Golden Heart (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles) (3 page)

Chapter Three

The 3:10 from Yuma

The vast stretch of iron rails that cut through the burning landscape twinkled up at Lazarus in the morning sun. The land was silent, save for a light wind that rolled across the plains. From his position high up on the cliffs, he viewed the arid panorama with distaste. The railroad led to the State of Deseret, formally known as Utah, and the speeding hunk of steel and steam that thundered along its glistening path carried Gerard Vasquez to his appointment with the hangman.

Lazarus’s horse nickered softly, and he rested his hand on the butt of the Colt Starblazer, aware of the dark patch of shadow that darted quickly behind a rock, ghostlike in the shimmering heat. It could have been a bird, but Lazarus knew better.

He had been aware that he was being shadowed ever since he had crawled out of the Colorado River, freezing, hatless and extremely grumpy. It had followed him down the dusty streets of Yuma, hovering outside saloons whenever he took a drink. It was outside the shop when he had bought his new bowler hat. Lazarus wondered if the shadow had been loitering outside his hotel at night, looking up at his window while he had been sleeping. It was an unpleasant thought.

Wherever Lazarus had gone,
he
had been watching and following, his dark features concealed by a wide-brimmed hat and a long poncho concealing much more than just a powerful frame. In Yuma there had been no opportunity for him to make his move on Lazarus, but out here in the desert, where not another soul’s shadow fell for miles around, now it was different.

A light footstep—no more than a whisper—fell behind Lazarus. He whirled around, drawing and cocking his revolver with lightning speed. For a while they stood staring at each other.

“If you’re going to kill me, then you’re wasting a good ally,” Lazarus said.

Hok’ee glared at him from beneath the rim of his hat. His hair was long and jet, not greasy and matted like a white man’s would be at that length, but sleek and shining. Enormous muscles rippled under his coppery skin, and he wore enough ammunition to fend off an army. Whatever his plan, it extended to more than merely killing him, and that pleased Lazarus.

“We’re after the same chap, friend,” said Lazarus, holstering his Starblazer. Whatever was concealed under that poncho was more than a match for a revolver, anyway. “How about we throw in our lot together and go at it as a deuce?”

The giant Navajo continued boring his hateful eyes into him. He evidently spoke no English or chose not to. Lazarus wondered if Vasquez communicated with his first mate in Navajo.

“Look, there’s plenty of people aboard that train for us both to shoot,” Lazarus continued. “I just want to get Vasquez off alive. I’m not a bounty hunter. I’m with the British government.”

Hok’ee’s eyes softened a little and he appeared to relax, although not showing complete trust.

“Vasquez will be in the second carriage,” said Lazarus. “If we can get on board, I think we should be able to pop in and surprise them without getting killed in the process. But we have to be quick. I take it you brought your own horse.”

Hok’ee spat on the ground and beckoned Lazarus to follow. A fine mustang stood patiently further down the hill. They mounted up and descended the cliffs.

The train thundered through the landscape, belching steam like a mythical dragon. Lazarus and his new comrade galloped down the incline, hooves kicking up clouds of dust that would surely be visible from the train.

“It’s too fast for us to match its speed for long, so we’ll have to cross the tracks and fall back to the carriages,” Lazarus shouted over the drumming hooves. “Our horses won’t be able to keep up with us so we’ll have to uncouple the carriages or disable the locomotive somehow. The driver will only be a mechanical,” he suddenly realized what he had said and hurriedly added, “Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean...”

Hok’ee snorted. “I’ll cross first and draw their fire, sound good?”

Lazarus nearly fell of his horse in surprise. “You speak English!”

“You think all Navajo are dumb?”

“Well, no but... you’re just a bit quiet, that’s all.”

“Why should I speak a language that is sour to my tongue? English is the language of those who have oppressed my people for generations. I use it sparingly.”

Lazarus nodded sagely. “White man has not been good to your people.”

