King of the Gun Trail: A Frontier G-Man Novel Page 8

Jack urged the big black forward. The big stallion seemed thrilled by the challenge and stretched his legs in giant strides, eating up distance. Clayton looked ahead and saw the tracks veering away from the river in order to avoid mountainous high ground. The track would bring the train back toward the river on the other side of the hills, where the trestle would lead it across the river and head on west.

  Jack pulled Regret around and left the track trail. The shortcut over the hill could make the difference. He had to reach the train before it crossed the trestle. He would not be able to ride across it himself. Urging Regret into the hill country, Jack let the big black pick his way carefully up the rough terrain. Regret knew what his master wanted, and Jack was never one to push his best friend beyond his limits. It was a partnership of horse and rider and each partner respected the other.

  It was slow going, climbing to the top of the ridge, but reached it, they did. Clayton breathed a sigh of relief as he reined the black to a halt. Down below he could see the train approaching. They were ahead of it, but by the time, they traversed down the hill, it could already be passing them by.

  No time to rest. Only a quick breather. Clayton urged his horse down the embankment, holding the reins loose as Regret bowed his head and half slid downward.

  The scraping of rock and dirt sounded in his ears and he hardly heard the report, but felt the near miss as a bullet whizzed passed his ear. He bent low, heard the report of another shot. He could see gun smoke puffing outside the window of a coach.

  They had seen him and they were going to stop him. He pulled his mount toward the right, letting the train pass by, so he could swing in behind and out of pistol sight.

  With a hearty call to the magnificent steed, the G-Man rode in behind the passing caboose. Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be anyone in it. Yet. But, there would be. Jack needed to catch the train and climb aboard before guns would start firing from the caboose.

  Clayton leaned forward in the saddle, head bent low across Regret’s neck. He urged him on. The great horse lengthened and quickened his stride. His gleaming muscular flanks shimmered in the sunlight. Flecks of lathered foam were forming as he pushed forward with valiant effort. The distance between them and the rear of the caboose was shortening. Slowly, steady was the gain.

  The engine was now starting to cross the trestle. The whistle blew its approach warning. The train started to slow for its passage across the river. The rear of the caboose was close now. Closer, closer, then close. Jack stretched his body upward and outward as he reached out and, reaching, stretching, then finally curving his right hand around the guide rail of the car. He pulled with all his strength, left the saddle, and grasped the rail with his other hand, hanging on for dear life as he swung in the air, clamoring his feet upward to try to gain a foot hold on the caboose. Regret fell back and slowed his pace, heaving and gasping great gulps of air after his gallant effort had succeeded. Once, twice, Clayton’s feet slipped failing to find a perch. Then he found it. His toes dug in and he managed to land himself firmly on the caboose outside platform.

  Glass splattered over his shoulder, showering him with broken shards as he ducked his head to avoid the hot lead projectile which followed the bellowing crash of a six gun from inside the caboose. He swung back to the left, still clutching the rail, hoping to swing out of the line of fire. Another shot blasted. Then another. Quickly, he pulled himself up to crawl onto the top of the car.

  He had just landed flat on his stomach as a man rushed out onto the platform. Bart Sprague fired again. Then again. Wood splintered and flecked Clayton’s face. He rolled forward across the roof and came up against the cupola. He looked up and saw Corbin’s flabby face in the window of the cupola, his pistol held high. Jack rolled just in time as glass and bullet spewed out to where he had just laid. He pushed himself aside, then sprang upward into a crouch and began to run forward, train and trestle shivered and trembled beneath his feet. More pistol shots blew gaping holes on the roof top where Jack’s foot steps had been, missing his heels by bare minimum margins.

  Pulse racing, sweat beading down his neck, running as best he could, the G-man reached the front of the caboose. Without breaking stride, he leaped forward and landed solidly on the roof of the next car. He fell. Grasped for a hand hold, pushed himself to his feet and started onward and forward, the shaking boxcar beneath him.

