The Last Score
by William S. Hubbartt

"When we gonna get there, Ma?"

The small girl fidgeted in her seat, looking out the window and then she turned around to face her mother and father. Just then, the train car jerked and rocked, jostling the family from side to side. Puffs of gray smoke and an occasional spark blew by as smell of the burning wood permeated the rail car. The rhythmic churning of the locomotive's large wheels could be heard and felt as the train pulled its load up the long incline into the Wyoming mountains.

"Soon, sweetie, soon," said her mother, pulling a small bundle of string from her handbag."Here, sweetie, why don't you play cat's cradle?"

"Like to arrive in Salt Lake late this evening, maybe dinner time," said the girl's father, speaking to his wife, rather than to his daughter. The mother and daughter wore matching floor length blue taffeta dresses with white ribbons tied in a bow in their hair. The father, a well dressed merchant, sporting a string tie with his starched white shirt and pinstriped suit, complimented his family's stylish appearance that spoke of their aristocratic roots in Chicago.

Across the aisle, Garrett Tolliver smiled as he watched family's discussion. Even though the Union Pacific trains now connected Chicago to San Francisco, reducing travel across the great prairie and mountain ranges from two months down to eight days, children were still impatient travelers. The train jerked back and forth again, shaking Garrett back to the reality of this trip. A detective with the famed Pinkerton Agency, he had been hired to investigate a recent string of train robberies affecting the Union Pacific line. He hoped that the safety of this young girl and her family would not be threatened by violence on this trip.

Garrett had alerted the train's engineer and conductor of his presence when he boarded in Omaha. After conferring with the mail agent, and inspecting the express car with its $40,000 mine payroll secured in a safe, he determined that he would ride unannounced as a passenger travelling to San Francisco on business. He carried a Chicago newspaper as a prop for the portrayed business purpose of his trip.

An attractive young lady, two seats up, had been observing the little girl's conversation. She had smiled at Garrett before turning her attention to the scattered trees and rolling foothills as the train rocked and rolled through the beautiful wilderness. Garrett nodded an acknowledgement to the lady's smile, recalling that she had introduced herself as"Miss Jefferson, a teacher," travelling to Salt Lake to take a new job. His calm friendly demeanor and business man's appearance belied a man ready for action. Hidden under his wool coat, he carried a six shot Colt 38 caliber pocket pistol, in a custom made shoulder holster, with a derringer holstered in his right boot, and a Bowie style knife in his left boot, both covered by loose fitting trouser legs. A Henry lever action 15 shot repeater was stowed with his bag in a luggage compartment of the rail car.

The little girl, guided by her mother, beamed proudly, having manipulated the string on her fingers to create the desired crisscross pattern. Garrett rose casually and strolled to the front of the car and then back through the second passenger car to the express car. To fellow train riders, he appeared to be taking a stroll to stretch his legs. In reality, he was checking all the passengers looking for signs to identify an accomplice who was sometimes placed on a train to create a distraction at the time and place that the robbery was planned.

Upon reaching the express car, Garrett knocked at the door using the prearranged signal. Over the clacking of the train's wheels, he heard the timber bar slide away and saw upper half door open. The express agent who rode within the locked car peered out.

"Howdy, Jake."

"Afternoon, Mr. Tolliver. See anything suspicious?"

"Nope. Checked passengers. Several boarded back at Laramie, but no obvious confederate. If trouble's coming, it'll likely be on this last leg, before we come out of the mountains and into the valley by Salt Lake,"

Four men sat on horses looking down the ridge towards the curved track below. A quail whistled its distinct "bob white" call in the distance, saddle leather squeaked and a horse stomped its foot sensing the anticipation of its rider. One man coughed and then spat phlegm to the ground. Their leader, Jedidiah, gruff looking and trail dusty with two days of beard growth surrounding a ragged handle-bar mustache, glanced at the sun's high position and then down at the rounded shadows under their horses, taking one last drag on his rolled cigarette. He squeezed the stub of his smoke in his gloved right hand, while his left hand held the reins between his thumb and palm, having lost the fingers of his left hand years ago fighting an Indian with a tomahawk.

