Bounty - Episode Three
This story contains language and sexual themes and is not suitable for anyone under 18 or anyone who is offended by such.
“Any trouble?” Sarah asked Lefty.
“Not so much from here,” he replied, taking the sack of stolen goods from her and slinging it over his shoulder. “Shot out the dining car window and the bastards in there scattered.”
He nodded at the window of the dining car. A few broken shards still clung to the frame. “Young Harris took it upon himself to gather their valuables.”
“I’ll bet,” Sarah muttered. “Just make sure he shares that loot with the rest of us. Wouldn’t put it past him to hoard a few extra pieces for himself.”
“He ain’t as bad as all that,” Lefty said. “He’s still a kid.”
“A kid that’s gonna get himself or us caught or killed if he doesn’t control that temper of his.”
“He’s a young buck. Once he gets the wild out of him he’ll settle down. Weren’t so long ago that you were the one with the uncontrollable temper.”
Lefty was a bulky man who walked with a permanent limp thanks to the prosthetic wooden leg he acquired when a cannonball blew a hole through his left leg during the war. He claimed learning how to walk with the prosthetic was worse than recovering from the amputation of his lower limb.
His head was covered in shaggy gray hair and his beard was long and equally gray and shaggy, with the hairs around his mouth tinged yellow from years of heavy smoking. His eyes were a piercing green like emeralds glistening under all that hair. For a large man, he tracked animals with grace and moved so silently he could sneak up on a deer and slit its throat before it even realized he was near.
Sarah sighed. “Where is he now?”
“Went to the express car.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. Harris could never follow instructions. He was impulsive and quick to anger, both qualities of an amateur outlaw.
“I’m heading there now.”
“Don’t smell the law yet, but I bet they’ll be coming soon. When this train doesn’t make its scheduled stop people are gonna come looking. Best hurry.”
Sarah nodded and trudged towards the express car, easily identifiable by the windowless exterior. She hopped up on the platform and rapped on the door with her knuckles. “It’s me!” she called out before opening the door.
The car was dimly lit, with a couple of lights dangling from the ceiling. The engineer sat on the floor in the corner, his ankles bound together with thick rope and his hands tied behind his back.
The express manager was shaking violently as Henry aimed a shotgun at his back. “It’s real simple,” Henry said. “Open that safe or I put a hole in your chest so big your guts spill out.”
“I-I-I’m trying,” the express manager said.
“Try harder,” Henry threatened, pressing the barrel of the shotgun against the man’s shirt. The express manager shivered.
While Henry would threaten violence during a robbery, he was typically affable, gregarious and enjoyed showmanship.
“We gotta move,” Sarah told him. “Mr. R. said we ain’t got much time before the law comes looking.”
“How long you think it’ll take you to open it?” Henry asked Sarah.
Sarah peered over Henry’s shoulder at the built-in safe. It was large and resembled a bank safe. She recognized the locking mechanism and knew she could crack it relatively easily. A smaller safe storing passenger valuables they didn’t want to lose, was hanging open beside it, the contents removed.
“Five minutes. Seven tops.”
Henry peered at his pocket watch, a gold timepiece etched with silver. He tucked it back into the pocket of his waistcoat. “We’ve got at least twenty before any law shows up.” He addressed Sarah. “Why don’t you take a shot? This poor fool looks as if he’s gonna wet himself if I keep poking that shotgun in his spine.” He turned his attention to Harris, who was busy busting around the baggage car looking for any missed valuables. “Tie him up, Mr. F.”
Harris grabbed the messenger by the collar and shoved him to the floor by the engineer. He gave him a good kick in the ribs and then used a length of rope they thoughtfully brought and wound it around the messenger’s hands and legs.
Sarah holstered her gun and squatted down in front of the safe. She turned her head side-to-side, examining the mechanism. Then, cracking her knuckles, she set to work, her lithe fingers twisting the combination lock. She heard a soft tick as she reached the first number.
“Forty-three,” she told Henry as she switched directions on the knob. She felt breathing on the nape of her neck and turned her head to find Harris hovering a little too close for comfort. “Do you mind?” she said.
“Nope,” he retorted.
“Mr F.,” Henry warned, “give her some space to work.”
Grumbling, Harris backed away. “I could crack that safe, you know.”
“I’m sure you could,” Henry said, shotgun still pointed at the hostages. “But it’d be noisy and messy. We don’t need that.”
Harris adjusted the grain sack on his head. “Not that messy,” he argued. “A little noisy, maybe, but—”
“Would you both be quiet?” Sarah asked, her tone impatient. “I can’t hear the clicks with all your jawing!”
Henry, realizing he needed cooler heads to prevail, ordered Harris to help Lefty patrol the train and keep any passengers in line.
“Don’t argue,” Henry said, raising a hand when Harris opened his mouth to protest. “We gotta get this done.”
Shoulders slumping, Harris obeyed and shuffled out of the express car, shooting Sarah a daggered look over his shoulders as he went.
Sarah ignored him and focused on the safe. She rotated the knob very slowly until it ticked towards the appropriate number. “Twelve,” she called out as she switched directions for the final number.
A minute or so later, the lock slid out of place and the safe door swung open. Inside were a mix of currencies, a few stacks of worn bills, and a couple gold bars. “Ain’t no fifty thousand,” Sarah said, examining the contents, “but it’ll do.”
She and Henry filled a pair of empty grain sacks and had the safe empty in minutes. Sarah swept her arm against the inside walls of the safe and a bearer bond or two fluttered to the floor of the car. Henry snatched them up.
“It’ll do indeed,” he said, stuffing them into the grain sacks. Then, he turned to face the engineer and the express manager. “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice taking on the tone of a circus ringmaster. “Thank you for bearing with us. We appreciate what little cooperation you could afford us.” Then he bowed to them with a flourish.