Blaze of Glory. Chapters 1-5

Chapter 1

    The piercing scream of a steam whistle shattered the morning calm. It echoed, bouncing off the granite cliffs; the Union Pacific train had arrived.  Above the Laramie Mountains, the morning sun rose. Tall Ponderosas, intermixed with Aspen and Fir loomed above, casting long shadows across the tracks. Lone Sagebrush grew from craggy outcrops of sandstone that jutted skyward from the granite mountainside. Above, a Red-Tailed Hawk soared peacefully, and the song of a meadowlark floated upon the breeze, its chipper melody rising and falling in trills and warbles, flutelike in the morning air.  From the East, a light breeze blew a scattering of leaves about as an elk's distant bellow was suffocated by the rumble of the oncoming train.

    Lurking in the shadows of a nearby tree line, Jack Diamond and his band of outlaws watched for their first glimpse of the locomotive, their horses tense and ready. $250,000 in gold and silver bars were aboard, sent from Cheyenne to the mint in Denver. An informant inside the railroad company had given them the precise itinerary of the train. Jack considered every minute detail. The outlaws had scouted the best spot to hit. Extensive searching of the route revealed a perfect place to ambush the train. They decided on a narrow pass in the mountains just after a gorge spanned by an enormous wooden bridge at Sherman Hill.

    This was the last pass over the Rockies before the track began its slow descent from the mountains. The train would be out of the mountains and into the Platte River Valley in six hours. The locomotive would be in Denver, and its final destination in another eighteen hours. If they could stop the train before it reached the river valley below, Jack believed he could avoid all legal entanglements. Knowing it would be difficult, Jack believed his best chance for a successful raid was to stop the train in the mountains safely. With confidence brimming, the bandits headed for their target at full speed. For months, he meticulously planned the raid. The time had come.

    Jack's stomach churned, threatening to fill his guts with water. His breath rose in puffs about his head in the chill mountain air. With trembling hands, he reached for his canteen. He removed the cork stopper from the dented cylindrical hunk of tin and took a long pull, hoping to settle his nerves.

"I don't have time for this shit," Jack mumbled under his breath. "Not now."

    Closing his eyes, Jack breathed in the cold mountain air. His hands steadied a bit as the cold water hit his stomach. Though hidden behind a bushy beard, a smile beamed on Diamond's face. He sat in the saddle with his eyes closed, taking a few deep breaths. Suddenly, his eyes were thrown wide as another whistle pierced the cold. He had a job to do.
   
    Black smoke rose in roiling puffs above the treeline that obscured the train from the gangs' view. It billowed above the train and trailed down its length, eventually dissipating in the breeze. The air was crisp with the smell of the mountains, its flora fragrant. Horses russtled in anticipation under their riders. Calming their mounts, the bandits waited.

Reducing speed, the locomotive navigated a bend in the tracks. Blaring its whistle once more as a warning, the train approached the trestle. At Dale Creek Ravine, the bridge was massive, over one hundred twenty feet tall and six hundred 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. Jack looked around at those assembled with him.

"Easy, let her come to us," Jack warned, noticing anxiety among the band.

    He didn't want anything, especially an overzealous gunman, spoiling things early on. He took a deep breath himself. Lately, he had found that things weren't working out for him. He had had a string of bad luck and thought one big score could change it all. Jack steadied his nerves. It wouldn't do to overthink the situation. He had to give the appearance of calm at the very least. 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 is on.

    Ten bandits on horseback broke from the trees at a full gallop. They charged toward their prey at breakneck speed. The first riders reached the train just as the caboose left the dangerous trestle. The raider's horses began to overtake the cars 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, their horses' hooves drumming a rhythmic beat as they chased their prey. Slowing down to keep a steady pace with the train, they each reached their respective engines almost simultaneously. The methodical chug of the train was nearly drowned out by the pounding of their hearts. Adrenaline coursed through their veins in anticipation of their future fortunes. Satisfied they could make the jump safely, they readied themselves.

    With concentrated determination, the raiders put all their weight upon their left stirrups and reached for the train's railings. They each gave a light tug on the rail. Reassured of its strength, the bandits hoisted their right legs over their mounts. Their hearts thundered in their chests, pulses quickened in exhilaration. With muscles straining, the riders leaped. It seemed to them as if they were held aloft in the air, momentarily suspended in brief flight before landing solidly aboard the train. 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. Their breath was visible in puffs about their heads in the crisp morning air. Soon, all ten were safe aboard.