"Lets git down there. Train's due by within the hour. Got ourselves a mine payroll to pick up," said Jedidiah, glancing again at the sun."You got the powder, Pate?"

"Yep, powder, fuse, lights." Pate coughed and spit once again, as the horses trailed in line down the steep hill behind Jedidiah.

In the distance, a smoke trail from the train was now visible, heading towards the narrow draw below. Upon reaching the track area, the men set up near an old tree that stood near the tracks.

"Pack half of the powder there, at the base, away from the track," Jedidiah growled pointing with his stubby left hand towards a gnarled old tree, an ancient Douglas Fir. The old tree leaned precariously towards the track, scarred by a burnt gash of a recent lightning strike. It needed just a slight nudge to tip the old tree across the tracks to block passage of the train."Run the fuse to that gully, and wait there for my signal. You other two hide in the trees over there."

The bellow of smoke and blow of the steam engine could be heard from behind the steep hill as the train approached the narrow draw where the robbers had set up their operation. The ground trembled, the horses shook their heads and snorted nervously as the rumbling iron monster neared. Smoke was seen through the tops of the trees, and then the train rounded the curve approaching the old tipping fir. Jedidiah waved his kerchief and Pate lit the fuse.

The train rumbled on belching its steam and smoke, closer towards the ancient fir. Horses stomped and trembled, their riders tightly pulling back on the reins to control the scared animals. Closer . . . closer . . . 

BOOM!

Dirt and bits of grass and bark and wood chips showered the area and rained upon the waiting robbers. Slowly, the old fir tipped over to a horizontal position leaning from the hillside over the tracks like a gate. A smokey gray and dusty tan cloud rose from the base of the tree. A small flame was seen in the dry brush on the uphill side of the gaping hole where the finger like roots now reached skyward.

Wheels screeched as the engineer tried to bring the train to a stop. It was clear that impact with the tree would damage the train's boiler and chimney. The engineer was able to bring the train to a stop within 10 feet of the ancient tree now blocking its path.

Inside the train, women shrieked in fear, and the little girl fell into the aisle and began crying. Garrett recognized immediately that the explosion created blockage or track damage requiring an emergency stop by the engineer. Before the train had fully stopped, he was on his feet, holding on to the seat backs as he worked his way to the door. As he reached the doorway, he was met by the barrel of a Winchester 73. With the gun barrel in his face, Garrett stepped back into the passenger car holding his hands at his waist, palms open and forward, suggesting to the intruder that he was not armed.

"This is a hold up" the robber growled. Then he gestured to Garrett,"you, Mr. Do Gooder, don't pay no mind to what's goin' on outside. You take this hat and you hep me relieve these folks of money, jewelry, and guns."

Garrett eyed the man coldly, then held the front of his wool coat open slightly to show that there was no gun belt at his waist, while keeping the pistol in its shoulder holster still hidden under his coat. He accepted the hat and turned slowly down the aisle gesturing to individuals to place valuables into the hat. He could hear the robber's feet shuffle behind him and feel the barrel of the Winchester, as it moved from side to side as an encouragement to the riders to give up their belongings.

"Its . . . its all I have, my life savings . . . " cried Miss Jefferson, the teacher, tears streaming down her cheeks, when Garret stood before her holding the hat.

"Put it in there lady, or this rifle comes along that pretty face of yourn," threatened the robber.

Garrett nodded to the teacher to encourage her compliance. The little girl was crying as her mother and father dropped belongings into the hat. As they reached the back of the car, Garrett could see into the car behind that another robber was doing the same thing there as well. Outside, Garrett heard a shot and then a voice calling that the engineer had been hit. The women in the car began crying again. Garrett turned and faced the robber holding the hat so that the valuables could be seen between them. The man's eyes went down to the valuables, and he reached with his right hand to grasp a gold pocket watch that lay on top of the items.

Just then, Garrett dropped the hat between them, his right had grabbed the Winchester, and a left handed upper cut slammed into the robber's jaw. The robber grunted and blood appeared at his lips as Garrett pulled the rifle from the man's grip, slammed the handle into his groin, and then used a left cross to down the man, leaving him unconscious at his feet. Garrett pulled the derringer from his boot and handed to the Chicago merchant.

