Ironhorse

28

“What’s your name, son?” Virgil asked the young yard hand.

He took off his spectacles and wiped the sweat from the lenses with a pocket handkerchief.

“Lee, as in Robert E.,” he said. “Folks, though, call me Whip, on account I’m good with one.”

“You work on trains?” Virgil said.

“I do.”

“I got a question, Whip,” Virgil said.

“Sir?”

“As you know, we got a hell of a situation with this train. Part of it is headed north, part of it headed south, and of course this part, these two cars, are sitting stopped right here in the middle.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you think there’s a way for you to repair the handbrake on the downhill coach?” Virgil said.

“I can have a look underneath,” Whip said, “see if I can figure out what the situation is.”

“Good,” Virgil said. “What we need to do is leave this uphill car right where it is with the women and the law-abiding others and get the downhill coach disconnected, rolling freely and headed south on this downgrade.”

Whip gave Virgil a sharp nod.

“I’ll have a look,” Whip said.

Whip gathered up the lantern and the pinch bar and stepped off the platform.

“Need a hand?” I said.

“I’ll holler at ya if I do,” Whip said, and he was off.

I stepped into the coach, took out the matches the undertaker had stuffed in my coat pocket, and got one of the lamps burning. The passengers were, for the most part, wide-eyed and uneasy. Some of them were asking questions about what was going to happen, some were just talking to be talking, and some remained silent, but they were all unsettled and afraid.

Virgil moved past me, and I followed him as he walked slowly down the aisle.

“Everybody,” Virgil said. “Let me vow to you, right here where you are is the safest place you could be. So do me the good deed of remaining pleasant and unparticular.”

The chubby man offered us a cigar as we walked by.

“No, thanks,” I said.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Virgil said.

Virgil lit the cigar and, after he got it going good, thanked the fellow, and we walked out the back door. Virgil shared the same safety information with the passengers in the rear coach, and then we stepped out the door and onto the downhill platform.

Light was shining from underneath the downhill coach, where young Whip was already fussing with something. It sounded like he was trying to break some piece of metal away from another piece of metal.

Virgil and I stood on the platform under the coach overhang, watching the rain continue to fall.

“Hell of a ruckus we got ourselves in,” I said.

“Is,” Virgil said.

“Bad bunch we are dealing with.”

“Don’t get much worse,” Virgil said.

“Somebody,” I said. “The governor or his cronies had something somebody wanted.”

“That being money. Money somebody knew about, too,” Virgil said.

“We’ve killed a number of those somebodies,” I said.

“We have,” Virgil said.

“We’ve been up against a good number through the years, but nothing like this,” I said. “Lot of hombres all in one place.”

Virgil smoked his cigar for a bit. He held up three fingers.

“The two in the car we started out in and the getaway rider,” Virgil said.

“The two in the engine compartment,” I said.

Virgil added his thumb and little finger.

“Then the four that were holding the girls when we jumped to the platform of the first coach from the tender,” I said.

Virgil included four fingers from his other hand.

“The four in the next coach, including Dean,” I said.

Virgil added his tenth finger to his nine. I brought up three fingers.

“Thirteen.”

“We’re not done,” Virgil said.

“No, I know it,” I said. “We’re not.”

“Worst are yet to come, too,” Virgil said.

“They are,” I said. “We know for sure we got Vince and most likely Bloody Bob to contend with, or someone capable of his deeds.”

“I believe it is most assuredly him,” Virgil said.

“Counting those two,” I said, “I’d say there are at least five, could be six, maybe seven, more, depending on whether Dean was counting the other two getaway riders.”

Virgil nodded slowly as he puffed on his cigar.