“Barnett get in here,” Teaspoon bellowed from within his office.

Barnett dashed inside wondering what had stuffed the burr in Hunter’s pants this time.  With Russell, Majors & Waddell moving Teaspoon and the rest of his express riders to Rock Creek, the veteran lawman always seemed to be on edge lately.  With the pressure of making the transition smoother for everyone as well as finding a replacement marshal, Barnett supposed Teaspoon was understandably tense.  Barnett knew that Teaspoon didn’t trust him to look after things permanently, and that hurt a little.  But he also couldn’t help but wonder who the new marshal might be.

The young deputy entered the marshal’s office to find a completely unexpected picture in front of him.  Sitting in the marshal’s chair was a man wearing handcuffs and a petulant look on his face.  He wore a gaudy city slicker suit and his hair was plastered to his skull with more grease than you 
would put on a wagon wheel to make it stop squeaking.  He looked like some sort of dandified gambler or con man.  Barnett’s attention, however, was riveted to the young woman standing beside the marshal.

She wore sensible traveling clothes and had her dark blond hair pulled back into a loose bun, revealing here pretty features.  What was she doing back here, Barnett thought with a mixture of surprise and mild bitterness.

“Barnett,” Teaspoon rumbled, indicating the fop sitting in the chair.  “This here’s Johnny Deuce, real name Bob Turnbull.  Seems he sold some property that he had no right to sell.”

“Now look here-” Deuce protested, standing.

“Shut up,” Teaspoon snapped, pushing him roughly back down into the chair.  The marshal then continued, “Miss Huddleston here works for the Pinkerton Detective Agency, if you ken believe that.  She was hired to track him down and bring him back.  Unfortunately with all the trouble back east, they cain’t send anyone the help her make sure he gets there.  So I’m sendin’ you with her ta make sure she makes it to Springfield.”

Translation, Barnett thought.  All your pet riders are either busy with their rides or the move, so you have no choice but to send me.

“I believe Deputy Hamilton is more than satisfactory for this assignment, Marshal Hunter,” Molly said in a polite cultured tone.

Teaspoon looked at her like she’d grown an extra head.  After finally noticing the familiar looks they were trading, he asked, “Beggin’ yer pardon ma’am.  But do you two know each other?”

“Uh, not really, boss,” Barnett mumbled.  Averting his eyes, he found a particularly fascinating spot on the wall.

Molly was surprised at Barnett’s statement.  She addressed Hunter.  “Actually, Deputy Hamilton was instrumental in helping the Pinkertons crack a spy ring a couple of weeks ago.  I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

“What!” Teaspoon eyes nearly shot out of his head.  He threw a look at Barnett who was still looking at that spot on the wall.  The marshal eventually found his voice and croaked, “You mean this Barnett!?”

Was she talking about this Barnett?  The same one who’d locked the jail keys inside the cell with a prisoner.  The same one who’d let an unarmed man get the drop on him.

“Are there any other’s in Sweetwater,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.

While they were talking, Barnett was turning deeper and deeper shades of red.  The main reasons he hadn’t told Teaspoon or any of the others about Molly or what happened was that he knew they wouldn’t believe him.  Besides they’d never asked how he’d gotten all banged up.  They’d all thought he’d gotten in the middle of a particularly vicious drunken barroom brawl, so he didn’t bother to explain.  Nobody took him seriously anyway.

When the marshal and Miss Huddleston finished talking, Deuce piped in cheerily, “Well, while you figure out what’s going on with your deputy.  How about I just wait out-”

“Sit down,” Barnett growled, shoving Deuce back down, a little rougher than necessary.  He then focused his attention on Marshal Hunter, “So when do we leave?”

The trip to St. Jo was rife with tension.  Barnett still hadn’t forgiven Molly for lying and using him.  Maybe he was angrier with himself for falling for another girl so fast after Millie.  But he knew there was no way a sophisticated young lady like Molly Huddleston could care deeply about a two-bit lawman like him.  And Johnny Deuce wasn’t helping.  Constantly whining and complaining and stalling, the deputy was ready to shoot him himself when they arrived in St. Jo.  They stopped at the train station and picked up their tickets for a non-stop trip to Springfield.  While Barnett, Deuce and Molly waited for their train, Molly saw the conductor conversing with a trio of rough looking who were heavily armed.

