Blaze of Glory. Chapters 1-5

Chapter 1

    A steam whistle ripped the air and echoed off the nearby cliffs; the Union Pacific train had arrived—Jack Diamond and his gang of outlaws watched from a distance, their horses ready. Months of planning have led up to this heist, $250,000 in gold and silver bars were aboard, sent from Cheyenne to the mint in Denver. They had an informant inside the railroad company, who had given them the precise itinerary of the train. Planning had begun in earnest. They had scouted the best spot to hit. After searching the route, they decided on a narrow pass in the mountains just after a gorge spanned by a hundred- and twenty-six-foot-tall wooden bridge, at Sherman Hill.

    Black smoke rose above the copse of trees that hid the train from the view of Jack and his gang. The locomotive had to reduce its speed to navigate a bend in the tracks, blaring its whistle as a warning of its approach to the trestle. At Dale Creek Ravine, the bridge was massive, over one hundred and twenty feet tall and six hundred and fifty feet long. With such a steep drop, trying to hit the train before it passed would have been an invitation to disaster. Diamond and his band of robbers waited on horseback. Using the tree line at the far end of the wooden bridge that spanned the ravine as cover, the outlaws watched the train rumble onto the rails supported by the huge wooden structure. Once the caboose was halfway across the bridge, Diamond put two fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. With sweet dreams of leisure soon to pass, the outlaws ride unwittingly toward calamity; the chase was on.

    Ten bandits on horseback broke from the trees at a full gallop. They charged towards their prey at breakneck speed and the first riders reached the train just as the caboose left the dangerous trestle. The raider's horses began to overtake the cars even as the locomotives gained speed. A couple of riders made for the two engines necessary to traverse the passes over the Rockies. They would overtake the engineers and stop the train—five riders made for the passenger cars to subdue those traveling aboard. The last three, including Diamond himself, headed straight to the caboose and the safe that held their ultimate goal.

    Their hooves thundered as they kicked up a cloud of reddish dust, spurred on by their riders the horses gained upon their prey. The desperados shouted and hollered encouragements to each other as they each began to reach their intended cars. Those meant to take the engineers were in front, followed by those responsible for controlling passengers with Diamond and the others in the rear. The gang had plenty of experience leaping from horseback onto moving objects as they employed this same tactic to rob both stages and trains alike. The lightning speed of their attack virtually guaranteed that passengers would be terrified and more apt to comply with demands.

    The lead riders got to their targets first. Slowing down to keep a steady pace with the train they each reached their respective engines almost simultaneously. Satisfied they could make the jump safely they readied themselves. The raiders put all their weight upon their left stirrups and reached for the train's railings. Hoisting their right legs over their mounts, the riders lept. Once clear of the weight of the riders, the horses veered off away from the tracks and stopped to graze on some grass near the tree line. Soon all ten were safe aboard.

They thought they had everything under control.

They couldn't have been more wrong.

    The scene aboard the train was chaotic. Everyone knew what was about to happen. The wide-eyed passengers sat in their pews and stared out the windows at the advancing outlaws. Some people screamed. Others got up from their seats in an attempt to bar the doors to their respective cars. Still, others began removing valuables and looking for places to stash them, hoping to recover them later. People tried to calm those around them and sought ways to protect those they loved from whatever evil these men must have planned.

    Not everyone on board was scared. A few among them had been expecting this for a while now. One such was a young agent named Joseph Winchester. Though young, this was not his first rodeo. Joe had been an informant to the Pinkerton agency as a young man. His father ran a bar in Chicago. His family lived upstairs, and young Joe would help by cleaning the floors or tables as needed. Most patrons of the bar ignored Joe. He used this to his advantage and eavesdropped on every conversation he could. Joe could easily remember the names dates and many details of the things he had heard. Upon hearing one such conversation, Joe headed to the Pinkerton Agency with the information and a plan.

    Finding the offices of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency was not difficult for him at all. Alan Pinkerton has been a local celebrity and national hero for some time. People knew him and either loved or loathed the man, there were few in the middle here. Several of his agents had been patrons at his father's tavern on more than one occasion, and it was one of these agents he now looked for.