    With a moment to catch their breath, the outlaws took in the cool air of the Laramie Mountains. The smell of burned coal and oiled steel filled each nostril as each raider readied themselves to enter the train cars. Every second counted, and there were few to spare. They had to stop this locomotive in the mountains before it reached the more level terrain of the Platte River Valley. Their minds raced with possibilities and the danger ahead as the train rumbled its way down the side of the mountain.

The outlaws thought they had everything under control.

They couldn't have been more wrong.

There was no turning back now. The die was cast.

    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 Pinkerton Agent named Joseph Winchester. Though young, this was not his first rodeo. 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.

    With tensions aboard the train high, Joe kept cool. Turning his head, he looked at Agent Freeman. The senior agent stood at the car's door behind him. With a nod from Joe, Agent Freeman disappeared. The door to the car shut audibly behind him. Joeseph turned his attention to the scene outside his window. The train lurched and jumped in mild turbulence, its rocking motion accentuated by the trains' rising speed. He watched as two bandits, one older and the other much younger. He recognized Tom Felton on-site.

    Joe momentarily locked eyes with the outlaw, and he gave the man a wink as the bandit rode hard for the engines. Tom's grey eyes, wide with anticipation, narrowed as he spurred his mount, raking his heels along the steed's side. With a snap of his reins, the animal lunged forward. In an incredible burst of speed, the outlaw passed the car, followed by the younger man. The car rocked with the momentum of the train. Screams erupted abruptly before dissipating.

"Jones was right," Winchester thought. "Diamond took the bait."

      Reaching into the inside pocket of his coat, Joe removed a leather pouch. Opening it revealed a stack of four wanted posters. He removed the posters from the pouch and unfolded them. He riffled through the wanted notices, looking for Tom. Joe found Tom's poster near the bottom of the stack. Laying the others aside, he took Felton's poster and looked at it.

"Wanted.    $1000 reward," it read.

"Won't be collecting any of that," he thought regretfully.

    He looked at the artist's rendition of the man, particularly at the eyes. There was no question about it. He had seen Tom, which meant the informant was correct. Diamond and his gang were trying to rob the train.

"Trying," Joe mumbled, a wry smirk on his face.

    Despite the chaos around him, relief washed over Agent Winchester. His fears dissolved at that moment. Joe had set up this entire operation himself. At first, Agent Freeman had been reluctant to allocate a team of agents to Wyoming without a guarantee. It had taken weeks of trips to Omaha. Clandestine meetings with his informant, good detective work, and determination persuaded his superiors that Diamond would attempt to rob the train.

    He stood. An aura of authority flowed from him as he spoke. He calmed those he could with a kind, reassuring word. Winchester ordered men to bar the doors to the car with anything they could find. Passengers aboard looked confused at first. But quickly began heeding the young agent's instructions.

    Joseph knew he had no authority over civilians. Over the years, he had learned to use his voice with authority when dealing with regular people. In tense situations, he sometimes needed to persuade civilians to remain calm. Keeping panic to a minimum reduced confusion should gunfire be necessary.

    The door to the car swung wide, and Agent Freeman reentered. Upon reaching Joe, he leaned close to be heard in the commotion.

"The rest of the agents are dispersed throughout the passenger cars." The superior detective smiled. " It's your show."

"Thanks?" Winchester replied, an exaggerated inflection ending his sentence.

"We'll do alright, kid," Freeman continued. "When they see the mail car is empty, they'll have to head this way ."

"Right," Joe muttered, his mind on the chaos around him.

"Be ready, " Agent Freeman continued. "I have two agents in each car. If things get too wild, I've ordered the agents to retreat and regroup in the next car. Without too many casualties, we should be able to slow them. We'll make a consorted effort to stop them here. They go no further. As long as we're still moving, they shouldn't be able to enter the mail car."

"Sounds like a plan," the younger man joked.

"It's all yours," Freeman replied.

*****

    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. His body slid between the cars. Horrified, Tom noticed the tracks rushing beneath him before his vision blurred.

    He felt his heartbeat thump against his chest as the train's rumble faded in his ears. Tom had always known he would die with his boots on.

    At the age of six, his father had developed senility. The man Tom knew as a hard-working sodbuster, up before dawn and working till dusk, withered to what looked to Tom like a living skeleton. His mind, usually sharp, had gone. Tom was the second youngest of four children, all boys. The oldest, Henry, was only nine when their father was so stricken. Their once flourishing farmstead faltered as none of the boys were up to running a farm. At twelve, Tom's father died, and Tom left Tennesee and headed West.