“Now who are they,” Molly enquired, mostly to herself.

“Railroad trouble shooters,” Barnett answered curtly.  At Molly’s blank look, he explained,  “Hired guns.  Must be something pretty valuable on board.”

Molly had just about had it with Barnett’s sour mood, but they had the whole trip to sort things out.  As they entered their coach, there were only four other seats and no other passengers.  Molly asked the conductor about this and he answered, “This is a freight train ma’am.  The company made an exception for you and your prisoner.”  The traveling party got comfortable as the train pulled out of the station.

Molly decided it was time to start chipping away at the wall between them.  “Well,” she prompted.  “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Should something be bothering me,” Barnett didn’t want to have this conversation, but Molly wouldn’t be put off.

“You barely spoke two words to me since we left Sweetwater.  I figured you’d at least be happy to see me again.”

“Well,” Deuce spoke up.  “You two obviously have some catching up to do, so I’ll just-”

Deuce got up only to have Barnett viciously yank him back to his seat.  Barnett drew his pistol and stuffed it down the front of Deuces’ pants.  He then whispered harshly,  “I hear one more word outta you, just one, and I’ll blow yer snake off.  Got it!”

After losing control of his bodily functions, Deuce let out a compliant squeak and nodded numbly.

Barnett turned back to Molly to continue their conversation when he thought he heard muffled pops coming from the car behind them.  Cocking his ear he thought he could faintly hear another muffled pop.

Picking up on Barnett’s mood, Molly asked, “What is it, deputy?”

“Dunno,” he mumbled.  Uncuffing himself from the whiny con man, Barnett then cuffed him to his chair.  “Might be nothin’.  You still got that double action derringer of yours?”

She nodded and pulled it from her handbag. 

“Cover him.  He gives you any trouble, shoot him where it hurts.”  Barnett withdrew his gun from Deuce’s pants and exited the car.

Barnett knocked on the door of the neighboring car a couple of times.  When he got no answer, he opened the door.  Out dropped the conductor, all battered and bloody.  “They killed Zeke and Tex,” he croaked.  “They’re robbing the train!”  Then expired.  Barnett looked up and saw a group of men standing around a safe, each of them carrying a Henry Repeater rifle.  Two of the guards dead on the floor.  Barnett gasped when he saw their leader: he was at least six foot six, with lean muscles; his face was covered with odd pock marks that gave his skin a reptilian look, and he could hear him breathing through his teeth.  He even sounds like a snake, Barnett thought.  They stared at each other for a good long minute before the lead started flying.

Shorty, one of the gang members, made a move towards the deputy.  Barnett drew and fired, catching him in the chest.  The other outlaws opened fire.  Barnet quickly scooped up the conductor’s gun and returned fire. Barnett knew this wasn’t a fight he could win.  He slowly edged back towards the door and continued firing, he managed to hit another owlhoot, Slim, in the leg before steeping outside.  But not before Lucky grazed his arm, causing him to drop his spare pistol.

The lead outlaw grabbed the remaining guard, Curly, by his throat and lifted him off the ground. “You said there would only be the engineer, conductor and two guards,” he hissed.

“There were,” Curly gasped.  “He’s a deputy marshal helping to escort some Pink’s prisoner.  They were added just as we left St. Jo.”

The leader threw him to the ground and growled, “What are you waiting for?  Get after him!”

Curly and One Eye followed Barnett out.  The deputy whirled around, throwing a wild punch, catching Curly on the chin.  Curly spun around and lost his balance.  He managed to grab a service ladder, where he dangled precariously a few inches from the speeding tracks.

Barnett had no time to worry about Curly, because he was instantly fighting for his life against the lumbering One Eye.  Barnett clawed helplessly at One Eye’s powerful hands around his throat to no avail.  Through the haze creeping into his brain, Barnett realized he had to change strategies.  So he poked the outlaw in his one good eye.  One Eye howled in pain, releasing the deputy to clutch his now blinded eye.  Barnett lashed out with both legs and kicked the outlaw of the train.  One Eye tumbled down into a lake they were conveniently passing.  Deputy Barnett shot back into his coach, and locked the door.  Then he began to barricade it with anything he could find.  He leaned against the door to catch his breath.

