falcon and wolf 8

 

Train Robbers

 

Chapter 8

 

The local sheriff had his feet on his desk when Luke walked into his office.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Oh, I see, that’s why Barney Magree is still free,” said Luke. “You’re suffering from horizontal labourphobia.”

“Wot? Enough o’ your cheek!” said the sheriff, moving into a sitting position.

“I said you lay down on the job because you’re lazy,” said Luke.

“What are you doing with that poster?” the sheriff pointed to the poster Luke had in his hands.

“Studying it, to do your job for you. My friend and I are accredited bounty hunters.”

“He’s an injun.”

“He’s part Cherokee; he’s a legal bounty hunter, approved by Marshal Sam Douglas. Does he know you lie down on the job?”

“He does, now,” said Douglas, coming in. “Ephraim Taylor, you help out Mr. Sokolov any way you can.”

“What do you want?” asked Taylor, sullenly.

“Pictures of any of his gang, names, prices, and modus operandi,” said Luke.

“Mode… what does that mean?”

“Means you didn’t get an education,” said Luke.

“Even Cherokee brave know that much Latin,” said Wolf, who enjoyed Luke sneering at a man who had been prepared to sneer at him. “Modus operandi; how train robber like to do things. Method.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” demanded Taylor.

“I did,” said Luke. “Pay attention; if you have to go to court with it, you might be asked questions on identifying a criminal through his modus operandi.  Which is important. So, in short words you might understand, what appears to be his aim, and how does he carry out his thefts, how many followers does he have, and do you have pictures of any of them, or failing that, descriptions.”

“Well, his methods are easy enough,” said Taylor. “He sends some of his people to ride the train he plans to rob. One of his men is named ‘Angel Face;’ he’s short, smooth faced, clean-shaven, with curly yaller hair, and he’s been known to pose as a woman or a child. He makes his way to the caboose without arousing suspicion, and shoots the guard and any security guards with special cargoes.  Another of the gang pulls the communication cord, and Magree and his other men unload it, and ride off.”

“Sounds fiendishly simple,” said Luke. “Looks like I might be back in petticoats. I ain’t sacrificing my moustache again, though.”

“Take out Angel Face, and they need someone for his role,” grunted Wolf.

A look of unholy glee crossed Luke’s face.

“I need me a photographer, a homestead as a background, a lady, a boy, and a girl,” he said.  “Models for the day. And a photo of Angel Face.”

“The newspaper might have one,” said Taylor, reluctantly.

 

The hotel was one where Luke had stayed before; and his exploits had seen Sam Douglas promoted to US Marshal, necessitating his local replacement with Taylor. Douglas did not underestimate Luke these days.

The proprietor of the hotel opened his mouth at the sight of Wolf.

“You weren’t going to be bad mouthing or refusing my friend, were you, Thomas Abbott senior,?” said Luke, dangerously.

“Oh, er, no,” said the proprietor. “I… you were right generous to my boy.”

“He did well by my nag, and in helping me out, he’s a bright boy is your Tommy; and a bit of thrill in his life helping me more likely to keep him from running off to do something dangerous than otherwise,” said Luke.  “Helping a dangerous pair of fellows like my partner and me is, I am sure, a long way to fulfilling his desire for excitement.”

“Well, he did stop talking about going off to join a rodeo, or Pinkerton’s,” said Abbott.

“You can send him to our room; and if your girl’s about the same height, I’d hire her to dress as a country girl and pretend to be my sister in a photograph. Her own face wouldn’t appear.”

“So long as there’s no hanky-panky… and Tommy’s there with her,” said Abbott.

“That isn’t a problem,” said Luke. “I want to arrange to have the pictures all taken at once.  Have you got a bar-girl who looks wholesome in a nice challis dress?”

“Yes, I can recommend a girl, and she’s discreet,” said Abbott.

“Splendid,” said Luke.

