North of the Line, page 3
The other man nodded soberly. ‘There ain’t nothing more I can do for Kirsty here, and there’s a widow woman from the town who I can trust to watch over her. Problem is,’ he admitted reluctantly, ‘I ain’t too sure where to start with all this. Train robbery is a bit different to cattle rustling and such.’
Bronson had been giving the matter a deal of thought on his long journey. ‘These fellas could be hiding out anywhere. Thing is, who knew about the money on that train?’
That got Bairstow thinking, and as he did so the anxiety that he felt for Kirsty faded slightly from his features. Leading the marshal outside, as though instinctively concerned that their talk might disturb her, he began to put two and two together. ‘Regina has got the biggest Canadian Pacific depot in the province, as you’ll have seen on your way here. Someone there had to have known about it.’
Bronson nodded encouragingly. ‘Carson and Hatcher are old hands at this. Their gang carried out a few raids on westbound trains in Nebraska. They bought or bullied some Union Pacific employee in Omaha into giving them information on train shipments. That too has a big railroad depot. They made a tidy penny until it all got too hot for them, which is very likely why they came up here. There were no loose ends either. The probable informant was found in an alley with his throat cut from ear to ear.’ He paused momentarily, as something else occurred to him. ‘And has the payroll been replaced yet?’
The Mountie stared at him wide-eyed. ‘No. It hasn’t. I suppose it’ll take a while to organize so much cash again. Christ, you don’t think they’d try exactly the same thing again, do you?’
‘It’s what I’d do! More to the point, it’s exactly what they’ve done before. I know, because I’ve checked.’
Bairstow was hooked. Suddenly he had no thought for anything else. ‘And I suppose you’re going to tell me how we tackle them.’
Bronson favoured him with a lopsided grin. ‘Well, that’s what I came all this way for. Only thing is, what I propose comes with a shitload of risk. Whoever you answer to might see it as a big ask.’
‘Just tell me,’ the Mountie insisted.
‘Where did this Dumont cuss board the train?’
‘Regina.’
The marshal nodded, as though everything was so clear. ‘So for my money, that’s where it all hinges. When the next payroll heads west, you make damn sure the depot knows all about it. And this time, when the train comes through Regina, you an’ me will already be locked in the boxcar with all that lovely cash. But no visible guards, else wise it’ll frighten them off, for sure.’
Bairstow frowned. ‘We’ll almost certainly be heavily outnumbered. It’s one heck of a risk.’
‘Ain’t it just?’
The Canadian regarded him pensively for long moments before finally coming to a decision. ‘What the hell, why not? But we’ll have to go to Regina and get permission from my inspector. It’s too important to chance using the telegraph . . . and besides,’ he added archly, ‘he hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet!’
Bronson stared at him blankly. ‘Inspector! What’s he do, punch tickets?’
Despite everything troubling him, Bairstow chuckled. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn about the Mounted Police, Jesse Bronson. Inspector Longshanks is my superior officer.’
The American shook his head with disbelief. ‘Longshanks! What the hell kind of a name is that?’
‘An English name, my Yankee friend; in case you’d forgotten, you’re not in Montana anymore.’
And so it was decided. The next eastbound train to Regina would have the two very different lawmen on board. As once before, their mutual fate was now closely entwined.
Inspector Simon Longshanks of the Northwest Mounted Police stared incredulously at the two men standing before him. Having listening very carefully to the sergeant’s scheme, the colour in his face was rapidly approaching that of their scarlet jackets. The inspector was a heavyset whiskered man of middle years, whose gold braid clearly emphasised the gulf between his commissioned rank and that of his subordinate. The formality of the situation was a world away from anything Jesse Bronson had previously experienced.
‘You realize what you’re asking, don’t you?’ Longshanks almost shouted. ‘I appreciate that you have a personal interest in all of this, which no doubt exceeds your sworn duty to the police service. I am deeply saddened by the condition of your wife, but after the loss of thousands of Canadian dollars to those accursed blackguards, you want me to advertise the arrival of a replacement shipment, and then allow the two of you alone to guard it. Do you think I’m a blithering idiot?’
