The Trainmasters Page 37

And then an intense red-orange flash of light burst behind the house, and this was closely followed by a clap and peal of thunder. And with the noise came a shock wave that shook the ground and twisted Henneberry’s aim.

  He fired. But the bullet missed Egan. Instead it struck Deirdre in the throat. She was halfway out of the stairwell when it hit her, but she fell back then, down on the others who were crowding after her.

  “DEIRDRE!” Egan screamed, turning to watch her fall.

  But then he remembered Henneberry. And as he recalled him, he drew his own pistol out of his belt.

  Henneberry hadn’t moved since the explosion, but the hand that held the pistol was now limp against his side. His eyes were wide with shock and his mouth was hanging open.

  An instant later, the shock changed to pain, for Egan’s bullet drove into his belly. An instant after that, the pain turned to anguish. But Egan did not observe that. He had bounded down the stairs to Deirdre’s side.

  He hardly had a chance to get a look at the other prisoners. His attention was so riveted on Deirdre that the others had no existence for him. He didn’t see that it was Teresa holding her in her arms. Or that Graham had come and taken hold of her… with enormous difficulty, for one of his arms was in a sling. Or that Graham and Teresa together carried her to the top of the stairs. Or that the children, silent, subdued, shaken, followed after them.

  All he knew was that Deirdre was dying. That was clear now. Nothing could stop that. The wound had crushed her windpipe. And her brain was deprived of oxygen.

  But she was still partially conscious, and her eyes were open. Her lips quivered, formed a shape… They mouthed an E.

  And then her eyes filmed. His face was the last thing she saw.

  There was another flash and another thundering explosion. There may have been others, but Egan had been unaware of them. He was too overwhelmed by his anguish and his grief.

  “We have to go!” said a commanding voice. The speaker’s identity didn’t register.

  “Egan, you have to leave.” That voice was Teresa’s, and it was insistent. “We have to break out of here!”

  “You’re not going to leave her here!” he cried.

  “No, of course not.” That speaker was Graham. “But we have to go.”

  Hands took her away from him, lifted her onto one of the horses. Other hands lifted Ferdy up, too.

  They did not intend to leave any dead behind.

  There was another explosion.

  And then, somehow, Egan was on his horse; and the band was moving out. No one in George Kean’s army made a move to stop them. For no one in George Kean’s army had recovered enough to realize what was going on.

  John Carlysle had sent the last keg rolling down the little hill. Next was his final task: the wagons themselves.

  He lit first one fuse, then another. Then he raced for his own horse, swung himself up, and spurred the animal hard. He had a minute and a half. The final and most magnificent explosion—so magnificent that the tale of it was still celebrated in the Pennsylvania mountains a hundred years after it flamed against the sky—came less than ten minutes after the first sounds of approaching horses reached the camp.

  Fifteen minutes after their mad dash with the bombs, and ten minutes after the powder wagons blew up, Francis Stockton, Geraghty, and Quigley were taking their bearings on the ridge overlooking the Keans’ camp. They were still mounted, however, in case they were forced to make a quick move.

  While the others relaxed, Francis observed through his field glasses the rebirth of activity amid the wreckage. Where the powder wagons had been, there was now a wide, deep crater. But that wasn’t the largest effect of the great explosion. The blast had also crushed the rear half of the big house. And all over the ground around the house, bodies of the dead, dying, and wounded lay scattered. As of that moment, no one was doing anything about them.

  But even so, purpose, order, and direction soon returned to the camp—much sooner than Francis expected after all the devastation he and his friends had wrought. George and Matthew Kean (apparently unscathed) were already busy, herding the fit and the clear-headed men into one place, giving them commands, setting tasks for them.

  And now, at last, some of them began moving among the bodies, searching for those that could be saved. Others went to the place where the horses were corraled. And in another few minutes, twenty-one horses were being made ready to ride.

  That made Francis mighty curious, for he could only think of one reason for the Keans to do that.

  Meanwhile another horseman rode up beside Francis. It was John Carlysle.

  “You look intent, Francis,” John said, after Stockton had given him only the briefest of greetings.

  “I am,” Francis said, pointing down. “See there. What do you make of that?”

  John looked for a time at the gathering band of horsemen, then he turned to Francis. “They’re coming after us,” he said.

  Francis shook his head. “It’s one more goddamned thing after another, isn’t it?”

  “One more goddamned thing.” John agreed.

  “So what do we do next?” Francis asked as Geraghty and Quigley drew their horses closer so that they could listen.

  John thought a moment to himself. Then he thought out loud. “The most desirable move would be to slip off into the wilderness and elude Kean’s people until we can work out something more permanent. Perhaps we should even slip out of the state entirely.”

  Francis nodded. “I could vote for that,” he said.

  “So could I,” said Geraghty. “We’re wasting time here.”

  “But before we can do that,” John went on, “we have to consider the others in Egan’s party. The more I think about them, the more I think we have to keep close to our original intention, at least until we meet them in Tyrone… and maybe afterward.”

