Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [78]
“I took no pleasure in tying her up, Duane, or manhandling her.”
“Ya sound like Frank.”
He slanted the boy a quick glance. “Frank? Is that who Necker’s going to see?”
They moved into a clearing, allowing enough moonlight for Luke to see Duane flip up his collar. “I’m not supposed to say nothing.”
Halting, Luke pretended surprise. “You don’t mean Frank Comer, do you? That fellow who robs trains and shares his loot with the poor?”
“He don’t share near as much as them papers say.” Duane strode to a twelve-foot tree on the edge of the clearing and looked up. “This one oughta do.”
“You’ve seen Frank Comer?” Luke infused his voice with awe and admiration. “Talked to him?”
Duane straightened his shoulders, hooking a thumb in his waistband. “That ain’t the half of it.”
“Tell me.”
The boy cocked a hip. “I’m in his gang.”
“You aren’t.”
“I am.”
“You’ve robbed a train?” He widened his eyes.
“Shore. Plenty o’ times.”
He whistled. “How’d you get in with Comer?”
“Necker introduced us.”
“Does he need anybody else? Can I join? You’ve seen me, I’m good with a gun.”
Duane considered him. “I’ll ask. I know Necker thought ya done good tonight and word is Frank’s thinkin’ about another train job. But don’t say nothin’ ’til I talk to Necker.”
A rush of energy sluiced through him. “Another train? When?”
“Don’t know.”
Luke forced a grin. “That’d be something. I guess I can’t write home about it, though.”
Chuckling, Duane stepped away from the tree. “No, you cain’t write home. Cain’t tell nobody. Folks round here like Comer well enough, but things is kinda uneasy right now.” He pointed to the tree. “You start. I’ll spell ya when ya get winded.”
Bracing his legs, Luke swung the ax, biting into the wood, then alternated between uppercut and undercut. Chips scattered with each slice. After several minutes, he paused to catch his breath.
“Ya quitting already?”
He shook his head. “I still can’t get over you knowing Comer. What’s he like?”
“Nothing like those pulp fiction novels, I can tell ya that.”
“Really?”
“Oh, he puts on a show fer folks when he’s out and about, but truth is, he’s meaner ’n a bitin’ boar.”
Luke wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Then, why do you run with him?”
“The money. The excitement. You shoulda been at this last robbery. Who-wee, this Ranger come outta nowhere. I thought we was caught fer sure.”
“What happened?”
“We split up. Gave him the slip. It was close, though.”
“Must have set your heart to thumping.”
“Shore ’nough.”
Returning his attention to the tree, Luke circled around it, chopping his way to its core. He noted Duane didn’t mention the six men Luke had captured.
He wanted to push for more information—what did Comer look like, was he anybody Luke knew, where was he hiding out, who else was in the gang—but he refrained. Too many questions would look suspicious. Best to extract the particulars a little at a time.
“Watch out,” Luke said, backing up. “Here she goes.”
The birch fell to the ground with a thump, stirring up a tiny puff of dirt. Positioning themselves at separate ends, they picked it up and carried it to Honey Dew.
“Where’s yer saddle?” Duane asked.
“Didn’t think I was going to need one.”
“Well, leave the mare here, then, and I’ll help ya tote it the rest of the way.”
Luke put his end down. “No, I need to wash in the creek and then change. I smell like smoke from all those hats. I’ll saddle up before I come back, then drag it with a rope.”
“Ya sure?”
“Yeah.” He extended his hand. “Thanks for your help and again, I’m sorry about your jaw.”
Shaking hands, Duane crooked up a corner of his mouth. “It’s all right. Though I may think different tomorry when the beer’s worn off.”
A twinge of remorse flickered through Luke. He hadn’t meant to hit him quite so hard. “Where you off to?”
“Home. Watchin’ you chop down that tree plumb wore me out.”
Chuckling, Luke lifted himself onto Honey Dew. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Don’t sleep through the festivities.”
“I wouldn’t miss ’em.”