“Barnett, what’s going on,” Molly asked, concerned.  Then seeing the blood on his arm, “Oh my God,” she cried.  “You’ve been shot!”

“It’s nothing,” he said waving her away.  “We got bigger problems.  Someone’s robbing the train.”

“What,” she said incredulously.

“I think one of the guards was in on it,” he said at her disbelieving look.  “They’ve killed the conductor and the other two guards.”

Barnett checked his gun; he only had two shots left.  He hadn’t thought to bring any extra ammunition for a simple prison transfer.  Deuce wasn’t likely to cause him that trouble, and it didn’t seem like anyone would go out of there way to rescue him.  Who’d a thought somebody would’ve actually tried to rob a train.

Barnett’s inner musing were interrupted by the sound of breaking glass.  Curly had dived through a window and tackled the deputy.  Barnett’s gun slipped from his grip and skidded across the floor.  After a brief tussle Barnett, Curly and even Johnny Deuce lunged for the errant pistol.

Meanwhile, Molly had been momentarily stunned to what was going on.  She felt like she was watching everything from someone else’s life.  Molly snapped out of her funk when the men all made a mad run for Deputy Hamilton’s pistol.  She lifted her derringer and plugged Curly in the gut.

Barnett snatched the gun from Deuce’s grasping fingers.  He raised the gun above his head.  “Please don’t hit me,” Deuce begged pitifully.  Barnett hesitated.  Then brought the pistol barrel down across his skull.  Deuce dropped like a sack of feed.  Barnett uncuffed Deuce from his chair 
and hauled his unconscious body to a nearby pole.  He then handcuffed his right to his left leg behind his back around the pole.  That oughta keep ’im outta trouble, Barnett though.

Then he heard a groan from across the room.

“Barnett,” Molly called urgently.  “He’s still alive!”

But not for long, Barnett thought.  He’d seen gut shots before, and they were slow and extremely painful.  Curly didn’t have much time left.  Barnett gently lifted Curly’s head and asked, “Who’re we up against?”

“Calls himself the Rattler,” Curly coughed up some blood.  “Sometimes Snake Skin Deacon Smith.  Use ta be a circus freak called the Gator man.”  Curly coughed more blood.  “Guess he got tired of people starin’.”  Curly surrendered to a series of coughs.

Molly took Barnett aside, “How many of them are there?”

“Three now,” he related what had happened in the previous car.  “One of them's wounded so I don’t think he’ll be any trouble.  Unless there expectin’ reinforcements.”

“No,” Curly called out between coughs.  “No on else … just us … and one other with horses …” then Curly stopped coughing.  Barnett leaned over and closed his eyes.

He turned to Molly and said, “Can you get to the engineer?”

“I think so.  Why?”

“Let’em know what’s happenin’ here and find out how long to the next station.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I’m gonna try and slow ’em down.”

Molly gave him a good luck look before leaving the car.

Barnett knew that barricade wouldn’t stop them, so he checked the only other way they could get to the engineer.  He followed Molly outside just in time to see the Rattler and Lucky leap from his car roof to the one in front of him.  Barnett needed to give her more time.  He climbed the ladder and took careful aim.  He fired and missed.  He did however succeed in getting their attention.  Rattler instructed Lucky to get to the engine while he took care of this meddling deputy.

Rattler went for his gun, only to have it shot out of his hand.  Roaring in anger, the Rattler charged the deputy.  Barnett instinctively squeezed the trigger again, forgetting he was out of ammunition.  Rattler grabbed Barnett by his shirt collar, pulled him up and dropped him on the roof.  Barnett 
rolled to his feet and plowed a fist into the outlaw leader’s stomach.  He didn’t react the way Hamilton thought he would.  Instead of doubling over, he just stood there grinning down at him.  The deputy delivered a few more jabs.  Still no effect.  Barnett tried a right cross.  The Rattler’s head rolled with the punch, but his feet stayed firmly planted where they were.

The Rattler turned back to the small town deputy and glared at him malevolently.  Uh-oh, was the last thought that ran through Barnett’s head before the snake skinned owlhoot sent him sprawling.

