Jesse and Frank exchanged a look, then nodded. "Alright, Cole. It's a deal."
Cole Younger laughed and clapped Jesse on the shoulder. Just then, a rider galloped into the camp and handed Jesse a telegram.
"Excellent," Jesse said after reading it. "The ladies and gentlemen will be on the ten-thirty train from San Francisco to Chicago, just as planned."
The men began to discuss the final details of the operation over their meal of roasted meat.
Meanwhile, in a hotel in south Denver, the two remaining members of Pizarro's expedition had been waiting for three days with no word from their leaders. They decided to telegraph their headquarters in Texas.
Aboard the speeding train, Henry and the others had a simple dinner of bread and beef jerky. In this era, the gangways between train cars had not yet been invented, making it impossible for passengers to move between them while the train was in motion. As such, there were no dining cars.
After dinner, as night fell, the partitions between the sleeper car sections were drawn. Becky and Andre were already sleepy. Linda drew the curtain between her section and Henry's, putting the children to bed on the lower bunk while she climbed into the upper one. Pete and Mary did the same.
Henry's compartment, sandwiched between the two families, was finally quiet. He lit his oil lamp and began to read through the black market intelligence files.
At 10:30 PM, the train stopped at the station in Omaha, Nebraska. Two new cars were attached to the rear of the train: a regular passenger car and another Pullman sleeper.
A large group of young men and women, accompanied by their guards, were waiting on the platform.
"Consuelo? Kaylee?" Edith cried out in surprise, having spotted them from her window.
The two young women heard her voice and rushed over to the car. "Edith! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Pittsburgh!"
"I was visiting my cousin in Denver," Edith replied.
Just then, the train's whistle blew. "We're about to depart," Consuelo said. "Come join us in our family's car! There's plenty of room."
Edith glanced toward Henry's section. He was looking out the window, watching them. She smiled, then turned back to her friends. "Thank you, but I'm traveling with friends. I'll come and find you when we get to Chicago."
Consuelo and Kaylee followed her gaze and saw him—a handsome, princely man with deep, soulful eyes. Their hearts both skipped a beat, and they shared the same thought: So that's how it is!
They gave Edith a knowing, playful look. "Alright," Consuelo said with a smile. "We'll see you in Chicago."
The two women turned and boarded their private Pullman car, their forty guards filing into the regular passenger car behind it. Henry counted ten young gentlemen and four ladies, along with a chef and three maids. A Pullman with its own kitchen had to be a custom-built, private car.
Privilege is everywhere, Henry thought. He also noted, with a strange sense of temporal displacement, that the girl, Consuelo, looked remarkably like the actress Jennifer Connelly.
Inside their luxurious private car, Consuelo and Kaylee were already gossiping. "So much for visiting her cousin," Consuelo whispered. "It's a good thing your brother Harry didn't come."
"Indeed," Kaylee replied. "Though it doesn't seem like anything is official between them yet."
She turned to a young man. "Mark, what did you think of that sharpshooter, Annie? Could you do what she does?"
Mark and his friends exchanged a look. "Her accuracy is impressive," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, "but she's too slow. Her skills are for showmanship, not a real gunfight."
His friends all nodded in agreement.
An hour later, Henry stored the intelligence files, took off his suit jacket and his deerskin shoes, and changed into a simple pair of jeans and a canvas shirt before lying down to sleep. The clothes were uncomfortable, but if trouble came, he needed to be ready.
Five hours later, as dawn was breaking, the James-Younger Gang was in position.
Sixty-two men were hidden at a blind curve in the track, twenty miles past Des Moines, Iowa. They had already removed a ten-meter section of the rail.
Jesse had positioned a man dressed as a railroad worker 800 meters up the track to flag the train down. The Gatling gun was set up on a small hill, overlooking the curve.
If the train doesn't stop, Jesse thought, it's not on me. He didn't want a massacre. This was his home turf. But he also knew that a derailment was unlikely to affect the heavy Pullman cars at the very end of the train.
He had chosen this spot because it was six miles from the next town, and the terrain was difficult. It would take the law at least an hour to arrive, more than enough time for them to take their hostages and disappear.
Just then, he heard it. The rhythmic, chugging sound of an approaching train. In the distance, a long, black serpent, spewing a thick plume of white smoke, was coming their way.