It was possibly unfortunate that Bronson considered that to be an open question. ‘It’s too early to tell, mister,’ he retorted. ‘I’ve only just visited with you.’
The strained interview was now beginning to take on the doomed appearance of a transatlantic coffin ship. But with a horrified Bairstow standing rigidly to attention, and his equally formal superior momentarily lost for words, the deputy marshal just ploughed on regardless. ‘I don’t know about this Dumont cuss, but Carson and Hatcher sure ain’t got any kind of death wish that I know of. And they’re with folks that know the country, and ain’t set to be humbugged. If you fill the boxcar and carriages with armed men, they’re bound to find out somehow. The payroll will be safe for sure. But you’ll never catch those murdering road agents, will you? Yet if you just sneak the two of us onto the train, on the quiet, with a sawn-off apiece and plenty of shells . . . well, we could net you quite a haul. And that’s the which of why I’m here . . . ain’t it?’
For a seemingly endless moment there was stunned silence. Bairstow kept his eyes firmly in the middle distance. Longshanks opened his mouth to speak, before abruptly closing it again. Then, sitting behind his desk in the timber framed office, he digested the American’s words thoroughly before finally coming to a decision. Only then did he respond, with his impressive mutton-chop whiskers again appearing to move with a life of their own.
‘You’re the first United States lawman that I’ve had the pleasure of encountering, Marshal Bronson. And whilst I freely admit to not understanding some of your colourful patois, I can see the sense in what you said. And apparently you were sent up here at our request, so it would be churlish of me to ignore your advice. I will put your suggestion to the superintendent. For something of this magnitude, it will have to be his decision, and I will certainly not be mentioning the use of sawn-off shotguns. That will be a little too American for his tastes. We don’t have the gun law of your frontier, and we most definitely don’t want it!’
Bronson’s eyes narrowed. He had been considering querying the meaning of ‘magnitude’, but that last comment had really taken the cake. ‘Well, whether you like it or not, Inspector, trouble has come at you across the border, and you might could need all the help you can get to handle it. Especially as you seem to have plenty of home-grown felons of your own!’ With that, he flipped a casual salute and left the office without a backward glance.
Longshanks glanced at his subordinate in disbelief. ‘Is he always like that?’
Bairstow had to focus on controlling his expression. ‘Pretty much.’ And then he remembered whom he was addressing. ‘Sir.’
Josiah Applegate touched the lower right side of his mouth very gingerly. For days he had been suffering agonies from a tooth. Then a reluctant trip to the sawbones resulted in an offer of extraction or the opportunity to try oil of cloves. Since the first option, likely administered without anaesthetic, would undoubtedly be excruciatingly painful, he had decided to try the latter. And amazingly it was giving him a noticeable measure of relief. Then he saw two very disparate figures approaching his booth, and the awful throbbing returned with a vengeance.
Applegate worked in the Canadian Pacific’s ticket office in Regina, and he nursed a very guilty secret. Privy to all the railroad’s news and gossip, and hopelessly addicted to gambling, he had fallen in with extremely bad company, some of which was about to pay him a visit.
Dumont and Carson had waited patiently until their prey was alone, and now carefully scrutinised their surroundings before moving around to the side door. With great reluctance the clerk moved to unlock it, and only then because he knew that if obstructed they would likely kick it in.
‘You must be mad,’ he hissed as the two men crowded in. ‘What if someone recognizes you from the hold-up?’
Dumont regarded him scornfully. ‘People are like so many chickens. They were too busy shitting themselves to stare at us.’
‘Besides, they were all travelling away from here,’ the American added with somewhat greater logic. Then he sniffed the air around Applegate suspiciously. ‘What the hell’s that stink?’ he demanded.
The clerk coloured with embarrassment, and instinctively shifted the cotton pad in his mouth. ‘Clove oil,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ve got a tooth that’s giving me fits, and it’s provided a measure of relief.’
‘Jesus,’ Carson exclaimed. ‘I’d rather let a blacksmith rive it out. Even a ten-dollar whore is gonna keep well clear of you with that in, and she’d give you way more relief!’
