Excerpt: The devil would have to wait

Lucinda tried to pay the encroaching flames no mind. Wade had pulled his oil lamp trick again, tipping it back and forth with his boot to get the guard to admit there was dynamite rigged under the safe, and had instead set the floor afire. Now the puddle of flames was growing into a conflagration that threatened the entire train car, and every Higgs Boy was operating like the fire line Lucinda had seen put out the neighbor’s barn when she was a child — except instead of passing buckets of water toward the fire, they were passing cash and gold bars down the line and away from it. 

And the money just kept coming. Soon Elton and Job’s sacks were filled, and Job had yanked the bag he wore over his head off so he could use it to continue. The guard was unconscious in the corner, courtesy of a hard knock to the head from the butt of Squirrel’s gun, and the passengers were too concerned with escaping the burning train that they didn’t bother the robbers in the slightest — not even to try to retrieve the jewelry or pocket money that the Higgs Boys had already relieved from them.

“Must be bonus season,” Squirrel cackled as he passed a stack of what looked like bearer bonds to Trent.

The fire started popping and cracking its way up the train car wall. Lucinda wiped a sheet of sweat from her brow. Wade stood straight, backing away to survey the open safe. From this angle, Lucinda couldn’t see inside of it — but she could see the clocks working in Wade’s head as he balanced the wealth still available for the taking with the danger that the blaze was now posing to himself and his crew.

The sole glass lamp in the car fell off the wall and shattered on the floor, as if goading him to make the decision. 

“Everyone out,” Wade called. Squirrel, who was just on the other side of Lucinda, carried the message the rest of the way down the train car, and they started disembarking.

“You too, Luce,” Wade said, grabbing her wrist as he passed her. The carpetbag on her arm jangled with the valuables she had taken from the first class passengers.

“I’ve got room in the bag,” she said, yanking away from him and turning back to the safe. From her estimate, there were two more money bags inside, plus a couple gold bars and — much to her surprise and gratitude — a small crate labeled “Smith and Wesson.” They were low on bullets these days. 

“Lucinda!” Wade yelled as she crouched in front of the safe and scooped money, gold and bullets into the carpetbag.

“Get the guard out,” she yelled back. “I’ll be right behind you.” 

Wade’s frustration was palpable as he stepped around her and lifted the guard to his feet, looping one of his arms around the man’s waist. As soon as he had a good grip on the guard, Lucinda slid the last bar of gold into her bag and stood up. Wade slammed the safe shut so he could move around its heavy door. The guard’s legs dragged across the floor as he sputtered against the smoke and blood filling his nose.

The flames were almost to the ceiling now, and Lucinda’s eyes were drawn upward to a shelf above the safe, where something glittered. A heavy gilded paperweight sparkled in the firelight, and she reached up to grab it, her eyes beginning to water from the smoke.

“Lucinda!” Wade yelled from the door, and she turned back to him with the paperweight now in her bag. Trent was visible just outside, sitting on his horse and holding the reins of the two others. Lucinda watched as Wade pushed the half-conscious guard out the door so that he landed with a thud on the ground below: injured, but ultimately alive. Another witness to contribute a verse to the ballad of Wade Higgs and his Boys.

She moved toward the door, satisfied with her collection, but something stopped her. It wasn’t fear or greed — it was her petticoat, stuck in the sealed safe door.

“Wade!” Lucinda cried out as she tried to free it. 

The bag slipped on Lucinda’s arm, and a dozen bullets came rolling out of it directly toward the flames, cooking off and exploding in the conflagration. One grazed Wade’s arm, tearing the fabric but not drawing blood. 

Flames licked at her feet as she tried to pull her skirts up high enough to keep them away from the fire’s hunger. Wade ran back into the car, coughing and holding his arm up like a shield against the heat. He ducked down to where her skirt was caught in the safe and joined her in pulling it, but to no avail. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, crawling across the floor to avoid the smoke collecting up toward the ceiling. Lucinda ducked down, too, continuing to yank at her skirts and pray the flames wouldn’t get much closer. Her skin was already starting to feel tight and raw, like she had been in the sun for far too long.

When Wade didn’t come back, Lucinda realized with panic that he had taken the carpetbag with him. 

So this was going to be how Lucinda Ellis of Crocus Falls died: on her third train robbery, with her skirt stuck in a safe and the money, jewels, gold and bullets she had collected now split among five men who had left her to be burned alive. At least she could get used to the flames of hell now, as she waited for the devil to take her. 

The paperweight shelf, now engulfed, fell onto the top of the safe. Burning wood flew everywhere, and Lucinda twisted around to avoid injury to her eyes. Part of it had landed on the sleeve of her dress, where it smoldered a hole in the cotton and left a shiny patch of red skin beneath.

The devil would have to wait, she decided, as she knocked the last of the burning wood onto her trapped petticoat. The fabric started to smoke, then light. But she had misjudged the flame: It wasn’t traveling across the petticoat to free her — instead, it was crawling up it, closer to her skin.

The skin above her bare knee blistered shiny and red as the fire got closer. Lucinda willed her mind to ignore the searing pain and kept pulling, but every yank of the skirt burned her hands or pulled the flames closer to her hip. Her eyes watered, either from the smoke or the pain, probably both, but they were still able to see it: A glint of silver amidst the golden glow.

“Move,” Wade yelled, raising the knife and bringing it down on the fabric just above where the flames had reached. It yielded, and Wade snatched Lucinda’s arm as he pulled her down the train car and out the door just before the roof caved in, sending a plume of smoke closer to the heavens than any of the fleeing forest birds dared fly.

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