    After falling in with a band of rustlers, Tom was wanted for stealing cattle. He had been on the run from that moment on. Always looking over his shoulder for some unseen attack, he had moved from town to town, taking whatever job he could. He worked as a ranchhand and a blacksmith, but it was as a hired gunman that had brought him to the attention of Jack Diamond. Tom had been with the gang for a few years now, he was used to trouble as he had lived a fast life since he left his father's Tennesee farm. He had been in several close calls with his new comrades. They came out smelling like roses when all was said and done. Not this time, it seemed.

    All of this passed through his mind in his last moments. His vision would clear a bit before dimming once again. It did this a few times, and Tom noticed something in his last moment. The blast from the shotgun had knocked Tom clean out of his boots.

"God damn!" Tom cursed with his final breath.

    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.

"Don't take your guns to town, Son," his mother had pleaded. 

"I'll be fine, Ma," he had replied. He was 15 and a man grown, he believed.
   
"Leave your guns at home, Bill!" she demanded. His mother had always called him Bill. Tears glistened on her cheeks as she begged.

"I practice for hours every day, and no one else is as fast," he had bragged. It was no boast. Wil was fast and accurate to boot. It was said Wil could pluck the eye from a buzzard at twenty paces with his Peacemakers.

    Wil wiped the tears from his mother's eyes with a gentle thumb and kissed her gently on the forehead. She had always been overprotective, he thought with a smile.

"I'll gun nobody down, Ma," he told her as he turned and walked out the door. It would be the last time he ever saw his mother. He strode purposefully toward the door and closed it behind him as he stepped out into the night air.

"Don't take your guns to town," he heard her plea once more as he walked toward the nearest saloon.

*****

    The fireman turned to the corner near the firebox. There sat a large wrecking hammer, much like a modern claw hammer, but with a heavier head and nearly straight claw designed to break and pry wood apart. Its hickory handle felt heavy as he hefted the tool, raising it above his head with deadly intent.

*****

      Wil's mother was right to worry about her son. There was trouble that night, but Wil had kept his head. He didn't shoot anyone that night, a few months ago, and in keeping his cool, Will landed a job. It was this job that had brought him here tonight, and he thought of his mother as he lay crumpled on the locomotive's wooden floorboard. 

    Wil was mumbling something under his breath, the old man had noticed, as the fireman lifted his now lethal tool. The elderly conductor had leaned close, his ear just above Wil's mouth.

"Hold it, Lunkhead!" he demanded of the fireman. "I want to hear what he says!"

    With a frown, the old man raised himself before sitting in a chair near the controls. With a puzzled look on his face, the old man nodded to the fireman, who promptly brought the hammer down onto Wil's head.

"What did he say?' he asked of the old man, dropping the heavy weapon with a thud onto the floor at his feet.

The elderly gentleman said nothing; he just sat there, puzzled.

"Well?" he demanded of the conductor, who returned his thoughts to the situation, his face returning to its normal expression.

"Rather odd, really," the old wan said.

"Damn it," the fireman said, losing his patience quickly. "What did he say?"

"Nothing I could make sense of," the old man began. "Only this," the old man furrowed his brow in confusion once more before continuing.

"Don't take your guns to town."

Chapter 2

    Hannah Jane had always been covert about her background, for as long as Jack had known her. Whenever someone brought up her past, her expression would instantly harden, and she would say nothing. Those who knew her best were aware of her unparalleled affinity for horses. Very few surpassed her horsemanship. She was quick, agile, and graceful. Jack had often seen her hanging from the side of her mount, gripping the horse’s neck and wrapping her legs around the saddle, using the animal's body as cover from gunfire as she rode to safety. He had witnessed her calm an agitated horse with a whisper. Hannah could run up behind her horse and leap into the air, landing 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. Her skills were unmatched, making her an invaluable member of the band. The most sophisticated safes cracked under the graceful dance of her lithe fingers. Tumblers fell into place within the lock as if by magic. Tuned by years of practice, her hearing was acute. Hannah detected and quickly identified the slightest reverberation from the mechanism, opening the toughest safes with ease. Jack had met her fresh from prison. Hannah was fiercely defensive when questioned about it. He supposed she had honed many of her skills behind bars but decided to let the matter alone. If she wanted him to know, Hannah would tell him. It was that simple. All he knew of her past was that she had served time. The reasons behind her incarceration remained a mystery she guarded savagely.

