9
Slocum spent the next day prowling Leadville and trying not to be too obvious. More than once he saw Lem or the other deputy, Sid, trailing him, watching him just as he was on the lookout for the counterfeiters. Neither the law nor Slocum had any luck.
He spent a good deal of time on the second day bellied up to a bar, drinking trade whiskey by the shot and listening to the talk around him. No matter what saloon he spent his money in, the miners and other townspeople weren’t talking about fake coins or the gold shipment due in a few hours.
Slocum turned and put both elbows on the bar, looking out into the long, narrow room, when Marshal Atkinson came swaggering in, thumbs hooked over his gun belt.
“You and the little lady aren’t talking?” the marshal asked.
“Not any of your concern.”
“Everything that happens in Leadville is my concern.”
“Then this isn’t, since nothing’s happening.”
To Slocum’s surprise, Atkinson burst out laughing and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Give Slocum here a drink. Not that popskull you serve. The good stuff.”
“Why the generosity all of a sudden? The condemned man’s last drink?”
“You haven’t done anything to be concerned about, Slocum. I know. My boys and I have watched you real close. You had me worried for a spell, that I have to admit.”
Slocum took the shot of whiskey and knocked it back. It tasted the same as the rotgut he had been drinking, but the marshal smacked his lips in appreciation as he finished his.
“Now that’s good whiskey,” he said.
“You have any notion about the counterfeiters?”
“Can’t say that I have, and I wonder if your Miss Warburton scared them off. Now, I know they were here in town from the number of fake coins that showed up in people’s tills. Why, Hector, over there,” he said, pointing to the barkeep, “he got rooked out of forty dollars with two bogus twenty-dollar pieces.”
“Damn right I did. I’ll wring the necks of them snakes if I ever see ’em again.”
“Hec, please,” said the marshal, “I told you, they’re both dead.”
“The Eakin brothers?” Slocum asked. The marshal nodded. “What do you think brought the counterfeiters to Leadville in the first place?”
“There’s a powerful lot of money flowing from these mines. Not only lead, but there’s coal and even some precious metal. Silver. Not as much gold as there used to be.”
The marshal took out his pocket watch and opened the case, studied it, then snapped it shut.
“Been nice sharing a drink with you, Slocum. Duty calls.”
Slocum almost asked if it had something to do with the gold shipment on the noon train. He had looked at his own watch just before the marshal had sauntered in, and the train wouldn’t arrive for another two hours. If something slowed it coming over the pass from Denver, there was no telling when the train would pull into the depot. Slocum had one more of the gut-burning shots, then put the glass down on the bar with a loud clink. The marshal had stopped in to be sure he wasn’t getting ready for some mischief—like robbing the train of its gold shipment. Since he had satisfied himself Slocum was likely to stay put, he had left to see about possible lawbreakers in the rest of the town.
This early in the morning, most miners were hard at work, buried under mountains of rock. That made checking on the ones who weren’t mighty easy for the marshal.
“Hey, Slocum,” the barkeep called as he started out the swinging doors. “You got one more drink coming.”
“How’s that?”
“The marshal told me to give you another when you was done. One for the road maybe.”
“I’ll take a rain check.” He stepped outside, looked at the sky, and wondered if the perpetual layer of low-hanging clouds was why they’d named the town Leadville.
He walked to the side of the saloon where he had tethered his horse and swung into the saddle. Yesterday he had ridden back a ways along the tracks and spotted a decent place to watch the train approaching. Lem had been his shadow and had never realized that he was hunting for an observation point. Now that the deputies and marshal were elsewhere, possibly getting ready to guard the gold as it unloaded at the depot, Slocum was left to his own devices.
Still, he rode about awhile to be sure no one followed him, then he cut across country, heading north and east to a narrow trail going to the summit of the hill he had chosen. Barely had he dismounted when he saw in the distance a puff of white steam. Seconds later he heard the whistle. He rummaged through his saddlebags for his small telescope. He unfolded it and lifted it to his eye. A few seconds later he found the spot where the steam had risen in a roiling column and traced down to its source.
Without realizing it, he leaned forward, as if trying to get a better look at the train. The whistle had signaled more than its stop. It had released the head of steam powering the locomotive up the hill. Slocum thrust the telescope back into his saddlebags and rode hard, following the ridge. The train was several miles away, but he had chosen well where he would watch. The ridge curled around and finally ran alongside the tracks below. Within ten minutes Slocum was on the steep slope above the stopped train.