    He inquired about the location of agents Roberts and Freeman with the front desk receptionist before telling her what he had been up to and asked to see one of the agents to discuss what he had heard. Not long after, Agent Freeman appeared and took Joe to his office. The agent listened attentively, scribbling notes before excusing himself and leaving Joe alone in the office. Joe sat nervously as he waited for him to return. It seemed like an eternity but lasted no more than a few minutes. Freeman soon returned and asked Joe to recount his story again.

"Sure thing," Joe replied., fighting a nervous queasiness. "While cleaning up around my dad's tavern, I overheard a man called Red and another referred to as Slim planning to hit the First National Bank next Friday."

"What did these two look like?" asked Agent Freeman. "Had you seen them before?"

"Never seen either of them before that night," the kid began "But, Red was missing the tip of the index finger of his right hand and Slim had a tattoo of a snake on his left forearm."

"Both were tall, though Slim was a few inches shorter than Red," he continued. "Red was bald as an egg and Slim had curly dark brown hair and a mustache."

Intrigued by the boy's attention to detail and willingness to help, Agent Freeman pressed for more.

"How did they plan to do this?" he asked Joe.

"They didn't say much about that, just that they were going to use the morning rush as a distraction," Joe explained.

"Can you use any of this?" he asked the agent.

"You bet. Not ever heard of Red or Slim, but this is some valuable stuff, kid," Freeman told him as the office door opened.

    In walked a man of about fifty years of age. Young Joe could see grim determination upon the man's face and a fierce look in his eyes. The man sported a bushy beard with no mustache. Joseph Winchester recognized the man as soon as he entered, and a giant grin beamed from his face. Joe was about to meet an American Legend.

"Joe, this is Mr. Pinkerton, my boss," Agent Freeman informed him.

Before he could finish his sentence, Joe was out of his chair, extending his hand to Alan Pinkerton.

"I know who he is!" the kid interjected

Mr. Pinkerton smiled at Joe and bade him sit and make himself comfortable.

"What's all this about a robbery?" he asked.

    He looked at Joe with eyes that seemed to peer directly into the kid's soul, but it was not unnerving to Joe. The young man found a strange comfort in those eyes. Mr. Pinkerton studied Joe as if he were an enigma to be puzzled over as Agent Freeman recounted what Joe had told him. After hearing the details, Alan Pinkerton commended Joe Winchester for his quick thinking and attention to detail.

"Amazing! Excellent job, Lad. Impressive indeed," the famous detective and former spy admired the kid's youthful enthusiasm.

"We'll take it from here, Joe," Freeman stated. "But, we may need you again soon, stay vigilant and keep us posted"

Agent Freeman showed Joe to the door and closed it behind him. Young Joe would leave for home a few hours after arriving with a couple of dollars in his pocket and a new job. Moreover, the job was simple. All Joseph had to do was everything he was doing already.

    That was six years ago. Joe was now twenty-three and had been a full agent for nearly three years. He had been involved in several cases over those years and had personally apprehended a few notable felons. He sat and calmly checked his revolvers before returning them to the holsters he wore, concealing them under a heavy black frock coat. Then, taking out a gilded pocket watch, he noted the time.

"Twenty after four." he thought to himself.

                                                                                                                  *****

    Landing on their respective engines with practiced ease, Tom and Wil each made for the doors to the engine rooms. Tom, the more experienced of the two, kicked open the door to the first engine and was surprised by the roar of a shotgun blast. The shot hit him full in the chest. The blow from the double-aught buckshot knocked the wind out of him and sent the outlaw sprawling backward. His body slammed against the tender car, jarring his bones. Sliding between the cars, Tom horrifiedly noticed the tracks rushing beneath him before his vision blurred.

    Wil saw the engine door ajar and glanced inside. There sat an old man. His hands trembled as he held them over his head, but the old man said nothing.

"This'll be easy," he thought, with a smug grin on his face. "A piece of cake."

    Wil stalked toward the terrified old man, sucking in his gut and expanding his chest a bit in an attempt to intimidate the old man further. He stepped into the engine room, the smell of the coal fire and sweat filled his nostrils. Wil was so sure of himself that he didn't notice the fireman responsible for feeding the fire. Wil was promptly met with a shovel to the head. Pain exploded in his skull, and he crumpled to the floor, the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. The fireman removed his belt and bound the young outlaw's hands behind his back while the old man gathered his revolvers that lay scattered about the floor.