Hok’ee grinned. “But white man gave me this to fight him with,” and he whipped one side of his poncho away to reveal his right arm.

Lazarus gaped at the mass of bronze gears and iron plating that had been grafted on to his elbow. Like the Mecha-guard aboard the
Mary Sue
, it tapered into the muzzle of a Golgotha rifle with an automatic ammunition hopper. Too heavy for an average-sized man to carry, it took Hok’ee’s massive strength to carry such a weapon, and on one arm at that. He broke away from Lazarus and crossed the tracks.

The train was coming up fast on their heels, and Lazarus could hear gunshots as Hok’ee made himself a target for the bounty hunters on board. With a deafening roar of air and chugging pistons, the locomotive passed. Lazarus caught glimpses of surprised faces in the first carriage, peering and pointing at him from the windows. He urged his horse closer and let the first two carriages drift by, making ready to duck should any of the bounty hunters take a shot at him.

No shots were fired. Hok’ee must have been making enough of a spectacle of himself on the other side of the tracks for them to pay much notice to Lazarus. The end of the third carriage appeared and Lazarus made ready to jump.

He seized the metal bar and swung his left leg over his saddle before leaping, seeing his horse vanish in the dust behind them. His foot nearly slipped on the runner, but he managed to get a firm grip and swung himself over the bar into the carriage.

He drew his Starblazer and flung open the door. Rows of startled faces met him but nobody stood to challenge him. He made his way along the swaying carriage to the door at the end. Passing from one to the other, he entered the second carriage and ducked just in time to dodge a bullet that splintered the woodwork by his left ear.

Taking cover behind some seats, he edged around to get a view of the carriage. Somebody stood up and fired again, but Lazarus was more concerned by the fact that they were wearing a dress. It was the woman from the
Mary Sue
.

“Well I’ll be goddamned!” cried out Vasquez from somewhere. “I sure am popular these days. You’re the fella that saved my life aboard the
Mary Sue
, ain’tcha?”

“Damned fool!” shouted the woman in that Eastern European accent of hers.

Lazarus was stumped. There appeared to be just the three of them in the carriage. He stood up slowly, holding his gun away from him in the universal signal for truce, but gripping it tight enough should he suddenly need it. “I don’t know what the devil is going on here, but I’ve no interest in killing either of you.”

“Bloody idiot...” began the woman.

“Holster it, lady,” said Vasquez. “He ain’t one of them. Come forward, partner, but if you try anything, we’ve enough firepower between us to give this carriage a nice new red coat. Now what say you tell us what you’re about?”

“My name is Longman.”

“You’re a limey, ain’t you?”

“I am in the service of Her Majesty, yes. I am here to escort you to the Confederate government on a matter of utmost importance.”

At this Vasquez broke out into guffaws of laughter. “I sure am the main attraction, ain’t I?” he hooted, slapping his grimy britches and holstering his gun. “Here I was in manacles on my way to Great Salt Lake City for a pow-wow with President Blake, when this fine young thing bursts in here to seduce my guards right where I can see it all. Just when I thought my luck couldn’t get any worse, somebody starts shooting at the train and all but one of them get up and high-tail it out of the carriage, leaving their comrade to guard me and have this fine lady all to himself. Lucky fella, I thought, until she shot him, of course.” He indicated a body shoved behind a seat. Blood pooled under it. “I thought my number was up but then she cut me loose and gave me back my gun. Now you’re here.”

Lazarus glared at the woman. “What’s your story? First you take a shot at him on the
Mary Sue
and now you’re handing him his gun back?”

“There was a change in my orders,” she replied, her tone curt.

“Orders from whom?”

“You work for your government and I work for mine.”

“Which is?”

“That of His Majesty Tsar Alexander, the third of that name.”

“She’s a goddamn Russkie, friend,” added Vasquez with a grin.

