Robert Parker - Ironhorse

Lightning cracked loudly. Abigail jumped. Emma grabbed my hand. Bright light briefly flooded the coach.

Virgil looked to the ceiling. He called to Ness and the dandy as he pointed up.

“You hear something?”

Ness looked to the dandy; the dandy shook his head. Ness looked back to Virgil and shook his head.

I stepped out onto the platform to have a look back on top of the coach to make sure there was nobody trying to crawl their way forward. I climbed the ladder and peeked over the top, looking back behind us. It was dark, and the only thing I could see was the light coming from the interior of the cars shining on the trees passing by. I felt a drop of water on my face, followed shortly by another drop and another. A distant flash of lightning briefly illuminated the whole of everything for me, the train, the trees. There was nobody, at least for the moment, on his way to ambush us. The sprinkling continued as I came down the ladder and reentered the coach.

Emma was talking but stopped when Virgil looked at me.

“Nothing,” I said. “Rain coming though.”

Virgil turned his head slightly, listening for a second, then looked back to Emma.

Emma continued. “The conductor man told Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Lassiter to get off the train or he’d tell the man with the knife to cut Mother’s throat.”

“And they did that,” I said. “They got off?”

Abigail and Emma looked at each other and nodded.

“It... it was so awful,” Abigail said as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Does your father always travel with Pinkertons?” Virgil said.

Emma looked to her sister, and they shook their heads.

“As far as I know, this is the first time,” Emma said.

“Daddy generally has security,” Abigail said. “Just not the Pinkertons... I think they were maybe Mr. Hobbs’ men.”

“How was it you and your sister were brought forward?” I said.

“Another man came from the front, a big heavyset man. He said that the train had passed where it was supposed to stop,” Abigail said. “He said he had seen two men jumping into the engine cabin.”

“The conductor man became incensed and yelled at the big man. He told him to take us, me and Abby, and to use us to get control of the engine,” Emma said, “with whatever means necessary.”

“And he brought you here,” I said, “to the first car?”

“Yes,” Abigail said.

“He did. There were other men, too,” Emma said.

Virgil pointed to Dean. “That skinny fellow there,” he said. “Was he one of them that brought you to this car?”

“No,” Emma said. “He was already here when the others brought us forward.”

Virgil looked at me. Then he walked back toward Dean.

“Dean,” Virgil said.

“What?”

“Turn around.”

Dean turned to face Virgil.

“Who came on this train posin’ like he was the conductor?”

Dean didn’t reply.

“Answer me.”

“I don’t know ’bout no conductor.”

Virgil walked closer to Dean.

“How were you boys split up?”

“What do you mean?”

“How many in each car?”

“Oh, um, three of us in each car.”

“Who was in the Pullman?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “I was just tol’ by Vince to get in this first car and holler robbery at five-thirty.”

“Go back there and tell Vince to come up here,” Virgil said.

“Huh?”

“Tell him I need to talk with him,” Virgil said. “Tell him he’s got one chance to back out. He gives himself up right now and I’ll be nice. He don’t, I won’t.”

“I’ll do that,” Dean said and turned toward the door.

“Dean?” Virgil said.

Dean looked back at Virgil.

“Tell him if he don’t, me and Everett will kill the lot of you. All of you together, a few at a time, or one by one. Makes no difference.”

Dean turned toward the door.

“One more thing. Do like I tell you, you might have a chance to be counted. You don’t, you’ll be dead like the others.”

Dean swallowed hard.

“I’ll go get Vince.”

Dean moved to one side out of the center of the aisle and called out loudly, “It’s Dean! I’m coming out! If y’all is there! Don’t shoot! I’m coming out! It’s Dean!”

Dean opened the door a little. Then he opened it a little more, just enough for him to get through. There was no gunfire, just the partially open door, and without incident Dean left, closing the door behind him.

Virgil spoke to the dandy and Ness as he walked back up the aisle toward the front of the coach.

“You two keep your guns pointed at that door and be ready to shoot,” Virgil said.

“Thought you told that man to have another man come and talk with you?” Ness said.

Virgil shook his head.

“There is not gonna be anybody come through that door interested in talking,” Virgil said. “Just be ready.”

Ness and the dandy trained their pistols to the door.

Besides the fact Virgil was tired of Dean’s stupidity and his inability to offer much in the way of worthy information, his ploy of releasing Dean was only to buy us time. He knew it would give Vince and the others some fat to chew on as they figured out what they should do.

“What did he, this conductor, look like?” I asked.

“He was rather tall and slender,” Emma said. “He wore spectacles and had a thick drooping mustache.”

“I’m not certain, but he might have been crippled,” Abigail said. “Or injured. His left arm seemed limp.”

“And he was educated,” Emma said. “He spoke very proper.”

“What about the other man with the knife?” I said. “What did he look like?”

“Well... he looked as if he were a trapper,” Emma said.

“Yes,” Abigail said. “He was wearing full buckskin with fringe.”

“His hair was long,” Emma said. “Shoulder length. He had a long beard, and he wasn’t wearing a hat.”

“He had one of those beaded parfleche pouches on his waist, like Indians carry,” Abigail said. “But he was not an Indian.”

“No, he spoke English,” Emma said. “His voice was very rough and raspy.”

Virgil looked at me. He narrowed his eyes slightly.

Emma looked at Virgil and back to me.

“I know you will do everything in your power to help us,” Emma said, “and for that we will be forever grateful.”

“It’s what we do,” Virgil said.

Virgil walked out the door. I turned to follow Virgil to the platform, and Emma reached out, taking my hand.

“Thank you,” she said.

I looked at Emma’s hand holding mine, then looked into her eyes. She squeezed my hand and remained looking at me for a time. I touched the top of her hand in my hand, then walked out the door.

The sprinkling had now turned to light rain as I stepped out of the coach and joined Virgil on the platform. He wasn’t pacing, but he wasn’t still.

“That’s Bloody Bob Brandice they’re talking about,” I said. “With the pouch and knife.”

“None other.”

“That’s not good news.”

“No,” Virgil said. “It’s not.”

“Can’t think of worse news, really,” I said.

“’Specially for those within an arm’s length of him intent on living,” Virgil said.

Virgil was a man of solid resolve, a man who did not hold a grudge. There was no reason for such nonsense. He took one moment at a time, one situation at a time, and had no reason to haze his focus by allowing feelings to be part of a task at hand. Feelings get you killed, Virgil always said, but the thought of Bloody Bob Brandice primed the hell out of Virgil’s intentions and sharpened the bead of his aim. If there was any one association more disturbing, more unfortunate, more nagging, to conjure up than Randall Bragg’s gang it would be Bloody Bob Brandice, and now it appeared we had them both to deal with.