"Here, its cocked, ready to fire. Watch him, shoot if he tries anything." Garrett stated with authority. The merchant nodded. Garrett turned to the other passengers," You others, stay inside here."

Just then, there was another explosion and the train shook. Women shrieked and men gasped. It was back by the express car, Garrett thought, they are trying to get to the safe. He used the commotion to exit on the opposite side and run along the track-bed to the back of the train.

At the back of the train, Garrett checked the Winchester for its load, and then patted the colt under his coat for reassurance. He lowered to his knees and slowly peered around the freight car at the end of the train, checking for where the robbers would be. A smoke cloud hung near the express car. One robber was attempting to tie a rope to the damaged but still closed sliding door while another sat on a horse with the rope wrapped around the saddle horn, apparently planning to pull the damaged door from its track. The engineer sat grimacing in pain on the ground near the tender, shot in the leg, while the fireman nervously attempted to comfort his friend.

There was something strange, about the robber on the horse. Garrett observed that this robber tended to favor his left arm or hand as if it were injured, relying entirely on his right hand. As a man whose life often depended on a quick assessment of individuals and the danger they presented, such observations were instinctive, lifesaving. The individual attempting tie the rope to the door struggled, following orders from the man on horseback. And, Garrett recalled, he had seen that there was another robber in the second passenger car.

The rope was now secure, and the horseman kicked his animal to pull. The rope became taught, there was a creaking sound as the wood and metal slides strained and weakened. In a moment, the blast weakened door would give under the pressure, Garrett had to act now.

BAM!

The Winchester exploded in his face and split as the barrel and the stock flew in two directions, leaving Garrett temporarily blinded, deaf, with his left hand feeling numb. The robbers froze, staring in surprise at the explosion by the rear of the train. The taut rope snapped, as the door gave way, causing the robbers to turn in the direction of the express car. The horse stumbled as the rope pulled the door to the ground.

Garrett recovered, drew his colt and fired at the horseman. He saw flashes of a quick series of shots, and felt a sting on his left arm. The horseman fell, and Garrett turned his aim at the gunman who had emerged from the second passenger car. Their eyes met and guns simultaneously spit flames. Garrett felt like he was kicked in the shoulder, spinning him around and onto the ground.

"Garrett . . . Garrett, you still with us?" Jake, the express agent knelt over Garrett with a look of concern.

"Wha . . . What happened?" Garrett looked up at blue sky and fluffy clouds, his hearing had returned.

"Why . . . Garrett, ya done saved the day," said Jake."Ya kilt one, other one's shot-up pretty bad, like to cry for his mother. The one you knocked out is tied up, and I got the one at the door. Your shooting saved the train and saved the payroll. We got to tend to that shoulder."

"The one on the horse, . . . did he make it? I've got to talk to him." Garrett grimaced in pain as he pulled himself up to a sitting position."Help me up."

Holding on to Jake's shoulder, Garrett stepped slowly over to where the robber with the stub hand lay moaning. Garrett looked down at the man, noting his left hand missing its fingers. His memory flashed back to an Indian skirmish on the plains years ago. He squinted his eyes, trying to focus a fuzzy image, now beginning to feel faint from his shoulder wound.

"Jed . . . Jed . . . is that you?"

"Gare? Is that you Garrett?" The wounded robber blinked his eyes open."Holy mother of God!"

"Jedidiah! Little brother, what are you doing here? Seems I'm always cleaning up your messes."

"Gare . . . Gare . . . promise me, will ya, It was gonna be one last score. Then I was gonna go straight . . . ." The front of his shirt now soaked in blood, the wounded robber, Jedidiah Tolliver coughed and spit up blood. Garrett was now kneeling next to his mortally wounded brother, who he hadn't seen in three years.

"Gare, promise . . . promise me ya tell Ma that I went straight . . . " He coughed once again and his eyes rolled back under his eyelids.

"I . . . I promise, little brother," Garrett whispered, tears running down his cheeks.