Chapter 2

    Hannah had been secretive about her background, for as long as Jack had known her. Her expression would instantly harden whenever someone brought up her past, and she would say nothing. Those who knew her best knew she had an amazing affinity for horses. Very few surpassed her horsemanship. Hannah was quick, agile, and graceful. Jack had often seen her hanging from the side of her mount. She held on to the horse's neck and wrapped her legs around the saddle, using the animal's body as cover from gunfire. He had witnessed her calm an agitated horse with a simple whisper. Jack had even seen Hannah run up behind her horse and leap into the air to land safely in the saddle, ready to ride. Jack supposed that she must have been a trick rider in the rodeo.

    As impressive as her horsemanship was, Hannah was an expert safe cracker. Jack had met her fresh out of prison, it was the only thing he knew about her past. She'd quickly joined the gang and had been a part of Jack's criminal endeavors for nearly as long as Jack's best friend, Dan Johnson. The three were fast friends. They were the core of Jack's large band of miscreants. Other members had come and gone over the years, but these three remained tightly bound.

    Fiercely independent, Hannah liked to work by herself. Working alone, she had done quite well for herself. Hannah was a burglar before meeting Dan and Jack. She would ride into a town and look instantly for a saloon. In her experience, saloons were hotbeds of information. She would sit in the bar and listen to other people's conversations. Hannah would talk with the stranger if she heard anything interesting or a potential job. She usually would buy the stranger a few drinks to help loosen their lips.

    She was always looking for her next target, usually the home of some well-to-do businessman or rancher. Many of the most elegant homes had safes stuffed with valuables. It was one of these she looked for. Upon finding a mark, Hannah would watch the target homes and monitor the occupants. She took notes on people's schedules.
Most importantly, Hannah noticed when the homes were empty, looking for a pattern. If one were detected, Hannah would strike. Entering an empty house and absconding with the contents of their safe, she would ride off to another town, another job.

      Being a member of a large band afforded her the opportunity for greater rewards. No longer was she hitting the homes of the wealthy. Yes, she stole plenty independently, but now she was part of an organized group. Each outlaw brought their unique talents. Safe crackers, like today, were a rare commodity and very useful, especially when robbing banks, trains, and stages. These were her marks now. She had fallen in with a group of friends she felt comfortable with. Hannah enjoyed the camaraderie almost as much as spending her ill-gotten gains.


                                                                                                              *****

    A few months before the robbery, Jack had been in Laramie, Wyoming territory. He sat at a corner table in his usual hang-out, a saloon. The room was dark and smoky, lit only by oil lamps. The smell of cigars and hand-rolled cigarettes hung thick in the air. There were brass cuspidors at the foot of each table, but the floor was covered with sawdust just in case.

    Against one wall stood an upright piano. The piano player sat and hammered at the keys as if trying to beat a song out of the thing. He attacked the keys as if they had assaulted him in a previous life and it gave the tinny sound of the piano a rougher edge. Against the opposite wall was the bar. Polished mahogany with ebony inlay greeted many a dusty cowboy fresh off the trail. But the star attraction here was the Rubenesque painting of a naked woman shown proudly behind the bar, in place of the standard mirror.

    The place was packed full. Each table had four or five people at it. Some played poker, others bucked the tiger at the faro tables. Jack sat quietly, watching everyone with a cold calculation. The room was loud. People spoke loudly to be heard over the raucous crowd. A fight broke out momentarily on the opposite side of the bar from where Jack sat. The brawl was over quickly as the barkeep produced a sawed-off double barrel and blasted a hole in the ceiling above the bar. He pointed the weapon at the two men as a bouncer escorted the troublemakers outside.

    Diamond sat back with his back to the corner and watched the room for any perceived threat. He had a half-empty bottle of Red Eye on the table before him and a lousy pair of deuces in his hand. Winning a few hands earlier that night had padded his purse, but now he had hit a slump. The cards weren't coming. It seemed like he hadn't hit a decent hand in hours.

    He was looking for a new score, something big and easy that would set him up for life. He was starting to feel old; like time was running out. If he could get one more good job perhaps his luck would change.

    He was about to fold his hand when a boy stepped into the bar calling his name. He glanced over and saw the messenger heading his way. Jack had befriended Billy a few days ago on a visit to the telegraph office and had paid him a few dollars to keep an eye out for any messages addressed to him.

    Jack got up, grabbed the bottle, and left his cards behind. A surge of excitement came over him as he wondered. Maybe this was it. Maybe, this was the break he had been waiting for.

