The Dolan Girls by Mallery S. R

Author:Mallery, S. R. [Mallery, S. R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2015-12-03T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

Shifting Winds

A slow, undulating breeze ruffled the prairie grassland as the Baltimore & Ohio chugged on toward Cheyenne. High up on a distant ridge, the Soltano gang sat back on their horses and carefully surveyed the scene before starting their drill. Composed of two Mexican-born brothers, seven cohorts, and a new member named Clyde, each man inspected his Winchester rifle or Smith & Wesson, readied his bandanna, and roll-clicked a fast command to his horse before heading downhill toward the Pullman.

On the train, the passengers had been lulled into an exhausted stupor. After days of rhythmic jiggling and wheel clanking, they were looking forward to their final destination in Wyoming. Families, businessmen, and immigrants jostled silently in their seats, while thick dark clouds of smoke blasted past the soot-stained windows.

Down on the plains, the ten-member Soltano gang stretched out in a line, galloping furiously, their torsos bent forward over their saddles, their linen dusters flapping feverishly against the wind.

The train engineer had delivered careful instructions to his fireman, conductor, and brakeman earlier that morning. “Be on high alert today. We’ve got a safe overloaded with payroll, and we’ll be entering Wyoming soon. That’s not a good combination.” Seeing the nervous faces in front of him, he added, “But there’ll be a Pinkerton agent riding in the baggage car to protect the money, so there’s no cause for alarm. Just be watchful.”

The conductor nodded slowly and promised vigilance, but by noon, his predilection for liquor had gotten the better of him. Swaying slightly from side to side, he teetered through each passenger car holding onto seat backs and barely registering the outside world.

As they neared the train, the robbers slowed down long enough to position their bandannas up on their faces and secure their six-shooters. Four of them galloped next to the railroad tracks and stayed in tandem with the last car, four on each side. Two men covered the rear as designated horse wranglers.

The leader, José Soltano, still galloping, rode on ahead and hoisted himself up onto the moving baggage car as his horse dropped away and moved on, riderless. On the other side of the car, his brother Guillermo did the same. Soon, eight of them were onboard with bandanna-covered faces, empty burlap bags, and handguns cocked, ready to go.

Unsuspecting, the drunk conductor had managed to make it up to the baggage car, where he heartily assured the engineer and Pinkerton that all was well, with nothing to fear.

In the caboose, the third-class passenger Renata had plenty to worry about. Startled awake by an odd, rhythmic pounding on the roof, she glanced out of the window and saw two men galloping beside the train, their faces half covered by bandannas, their dusters fluttering. Instinctively, she gasped in horror.

Just then a masked man entered their car. “This is a holdup. Don’t be a pack of fools––gist give us what we come fer,” he barked.

Another man followed him in, bellowing, “Git out your money and your jewelry. Now!”

Renata turned to her seat companions.

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