“You’re going to need these. You know you will.”
I watch a loaded Peacemaker get shoved into my hands along with a bandolier. I drop the revolver into my holster and I sling the bandolier over my shoulder. I seal my eyes and feel the hot gritty dust enter my lungs deeply as I prepare for bloodshed. I rooted the air inside me before expelling it and opening my eyes to see Porter locked in my view.
“It’s now or never. Can’t leave Honovi waiting.” He briefs me with confidence. “Godspeed.”
I grit my teeth and clench my hand around the Colt’s frayed leather grip. “Godspeed,” I mutter as I walk to my horse, running my hands through his onyx mane and resting my palm before his jaw. I whisper a weak, “Good luck,” before mounting Dutch and tightening my hands on the harness. Porter grabs the saddle of his own steed; Yukon, and slings himself onto the horse. I glance at Porter as he mumbles a quick prayer with his head pointed down and his eyes squeezed shut. It was so quiet I wasn’t sure what prayer it was, but you best believe I said, “Amen.”
My spurs drive Dutch into a sprint with Yukon by my side. A dust cloud stirs behind us as we charge down the hills. Smoke shoots from the locomotive as it barrels down its track. We push our horses to their limits on our steady advance. The engine rumbles down the cast-iron trail and our hooves batter the golden terrain. The steel beast was soon to meet its match: TNT.
An explosion in the distance sends rock, dirt, and metal into the open blue sky and Porter fires a few shots into the horizon. Unless by some miracle Honovi could make his way back to the train, it was up to Porter and me. The heist was t’go. The train’s brakes scream as we run parallel with its right side, attempting to line up with its couplings. Slowly, the train is losing momentum and we prepare for boarding. Porter lines up with a coupling a few cars ahead on the train. He turns his head to look back at me and Dutch before swinging his right foot onto the horse’s saddle and flinging himself between the two cars, disappearing from sight. I quickly copy his acrobatics and get my right foot in position to leap. I put all my force into the plunge and sling myself through the air, bracing for a not so pleasant landing.
My face slams into the metal and I flail my arms to gain a hold. I find leverage on the carts and steady myself. A smile creeps up my sore face as I push to stand and kick open the passenger car to my right. I draw my pistol and raise it to the sky. Screams echo through the cabin.
“He’s got a gun!”…
“Don’t shoot!”…
“Mercy!”
“Shut up n’ sit down!” I yell as I empty a bullet into the cabin’s roof. People slam their eyes shut and bring their arms to their faces from the gunshot. “Don’t be actin’ up n’ all you rich folk’ll make it out of here still kickin’!” My boots click as I walk down the aisle of the car to get to the front and meet back with Porter. Women with furs and men with clean shaven faces above pristine clothing shove themselves as far into their seats as they can. I move the firearm back and forth, pointing at every family. They pray they make it out alive as they cower away from me. All they see is an outlaw, a man lost from decree and corrupt of sin. Outlaw or not, I’m trying to survive as much as they are. Granted, I don’t have a gun pointed in my face.
I scrunch my brow to try and wipe those thoughts away. Sensing my distraction, a man shoots from his seat, grabs my wrist and knocks me to the floor. My gun slides from my hand. The train finally stops. The cabin jerks and I scramble around the aisle floor in search of my gun. Frantically, I swing my head back and forth in search of my lifeline. It’s just out of reach. I push my body to a crawl to grab it at the same time the man finds his footing and flings himself back onto me.
“Help! Help me!” The man yells before a second finally man gains the courage to join the pig pile.
“Hokahey! Hokahey!” a large dark skinned warrior cries out as he slams open the passenger door of the car. The war cry sends shivers down even the bravest mens’ necks. With the two men trying to pin me down, Honovi reaches the train at the perfect time. The wannabe heroes lurch up and back away as a long rifle is aimed directly at them. This gave me the opening to reach for my gun and take back the upper hand.
Standing back up to meet Honovi by my side, I holler, “Don’t be doin’ nothin’ stup’d like that ‘gain right?” Just then, two shots are fired farther up on the train. I nudge Honovi’s elbow. “Bes’ believe ya saved me there, huh?”
“Brothers stand together Prich.” He says back to me. “Now where may Porter be?”
“Up some cars, you heard them shots too, ” I tell him as we reach the end of the car and open the door. We step over the coupling and open the door to a storage cart. There in front of us was the reason we were on the train in the first place–safes full of silver and gold.
Honovi looks at me and says, “I got the door. Crack them safes so we can get outta here.” I nod in agreement and pull out a chisel from my belt. I rush to a safe that is sitting under a wood crate labeled ‘furs’. I lift the crate and lock my knees to push the box to the ground. It lands on its side and the lid of the box flies open. Bison pelts unroll out of the crate and onto the floor. “Don’t be thinkin’ ‘bout fur now. Get to crackin’!” Honovi emphasizes. Dropping to a kneel, I slam the chisel into the opening of the reinforced door and pry as hard as I can. All of a sudden there’s slamming from the door opposite we entered. I drop the chisel and pick my gun back up. Honovi aims down his sights. The door is slowly pushed open and Porter falls to the ground in the doorway, holding his shoulder. Blood is rushing out of him as he tries to get words out.
“Let’s get goin’. I got ‘em, but they sure got me back.” Porter mutters as he swings a bag around that he just filled with silver and dollar bills. Honovi swings his rifle back over his shoulder and rushes over to grab the bag and help support Porter. “C’mon!” he says again as I stare in shock, not knowing whether to grab more money or to run. My greed gets the better of me and the door Honovi was supposed to be watching swings open. A ranger turns the corner and lays 3 rounds into my side. I slump face first with my teeth hugging the ground.
Honovi drops Porter and tries to lift his rifle before 2 more slugs meet his chest. Blood flies and the native hits the wood. Porter grits his teeth and reaches for his revolver. Stupid mistake. The last bullet in the lawman’s gun flies through the air and meets Porter’s skull, sending his body backwards and to the floor. The Ranger places his gun back into his holster. With a solemn face and cold eyes, he pulls a cigar from his pocket and lights the tobacco. Glancing down to my lifeless form, he blows a ring of smoke through the cart’s still air.
We finally met our match. That was the last of the Prichard Kidd Gang.