Shooting For Justice, G. Tilman [best historical fiction books of all time .txt] 📗

meet with the contacts, try to get the lay of the land. If necessary, we have to admit to them and Wells Fargo if it’s beyond what we can do. Then, begin to look for a new job,” Pope added.

“We always agreed Harry Morse would hire us. But, if we got fired by Wells Fargo, I think it would jeopardize both his friendship with Jim Hume and future business with Wells Fargo. I suspect the company is his largest client,” Sarah said.

“Looks like we will be spies for the Justice Department then, oh wife of mine!”

“I kinda like the sound of it,” she admitted. “The wife part, I mean,” she added.

“Me, too. I would like it better with us choosing the date, not Tevis.”

They put a few things in carpet bags for the four days on the train and the first few days of Washington. They managed to squeeze a short-barreled shotgun and Pope’s carbine into the combination gun case and saddle scabbard. Both doubted they would need long guns in the city, however, they did not know where their inquiries would take them.

Pope walked over to the livery and visited with Caesar, his horse. He had arranged for young detective Jake Bell to deliver the horse to his grandfather in Marin County next weekend.

While he was visiting with Caesar, Sarah was out shopping for snacks to take on the train trip. Though their expenses would cover meals en route, it sometimes was just simpler to eat in their sleeper room than go to the dining car.

They left at nine in the morning. They took the Central Pacific eastwards to Ogden, Utah Territory and changed to the Denver & Rio Grande. The next day, they were about twenty miles outside of Pueblo, when a post-lunch conversation was interrupted by the train sliding to an emergency stop.

“Badges and guns!” They already knew the express car was about four cars in front of their sleeper car. They had visited it and conversed with the express messenger, former shotgun messenger Thomas Hyland. Both knew him from a small case they worked in California.

Pope rushed down the aisle and car to car dressed in his suit minus the jacket. Both of his guns showed in their shoulder holsters and his badge was prominent on the left lapel of his vest.

Sarah kept up with him through the train, her guns strapped on and the short ten-gauge shotgun menacingly in hand. She, too, wore her gold badge where everyone could see it.

They slowed their pace as they approached the express car. From the edge of the door glass, Pope peered in.

A man with a bandanna tied over his mouth and nose was raising his gun to shoot Hyland. The guard’s shotgun was on the floor.

Pope drew his right gun and shot through the glass panes in the door of the car he was in and the ones in the express car. The glass shattered and with a clearer shot, he fired again. The wounded man was hit solidly this time and began to crumple as a second robber stepped into view facing Pope.

The second robber swiped his revolver across Hyland’s forehead, and he hit the floor.

The man aimed at Pope, who stepped aside and let Sarah operate the ten-gauge with its double-aught buckshot. He fell, dead before hitting the aisle floor. Another man popped into view shooting wildly.

Sarah jumped back to avoid the barrage of bullets aimed at her.

From the left, Pope emptied his right-hand Colt .44 and stepped outside the train door. He jumped five feet to the ground to the surprise of four men holding horses. They swung around and aimed at the detective.

He dropped two with the five cartridges in the cylinder of his left Colt. He was now empty. With a shoulder holster instead of a cartridge belt around his waist, Pope did not have reloads.

He ducked between cars as bullets careened towards him. He could hear the men coming and knew he was in big trouble.

Pope did not even have his Bowie knife, something he doubted he would live to admit to his grandfather, famed mountain man Israel Pope.

He could hear their boots on the sharp gravel beside the rails. They were mere feet away, when above, the door swung open, and Sarah dropped both with horrendous effect from such a short distance.

Pope knew there was no need checking for pulses. The buckshot from four feet had literally destroyed both men.

“Honey? You alright?” came a soft, caring female voice.

“I am now. It was close. Thanks!” he said.

He came out from between the cars, and she tossed him her .44 caliber Russian S&W double-action revolver, retaining the smaller .38 version in its left-hand holster.

Pope saw one man on a horse from thirty feet wheel the horse and start to ride off.

“Where in hell was he?” Pope asked himself aloud as he cocked Sarah’s revolver for a more precise shot than the long, double-action trigger pull would allow.

He took the classic target shooter’s position, right arm outstretched and left on his hip. He was bladed towards his target.

“You on the horse! Halt!”

The man turned. It was obvious to Pope he had been heard. And, ignored.

Pope pressed the trigger. The short barrel emitted a crack and a foot of flame. The man flinched and rode ten feet before falling off the horse, headfirst against an iron rail.

The engineer and conductor both approached Pope. The three of them checked the five on the ground. All dead. They climbed back onto the train.

Sarah was kneeling beside Hyland, who was regaining consciousness.

“Are you alright, Tom?” she asked.

“Things are still swimming around. I should be able to focus in a minute. I do know one thing thought. The treasure is safe. The vault was not opened before you and John opened up.”

“Gentlemen, we need to remove the saddles from seven horses and bring the saddlebags with us to give to the sheriff in Pueblo. Wouldn’t be right to abandon those horses to fend for themselves with saddles and