Read Trigger Gospel for Free Online

that rattled harmlessly against the side of the express car, the Sontags rode away. Members of the train crew who had found discretion the better part of valor ran up now. The conductor peered into the express car to find Waco bent down over Ferris’ lifeless body. He started to climb in.
    â€œGood God, don’t waste any time askin’ questions!” Waco snarled at him. “Give Jerry the highball and git this train rollin’ !”
    â€œBut Ferris looks as though he was badly wounded,” the conductor protested. “If there is a doctor aboard we ought to get him up here.”
    â€œNo doctor is goin’ to help this boy,” Waco told him. “He’s dead. He’s likely not to be the only one if we don’t pull out of here before Smoke discovers that he didn’t get what he came for.”
    â€œWhat do you mean by that?” Richards, the conductor, asked.
    â€œI mean the money is there in the stove,” said Waco. “All the Sontags got was some printed matter—and Smoke’s sense of humor ain’t up to appreciatin’ anythin’ like that.”

Chapter V

    I T WAS less than sixteen miles from the scene of the holdup to Bowie, for the Skull flowed to the northeast for some distance before it joined the Cimarron. Number Nine made the run in record time. Five minutes after she pulled into the Bowie yards news that the Sontags had boarded her in spectacular fashion, killing a mail clerk but failing to get the money they were after, through the coolheadedness of Waco Stillings, was winging its way over town.
    A crowd gathered at the station and saw Ferris’ body removed from the train. Telegraph wires had begun to hum. From Oklahoma City came word that Heck Short, U. S. Marshal, and his man-hunters were leaving for Bowie at once. From even more distant Kansas City came a message authorizing a reward for the capture of Ferris’ slayers, dead or alive. Newspapers asked for details of the holdup.
    Waco found it a little bewildering as he sat in the division superintendent’s office. He had been enjoined against saying anything until the Marshal arrived. A stricture of that nature was akin to locking the barn after the horse has been stolen, for alleged eye-witnesses among the passengers had ostensibly purveyed all details already.
    Some time after midnight Waco made his way uptown. He lived beyond the business section. It was his intention to go directly home, but he had no more than set foot on the main street than he was hailed right and left. Lights still burned brightly in Bowie’s saloons, for the town retained enough of its frontier character to refuse to be put to bed until it was good and ready to go. As a result, Waco’s progress became something of a triumphant procession. Various refreshments were urged on him, but he refused them successfully until he reached the Longhorn Saloon. There Sam Swift, Bowie’s new mayor, captured him and propelled him inside.
    â€œHere he is, boys!” Sam beamed as he pushed Waco up to the bar. “He put Bowie on the map tonight! The drinks is on me!”
    The crowd cheered. Waco was embarrassed. He had never found himself a hero before. In the past he had often been in the public eye in Bowie, but that was on those occasions when it used to delight him to ride into town with a bunch of punchers and express his exuberance by shooting out the lights.
    When Waco refused to enlarge on the story of what had happened at Skull Creek crossing, they put it down to modesty. It didn’t make any difference really; they had heard enough to give them a pretty definite idea of what had occurred.
    Some one else bought a drink, and then another and another. Sam had his arm around Waco now.
    â€œHe’s an old fightin’ son-of-a-gun, boys!” he bellowed. “A little starched in the legs, but he’s the man who ought to be the next sheriff of this county!”
    The crowd shouted