Read Online Butch Cassidy the Lost Years by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online

chargin’ in and tried to bust into the express car,” Farnum went on. “From what I hear, there was a big money shipment in there. Reckon the outlaws must’ve known about it somehow. The Wells Fargo guards were waitin’ for ’em, though. There was a hell of a gun battle.”
    â€œHow do you know all this?” I asked him. If the holdup happened that morning, then news of it had reached Largo mighty fast.
    â€œCharley Davenport and his wife were down in the county seat last night. They took their old maid daughter to town to put her on an eastbound train. She’s goin’ to visit relatives in Dallas and find herself a husband. Then they stayed the night and came back today. Stopped by here on the way to their place and told me all about it. It was the talk of the town.”
    I had met Charley Davenport once, here at Farnum’s. His spread was farther west. Seemed like a good sort, if a little closemouthed. I had a hunch it was Mrs. Davenport who’d done most of the talking about the robbery.
    â€œAnyway,” Farnum went on, seeming a little put out that I’d interrupted him, “one of the guards was wounded in all the shootin’, but two of the bandits were killed and the other four got away. The way I hear it, one of ’em was wounded.”
    â€œThey didn’t get the money?”
    â€œNary a penny. Those guards are heroes, if you ask me.”
    I hadn’t asked him, and given my background, I had a hard time seeing it the same way he did. Of course, I didn’t particularly admire the holdup men, either. To my way of thinking, what they’d done was crude and sloppy. They could have killed dozens of innocent people by derailing the locomotive. There are less destructive ways of stopping a train.
    But a derailment was effective, I had to give them that. A train can’t run if it’s not on the rails. And a crash likely would have busted the express car open and might have even killed the guards, so they could have waltzed in and made off with that loot pretty easy. That’s fine and dandy, if all you care about is the money.
    â€œWhat happened after the robbers lit out?” I asked.
    â€œThe conductor shinnied up a telegraph pole and cut in on the wire,” Farnum said. “He got help from the county seat. Sheriff Lester went chargin’ out there with a posse, sent the wounded guard back to town, and took off after the bandits. That’s the last Charley and his missus heard about it, so I don’t know if they caught the varmints yet or not.”
    I didn’t really care one way or the other, but at least the sheriff would be busy for a while chasing after outlaws and wouldn’t have time to wonder about me and how I’d got hold of Abner Tillotson’s ranch.
    â€œThe railroad’s shut down,” Farnum added. “They’ll have to send a work train out, maybe all the way from San Antone. Wouldn’t surprise me if they don’t get the mess cleaned up until sometime tomorrow. Maybe even the next day.”
    â€œWell, I’m not plannin’ on going anywhere, so that won’t cause me any problems.” I took the list I’d written out of my pocket. “I need a pound of coffee, some beans . . .”
    I told him the rest of the supplies I needed, and he started gathering them up with a surly expression on his face. He would have rather gossiped some more about the train robbery than do any actual work.
    I’d heard enough about it, though, and it had stirred up some uncomfortable memories for me. I don’t plan on apologizing for anything I’ve done in the past, and I learned a long time ago that regrets don’t change a damned thing. But I didn’t need any reminders, either. I especially didn’t cotton to the avid look on Farnum’s face when he talked about the engineer and the fireman dying in the crash, or the way he eagerly described the shootout