He reached Billy and pulled a long swig of the bottle before taking the message from the boy's hand. His eyes widened as he read.

"Is it big, Mr. Diamond?" Billy asked looking up at Jack with a wry grin pulling up on the corners of his mouth.

Jack read the message aloud.

"DIAMOND STOP HAVE JOB FOR YOU STOP MEET ME AT INTER-OCEAN HOTEL CHEYENNE STOP AM LEAVING OMAHA NOW STOP WILL ARRIVE CHEYENNE LATE TOMORROW STOP BRING YOUR GUNS AND YOUR GUTS STOP JONES"

"Sounds big," Billy replied.

"Looks like I'm going to Cheyenne," he told the kid.

    He looked down at Billy and smiled. He saw a lot of himself in that kid. He saw the same potential in Billy that Jack's father had seen in him. He remembered how he had disappointed his father and squandered any potential he may have had long ago. The smile vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"Cheyenne? I've never been there," Billy said, getting excited. "It sounds dangerous."

"They're all hairy, kid," he told him. "This could be either the big one or the last one."

Undeterred, Billy nodded. "Hope you get back safe! Bye"

Billy turned then and ran for swinging doors as Jack called out to him.

"Find better heroes Kid!" he yelled to be heard. "You have no idea what I do."

    Jack reread the telegram and smiled. Samuel Jones was his old friend and partner in crime. They had worked together on several jobs before and had always split the loot fairly. Jones was smart and reliable. He had a knack for finding the best opportunities. If he said he had a job, Diamond knew it must be juicy.

    He had not heard from Sam in years, not since the fiasco at the bank back in Fort Worth. A few members of their gang had died then, others were wounded. Jack got away by heading out the back door to the alleyway. He stole a horse and headed for greener pastures up North. He knew nothing of what happened to the members of his gang, save for the ones he saw fall, their corpses bloody and riddled with bullets.

    Jack folded the message and tucked it in his pocket. He then grabbed his hat and his coat and headed for the door. He had to get ready, he had to pack his bags and his guns. He had to catch the next stage to Cheyenne. He had a feeling he was onto something big.

"God, it'll be good to see Sam again," he thought.

    Leaving the saloon, he untied his horse from its tether, before mounting. He rode Diablo towards the corner of Second and Grand Avenue where sat the Laramie House, a two-story brick building with 25 rooms. Opened over a decade earlier, it sported a dining room and a bar.

    Jack dismounted Diablo and tethered him to the post outside the hotel's front entrance before entering and going up to his room on the second floor. His room was a small and simple space with white plastered walls and a heavy rug on the floor. The room contained a bed, soft and warm. The room had a dresser and a washstand. There was a chair by the window that looked out onto Second below. It was well worth the two-dollar daily charge.

    He entered the room threw his hat on the bed and walked over to the dresser. Jack dipped his hands in the wash basin and splashed it on his face. He looked in the mirror then. He traced the lines on his face with his eyes.

"When did I get this old?" he asked himself.

    His eyes followed the line of the scar on his left cheek, given to him as a youth in a knife fight outside Dallas years before. He looked himself in the eyes then. They were hazel and were a real contrast to his long dark hair and mustachio. He sighed and reached for the bed roll on the floor near the dresser. Jack placed it on the bed next to his hat. He then opened his riffle roll to check his long arms.

    In this rifle roll, he kept a Henry repeating rifle, a Sharps .50 caliber, and a sawed-off 12 gauge, along with the necessary tools for cleaning and maintaining weapons. Jack laid this next to his bedroll. He went to the closet and removed a leather bag. Next, he took his clothes from the dresser and placed them neatly inside the bag. He also placed boxes of ammunition inside the bag before tossing it on the bed.

"Why," he wondered, "hadn't I checked on Sam after Fort Worth?" Sam had always been able to take care of himself, he reasoned. "Still, I should have found him after the robbery instead of selfishly heading to Wyoming territory." he thought.

    Jack walked over to the bed and sat with his face in his hands for a moment before looking out the window at the setting sun. There would be one last stagecoach leaving for Deadwood tonight, and he knew he had to be on it.

    The Deadwood Stage would get him from Laramie to Cheyenne in about 18 hours, before traveling to the Black Hills of the Dakotas and the raucous boomtown of Deadwood. Its offices stood close enough to the livery stables that he could board Diablo there, then walk over to the stage office to purchase a ticket to Cheyenne. Livery fees being cheaper in Laramie made him decide to leave Diablo behind.

