With a soft groan Jim slumped across the bench, his gun loose in his fingers. Smoky leaned worriedly over his partner, looking fearfully at the copiously bleeding saber wound slicing across Blawcyzk’s chest and stomach.
“Smoky, I’ll get the engineer to stop,” Flores flatly stated. “You get Jim patched up.” Blood dripped from a bullet slash above Rudy’s left ear, and a crimson stain on the right side of his shirt indicated where a slug had torn along his ribs.
A fortyish matron in the seat behind Blawcyzk and McCue calmly told Smoky, “Ranger, I have an extra petticoat in my traveling bag. I’ll help you care for your partner.” She stood up and removed a battered blue and red carpetbag from the overhead shelf.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m obliged,” Smoky answered as he pulled off Jim’s torn, blood-soaked shirt.
“That goes for me as well, ma’am,” Jim weakly answered. His blue eyes were now glazed with pain.
“Anything I can do to help, Rangers. My word, what was all that about?” the woman questioned. Now that the shooting had stopped and Saunders and his men were lying dead or wounded on the coach floors or scattered back along the tracks, several of the male passengers came forward to offer the Rangers assistance.
“Those hombres that have been raiding the stages and raillines took on this train. We almost beat ‘em to it,” Smoky briefly explained, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he deftly pushed together the edges of the saber slash across Jim’s chest and stomach. As with most Rangers, necessity had made Smoky fairly proficient at rough frontier doctoring. While he worked on his partner’s wound he glanced up at the hovering men and suggested, “You might want to get those bodies out of the way for now.”
“Here, Ranger. I’m Nancy Cochran, by the way.” The buxom matron had ripped several strips from a clean petticoat and now handed them to Smoky, then helped him lift Jim’s shoulders so he could bind the wound tightly.
“Well, I sure appreciate your help, ma’am,” Smoky gratefully replied. “I’m Smoky McCue, and my pard here’s Jim Blawcyzk. I must say you’ve been mighty brave about this, Miz Cochran”
“Mercy sakes, this is nothing,” Nancy declared. “My husband Barry and I fought the Comanches for years after we settled in Texas. And we even managed to have a boy and a girl while those Indians were still prowling around. However, I must admit you boys did put on quite a show today.” She smiled as she propped Jim against the seat back while Smoky finished bandaging his chest.
“There Jim. That’s the best I can do for now,” Smoky said as he straightened up.
“It feels pretty good, Smoke. Thanks,” Jim answered as he struggled to sit up.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re goin’, pardner? You don’t want to bust yourself wide open again,” Smoky cautioned.
“We’re not finished yet. We’ve still got to find Brian and Jeff and round up our horses.” Jim stared at his partner for a minute, then started chuckling uncontrollably.
“What the devil’s so funny, Blawcyzk?” Smoky growled.
“Just you.” Jim paused for a moment to catch his breath. McCue was black from head to toe, covered with soot and cinders from the locomotive’s smokestack. “You look just like your name, pard … Smoky!”
“That’s not funny, Jim,” Smoky grumbled.
“I’m afraid your partner is right.” Nancy Cochran giggled, then began laughing uproariously when the rest of the passengers joined in, as much from suddenly relieved tension as the hilarity of Jim’s comment.
“It’s still not that funny,” Smoky repeated.
“Smoke, you could always tell me your real name,” Jim pointed out.
“And like I’ve told you before Jim, if I ever did I’d have to gutshoot you,” Smoky retorted. “C’mon, let’s get you settled, then I’ll see if Rudy needs any help.” The train was now noticeably losing speed.
“When you find him, tell him to have the engineer back this thing up,” Jim ordered, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “We’ve got to find Jeff and Brian and our horses.”
“Sure, Jim.” Knowing his partner as he did, Smoky was certain Jim was as concerned about the fate of their mounts as those of the railroad detective and marshal, maybe even more so.
Rudy had no difficulty convincing the engineer to stop once he finally got past the express car. The guards inside, under strict orders not to open that car for anyone, at first refused to let the swarthy Texican pass through the car. Rudy then considered the roof, but quickly discarded the idea when he realized such a move would most likely get him blasted off the train by a shotgun load of buckshot. Instead he kept arguing with the rightfully dubious guards. Finally convinced by the badge Flores wore as well as the outlaws they’d seen shot from their horses, the two express messengers warily opened the reinforced door. The leveled muzzles of their shotguns never left Rudy’s belly until he was out the other door and climbing onto the tender. Rudy knew the guards would have cut him down instantly at the slightest false move, and at that range their buckshot would have cut him to ribbons. The guards eased back a bit as the train slowed, and a few moments later when Smoky entered the car they were visibly relieved.