‘Enough of this shit,’ Dumont snarled. Habitually reeking of body odour and animal grease, he appeared oblivious to the smell. Abruptly getting uncomfortably close, the Metis slapped Applegate’s jaw vindictively at its most tender spot. As the other man’s eyes filled with tears, he continued, ‘You know exactly why we’re here. What have you got for us?’
Fear took over from pain, and the clerk glanced furtively around. ‘If I tell you, I’ll likely lose my job for sure. The Mounties are all fired up over what you did, an’ it’s not just about the money. That woman you shot only happened to be married to one of them,’ he added accusingly. ‘If they connect me to that, they’ll lock me up and throw away the key!’
None of that meant anything to Carson. His sharp mind had seized on the first sentence. The snivelling turd definitely had something to impart. ‘It’s us you need to be afeared of, not the goddamn Mounties. They’re just peacocks, strutting around in fancy uniforms. And you got well paid last time, didn’t you? So out with it, what do you know?’ A momentary pause, and then, ‘Or it’ll go badly for you!’
Applegate’s eyes widened like saucers. Although there wasn’t really a great deal in it, it was possibly the Metis who frightened him most. There was an animal-like quality to the half-breed, and the clerk had heard terrible tales of their penchant for using skinning knives on victims. It was also a fact that after the first robbery he had got well paid in shiny dollars. Unfortunately he had lost most of it at the tables, and was actually in debt to one of the more unforgiving gambling halls. That, and the prospect of a honed blade in his vitals, brought about a change of heart. And, as Carson had surmised, he did have news for them.
‘Very well,’ he began reluctantly. ‘They’re sending more money out from the east . . . by train, of course. And here’s the thing,’ he continued, excitement growing despite his fear. ‘It won’t be guarded!’
That was greeted with disbelief by the American. ‘What about your tarnal redcoats? They might be peacocks, but I’ll wager they still carry guns. And at the very least they’re gonna have a score to settle with my trigger-happy amigo here.’
Dumont scowled at his crony, but chose to remain silent. He wanted to listen to Applegate’s response, and that man didn’t disappoint. Growing in confidence, he tapped the side of his nose. ‘From what I hear, there’s an Indian scare in Alberta. Seems like some folks might just be selling liquor to the tribes. Ain’t it terrible what some people will do for money?’ The clerk sniggered at his own attempt at levity, but realizing that no one else had joined in, hurriedly continued. ‘Anyway, the Blackfoot are causing trouble south of Calgary, and most of the Mounties have been sent west. And nobody believes you’d be fool enough to try the exact same thing again. They think you’re probably long gone.’ With that, he stopped and watched the outlaws guardedly.
For seemingly an age, the two men regarded each other pensively. Then, finally, Brin Carson broke into a smile. ‘What the hell . . . If I’m gonna end up a corpse, I might as well be a rich one, and your story has got a ring of truth to it. Seems like you’ve done good, railroad man.’ He reached out to playfully pat the clerk’s cheek, causing that individual to flinch and back off.
And yet, even under stress, some instincts never weaken. ‘Good enough to get some cash on account?’ Applegate queried eagerly.
In the blink of an eye, a knifepoint appeared under his chin. ‘When we get paid, little man, then you get paid,’ Dumont rasped dangerously. ‘Unless you want me to remove that tooth on account. I’d enjoy watching you cry like a baby!’
Chapter Four
‘It’s just a pure shame we couldn’t bring any horses,’ Bronson commented sadly. ‘We might have need to chase down those sons of bitches, if’n they don’t all get paroled to Jesus or surrender.’
Samuel Bairstow shrugged. ‘The two of us sneaking on board in the dead of night was one thing, hiding a couple of animals in here entirely another.’
The two lawmen were lounging on the floor of the shaking, rattling boxcar. The only light was that which came through the chinks in the timber walls, but it was enough for their purposes. Behind them, with more padlocks than they could shake a stick at, was a substantial reinforced strongbox containing the replacement payroll. They had joined the train at the town of Indian Head, some forty or so miles east of Regina. That way, if any outlaws posing as passengers got on at the latter, they wouldn’t spot anything untoward.