    Hannah quickly proved her worth upon joining the gang. Her first job with Diamond and the band was a huge success. Hannah had opened the vault in under five minutes, and the band had escaped before an armed resistance could be formed. They did not need lynch mob justice interfering with their flight. The seasoned outlaws within the crew were left in awe of her safe-cracking abilities. The cool demeanor she displayed under pressure and her skills with a safe continued to impress Jack and the other bandits on their subsequent robberies. Hannah could pick a stage's strongbox with lightning speed. Her talents were priceless to any thief, and she gained respect within the gang.

    Best friends Jack and Dan Johnson found a true companion in Hannah Jane. The three became friends early on. Over the years, their ironclad friendship solidified, forming the heart of the gang. The three were virtually inseparable. You rarely saw one without the other two within earshot. They were that close. Through everything, members would join the band, some would leave. Others died or, worse, were captured, but the core of the crew remained these three. 

    Hannah's relationship with Jack was unusually convoluted. With a mutual respect and an unspoken understanding between them, Jack admired her strength and fierce independence. He saw these qualities in himself. Jack knew that Hannah was capable of handling herself in any situation without faltering. Yet, there was also a sense of protectiveness he felt towards her. He had always felt this for his closest friends and family. But with Hannah, it was a bit different, stronger. Jack could make no sense of it and thought best to leave it alone. Grateful for the trust and acceptance Jack had offered, Hannah valued the camaraderie she found in the gang. The loneliness of her past was now a distant memory.

    Her past remained a closely guarded secret. Despite the trust and loyalty she felt towards Jack and Dan, she never spoke of the years before her imprisonment or the events that led to it. Jack realized just how little he truly knew about her when he noticed her thousand-yard stare. When things were quiet or slow, Diamond often saw her sitting, deep in thought, looking out at an imagined horizon. Understanding that everyone carried their burdens heavy upon their shoulders, Jack respected her privacy.

    Diamond would sometimes wonder about the life Hannah had left behind, suspecting there was pain and loss in her past. Hannah was boldly and unapologetically an independent woman. He respected and admired that in her. Though unknown to him, he surmised her past experiences shaped the ferocity with which she protected her friends and her past. The present mattered. The future was important; Hannah's past was not, so he left it. They faced whatever challenges, come what may. Their bond was stronger for the secrets they each carried.

    Before, Hannah was always looking for her next target, usually the home of a well-to-do businessman or rancher. Many of the most elegant homes had safes stuffed with valuables. Upon finding a mark, Hannah would watch the target homes, monitoring the occupants and taking notes on their schedules. Most importantly, she 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 before riding to another town for 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 alone. 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 found a group of friends she felt comfortable with. Hannah enjoyed the camaraderie almost as much as she enjoyed spending her ill-gotten gains.

    Growing up on a small farm in the Midwest, Hannah had a difficult childhood. Her struggling family farm had failed from drought. Crops had been devoured by swarms of locusts, leaving the family near starvation. Early on, Hannah learned to fend for herself. Her father, a stern man, expected hard work and discipline. He had taught her to be self-reliant. Her mother, though, had instilled in her a love for horses. A trick rider in her youth, Hannah's mother performed in rodeos and traveling shows, even performing for Buffalo Bill Cody in his traveling Wild West Show. Passing on her skills to her daughter, she taught Hannah to ride and handle horses with a finesse that few could match.

    As a teenager, Hannah had vanished from the farm, seeking adventure and a way to make her way. Working whatever job she could. With her inquisitive mind, Hannah learned new abilities quickly. Her agility and horsemanship made her a priceless commodity in illicit affairs.

    Hannah had finally found acceptance.  She was an important member of the gang. The bond she shared with Jack and Dan was brass-bound, forged, and tempered. honed to a razor's edge. They were family, and Hannah protected her family.

    Hannah's thoughts drifted to her past. She wondered if she would ever find a place where she could truly be herself. where she wouldn't have to hide her history or skills. But for now, she was content riding alongside her friends and living with purpose and adventure.

*****

    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. 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 from 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 had 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 and ran for the swinging doors as Jack called out to him.

"Find your father, 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 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 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 bedroll on the floor near the dresser. Jack placed it on the bed next to his hat. He then opened his rifle 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 boiled 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, and he hit the ground, sliding 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, attempting 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 bandits' 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.”