  According to the plan John had concocted with Egan and Francis, the entire band would regroup in Tyrone. There John would order up a locomotive, tender, and passenger car that would carry them all to Philadelphia, where they’d be less exposed than they’d be at Gallitzin in case the Keans planned to make reprisals.

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t think Teresa or the children—or Graham and Egan, for that matter—are up to doing any strenuous activity like running off into the wilderness. They’re going to have to take it easy.”

  “So you’re still thinking of ordering up a train?”

  “I think so,” he said, after a long pause. “The quicker we all get away from this place, the better off we’ll be. We need time and distance. And we need to be able to call in the authorities before this business we’ve gotten into turns into a small-scale war.”

  “Do you really think that could happen?” Francis asked.

  “Look at what we’ve already done,” John said.

  “Jesus!” Francis said, suddenly taken aback by the growing magnitude of the events he was now inescapably part of.

  “It’s hard to take in, isn’t it?”

  “Very,” Francis answered. Then he straightened up a bit in his saddle. “So, then, maybe it’s time to get practical.”

  “Fine.”

  “How long will it take to order the train up?” Francis asked. “Those people down there won’t be hesitating. How long will it take them to be in Tyrone?”

  “Not long,” John admitted. He meditated a moment longer. “So,” he said, at first tentatively but with growing resolve, “we’ll try this.” He paused for a long breath. “First, we’ve got to have a train fired up and ready in Tyrone by the time we arrive. The equipment shouldn’t be a problem. There’ll be locomotives and cars in the yard there.” He paused for another breath. “So I want to send one of the two here… make it Quigley… to set that up.” He gave a glance at Quigley.

  “Right,” Quigley said.

  “Meanwhile, I should join Egan.”

  Francis nodded.

  “And I’d like the train to have as much of a start on them
as we can manage. So we’ll have to ride fast.”

  Francis nodded again.

  “You saved some of the bombs, didn’t you?”

  “We have six left.”

  “All right,” John said and caught Francis’s eye. “Good.” He paused again. “I’d like to delay the Keans… Would the bombs do the job?” He stopped, closed his fist, then decided. “No. They wouldn’t. You’d never get close enough to use them—and get away.” He looked at Francis. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t want to try it,” Francis said.

  “Good. All right. This is what I want you to do. I want you to keep an eye on the people down there. Bird-dog them. If they start to set something up against us, try to let me know about it. Try to get word to me. Can you do that— you and Geraghty?”

  “We’ll try.”

  “We’ll do what we can,” Geraghty added.

  “Right, then,” John said. “You and Geraghty do that, while Quigley and I take the road to Tyrone.” And he paused yet again. “And I better have the rest of the bombs with me.”

  “What for?” Francis asked.

  “In case all else fails.”

  Francis decided not to ask him what he meant by that.

  Not long after that, John and Quigley overtook Egan and the others on the road to Tyrone. And a few moments after that, Quigley was racing ahead of them in order to set the train up, while John was doing his best to urge as much speed as he could get out of Egan, Graham, Teresa, and the children.

  Every one of them was more than willing, but there was not one among them who was not bone weary and dazed.

  It was impossible to hasten them anywhere near as much as John wanted to. But they managed to reach Tyrone without incident, in spite of John’s worst fears. And when they got to the station, the locomotive, tender, and passenger car were waiting. A light smoke rose from the big stack. Steam drifted lazily from the pistons and valves. The tender was topped up with wood, and the boiler with all the water it could take.

  The Carlysles and the O’Rahillys were in Tyrone only long enough to dismount from their horses, board the train, and signal the engine driver to move out. Quigley, O’Rourke, Cahill, and Toolan, meanwhile, were ordered to return to Gallitzin.

  Once they were underway, John relaxed a little.

  He wanted to relax more—a lot more. But he couldn’t allow himself that pleasure until he had seen to the others.

  As it turned out they were pretty much as he expected them to be. His two youngest sons seemed none the worse for wear, considering what they’d been through. Alex and David would be fine after a long, long sleep. But Graham was totally out of action. It would be a while before he recovered from the savage beating Matthew Kean had given him; time and rest, however, would take care of him, too. When John went to check up on him, in fact, he was fast asleep.

  Teresa O’Rahilly, on the other hand, was a bundle of energy. Even before the train started moving, she was bustling back and forth in the car, seeing to the comfort of Graham, Egan, and the children and making herself otherwise useful. Teresa was quite a lady, John reflected, watching her. He had liked her from the first moment he had met her. But now she was turning out to be even more powerful and resilient than John had imagined possible.

  Her brother, though, worried John. He simply sat on his seat and stared straight in front of him, locked in his own private anguish. He was beyond sorrow. Beyond tears. When he was addressed, he made an answer. When he was asked to do something, he did it. But for the time being he was not available. The Egan O’Rahilly whose spirit overcame the collapse of the tunnei had been broken by the death of his wife.

  And Peg, Egan’s daughter, was predictably distraught and unconsolable. There was no way anyone could help her except to hold her and speak what comforting words one could think of. In time she should be all right, but for now, John could think of nothing to do for her. He was pleased to see that Teresa was spending much of her time with her. There was no one else now who was in a position to help her.

