddy should show you some respect, sir,” Hazlett said, once Flynn was out of earshot.

“Yes.” Fletcher was too angry at Flynn, and at himself for not standing up to Flynn, to say more.

“I can see, Captain, that Flynn don’t understand how a man in your position deserves better.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.” Fletcher was secretly pleased, even if Hazlett’s presence unsettled him. “Now get the passengers off your car.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fletcher watched him set to work. Hazlett might be a crude man, he decided, but at least he understood how to respect his betters.

His wounded pride soothed, Fletcher watched the last of the passengers get off the train. At least that one woman was staying, he thought. She was quite attractive and had a saucy look to her. Briefly, Fletcher thought how nice it would be to be left alone with her for a few minutes. With a woman like that, it was all the time he would need.

Flynn stalked back inside the car, empty now except for Johnny Benjamin, Nellie and the wounded lieutenant. Nellie had found a rag and a bottle of water, and she was busy cleaning the caked and crusted blood from Silas Cater’s face. Flynn crouched beside her. Cater’s breathing was shallow and the taut skin stretched over his features was pale.

“How is he?” he asked.

“Hard to say. If he doesn’t come around soon, I don’t give him much of a chance. The bullet might have done more damage than we can see. His skull could be cracked.”

“Too bad. He’s a good lad.” Flynn made sure the others were too far away to hear, then lowered his voice. “You’re a clever one, Nellie. That was quick-thinking on your part, offering to stay and help the wounded because you’re a Rebel at heart. You were so convincing that I almost believed you myself. Not willing to give up that money, were you?”

“No,” she said. “I hope you didn’t think you were going to get it all to yourself.”

“There’s plenty enough to go around, lass. More money than one person can carry, at least. We need a plan.”

Nellie nodded. “Just outside Cumberland, I have some friends who will help. They’re not expecting a train filled with Confederates, of course.”

Flynn raised his eyebrows. “Friends?”

She smiled. “Yes. But you said yourself, Sergeant Flynn, that there’s plenty to go around.”

Flynn nodded. He wondered how much more she hadn’t told him. Not that he was surprised. With such a large quantity of money at stake, he should have guessed that Nellie and Gilmore had not planned the robbery alone. After all, the money had been guarded by three Yankee soldiers, and Gilmore could not have planned to take on the guards by himself. He had been cocky, but not stupid.

Fortunately, Hudson had managed to surprise and overpower the guards when the raiders seized the train. While it was convenient that the raiders had removed one of the obstacles in stealing the money, they had created a much bigger problem in that the thieves would be expecting a trio of sleepy Union guards, not a train carrying several trigger-happy Rebels. The thought was enough to make Flynn smile.

“What was your original plan?” he asked, wondering how much of the truth Nellie would actually tell him. “What were you and Gilmore going to do before things… changed?”