Chapter 1

The noon train from Santa Fe was late.

That was not unusual at this time of year when the livestock loading and unloading slowed the boarding process in the many stops along the dusty route.

Marshal Hardin was leaning against the station house wall. It was the last bit of shade available in the noon-day sun. A pair of drummers sat on the only bench on the platform taking minute draws from a single silver flask. The Marshal was aware of Candy Sampson, known affectionately over at the Lazy Branch Saloon as "Juicy Girl", standing resolutely under a pink parasol on the sun-bleached wood platform. She was ignoring the snickers and ogling looks cast in her direction by the slightly inebriated salesmen.

Candy had glanced over at Wes standing in the shade of the train station but she gave no sign of recognition despite their intimate bedroom exercises on more than one occasion. She was well acquainted with the Marshal's friendly weapon and had taken it deep in various kinky positions with a gusto she seldom displayed with the other randy males that sought her company. She knew he had to keep an air of noninvolvement where she was concerned because of the nature of his job. It didn't bother her because she knew they would never go beyond the level of lust partners in secret.

Wes wanted to approach Candy but he knew it was not advisable with hidden eyes watching his every move. His job was on the line because of his regrettable altercation with some drovers from the Bar BBB that resulted in 2 more caskets for the fast growing Boot Hill just south of town. Maybe it was time for him to move on because his enemies seemed to be increasing with every passing day.

The dry desert air was assailed by the far away whistle of the Santa Fe midday train bearing down on them from the direction of Superstition Mountains. In the non-humid air, the train could have been less than a mile away or it could be ten times further and moving at an unknown speed. It depended on how many freight cars had been added to the passenger car. The route seldom needed more than one car because it was much cheaper to travel by stagecoach across the well-traveled Santa Fe Trail.

The railroad station clerk came out on the platform and announced,

"Noon train be here in about 15 minutes, folks. Got to offload some horses and then we will be boarding right away."

Wes checked his pocket watch. Only twenty minutes late. Not too bad in this unusually high heat. The evening train at 5 PM would be another story. That was always at least an hour late just as regular as clockwork.

A Bar BBB buggy pulled up with a couple of seedy looking outriders. They had the look of "banditos" but he was certain the foreman at the Bar BBB would never consider hiring any punchers from south of the border. They were sitting on some mighty fine horseflesh so he was a bit mystified as to their origins. Probably just a couple of drifters from the chaotic range wars down in Tombstone. Marshal Hardin had a firm policy of never looking for trouble whenever possible. Trouble had a habit of finding him often enough that he didn't have to go looking for it.

The female driver was another story.

Wes didn't recognize the young girl of about 20 summers and that first look would stay in his mind for a very long time. She was light of hair and of a deliciously fair complexion. Her glorious blue eyes stirred his heart and gave a familiar tingle into his loins. If there had been no other humans in the immediate area, his base instinct would be to get this beautiful female in his grasp and mount her with the greatest of urgencies driving deep inside her lovely core until he touched the bottom of her sweet honeypot of passion. He saw her look about as if she could read the thought waves from his brain sending desperate signals of deep-seated male desire. Some females could sense when their external sensuality connected with a reciprocal well of lust in the male animal. It put them on guard and heightened their aura of arousal.

Marshal Hardin decided he would have to make a visit to the Bar BBB very soon to make the acquaintance of this exquisite creature.

The vibrations from the rails gave plenty of warning of the approaching train.

A long black plume wafted up into the cloudless sky and steam shot out of the bottom of the powerful locomotive hauling the single passenger car, at least ten freight cars and 2 livestock flatbeds behind it. The 2 drummers gathered their gear and scooted to the first door. Miss Candy followed at a safe distance wanting nothing to do with the two foolish tenderfeet.

Before they could step up into the car, a pair of mustachioed gents with boot length dust coats and carrying Henry rifles stepped down and carefully surveyed the platform. Wes noticed they gave him a more than casual once-over before they picked up their saddles and moved in tandem over to the waiting buggy.

The Marshal was warned by his own network of informants that they would be on this train, but he had to see for himself to be absolutely certain.

These two yahoos were unmistakably Pinkersons. They were the dreaded detectives that worked for the Railroad barons and other men with considerable influence on the accelerating development in the far Western portion of the United States. Their methods were sometimes brutal but their level of success was undeniable.

Marshal Hardin was perplexed.

"What in the world would Colonel Braxton want with Pinkersons way out here in this isolated place?"

Wes had only had one other run-in with the Pinkersons and that did not end well. He had wound up with a hole just above his left elbow that resulted in a slowed down left hand draw that never improved. It had changed him from his 2 gun style into strictly a right handed shooter. Of course, the 2 dead Pinkersons were in no position to make restitution to him for his damaged shooting hand. Fortunately, his participation was a well-guarded secret or he would have been tracked down by the resolute band famous for their zero-tolerance policy towards violent opposition.