    Jack checked the Colt revolvers he always wore and his Bowie. He put on his hat, gathered his belongings, and headed out the door.

    After paying the few dollars he owed for his room, Jack walked out into the waning sunlight, mounted Diablo, and rode to the livery stables.  Laramie was a town full of trouble. It was his kind of town, where he could easily disappear. No one took notice of him, as long as he behaved himself.

    Most of the time Jack behaved himself. He was a likable guy who was slow to anger. Once he got angry, though he was fierce. Enmity had nearly gotten him killed far too often in his youth. Once, outside a bar in Dallas, for instance, he attacked a man who mocked him at the bar. The older man had been joking about Jack's babyface appearance. Young Diamond ignored the man, but the guy wouldn't stop pestering him. Eventually, others at the bar joined in, laughing at Jack and his seemingly impotent rage. He sat there at the bar seething. His blood
slowly boiling as he filled with rage. Intent on murder, Jack left the bar. He walked to a dark corner where he waited for the man.

    Outside, the sky was dark and cloudless. Stars could be seen overhead if he bothered to look. Music, shouts, and laughter could be heard from the many saloons dotting the street. The smell of food wafted from many a restaurant and inn, and three horsemen thundered down the street, from one end to the other and out of town. Jack noticed none of this. He replayed all the jokes and insults, stoking his anger into a fire only violence could quell.

    Finally, the man exited the saloon and started walking his way. The cowboy was drunk, of course, so Jack thought he might have a chance against him. Stepping from the shadows, his father's old Bowie in his right hand, he lunged at the stranger. The man quickly stepped to the side, despite his drunkenness, and used Jack's momentum to throw him to the ground. The Bowie fell from his hands as he hit the ground and slid just out of his reach.

Jack scrambled for his blade and rolled over. The drunken man stood over him with his knife drawn.

"Well, well, you a man now, Snotnose?" the belligerent stranger asked him. "You think you can take me?" he laughed at Jack.

"I know I'll best you. I've dealt with meaner than the likes of you," Jack told him, gritting his teeth in anger.

Still laughing, the drunken cowboy said, "Big words, Little Man, but guts won't save you tonight."

"You don't scare me, Mister," He informed the stranger as he quickly got to his feet before stepping back a couple of paces.

Jack's eyes narrowed and his nostrils began to flare.

"You're too stupid to be afraid of me," the man said as he slashed his blade toward Jack's face.

The blade glinted in the moonlight. Jack could see the attack coming and deftly sidestepped the exaggerated movements of the drunk and tightened his grip on the Bowie.

"We'll see whose bloodied soon enough, Mister," Jack said.

The drunken stranger shouted, "I'll have your guts for garters! I'll carve your liver!"

    The two combatants circled each other, each man trying to size up the other while looking for the right moment to attack. The stranger lashed out with his left leg and swept Jack off his feet. The stranger fell atop him, his entire weight heavy upon young Diamond's chest. The man held the tip of his Texas Toothpick under Jack's eye, both edges were as sharp as razors.

"We'll see how pretty you are after this," the man spat as he spoke. Jack could smell the alcohol on the man's sour breath.

    His mind racing, Jack felt the cold steel of the knife's edge. Fear of death spurred his will to action as the stranger moved the blade toward young Diamond's throat. Knowing that he had to act quickly, or his young life would be over, Jack quickly dropped his bowie. Jack then seized the man by the wrist and twisted it with all his ferocity. The stranger howled in pain and dropped his knife. Moving quickly, he kicked the man off him and onto his back on the street. The man grasped his broken wrist in pain. Jack lunged for his Bowie, feeling the damp earth beneath his hands.

    The Stranger was also up and holding his knife in his other hand, he lunged at Jack who dodged his attack and slashed his knife across the man's face. Jack felt the blade drag across the bone and knew he had struck true. Blood splattered on the ground only to be soaked up by the earth. The stranger's scream was loud enough to be heard blocks away. He clutched blindly at his bleeding eye. Seeing his opportunity Jack stabbed the man in the heart. The stranger fell to the dirt, dead.