“Open up, dammit, or we’ll blow the door off.”
Slocum drew his rifle but was on the wrong side of the train to get a shot at the outlaws hammering on the far side of the mail car. He heard a muffled response from the mail clerk, then more cursing from the outlaws.
“You should have brung the dynamite with you.”
“How was I to know he wouldn’t open up?”
“Blow the damned door off. We’ve wasted too much time.”
“I almost killed my horse getting the dynamite back in camp.”
“Shut up, and blow the door.” The outlaw said even louder, “And I don’t care if you kill the fool inside either.”
“Wait, wait, you really got dynamite?” came the anguished question from inside the mail car.
The small pop warned Slocum that a half stick had been detonated as proof that they did.
“We got plenty more. You opening up?”
The raspy sound of a metal lock opening was followed by the screech of the mail car door being pushed back.
Slocum heard heavy footsteps and incoherent shouts coming from within the car. He made sure his horse was tethered to a low bush, gripped his rifle, then started running for all he was worth. Airborne, he worked his legs hard as if he could gain traction. He flew though the air and barely landed atop the mail car.
“What’s that?”
“Somebody on the roof! I thought Frank was taking care of the conductor and engineer.”
“Get to work,” came the brisk order.
Slocum got his feet under him an instant before slugs ripped through the roof on either side of him. He used the rifle butt to smash into the roof a couple feet to his left to draw fire. Then he jumped right, got to the edge of the car just over the door, and peered down.
He heard movement inside but couldn’t spot either the robbers or the mail clerk.
“I think I got him. Whoever’s on the roof is filled with holes ’bout now.”
Slocum fired the instant he saw a masked face poke around the corner. Unfortunately the outlaw fired at the same instant. Slocum fell backward, then rolled from side to side, dodging the bullets blasting through the wood all around him. He tried to get to his feet but slipped and sat heavily.
“Let’s clear out!”
Slocum flopped on his belly and thrust his rifle out. Three outlaws struggled with a heavy canvas bag. He took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell on a dud. Cursing under his breath, he levered in a new cartridge, but by the time he had cleared the chamber and fired again, the trio of train robbers were galloping back down the tracks. He scrambled around and got off a couple more shots but didn’t come within a country mile of hitting any of them.
He swung down, dangled for a moment, kicked, and landed on his knees inside the mail car. The clerk looked half past dead, his face in a pool of blood, but when Slocum turned him over, the man’s eyes flickered.
“That you on the roof?” he asked.
“I chased them off but didn’t hit a one of them,” Slocum said in disgust. If the first round hadn’t been punk, he would have dropped at least one of them.
“What’d they steal?”
“They slugged me.” He patted his vest and looked frightened. The clerk tried to stand but lost his balance.
“Whoa, take it easy. They clipped you on the forehead. That’s mighty messy but isn’t all that serious,” Slocum said, looking at the man’s head wound. “But it scrambled your brains a mite.”
“Vision’s all blurred.” He searched his vest pockets again, then his arms fell limp at his sides as if the bones had been turned to suet. “They got the key to the safe.”
“This safe?” Slocum reached out and touched a low castiron box with the key still in the lock. “Doesn’t look like they opened it.”
“You mighta scared them off.”
Slocum doubted that. He had taken his sweet time jumping to the mail car roof. If the robbers had the key, all they needed to do was turn it.
“You want to see what they took?” He remembered the canvas bag the trio had struggled with. That much gold would be quite a chore to carry—about as much of a chore as the three had shown with the bag.
“You’re in for a fat reward, mister,” the clerk said. He looked as if he had gone through Antietam and barely survived. His face was covered with blood, his hair matted, and the front of his coat and vest caked. “See? See? The gold’s still here!”
Slocum rested his rifle against the car wall and pulled the heavy bag out onto the floor. It landed with a satisfying thud. He worked the fastener open on the top and peered in.
Bright gold coins reflected their wealth back into his eyes.
“They didn’t get the gold,” he said, shocked. It flashed through his mind how easy it would be to tie up the clerk and rob the train himself. Then he heard a commotion behind him. He turned and saw the conductor and a dozen passengers. Some of them clutched six-shooters and others pointed walking sticks at him as if they held rifles—and they probably did.
“Wait, Clarence, wait,” the clerk said to the conductor. “He stopped the robbery. This man’s a hero. He saved the shipment!”
Slocum could only smile weakly when the conductor and the passengers let out a cheer. He had prevented the robbery, and he had no idea how that had happened.