  Down below, Corbin had recalled Sprague and together, with big Moose Malloy, they exited the caboose to enter the next car ."Come on, "Corbin commanded."We can go from car to car faster than he can. We can get ahead of him."

  Clayton continued forward, steadily, but slower than he would like. He could see now that the engine had finished crossing the trestle and had started up a long arduous grade. The whistle blared again.

  Inside the train, Corbin, Sprague and Malloy had found their way back to the first car of loaded arms. They were now two cars ahead of the G-Man."All right, Moose." Corbin shouted. "It’s up to you. Go get him."

  Moose’s jaw dropped, "Wh…what….?" He stammered.

  "Go get him!" Corbin repeated.

  "What do you mean, ‘go get him’?"

  "Just like I said." Corbin was irritated. "How many times do I have to tell you?" You big stupid ox."

  "Stup….?" Moose muttered, his eyes bulging fear, anger, and hurt.

  "Go up on top and get him." Corbin ordered.

  "Why me?" He looked toward Sprague."Why not…….?" ‘Sprague’ he thought.

  "Shut up and get up there." Corbin shoved him out onto the coupling platform.

  Moose, gritted his teeth, seething with anger. He stumbled across the coupling, drew his pistol and started to climb up the ladder to the top of the car. He laid his right hand and weapon on the roof, as he pulled himself upward until he was chest high above the rim. There before him, still edging forward, he saw Clayton in the middle of the car. With blind instinct, he fired point blank, not taking time to aim.

  Clayton threw himself face down on the roof. Hot lead flew through the open space where he had stood. He half rolled to the side as Moose climbed the rest of the way to the top of the car. Wood splintered close to Clayton’s hands as the big outlaw’s gun thundered again while Jack pushed himself upward in a dive, head down into Moose’s midsection. Malloy’s pistol fired wildly into the air, partly from Jack’s lunge, but mostly from the sudden blast behind the train as the trestle was blown apart by heavy explosives.

  Pieces of timber and debris rained down on both men as they fell to the roof of the car beneath them; both men stunned by the sudden explosion and force of the blast.

  The last car of the train has just cleared the trestle when the blast came, timed perfectly to leave pursuit stifled.

  The debris was still pummeling the train and the roar of the blast still resounded in the fighting men’s ears, but both continued to struggle with one another. They were both rolling on the flat top of the car, Malloy’s arm outstretched skyward clutching his weapon as Clayton gripped his wrist and forearm, trying to wrestle it away from Moose.

  Moose was powerful and Jack strained desperately to hold the weapon back. But Moose was prevailing and gradually, slowly, he was bringing the gun back down into a deadly position.

  As the two men wrestled for control, the pitch of the car started to slant as the train progressed up the higher ground. Jack and Moose, locked in struggle, could feel themselves starting to slide toward the rear of the car. Malloy’s eyes bulged in terror. There was more than just this G-man to contend with. He had been stunned by the blast. Corbin, the dirty lout, had never told him about dynamiting the trestle. If he didn’t have this government man taking all of his attention, dimwitted as he was, he might have reasoned why Shep Palmer had stayed behind with a horse. With the trestle gone, it would be a while before they could be pursued.

  Clayton felt his grip on Malloy’s arm weakening. Then with a sudden relaxation, he let the momentum of Moose’s strained muscle bring the gun down. Jack rolled a little to the side
and slammed the big man’s wrist to the roof boards.

  Moose yelped with pain and surprise as the impact loosened his grip and the pistol slipped from his fingers. The gun slid down the slanted car as did both struggling men. Jack was on top of Moose now. Moose’s arm stretched out reaching, fumbling for the gun. Clayton fought to hold his arm back while searching to gain control of the weapon. Moose almost got his fingers around the sliding barrel, but it slipped away as both men slid to an abrupt halt, caught by the upper rail and rear ladder of the car. They rolled onto their sides and Jack’s fist came up squarely and flattened Malloy’s nose. He fell backward. Jack dived on top of him. Moose doubled his right leg and caught Jack midsection. Clayton fell back, brought up again by the ladder.

