The pistolera moved from two first class sleeper berths to the first class dining car and on to the bar car. Only the bar had any wakeful souls in it. All the lights were out in the sleeper and the diner was only occupied by a handful of wait staff, sleeping between the otherwise unoccupied dining tables.
The bar had a handful of patrons. The two at the bar were trading ever-increasingly woeful tales of misfortune. The three at a table were playing a wordless but animated round of dominoes. The bartender was attempting to stomp on something that was apparently moving behind the bar. None of them looked her way as she studied them.
Convinced that her thief wasn't here, she moved on.
Opening the rear door of the bar car and looking at the next car caused the hair on her good hand to stand up. This car stood out from the rest in several ways. It was a double decker. The lights were all brightly lit with dozens of people active and moving around inside. This was the place.
She slid open the door and gave the bouncer a brief nod. She moved past tables dealing blackjack, pai gow, monte, and even a craps table. She slithered between dozens of gamblers, any one of whom could have been her thief. Not that it mattered. If her thief was in here then he almost certainly put her box and medal up for some chips to gamble. And if that was the case then it would be with the bank... upstairs.
Access to the second floor was found by way of a narrow wooden spiral staircase. On either side of that staircase, and sitting halfway up it, were three armed guards. The one on the staircase was sleepy looking. Maybe drunk. The one on the left was deeply distracted by the exposed skin of the young lady at the craps table.
But the one on the right, well he might be a problem. A head taller than everyone else in the car, clear eyed, focused on the crowd, and nursing a scowl that was so un-moving it may have been a birth defect. She decided that he was looking for a fight. In the jungle she might have given it to him. Here in this crowded car she didn't care for her chances.
Without pausing, she moved all the way through the car and out the back. The next car was storage for luggage. Perfect.
She swung herself onto the luggage car's rooftop access ladder and climbed up. The bright lights from the first floor of the casino were blocked by the luggage car and the lights on the second floor were dim. She was a shadow, more lit by the moon than by the lamps.
The second floor of the casino car was split into two. The front half was a luxury cabin. The back half was an exposed patio with ornate iron half-rails. With a short run up she casually leapt to the patio rails, pulled herself up, and rolled onto its carpeted floor.
She drew her revolver with her good hand and crawled her way to the door. Inside there were four. Two appeared to be asleep on opposite couches, arms dangling down to a floor littered in empty beer bottles. The third was reading a book under a shaded lamp, legs crossed under a long blue skirt. The fourth was her favorite though. That red bowler reading a newspaper had walked through her cabin a few times earlier in the evening. A broad smile crept its way across her face and settled in to stay a while.
They never heard the window open, not over the sound of the gamers below. Nor did they see the shadow crossing the half-cabin, not over the lights they were reading by. Red bowler's introduction was made by the sound of the Navy Judge cocking in his ear.
"I'm here for what's mine."
Blue skirt dropped her novel to the floor in shock. Red bowler slowly closed his paper. The beer bottle twins snored in stereo.
"This young lady appears to have mistaken us for the lost and found, Sidney. Be a dear and summon the conductor, would you?"
Blue skirt kept her eyes on the pistolera as she shook her head; hell no.
The pistolera pressed the barrel into red bowler's temple hard enough to cock his head. A towering shadow of a thing formed behind her. It raised an arm and a length of iron rebar, then brought them both down hard. The pistolera spun down and back, catching the iron squarely in her three-fingered hand. She and the great shadow were one now as the it attempted to dislodge its weapon, only to spin her up into the air, still holding on.
Red bowler jumped up from his chair just as the pistolera squeezed the trigger. The hat went flying, accompanied by a spray of blood, most of his right ear, and a great many curses from his lips. He landed on one of the two sleepers, nearly managing to wake him.
Sidney, the young thing in the blue skirt, lunged for a nearby table and started hurling everything she could lay her hands on; a few pulp novels, followed by a full beer bottle, which was then followed by a familiar lacquered medal box. It rebounded off her chin and thumped to the floor.
"Get your lazy, good for nothing ass off those stairs or I will throw you off!" The scowling stair guard had heard the gunshot. Time was ticking.
The pistolera, still holding the rebar, wrapped her gun-wielding wrist over the creatures great arm and then swung herself over its head, bringing the iron into its throat. Behind it now, she realized the monster was a woman. A huge woman.
"Nothing personal." The pistolera held the rebar at both ends, planted her little feet on the giant's shoulder blades and leaned back as hard and fast as she could. Instantly the beast was toppled.
She rolled back, reached for the box with her three fingered hand, and dashed for the patio door. A dozen strides later she was suspended in the cool night air, leaping back to the cargo car.
"Just you, Maton. Find her. If she hasn't already jumped from the train, you will throw her from it. Understood?" Perma-scowl turned to carry out his orders. Red bowler accepted a hankie Sidney was offering him and pressed it to the remains of his ear.
"Wait. Cut one of her ears off first. Almost imperceptibly, the scowl made room for the beginnings of a grin and Maton was off again.
He checked the baggage cars first, assuming that she would try to hide in the luggage. When that proved fruitless, he turned back to the front of the train and the lower-class passenger cars.
As he strode through the bar car, the bartender smiled at him and waved a bottle at him in greeting.
"Busy" he mumbled, giving the tale tellers and domino players only the briefest inspection before charging through the door.
Shrugging, the bartender knelt down to slide open the cabinet door where he normally kept his beer stock.
"He's gone, pistolera." He handed the bottle to the woman in the cupboard.
She smiled and took the bottle, then raised a single finger to indicate that she wanted him to wait a moment. From under her coat she pulled the little lacquered wooden box. She took out the medal and handed it to him. As he gaped at it, she pulled the ornate green felt out of the bottom of it and removed a thick folded sheaf of papers reading "Deed of Property" and a tintype of a young lady in a dancer's costume. She handed the box and felt to him, too.
"Throw those off the train for me, will you. And wake me at Mountain Home. I have business there."
With a wink, she slid the cupboard closed. The bartender slid the medal (which would soon be an untraceable hunk of silver) into his pocket and set about cleaning up the bar.
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