Ironhorse

29

Whip crawled up from under the front of the downhill coach. He looked up at Virgil and me standing on the platform. His face and hands were smudged with grease. He was holding the lamp in one hand and the brake chain in the other.

“I think I might be able to get this fixed,” Whip said.

“Might?” Virgil said.

“More than might,” Whip said. “I got the chain from the other car. And with this one here, I think I can piece the two together with this bolt.”

“What can we do to help?” I said.

“Hold this lamp for me, I reckon.”

I stepped off the platform and got the light from Whip. I held it up for him so he could see what he was doing as he ducked back under the platform.

Virgil was looking down from the platform over the rail. He blew out some cigar smoke. The smoke drifted into the light, showing the direction of the slanting rain.

I moved the lantern closer for Whip as he scooted back under the coach. Whip pulled and tugged on the chain connecting to the brakes and then called out, “Turn that wheel, take up the slack!”

I looked up at Virgil on the platform. He turned the wheel about a half-revolution.

“That’s good,” Whip said.

I watched as Whip pieced the two chains together with the bolt. After he nutted the bolt he looked over to me.

“Have him turn the wheel some more,” Whip said.

“Turn her some more there, Virgil,” I said.

Virgil turned the handbrake wheel, and the chain went taut.

“That’s it,” Whip called out. “There ya go!”

Whip crawled out from under the coach.

“So that’s it?” Virgil said. “This wheel brake will work?”

“It will,” Whip said. “The thing is, this track is good and downhill. You just don’t want to get going too fast.”

“You know this line pretty well, Whip?” Virgil said.

“I do,” Whip said. “Before I went to work in the terminal yard I worked section gangs on this rail, spikin’, keepin’ tracks straight, trees cut back, rocks cleared off, that sort of thing.”

“There towns nearby?” Virgil said.

“Got two way station depots near,” Whip said.

Whip lifted the cap off his head and scratched his scalp under his shaggy hair.

“That way there, up the Kiamichi a piece,” Whip said, pointing north with his cap, “is a place called Standley Station, ain’t much of a town. Post office, dry goods, switchyard, a bar hotel.”

Whip raised his hat up higher, pointing north.

“Yonder, farther that way, is a bigger town called Crystal Creek,” Whip said. “Another switchyard, bigger hotel, more people, more outfits. Next town after is Tall Water Falls; it’s bigger yet. Then there’s Division City, and that’s the division line on the track. Turntable and telegraph loop is there, and it’s like five, six blocks big.”

“You said this track is good and downhill,” Virgil said, “but it’s got to flatten out someplace between here and Texas.”

“Does,” Whip said. “Where we are right now, though, is the most downhill stretch of this whole track. You could roll like, oh, twenty, twenty-five miles or so, probably stop just before Half Moon Junction.”

“Junction?” Virgil said.

“Yes, sir. This line meets with the Denison and Washita Valley Railroad in Half Moon Junction. That’d be for sure the biggest stop on this run.”

“I remember seeing the half-moon painted on the water tower,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” Whip said, “that’s it.”

“Looked like a busy town,” I said.

“It’s busy, and it’s a pretty big place. It gets bigger all the time, with all of the mining goin’ on. Don’t know I’d necessarily call it a town, though. Oh, there are a number of hotels and plenty of businesses there, but overall it’s more of like a place written about in the Bible where God got mad. Mostly whorehouses and saloons with all the mining traffic from the D and WV and all... gets worse all the time.”

“And that’d be twenty miles?” I said.

“Yep,” Whip said. “There’s a dynamited cut in a tall rock butte just past a big westward sweep. Right after that, the grade flattens out before you get to Half Moon.”

“All right, then,” Virgil said. “Let’s get these folks that are in this rear car moved to the front car. And get on with this.”