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It was the kind of day that made you want to stay inside with a good cigar and a glass of brandy. The kind of day best spent with your legs stretched out to a good fire. The kind of day best appreciated from behind a windowpane.
Unfortunately, payroll trains didn’t take the day off.
Hannibal Heyes stared into the gray mist surrounding their campsite. The good news was that nobody on the train could see them coming. The bad news was that he wasn’t certain they could see the train once it arrived. And the engineer certainly wouldn’t be able to spot the rails they’d pried up to stop the train.
“Better light that bonfire,” he called to the boys stationed at the tracks. “They won’t stop otherwise.”
Of course, there were many who’d just allow the train to run upon the missing rails and derail, plucking the payroll from the wreckage. Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were better men than that. They’d never harmed an innocent and they weren’t about to start now. Thus, the warning fire, set well ahead of their trap.
The fog roiled around them, so thick that Heyes was hard put to pick out the silhouettes of his own men, stationed along the rails ready for the train’s arrival. The smoke from the bonfire mingled with the gray cloud. The resulting coughs would have given their position away if they hadn’t advertised it with the fire.
The eerie whistle of the train let Heyes know it had reached the Red Canyon crossing. Assuming the engineer hadn’t slowed because of the fog, they’d reach the bonfire within five minutes.
“Get ready, boys,” he called. Wheat, Kyle and Lobo were stationed on the other side of the tracks to prevent escape from that side of the train, while Heyes and Curry and the rest of the men waited on this side.
The horses, uneasy in the thick fog, snorted and danced in place, smelling the smoke but unable to determine where the danger lay. Heyes rode his mount in a small circle, working off its excess energy. The Kid reined in his animal, speaking softly and rubbing its sweaty neck to comfort it.
“Be lucky to find the payroll in this mess,” he muttered to Heyes. “I can’t hardly see my horse’s ears in front of my nose.”
Heyes nodded, then realized his partner might very well not be able to see that response and grunted his agreement. He wasn’t worried about finding the payroll. He was worried one of the passengers or engineers might slip off the train in the fog and get the drop on one of the boys. Nobody’d managed that trick yet, but there was always a first time – and the man who planned for the unexpected wouldn’t be surprised if it struck.
“Look lively, boys,” he called. “Make sure we get everybody off the train and take their guns away from them.”
“We ain’t stupid,” Wheat muttered, evidently not realizing that the enfolding fog also trapped sound and magnified it. Heyes could only hope the man would see the risk and watch for escapees.
They could hear the train’s approach now, the great steam engine chuffing, adding more gray steam to the fog and smoke hanging over the valley. The wheels clacked against the rails, a cheerful beat keeping time with the engine.
The engineer spotted the fire and let go with a blast on his whistle. The noise startled the horses and the boys had a hard time keeping their mounts from bolting. Heyes whirled his animal in place again. The Kid’s mount half-reared, grunting as it fought the bit.
The train slowed then, steam whooshing from the brakes as the engineer caught sight of the uprooted rails behind the bonfire. Another long wail from the whistle nearly deafened Heyes, then the train screeched to a jerky stop, mere feet from the missing rails.
“Stand and deliver!” Heyes called loudly.
“Who in hell is out there?” The engineer sounded like somebody’s crotchety old grandpa. “Can’t see nothing in this damn fog.”
“Hannibal Heyes,” The Kid bellowed.
“Kid Curry,” Heyes called in turn. “We’re here to relieve you of that heavy payroll.”
Heyes spotted movement in the fog, passengers clambering down from their car and lining up along the tracks. He saw Hank at the door to the car, rifle at the ready. He and the Kid rode along the train to the baggage car.
This was the tricky part. If the mine had sent guards, they weren’t going to just hand over their package without resistance. Heyes had a contingency plan in place for such an event, but it was tougher to implement and he wasn’t entirely certain that Kyle and Wheat would remember how it went.
Fortunately, the mine had believed their Pierce and Hamilton would provide sufficient protection. With a grin at his partner, Heyes swung down from his horse and climbed into the baggage car.
Then it was simply a matter of ignoring everything else: the chuffing of the engine, the muttering of the crowd at the passenger car, the gray wisps of fog and smoke seeping into the baggage car, even his own partner’s murmured comments to his restless horse.
Heyes put his ear to the safe and his hand on the dial. He already knew this was a three-number combination, thanks to that mine engineer they’d gotten drunk. He’d also learned some pertinent numbers associated with the mine owner. Numbers like family birthdays, anniversaries, and the date the mine was discovered. Most people picked a number they could easily remember, so doing a bit of research ahead of time usually paid off.
In this case, it was the birthday of the owner’s oldest daughter. Heyes grinned again as the deep thump sounded within the safe. He tugged the door open and he and The Kid peered inside.
The fat canvas bag was simple to remove and simpler to stash within The Kid’s saddlebag (after Heyes had spent a moment or two fondling the stacks of paper money within it, of course). They also removed a stack of mine stocks, freshly printed and conveniently ready to be filled out.
As he swung back aboard his mount, Heyes put two fingers into his mouth and let out a loud whistle to signal the boys the job was done. He swung by the engine on his way to the trail out of the little canyon.
“Thank you kindly, sir,” he called to the grumpy old fellow. A hefted fist was his only reply.
Then the Devil’s Hole Gang vanished into the gray fog like phantoms, leaving behind another success for Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, and another mine owner cursing their names.