Having apprised Tommy of what he wanted, the next stop was at the newspaper

 

oOoOo

 

“I need to hire your photographer, and I’d like copies of any of the Magree Train Gang photographs,” said Luke, to the editor. “I used your services clandestinely to capture ‘Fillies’ Mikkeljon, but if you can help me out, I’ll give you an exclusive when I have them all. That fellow, Tarney, who does some excellent work touching up pictures from bad photos, will he be for hire?”

 “He’s a genius in the dark room, too, and gets detail out of faded negatives,” said the editor.

“Good; just what I need. Is he up for a challenge?”

“He’s always up for challenge.”

 

Soon, Luke was in dungarees, with a straw hat, being photographed in three separate pictures with his arm around a woman in a faded challis, otherwise Ellie, the bar girl, a young girl in gingham, who was Tommy’s sister Annie-Beth, and a boy in dungarees, who was Tommy. They were very happy with twenty dollars each for their time, and Tommy delighted to know what it was all about, if disappointed not to be keeping his own face.

“None of them look like this Angel-face,” said Wolf, doubtfully.

“Don’t have to as long as they are about the height he’s supposed to be,” said Luke. “This is where our tame photographer does his magic, and makes prints of each of these plates, substituting the face of Angel-face in each one.  It’s called dodging and burning, I think,[1]” he added. “Means lining up both plates careful-like, and printing all but the face in the first, then masking it out and putting in the second slide. You’re up for it, aren’t you, Tarney?” he addressed the photographer.

“For what you’re paying me, Mr. Sokolov, I’d fake the editor’s wife dancing nude,” said Tarney.

“I think I’ll forgo that image,” said Luke. “And you will burn those negatives; it’s a promise I made to the kids’ father.

“Yes, sir,” said Tarney.

 

When the prints were delivered, Luke crowed happily.  Each of them bore Angel-face’s features.

“Now we walk up and down on them under the rug, put them under the mattress and roll on them, open and shut a book with them in, pushed right to the side to make the edges dog-eared, and turn them into much-loved photographs that have suffered from being in a wallet,” said Luke. “If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”

He had also paid for a print of Tommy and his sister, and one of Ellie, for the children’s parents, and for Ellie, if she wanted one, just as portraits; and Tommy had begged a print of himself with Luke. He was thrilled to be looking after Blackwind again.

In the meantime, Luke taught Tommy how to dance, as a means of aging the photos, which they danced on, and having slept on them all night, he was ready to ride the train due in the following morning, which, according to the newspaper, was carrying a significant paychest.

He would be dressed in his dungarees, and checked shirt, travelling separately from Wolf. Wolf was there to take into custody anyone who tried to stop Luke getting hold of Angel-Face.

“What’ll you do if he’s being an old woman?” demanded Wolf.

“Call him ‘Mommy,’ and show people his likeness to my dear wife, whose mother’s wits are wandering, and who needs caring for,” said Luke. He had let his facial hair grow, to give him a beard as well as a moustache.

“You clever sonofabitch, you have all the answers,” said Wolf.

“I try,” said Luke. “It’s the best way to stay alive.” He sobered up. “Wolf, to be a bounty hunter means more than just being good with your guns, with any other weapon, with being fit, and fast. It’s about using your wits to put yourself in the head of the bad guys. It’s often an uncomfortable place to be, but you have to be able to think of what they will do one step before they do it.  I went to spy on the Westons, but in reality? I’d prepared already for everything they tried. I needed no modification to the plan. I’m not boasting, but when I go against an owlhoot, I have plan A, plan B, plan C, and several ideas for modifications and combinations of those plans. If you can handle that, you’ll be as good a bounty hunter as any. If not, well, you’re my friend, and a helpmate.”

Wolf grunted.

“I learn,” he said. “If I no learn enough, I break sod with lovely Kalina.”

Luke laughed.

“It’s also good to know when to settle down and leave things to the youngsters. I plan to work with Ida, because I know she can adapt and plan; and in ten years, we’ll retire, richer than Rockefeller. I want to wed her next year, and take only the interesting jobs, settling in Eastbend.

