I boarded the train in Council Bluffs. The cargo headed for Cheyenne included a large sum of cash meant to be the payroll for a large mining operation. Any train moving large sums of cash and passengers with all their earthly belongings was a target.
I made my way from the passenger coach to the car designated especially for the expressmen assigned to the train. After the locomotive were the mail cars, then the baggage cars. That’s where the safe was located. The coach situated just behind baggage was the expressmen coach. When I opened the door to their car, the hands of all three lawmen instinctively hovered over their sidearms.
“Name’s Kane Malloy,” I quickly introduced myself in an attempt to put them at their ease, “I’m the Pinkerton man.” Resentment burned in the eyes of the youngest of the three fellows. It was clear he didn’t think they needed any backup. Truth was, if the rumors were true and the Hardy Gang had their sights set on the payroll secured in the safe in the baggage car, then I wasn’t likely to be back up enough. They had a reputation for shooting passengers for no reason other than a thrill.
A man with an enormous white mustache, clearly the head expressman, greeted me congenially. “Glad to have you, Malloy. Name’s Bill Rogers,” he said as he offered me a handshake. He looked to be a man who could handle himself in a gunfight but with enough sense to know