“Those hombres taken care of, Ranger?” one of the guards, youthful and sporting a wispy mustache, asked in a shaky voice, still clutching his double-barreled Greener.
“It looks like it. Just keep an eye peeled for stragglers,” McCue ordered as he headed for the engine’s cab, where Rudy had already convinced the crew to stop the train.
Flores whirled at the sound of someone behind him, instinctively reaching for his pistol as Smoky jumped down from the tender. He relaxed as he recognized his partner.
“Smoky, is Jim gonna be all right?” he questioned as he slid the gun back into its holster.
“I’ve got to say I’m afraid so, Rudy.” Smoky ruefully shook his head. “The lieutenant’s givin’ orders already, as usual.” He turned to the gray-bearded engineer and gangly teenaged fireman. “Our boss wants you to back this train up to the water stop. If you see any horses or riders along the way make sure you stop for them. We’ve got a couple of pardners following us.”
“With pleasure, Ranger,” the engineer readily agreed, his relief plain in his voice and evident all over his countenance. He shoved the throttle into reverse, released the brake, and the young fireman resumed his steady shoveling rhythm. The train headed uphill, slowly at first, then gradually building speed as it crested the summit.
“Shouldn’t you slow this thing down a bit, Mister?” Smoky anxiously asked as the train gained momentum on the downslope, the cars tilting and swaying as they rounded several curves.
“I was just gettin’ ready to do that, Ranger,” the engineer answered as he eased off on the throttle and partially engaged the brake. “There. That better?” he grinned as the train slowed considerably.
“Much,” Smoky agreed. “And don’t forget to keep an eye peeled for our pards.”
“Of course,” the engineer reassured him. “I haven’t forgotten about ‘em.”
The train continued to roll back downgrade, soon reaching the level, straight stretch between the cut and the water stop. Before long Smoky shouted for the engineer to halt as he spied Jeff Wehner and Brian Wood alongside the rails. Several men in cavalry uniforms, their hands tied, stood sullenly under the watchful eyes and steady rifles of the lawmen. And to Smoky’s great relief Soot and Sam were peacefully grazing a short way off, along with Brian’s grulla and Jeff’s buckskin.
Jim had managed to stumble out of the lead coach even before the train had come to a complete stop and Smoky and Rudy had swung down from the locomotive’s cab.
“Jeff! Brian!” he exclaimed as he stepped down to the roadbed. Hearing Jim’s voice, Sam lifted his head and whickered to his friend. Jim smiled and called out, “I’ll be with you in a bit, pal.” To Jeff and Brian he continued, “I see you rounded up a few.”
“We sure did,” Wehner replied, “And as we guessed they’re regular Army, under the command of a Major Thaddeus Saunders.” High on the right shoulder of the detective’s shirt was a spreading crimson stain, while Wood’s left arm hung limp in a makeshift sling, the forearm shattered by a rifle slug. A bandanna wrapped around the marshal’s right leg soaked up blood oozing from a bullet tear in his thigh.
“Well, Saunders won’t be commanding anyone except those hombres shoveling coal into Hell’s furnaces,” Smoky dryly remarked as he strode up.
“It looks like you’ve already been down there,” Brian laughed as he appraised the soot-streaked Ranger.
“Not you too, Wood,” Smoky growled.
“Yeah, and how come you’re the only one of us who didn’t catch a slug, Smoky?” Wehner challenged as he gazed at the bandages wrapped around Jim’s chest. “And who’s your friend?” He nodded toward Rudy, who was making his way back along the train.
“That’s Ranger Rudy Flores,” Jim explained, greeting Sam with a fond slap on the neck as the paint trotted up to him and nuzzled his shoulder. “Captain Trumbull got our wire, and got a message through to Rudy in time to get him on board.” Glancing at McCue he continued, “Yeah, Smoke. How’d you miss takin’ a bullet, when the rest of us got shot up?”
“These renegades didn’t want to mess up my handsome face,” Smoky retorted. The others responded to his smirk with groans of disbelief.
“Well what now, Jim?” Brian asked, getting back to business. “Are we haulin’ these hombres back to my jail?”
Blawcyzk shook his head as peeled off his torn shirt, tossed it aside, and dug in his saddlebags for a clean one. “What you do with the train and the money is your decision, Jeff,” he told Wehner. “But these men are in Ranger custody, and we’ll be taking them back to Fort Griffin, Marshal,” he said in answer to Wood’s question. “I imagine Colonel Thomas will have plans for a court martial. If he doesn’t, then we’ll bring charges against ‘em in the circuit court.”