  And finally, the bodies of the two who were killed in the fight at the Keans’ were placed on the rear platform of the car, wrapped in tarps. There had been no time—and no inclination—to do anything else with them.

  That leaves me with two men I can’t depend on, a woman, and two boys, John thought to himself when he finished checking his forces. He was now in one of the seats, looking out the window at the landscape rolling by. If the Keans manage to catch up w ith us, he thought, we’re not going to be able to do much against them. All that we have going for us now is speed.

  With that, he went up to the locomotive and talked to the driver and fireman for a time, urging them to push the engine as hard as they could push it.

  Back in his seat, he lifted up his saddlebags from the floor where he had placed them when he boarded the train. These contained the six bombs. He worked with these for a time. And after a few minutes he had so rigged the bag that a single fuse was left extended outside the flap. Then he placed the bag back on the floor

  “Alex,” he called out once he’d finished, “would you come over here, please?”

  “Yes, sir,” his middle son said and then walked up the aisle and slipped next to him.

  “Alex,” John said, “I’ve a job for you. Will you do it for me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Alex said, “if you want me to.”

  “It’s dangerous, Alex. You could be hurt.” He hesitated, and then he said, “Do you want to do it still?”

  “I’ll do it,” Alex said confidently.

  “Do what?” It was Teresa. She was standing in the aisle beside John’s seat, hovering above John and Alex. She had evidently come up there unnoticed while John was engaged with Alex. “What do you want him to do that’s dangerous?”

  John looked at her, pondering whether to tell her what he was about to tell Alex. Then he decided to go ahead with it. “All right.” he said. “I’ll tell both of you.” He looked at Alex. “Do you see those saddlebags?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Lift them up.” Alex did that.

  “Now look at them and tell me what you see.”

  Alex examined the bags. “There’s a string hanging out,” he said finally.

  “It’s not a string,” his father told him. “It’s a fuse. And it’s fastened to the last of the bombs we made earlier today.”

  “What’s all this about?” Teresa asked one more time.

  “Listen,” John said, glancing at her. “It will come clear soon.” Then to Alex he said, “All right, before I left the ridge above the Keans’ place, I watched George and Matthew Kean putting together a band of mounted men. It’s very likely he was doing that in order to pursue us. It’s possible—though I hope it doesn’t happen—but it’s possible that they’ll succeed in finding and catching us.”

  “Even if they do,” Teresa said, “what does it matter? We’re safe on the train, aren’t we? The train is faster than they are, isn’t it?”

  “I wish …” John sighed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Most good horses, running hard, can keep even with a train—at least for a short time. But that’s not what I’m worried about here in the mountains. What worries me here is that the train has to follow the tracks; and they curl and curve and skirt large obstacles.. But men on horses can pass directly over them.

  “If they knew we were on the train now, the Keans could easily set themselves up ten or fifteen miles ahead of us and lie in wait for us there.

  “We have to stop for water, for instance, every few miles. It wouldn’t be hard to surprise us at one of the water tanks.”

  “I see,” Teresa said. And then she pointed to the saddlebags. “And so what do you intend to do with that?”

  “I’m coming to that,” John said, and then he looked at Alex. “Are you still with me, Alex, my man?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good then. Listen carefully. I’m going to leave some lucifer matches
with you, and I’m going to station you here with the saddlebags.” He paused. “And I want you to stay here until I tell you you can go. Understand?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “If the Keans do manage to stop us, I might—might— need you to light that fuse.”

  “What then?” Teresa interrupted, growing extremely concerned.

  “Then, if we’re lucky,” John said carefully, “I might be able to tell you to yank the fuse out before the bomb goes. Or else you could throw the bags out the window if I tell you to do that.”

  “How much time is on the fuse?” Teresa asked.

  “Something in the neighborhood of sixty seconds.”

  “You’re crazy,” Teresa said.

  “I don’t think so,” John answered. “I’m relying on a gamble.”

  “What gamble—with Alex’s life?”

  “With all our lives,” John said. “There’s enough gunpowder in my bags to make it pretty doubtful that anyone in this car would survive…”

  And then she understood what he had in mind. “And you think the Keans will give up rather than risk that?” she asked, pointing at the bag.

  “I think there’s a good chance of that.”

  “And what if they don’t.”

  “I’ll work out that decision while I’m waiting. If we’re lucky, they won’t do anything to cause such a defense. They might never even make another appearance in our lives,” he said with lips pressed tight together, “if we are extremely lucky.”

  Then she made a decision, and she turned to Alex. “Alex, you get out of here.”

  Alex looked doubtfully at his father. And his father looked doubtfully at Teresa.

  “Go on,” she said. “Go. Gather all the children together and sit as far away from here as you can.” And then she looked at John. “I’ll take care of the fuse,” she said.

  He looked hard at her, thought a moment, then slowly nodded his head. “Right, then.” And to Alex he said, “Go do as she says.”

  After Alex left, he turned once more to Teresa. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.

  “I’m doing it,” she said simply. “And that’s that.”

  “You know why I can’t.”