    A warm trickle ran down his face. He touched the wound. He came away with blood on his fingers. Jack discovered the man had cut him as he moved the blade to his throat. Cursing he looked around. A few people were watching him from nearby windows. They probably couldn't see what had happened too well in the darkened streets, but he knew they would piece everything together, so he had to get out of there quickly. Jack ran to his horse and after mounting it, galloped away into the darkness leaving both Dallas and a corpse in his wake.

Chapter 3

    Suddenly, the train shook violently. The erratic movement jarred Jack Diamond from his feet and threw him against the wall of the caboose. Gunfire erupted from the cars ahead, and Jack knew something was wrong. Passengers were usually easily controlled.

    Normally, his men would break any would-be hero’s nose with a swift smash of a revolver. The spray of blood was usually dramatic enough to keep everyone else in line. If he was hearing gunfire, something must be very wrong indeed. His heart pounded in his chest as Jack steadied himself. He quickly scanned the contents of the caboose and was surprised at what he didn’t find. There was no safe. Had it been moved? If so, to where? Had it ever been aboard at all? Jack looked at the two robbers that flanked him.

“What the hell is going on up there?” Jack shouted, his voice barely audible over the raucous gunfire. “Why are we still moving?”

“Sounds like we’ve got company,” Dan Johnson said, peering out the window with a furrowed brow. “I can’t see anything.”

Hannah Jane checked her revolvers. “This ain’t right. Should’ve had this train under control by now!” she added, her voice tense.

Jack glanced around the caboose once more, blinking in confusion.

“Where’s the safe, Jack?” she demanded, her voice dripping with accusations.

“Tryin’ to figure that out myself,” Jack smiled, trying to make light of the situation even as his mind filled with questions.

“Did they move it?” Dan asked, still looking out the window.

“The mail car!” Jack shouted. “They must have moved the safe there when the loot was loaded.”

Johnson turned from the window then and faced the other two outlaws.

“You mean we have to make our way through the passenger cars, find the mail car, and find a way inside?” Johnson said incredulously. " We're still rolling!"

“They’re shooting at us, Jack,” Hannah added, her eyes wide with concern.

“What if it was never on the train, Jack?” Johnson asked. “What if we were set up?”

His friends said his name as if it were an insult, and it began to get under his skin.

“We weren’t set up, Dan,” Jack demanded, his voice firm. “They just moved it to the mail car.”

Diamond couldn’t let doubt begin to erode his illusion of control. He needed to appear level-headed in dire situations. He had to remain calm.

“Stay focused,” Jack said. “Head to the mail car and keep your eyes open for whoever’s tryin’ to stop us.”

“Got it, let’s move,” Johnson said, tightening his grip on his revolvers.

“Alright, Jack,” Hannah said, defeated. “Lead the way.”

    More gunfire echoed from the other cars, and the bandits carefully headed in that direction. The stench of spent gunpowder assaulted their noses upon opening the door to the next car. The air was thick with a blueish grey smoke. Sunlight beamed in from the windows sending streaks of light across the cloud of acrid smoke. People were shouting, others took cover on the floor between pews—a bullet whizzed by the bandit's heads, embedding itself into the wall behind them. The outlaws ducked instinctively behind a nearby pew, their hearts pounding.

    Scanning the chaos for signs of his men or any clue of what was happening, Jack felt a growing sense of unease. The situation was spiraling out of control. He needed to regain the upper hand fast. He narrowed his eyes as he searched the smoke-filled car. There were few passengers in the car. The bodies of a couple of his men lay on the floor in the middle of the aisle. Some passengers stepped over the corpses, one nearly tripping, as they made their way to the door and out of the car.

“Stay down, we need to keep moving,” Diamond shouted to be heard above the din of commotion aboard the train.

Jack’s mind began to race.

“Who’s shooting at us?” Hannah Jane demanded. Apprehension was apparent in her voice.

“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. “Lawmen, obviously.”

“Shit,” Hannah said, rolling her eyes.

    Peering through the smoke, Jack tried to spot the source of the gunfire. He noticed a figure in a black coat aiming a rifle in their direction from the other end of the car. Diamond’s eyes were wide with recognition.

“Pinkertons,” he muttered, a mix of anger and fear coursing through him.

“We’ve been ratted out, Boys,” Hannah observed.

Glancing at his companions, Jack said, “That safe’s in the mail car. We’ve got to get rid of this Pink.”

Dan grinned as he looked at Jack. “You want cover?”