‘Is that inspector of yours for real?’ the marshal queried. ‘He’s like a stuffed shirt. I ain’t never seen the like before, not even in the military.’
The Mountie chuckled. ‘He’s not so bad, really. He means well, and he has a lot of responsibilities. He’s not just a law officer, he’s also a Justice of the Peace.’
That meant nothing special to the American. ‘A peace officer’s no different to me.’
Bairstow suddenly gazed at him with a noticeable air of superiority. ‘When you arrest a felon, all supposing you don’t kill him first, can you try and sentence him as well? Because Longshanks and others like him can.’
‘Hot dang!’ the other man responded. ‘You mean he’s judge, jury and executioner, all rolled up into one?’
‘A bit like that,’ the Canadian allowed.
‘Shit in a bucket! That’s a job to die for! I might just have to move up here permanently!’
With both towns now behind them and the sun well and truly up, Bronson was getting restless. Their rather stodgy diet included copious quantities of beans, and locked in the boxcar as they were, the inevitable by-product meant that the air was getting decidedly potent.
‘Goddamn it, it’ll be worth being attacked just to get some fresh air in here,’ he exclaimed.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the brakes were slammed on with such urgency that if the lawmen hadn’t already been on the floor they would certainly have ended up on it. Even locked away at the rear of the train, the shrill squealing was clearly audible.
‘Since that can’t be buffalo on the tracks anymore, it looks like you’ve got your wish,’ Bairstow retorted croakily, his face suddenly grim. Brutal, bloody violence was an unfortunate part of their job, and he should have been used to it by then, but his mouth never failed to go dry at the prospect.
The marshal smiled encouragingly. He was older and far more hardened to the nastier aspects of law enforcement. He also possessed an instinctive understanding of positioning. And so, peering around the interior, Bronson knew immediately where he needed to be. As the train slowed to a halt, he crawled over to the far corner, furthest away from the single sliding door, and lay down. As ever, the safest place to be was on the floor, and in this instance well clear of the strongbox.
‘Pick your spot,’ he hissed at the Mountie.
That man seemed to come to his senses, and clambered over quickly to the opposite corner, in line with the sliding door. Then, almost simultaneously, there were four audible clicks as the lawmen retracted the hammers on their shotguns. The muzzles of Bairstow’s still bore the marks of the saw that had been used to shorten the weapon hastily. Longshanks hadn’t been jesting. Sawn-off shotguns were definitely not part of the Mounties’ armoury. Both men also drew their revolvers, and placed them on the floor in easy reach. The holster-guns reflected their differing nationalities. Bronson carried a ruggedly reliable Remington, whilst his companion possessed the Adams, quintessentially British and known for its stopping power.
The marshal peered through the dust raised by the sudden braking and winked, before indicating that he would make the first move. For better or for worse they were ready. Whatever happened next would likely be at least partially out of their control, but one thing was for sure . . . there was going to be some dying!
Everything had gone so smoothly, which perversely meant that Brin Carson was unaccountably on edge. The westbound train had arrived on time, with no visible guards, and had come to an enforced halt in almost the same place as before. That little shit Applegate had apparently come good, yet the hardened outlaw rarely accepted anything at face value. And so, as the Metis saboteurs eagerly raced for the boxcar, he suddenly bellowed for them to stop. Dumont glared at the American impatiently, but possessed the sense not to countermand him. He was slowly discovering that the Yankees were not just full of piss and vinegar alone.
Carson glanced over at Hatcher, who had the engine’s crew under his gun. Thankfully, that man hadn’t yet shot either of them. ‘How’s about bringing those grease monkeys over here? They can be first in the boxcar.’
Slow on the uptake, his partner shrugged, but didn’t object. Gesturing with his revolver, he ordered the engineer and fireman out of the cab. Those men well knew what had happened during the last hold-up. Nervous and sweating profusely, they dropped to the ground reluctantly and walked towards the rear of what had been their train. As they passed the two passenger carriages, they were aware of numerous frightened faces peering out at them.