“Will Eastbend be friendly to Wolf?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Luke.  “But this Angel-Face, he is short, clean-shaven, delicate featured. He can be a female of any age with makeup, from about fifteen upwards; and a boy in his teens as well. He could be a little old man, but I don’t think he would be, because any short man could do that. He prides himself on being able to be a woman or a young boy. So, he’s likely to choose that. And though he could be an old woman, I don’t think he would, whilst his skin is smooth. He prefers to use that as a natural disguise. It doesn’t seem natural, but then, maybe he’s part Indian, or Chinese, as they rarely grow facial hair; or maybe he had some accident as a child which inhibited the growth of hair. Or, being blond, he relies on it being too light to see after a few hours. Or, there’s some strange freak of nature, the opposite of bearded ladies in the fairground. Whatever; he uses it whilst he's young enough to get away with it.”

Wolf nodded.

“And we stop him, and the man who pulls the cord, and confound the gang, and then they’ll be wondering what happened. And either they’ll try to bust out Angel-Face, or look for a new gimmick.”

“Or a new twist on the old gimmick,” said Luke. “If Ida was a little older, I’d let her be on the inside, but I get all twisted up inside at the thought of her taking such risks. I don’t fancy losing my whiskers again, but I can be a harmless-looking drummer, who’s really a bandit, dressed up all eastern style, and with a mincing walk, and finicky speech.”

“Not much acting needed then,” said Wolf, jocularly.

Luke poked him.

They both laughed.

There was an evening to spend; and Wolf and Luke taught Tommy how to play Poker, and more important, how to tell if someone was cheating.

“Might come in handy for your Daddy, if you have card players in the saloon,” said Luke. “I call.”

He shamelessly displayed a hand of five aces, whilst Wolf laid down a full house of three aces and two kings. Tommy fell about laughing. They had been playing for imaginary stakes.

“I don’t suppose nobody puts anything over you, Mr. Falcon, Mr. Wolf,” he said.

“Not usually,” said Luke. “But don’t you go trying to out sharp the sharpers until you know you could pull tricks like these against someone watching as carefully as you were.”

“You switched when you scratched,” said Tommy.

“Very good. We’ll make a croupier of you yet, to guard your daddy’s reputation,” said Luke. “And to make sure you and your buddies don’t get bilked when you’re off at college. There’s plenty of unscrupulous types who reckon college students are a gift to them as greenhorns. And if you do get bilked, I’ll leave you a couple of addresses where I can be reached, and you can write to me, and I’ll sort the bastards out for you. And no shame in a young fellow reaching out to an older friend.”

“Thank you, sir!” said Tommy, overcome by being called a friend of his hero.

 

oOoOo

 

Luke boarded the train near the back; and Wolf near the front. Wolf worked his way back, looking for the golden curls of their quarry, and a secondary look to see the one thing Angel-Face could not hide – his Adam’s apple. High neck gowns for women made it harder to spot, of course, but Wolf was looking closely. He made his way to the back, and indicated with hand signals where their quarry was seated. Then he sat down, and got out a newspaper to ostensibly read.

Luke gave it an hour and a half, at which point they were nearing the next stop, and then he got up, and sauntered forward up the train. He raised an eyebrow at Wolf.

“Woman,” murmured Wolf. Luke made no indication of hearing, and paused in the concertina corridor between cars to remove two photographs from his wallet, and slide them into a back pocket. He carried on sauntering up the cars until he reached the right one, and took in the golden curls under the fetching chip bonnet which was worn over them.

And ascertained that there was no other blonde woman in the car. It would be embarrassing to accost the wrong one. He looked into blue eyes which were chips of ice, and recognised the face without difficulty.

His steps brought him up to the counterfeit woman faster than his lazy amble seemed to suggest. He smiled.

 

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[1] Yes, it’s easy; I’ve done this. People worry about AI deep fakes, but a competent photographer with a darkroom can do it well enough too, even long before computers. Using Photoshop is just the lazy way. Nothing new under the sun.