I bit back a cough as the dust caught in my throat. A quick glance around and I spit off to the side. There weren't any ladies present, thankfully, at least until I turned the corner and onto the platform. The assembled travelers were bunched under the awning to take what shade they could find, but the wind still scraped along my face with the heat.
With the sun high overhead, I figured I had time to look around. The station, along with the town, was surrounded by dust and clay, save for the occasional dry patches of grass. While the sun burned down, I felt a throbbing ache along my left arm. I could see the clouds far off on the horizon, dark and menacing, but not quite hiding the plume of steam over the track.
Angling the brim of my hat over my eyes, I felt a hard nub rub against my skull, like a pebble in my hatband. Then the memories started coming back, hazy, fleeting, like a half remembered dream. The flash of fireworks, the glint of a diamond... And a bone handle sticking out of a gunman's chest.
Rubbing my neck revealed that I hadn't come away unscathed. And then things got a little clearer. The reward, splitting the take with the hotel owner, and buying myself a ticket to someplace quieter. I tightened the strap on my satchel as the locomotive steamed into the station. Following the crowd, I flashed my ticket to the conductor and was waved to a passenger car. I took a seat near the back and slouched down, sliding my hat over my face. It wasn't much longer before the train started moving again, and I felt myself start to nod off.
The ache in my side roused me first, the handle of my knife jabbing a rib. I slipped it back around, and sat straighter, taking in the scene. The sun was at that final stretch of sky, beating the train to the coast. It was the chattering that caught my attention, suddenly silenced by the sharp crack of the butt end of a revolver against the doorjamb. The sound was repeated twice more, and a dirty fellow in a black hat stepped into the car, followed by two riflemen. They were wearing masks.
No one put up a fight as a fourth one came up from behind them with a bag. As the other passengers started throwing in their money, jewels and watches, I leaned back and assumed my previous pose, my hat over my face. A small tap with my heel, and I felt my other blade was still sheathed in my boot.
A harsh, muffled voice shouted at me. Not moving a muscle, I feigned sleep until my hat was knocked off my head by a firm slap. My eyes glanced over the interloper, tall, slim, and with the eyes of a scared child. He couldn't have been more than sixteen. Taking up my hat, I felt for the diamond, feeling it safe in the band. Once safely back atop my head, I reached for the boy, quick as a snake, and grabbed a fistful of hair, slamming his face into the seat in front of me.
The guns pointed at me were kept silent thanks to the boy in my grasp. He whimpered as a dark stain spread over the bandana covering his face, and I shuffled him into the aisle. I asked nicely. Seemed the least I could do. They declined, pointing out my lack of firepower. That was a point I had to concede.
My foot came up to the kid's backside, and a firm shove had him stumbling over his pals. A hard stomp released the catch in my boot sheathe, sending my knife into the air and in my grasp as I sprang forward, letting my weight disorient most of the gang. Some of the passengers up front took advantage of the commotion to disarm the riflemen. The leader shoved the boy away and ran back through the door before the way could be cleared.
I caught the kid before his head hit the floor, and was frozen as my eyes met another pair. She had blue eyes, light as the afternoon sky with long dark lashes and hair as black as ink. The dress she had on was suitable for a woman in mourning. She looked too young to be a widow. I fought to pry my eyes from her quivering lips, lifting my hat to her and passing the boy to one of the armed passengers to look after.
I ran out the door. A glance showed me he hadn't retreated into the next car, so I crushed my hat, stuffing it into my belt as I grasped a ladder and climbed up to the roof of the car. I was nearly given a lead slug for my efforts. A second shot hit the car behind me, his aim thrown off by the rocking of the train.
I pulled myself up and charged, fighting the wind, the motion of the car, and the urge to leap out of the way of his next shot. It went wild, and I lunged, my knife carving a slit into his hand. He fell back, still grasping his weapon, and I fell onto my face, struggling not to slip over the side. He got up first.
It was taking all I had just to hold on. As his hand came up, I felt certain the next shot would go through my skull. The crack of a rifle was almost lost in the wind, and we both looked off to the side to see a rider in a long duster racing the train on a gray horse. The next shot from the rider missed as well, but it was enough to have my opponent focus on him instead for his next shot.
I brought my legs back up under me and jumped again, tackling the gunman as his shot went off. I saw the rider fall, but felt a stab of panic in my heart as I tumbled off the side of the train. I reached for the edge, missed, and went tumbling along the ground as the cars thundered by.
My fall was softened by the green grass, but I still felt each blow of an errant rock or pebble as my body was battered along the ground. When I came to a stop, I lay still, dazed for some minutes. A sharp breath filled my lungs, and coughs wracked my body until I regained their equilibrium. Getting up slowly, my eyes scanned the area for the gunman. There wasn't a sign of him. Drawing my hat from my belt, I beat it back into shape and slipped it on, looking around some more. There was a figure in a brown duster a few hundred yards off being nudged by a gray horse.
The rider lay still as I approached, obscured by a mass of long brown hair. I saw a red stain spread across his shirt, and I ripped it open to inspect the wound. I found I was mistaken. The rider was a woman. A revelation that stunned me until a surprisingly firm punch from her had me flat on my back again.
I woke up with a bad case of dry mouth. Not a pleasant way to wake up. Recurring dreams are nothing new to me, there are even ones that change over time. This is a rare case where a dream has a sequel. I wonder if there's a market out there for western adventures.