“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. Acting quickly, the Pinkerton Agent dove for safety behind a nearby pew. He lay there in the corner to avoid Dans' onslaught. Diamond took the opportunity to move down the aisle between the pews, taking cover a few yards from the hiding agent. He crouched low, weaving between the pews, watchful for the agents' reappearance. Jack hopped over some luggage that lay in his way and hid himself behind a bench. He had positioned himself along the opposite wall and a few rows in front of the hiding detective. 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 flying 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. 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.
   

*****

Chapter 4

 

    Cold stars bore silent witness to the coach as it lumbered East from Laramie. A team of six mustangs, broken to pull the stage because of their endurance and natural sure-footedness in difficult terrain, pulled upon the large wooden carriage as it lumbered into the night. A lone wolf howled in the distance, and Jack Diamond turned his gaze in that direction.

    The night air seeped through the coach's wooden frame, chilling him to the bone. He didn't notice; his thoughts were elsewhere. Jack gazed toward the horizon as fear gnawed at him from within. He was getting old now. Well past forty, Jack had seen his time in the sun fade to a dim shadow. Youthful invigoration had given way to a more cautious approach as he gained experience, but Jack had had no luck at all in months.

    He needed this job. Moreover, he needed the pay. Jack was running short of money. He had not had a job offer in weeks and was starting to get edgy. His normally cool demeanor was replaced with a fierce anger and a spiteful tongue. At the slightest provocation, Jack would lash out.

    Hannah Jane and Dan Johnson had noticed it first. Eventually, the rest of the gang came to notice the change in him, and Jack recognized suspicious glances from several of the bandits. The last thing he needed was a power struggle within the band.

"If this job is as cushy as Sam let on," he mused, "let them take it."

"When it's all over, let them take the fucking thing," he thought, chuckling to himself.

"What if this is just some low-paying guard work?" he thought, the anxiety of the unknown creeping to the forefront of his mind.

"Or worse," he thought, "a higher paying gig would be riskier. If things go south, it could get hairy."

He didn't want that. What he wanted was an easy job with a high reward. Jack doubted he would get what he wanted here. He also doubted that his friend Sam would have gotten in touch with him unless the payout was lush. It had to be somewhere in the middle ground, he finally decided. It would neither be too dangerous nor overly lucrative.

"Damnit," he said to himself, "Why can't things be simple?"

*****

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. 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.

    A mix of nerves and determination swirled in his belly like bees as Joe entered the offices at 80 Washington Street. As he approached the front desk, the receptionist looked up to greet him.

"May I assist you?" she asked, though her look said, "What the hell do you want?"

    Joe thought she may have had a bad day or that she was always disagreeable. He decided that it didn't matter and ignored the rude look she had given him.

"I need to see Agents Roberts or Freeman," he asserted. Joe's hand trembled as he fought to remain calm. "It's urgent."

    Not long after, Agent Freeman appeared. He reminded Joe of a hawk. Agent Freeman scrutinized the young man with the sharpest eyes Joe had ever seen.

"Follow me, kid," Freeman said with a smile. He turned and walked in the opposite direction.

"I bet he doesn't miss a thing," Joe thought as Agent Freeman led him down the hallway to his office.

    Sitting at the desk across from Freeman, the young man waited for the agent to dip his pen and ready himself before recounting his tale.

"While cleaning up around my dad's tavern, I overheard a man called Red and another referred to as Slim planning to rob the First National Bank next Friday."

    His pen scratched feverishly on the pad as Agent Freeman leaned forward.

"What did these two look like?" he queried Joe. "Had you seen them before?"

"Never seen either of them before that night. But Red was missing the tip of the index finger of his right hand, and Slim had a snake tattooed on his left forearm. Both were tall, though Slim was a few inches shorter. Red was bald as an egg, and Slim had curly dark brown hair and a mustache," He informed the agent

    Freeman nodded, intrigued by the boy and his tale. He noted Joe's eye for detail and his sharp memory.

"And how did they plan on doing this?" Agent Freeman asked.

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

    He was confident he was relaying the information exactly as he had heard it. Taking a deep breath, Joe steadied his trembling hands.

"Can you use any of this?" Joe asked as Agent Freeman raised his eyes to meet him.

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

    In walked a man about fifty years old. Young Joe could see grim determination on the man's face and a fierce look in his eyes. The man sported a bushy beard without a 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.

*****

              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 in 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 who 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.

                                                                                                          *****