“I should have guessed as much,” said Lazarus. Are you Okhrana?” The Okhrana were the Tsar’s secret police, tasked with hunting down revolutionaries and anybody else who displeased the powers of Saint Petersburg. This did not limit them to Russia’s borders. “What is Russia’s interest in Vasquez?”

There was the sound of gunfire further down the train.

“Do you want to discuss our foreign policy, Mr. Longman, or do you want to get off this train alive?”

Vasquez hooted. “I like this one! Now if my ears don’t deceive me, that was a Golgotha rifle. Too heavy for ordinary men to carry. Is my pal Hok’ee aboard?”

“He got aboard some time ago,” said the Russian. “But his horse was shot in the process. I saw it from the window. He managed to get aboard the last carriage.”

Vasquez gave a low whistle. “He’ll be mighty sore at that. He loved that horse.”

“Well that throws a spanner in the works,” said Lazarus. One horse between three... have you brought your own, Miss?”

“No.”

“Well how did you get on board? And how were you planning to get Vasquez off?”

“I was already on board as a passenger before the train left Yuma. And I read the cargo inventory, which apparently you did not. The second to last car is loaded with horses.”

“So your plan was to leap from a speeding train on horseback?”

“We’ll have to uncouple the carriage and let it slow down, but yes, that was the essence of it.”

“Sounds like a good enough plan to me,” said Vasquez, drawing his revolver. “But we ain’t gonna see it through if we stand around here jawing. Hok’ee is coming this way—I can hear his rifle talking—so the bounty hunters will be trapped between us.”

“Agreed,” said Lazarus.

“I didn’t intend on carrying any extra weight off this train...” began the woman.

Lazarus smiled. “And I didn’t intend on being carried, Miss...?”

“Katarina,” she replied and pushed past him, flinging open the door.

The passengers were still in a state of terror in the next carriage, and the one following that. The fifth carriage was crowded, as if all the passengers from the next one had been herded in into it.

“Are you the law?” asked an elderly woman in a wide hat.

“No, Ma’am,” replied Lazarus. “We’re better than that.”

The sound of shots could be heard from the next carriage. They went out onto the gangway. Vasquez crossed to the next carriage, opened the door a crack and peeped in.

“Three of them,” he reported back.

“One each,” replied Lazarus.

“Don’t be so confident,” Katarina replied. “How are we to get in there and take cover before they shoot us?”

“We go over their heads,” said Vasquez.

“I don’t believe this,” said Katarina.

Vasquez clambered up onto the roof first and Lazarus—always the gentleman—stood aside to let Katarina go next. She shook her head at him.

“And have you gawking at my rear? I don’t think so. You first.”

Lazarus shrugged, and with a vivid image in his head of what her rear might look like through the folds of that dress, he clambered up after Vasquez.

The metal roof was scalding hot and Lazarus scrambled onto his knees and elbows as soon as he could to avoid any skin coming into contact with it. Ahead, Vasquez was on his feet, swaying back and forth in rhythm with the movement of the train. They made their way to the other end and dropped down onto the gangway to find themselves in the sights of a smoking Golgotha rifle.

“Hok’ee, old buddy!” said Vasquez. “This takes us back, eh? It’s been a while since we’ve robbed a train.”

“Well I hope your expertise in the area can get us off this one alive,” Lazarus said, eying the door to the carriage with the gunmen inside. Its surface was peppered with bullet holes shot through from the other side.

“Piece of cake,” replied Vasquez. “The next carriage looks like the horse car.” He poked his head out and looked down the length of the train. “Yep. Last carriage before the post office car. This is where we get off, folks. Alright, start uncoupling the carriage, limey. Katarina, you and I will provide cover if any of those boys gets wise. Hok’ee, you know what to do with the door.”

As the other three clambered onto the gangway of the horse car, Lazarus bent down and inspected the coupling mechanism. It was simple enough, and he soon had the last two carriages drifting away from the rest of the train. Hok’ee blasted through the lock to the horse car with his Golgotha and they filed into the dim, sweltering interior.