Page 4

As he neared the tracks, he saw a wagon stopped just on the other side, a stack of lumber strewn across the rails. Stars faded from the predawn sky, still too early for anyone to be out to help the driver who’d spilled the load. The man seemed unconcerned about moving the wood, instead just sitting there, holding the reins of his team, as the train approached.
Why would someone be moving lumber at this hour . . . ?
His eyes flew back to the horseman in time to see him lifting a mask over his face. In the distance, on the other side of the tracks, he saw two other horsemen, both masked.
“Blimey . . .”
The train squealed to a stop, sparks flying up from the rails. He looked at the men, saw the pistols they held. Fear coursed through his veins. He pivoted, about to run off, when someone grabbed him from behind, clamped a hand over his mouth, and dragged him beneath the wooden staircase near the corner building.
Toby clawed at the hands, trying to squirm free.
“Quiet!” The man pulled Toby back, his hand so tight Toby could barely breathe. “You want them to hear you?”
Several terror-filled seconds passed before he realized the man wasn’t there to hurt him. He whispered in Toby’s ear again. “I’m going to let go. Not a word, lad. Understand?”
Heart thudding, Toby nodded. The man lowered his hand, and Toby sucked in air, stealing a glance at his captor. He was tall, in his late twenties, and dressed all in black, a bowler covering his brown hair. “Who are you?”
“Will Sutton,” he said. “Been following this gang since last week. Thought they were just after engine parts. Turns out, they had something bigger in mind.” His blue eyes were focused on the horsemen racing toward the stopped train.
Toby peered between the splintered stairs as the engineer stepped out from the locomotive, the first horseman pointing a gun at him. The engineer lifted his hands, backing up. The brakeman appeared behind him, his hands going up as well. The other two horsemen rode past, stopping three cars down, boarding. They climbed to the top of the car, opened a trap door, and disappeared below.
“Interesting,” Will said. “I’d think it would’ve been locked.”
Toby had no idea what he was talking about. His attention was on the first horseman. “I know him.”
“What?”
“That man with the gun. Seen him in the orphanage, I have.”
“You’re sure?”
Toby nodded. “That’s why I followed him.”
Will kneeled in front of Toby, holding him by the shoulders, his eyes boring into him. “Did he see you? Out there in the street?”
“I— Maybe.” He thought about it. Surely the man had been too far away? “I don’t think so.”
“If he comes back to the orphanage, make sure he doesn’t see you.”
“Why?”
The rattle of wagon wheels caught their attention. The driver shook the reins, the team of horses pulling the wagon around to the freight car, next to the two waiting horses. The freight door opened, and the two men started tossing heavy wooden crates into the wagon bed, each landing with a thud. They followed with large canvas bags, which landed with a metallic ring.
When they’d emptied the car, the two men jumped down and mounted their horses. The wagon driver cracked his whip. The team of horses took off down the street, followed by the two horsemen.
The third horseman, the one Toby recognized, watched his men, then turned back to the engineer and brakeman. “On the ground. Now!”
They kneeled, both lying facedown near the tracks. The horseman circled the two men, his gun pointed toward their heads. He fired twice. The gunshots cracked, the sharp report echoing off the bricks of the warehouse.
Unable to look away, Toby’s knees buckled and he sank to the ground. A soft whimper grew louder.
“Quiet, lad,” Will cautioned.
But Toby wasn’t the one whimpering.
His brother, the half-eaten burnt roll in hand, stood in the middle of the street, crying. “T— Toby . . . ?”
The horseman pulled at the reins, whirled his steed about, his eyes landing on the boy. He lifted his gun, aiming.