  Malloy started to push himself up and attack, when sudden realization flooded over him. Movement of the inclined car had changed. The car was now rolling backward. Gripping the floor where he sat, he threw Clayton a quizzical glance, fear and rage flying renewed. Betrayal! Moose may not have been that smart but he quickly grasped what had happened. First Corbin had sent him up here to maybe die. And now he had uncoupled the cars. This car, the cars behind it, and the caboose would all rush down the steep incline to fall over the torn trestle and plunge into the river water far below. Maybe die fighting Clayton?" He grimaced. No he would surely die with Clayton. Corbin, damn him all to hell.

  The caboose was already pitching over the edge of the blown trestle. The weight, pulled the other two cars faster. Molloy leaped to his feet. He had to jump even if there were no chance. Jack came up as fast, dove onto Malloy’ s standing frame. With all the force he could muster, he pushed upward and outward. The two men, in tandem, fell into the rushing open air as their feet left the train. They seemed to dangle in mid air as the last boxcar plunged over the edge.

  Jack and Moose hit the water together, the splash of their bodies obliterated by the tremendous tidal wave like splash of the plunging cars. The water rose and whirled. Churned rapidly and pelted the two men. Their grips on each other broke and tore the two men apart. The swirling whirlpool sucked them beneath the surface into tumultuous darkness.

  Lungs aching, Jack struggled under the water, trying to regain control of his body. It seemed like an eternity, but eventually, he felt himself rising. With a huge gasp he gulped air as his head finally broke out of the water. His arms flailed about as he tried to tread water. He could see the train cars piled into the river beside him as the strong current and whirling waters floated him past them. The roar of the raging waters echoed in his ears as he swirled about, unable to attain a swimming position. He had no control of his speeding passage and the current was flowing faster and faster.

  The roar of the raging waters was growing louder. He did not see Malloy at first, but as he swirled around to see down stream, he could see the big man struggling several yards in front of Jack’s position. Malloy’s screams were masked by the roar of the current. Then realization, waved over the G-man. The increasing roar was not that of the current, but up ahead, with Malloy being sucked into it, the water spewed over a cleft into a waterfall.

  Jack saw himself being swept into the rocks along side the river bed. He splayed out his arms trying to grasp something to hold on to. The current was too fast and he collided solidly with a large rock outcropping. He bounced backward into the main stream. He was almost to the falls now. He almost thought he could hear Malloy’s terror filled scream as he disappeared over the edge with the torrential spill of pelting water. Clayton’s heart sank, partly in grief as he watched his adversary swept away, partly in reconciliation that he would follow in that fate. Then he went over, falling, tumbling, struggling as fell. Tons of rushing water poured over him, pounding him senseless with brief moments of realization that he was being thrust helplessly into the depths of a watery grave. He swallowed water, his insides wretched in pain. He felt like he was about to explode from the inside.

  Then the final plunge into the waters below sucked him into the quiet silence of the deep. He started to succumb to the peacefulness of drowning, but the scraping of sharp rocks brought him back alert. He was floating near the bottom now. He got his arms out in front of him and pushed them back, grabbing handfuls of water, and actually swimming upward.

  The bright sun of late morning burst into his burning eyes and he squinted in pain, treading water until he could regain his senses. Slowly the fog lifted from his brain and his perception returned. The water was fairly calm now with just a steady, lazy current. He looked behind him and saw the magnificent beauty of the water falls dumping into the river. Somehow it did not appear as menacing as it did moments ago, seen from the inside out.

  Clayton gazed around him. All was quiet save for the rushing sound of the waterfalls. Ahead of him, he had a clear view of the river. He swallowed, a lump of regret in his throat; Malloy was nowhere to be seen. Apparently, he had been swallowed up by the angry water. Enemy and adversary, that he was, it was too bad. He could have been useful in tracking down his cohorts. Besides, Clayton felt sorry for the big man. It was a brutal way to die.

  *****

  Chapter Nine

  Tough Lady