“Please,” Jack replied, in mock politeness. He readied himself to move.

    Another bullet slammed into the wall behind him, and Dan stood up, pistols in each hand. He hollered a shrill cry as he began emptying his revolvers. Jack noticed the agent had taken cover on the floor to avoid Dan’s onslaught. Diamond took the opportunity to move down the aisle between the pews, taking cover a few yards from the hiding agent. With empty revolvers and Jack in position, Dan took cover to reload.

    Jack waited patiently for the Pinkerton agent to reappear, pistol in hand. He didn’t have long to wait, for the agent was soon up again, aiming with his rifle at the pew protecting Dan and Hannah.

Diamond knew he was undetected when he saw the agent’s eyes narrow. “He’s taking his shot,” he thought to himself.

    The rifle shot was deafening, but it was Jack’s cue to act. Knowing the agent would have to lever another shot into the chamber before aiming to refire, he stood and blasted away at the surprised Pinkerton Agent.

    Diamond held the revolver tight in his right hand; and fanned the hammer with his left. He did this in rapid succession, again and again, until the piece was emptied. The agent fell backward, his back hitting the window beside him. The window shattered sending razor shards of glass into the air, as the agent crumpled over the pew before him. The agent was dead. Reloading, Jack glanced back at Dan and Hannah with a wry smile. His friends were crouched behind a bench, their faces pale but determined. Quickly the two joined their leader at the other end of the car.

“We need to get to the mail car,” Diamon noted, his voice steady despite the turmoil. “That’s where the safe is.”

    With a nod, they moved forward, keeping low and using the train’s interior for cover. Jack’s mind raced with strategies, his senses on high alert. He couldn’t afford to lose control now. Not when they were so close.

                                                                                                              *****

    After settling into his room, Sam Jones headed straight for the bar. He knew exactly where to find Jack Diamond. He scanned the room upon entering for any sign of his former friend and companion.

"I know that son of a bitch is in here somewhere," Sam thought. "Sitting in the corner."

    Sam quickly glanced to the corner at his left—no Jack. Turning, to scan the corner to his right, Sam smiled.

"There he is."

    He stood there and looked at Diamond, then. He stood and watched, waiting to see if his old friend would notice him. Jack did not. Jack sat at that table, back to the corner as always. He stared at the cards in his hand with a furrowed brow. Sam had seen that same look on Jack's face numerous times before. It meant Jack was losing. Sam smiled, in an attempt to steady his nerves before approaching the man that had sent him to prison for fifteen long, grueling years. Sam drew a deep breath and steadied his shaking hands before walking to the table.

    Upon reaching the table, Sam stopped and tried to get a look at Jack's eyes. He wanted to see the look on his face when his friend recognized him. Waiting for Jack to lift his head slightly, Sam could see the cold Hazel eyes of his former friend, a friend that cost him fifteen valuable years.

"Room for one more?" Sam asked, staring into Jack's eyes.

Diamond did not look up from his cards.

"Free country, Mister," Jack said.

He folded his hand in disgust, tossing the cards on the table and looking at the stranger.

Sam sat directly across from His old comrade, yet Jack didn't recognize him. Diamond sat there and stared at him with the same furrowed brow he had earlier.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend, Pal?" Jones asked.

Jack's eyes widened in recognition. The only person that had ever referred to him as Pal, was the man he was there to meet.
The man sitting across from him was far too thin to be Sam. Sam had a full head of light brown hair, but this man's hair was thinning nearly to the point of baldness. What hair he had was white as bone.

"Sam?" Diamond asked.

"It's me, Jack" Sam Jones said, forcing a smile. He noticed the surprise on Jack's face.

    Sam Jones could barely manage his rage. This man, his former friend no less, had left him to fend for himself over twenty years earlier. Jack had concocted a bank heist that went south back in Fort Worth. Citizens armed themselves and decided to defend their savings. Most of the gang was killed. Sam and his younger brother had been the only survivors other than Jack. Daniel Jones had died in his arms only a few years after being sent to prison. Sam had blamed Jack for the whole thing, especially for the death of his brother Daniel.

"Let's retire to my room where we can speak privately," Sam suggested.

    The two men stood and walked from the bar to the stairs. Sam had his arm around Jack's shoulders and spoke to him as if he were happy to see him. Jack had no idea what his old partner had in store.

                                                                                                          *****