Meanwhile, Molly was desperately trying to convince the engineer of the danger.  By the time it looked like she was getting through to him, he was shot in the head.  Suddenly, the Rattler’s remaining man was next to her with his arm around her neck.

“Howdy ma’am,” he said smarmily.  “Folks call me Lucky.  Wanna see just how?”

As he talked, Molly tried to reach for her derringer, but was caught.  Lucky backhanded her and the taste of metal filled her mouth.  She fell face first into the coal car, soiling her clothes with coal dust. Groping fingers found the coal shovel.

When Lucky reached for her, she swung the shovel around in a graceless arch.  The shovel struck Lucky’s head with a very audible bong.  Lucky’s luck ran out as he struggled to hold on to his balance and his rapidly slipping consciousness, and failing miserably at both.  He slipped of the train only to be sucked under its wheels.  His screams were drowned out by the clackity-clack of the rails.

Molly wasn’t sure how much more she could take.  She wouldn’t consider herself a squeamish woman.  She was no stranger to death; it was a part of her job.  But so much blood and death in such a short time, it was a little too much to bear.  Barnett dropped with a thud in front of her, prompting a short scream to escape from her throat.  His face was covered with nasty purplish bruises, his lips were swollen and hid left eye was swollen shut.

“Sorry,” Barnett apologized before being grabbed by his hair and hauled back up to the car.

The Rattler dropped Barnett on his stomach.  Struggling to get up, Barnett noticed a tunnel coming up fast.  The deputy turned over on his stomach and covered his head with his arms.  Rattler looked down curiously at Barnett’s position.  Tentatively, the Rattler looked over his shoulder.  Seeing the tunnel, he filled his lungs with air to scream.  Then the light went out for all of them.

When the lights came back on, Barnett cautiously lifted his head and saw that the deformed outlaw was gone.  He sat up and he noticed a lone snakeskin boot in front of him.  As he climbed to his feet, he picked up the boot and looked inside.  It was empty.  After looking over his shoulder and back at the boot a couple of times, he was still none the wiser to the Rattler’s fate.  Barnett was finally snapped out of his distraction by a cry from Molly.  Dropping the boot, he raced to her side.  Her entire front was covered with soot, and all he could think was she’d never looked more adorable.

She was intently studying the train controls.  Molly looked directly at Deputy Hamilton and asked,  “Do you know how to work this thing?”

“Uh, no,” he said, turning to her.  “Do you?”

Molly gave him an exasperated look.

After a series of trial and errors, they managed to get it under control and safely pulled into Springfield.  Law officials took the remaining outlaw, Slim, and Johnny Deuce into custody; while Molly and Barnett got their injuries looked at.

Early the next day, Barnett sat patiently at the station waiting for the ride home.  The swelling had gone down and the bruises were already fading.  He’d gotten his nose straightened out and bandaged.  Molly suddenly appeared and sat next to him.  They sat in companionable silence until Barnett broke it with a question that had been on his mind for over a month.

“Can I ask you something,” Deputy Hamilton hazarded.

“Of course,” Miss Huddleston answered expectantly.

“Do I mean anything to you?”

Molly gave him a confused look.  “I consider you one of my closest colleague’s and a friend.”

“So I was more to you than a source of information.”

“Wha - Where did you get that idea?”

After stumbling over his sentences for a few hundred times, Molly understood.  “I this about what happened in Sweetwater.”

Barnett nodded.

Molly sighed.  “Barnett, I was Foster’s contact.  He knew when and where to meet me.  But he died before he got the chance.  I talked and spent time with you because I liked you and you were the only man in town who didn’t try to get me in his pants.”

Barnett smiled, grateful that he was more than just a stooge for the Pinkerton’s.  Before he could reply, his train pulled in.

“All aboard,” the conductor announced.

“Gotta go,” Barnett muttered.  “That’s my ride.”

“Well, try and relax.” Molly said encouragingly.  “Enjoy the ride.  It’s not like anyone’s ever really going to successfully rob a train.”

Barnett hesitated.  Impulsively he kissed Molly on the cheek and retreated into his car.  After finding his seat he waved to her as the train pulled out of the station, wondering if fate would see to it if him and Molly Huddleston would ever again?