Ironhorse

30

By the time we got the passengers from the rear coach settled into the forward coach, it was not a comfortable sight. The aisles were full, and the passengers were practically sitting atop one another. Virgil stood at the back door, looking at everyone.

“Ladies, gents,” Virgil said. “Me and my deputy have business to take care of south of here. It’s better than a good idea you all remain here, stay dry.”

Virgil looked back to Whip.

“This young fellow here, Whip, knows these parts well and can get you to safety, but for now it’s best to wait out this rain and wait for daylight.”

There were a few passengers with questions and a few others who hemmed and hawed, but Virgil provided no more comfort than he’d already allowed.

The rain continued to fall as we readied ourselves to disembark from the uphill coach. I stood on the back platform of the downhill coach next to the wheel of the newly reconnected handbrake. Whip was on the back platform of the uphill coach, and Virgil was on the platform of the downhill coach across from Whip. Whip uncoupled the uphill coach from the downhill coach, and Virgil called out, “Release the brake, Everett.”

I released the wheel brake. Whip used the pinch bar and wedged it between the coupler. He pulled back on the bar and we broke free of the uphill coach and started moving away from it.

“Good luck, Marshal,” I heard Whip say as we drifted away from the coach full of passengers.

I heard Virgil say what I heard him say many times before.

“Luck most often is accompanied with knowing what you are doing, son,” Virgil said.

And just like that, we were off and moving down the track and into the night. Virgil walked down the aisle of the now-empty coach toward me on the back platform. I looked back down the side of the coach.

Whip picked up the lantern and moved it in a circular motion, the conductors’ signal for reverse, and that was exactly what we were doing. We were reversing into the dark.

“Don’t this beat hell?”

“Does,” Virgil said.

“Train’s cut up like a worm.”

We thought about that for a moment.

“Yep,” Virgil said. “Four living sections.”

The front section with Emma and Abigail had been commandeered by someone, maybe the mysterious Yankee. I thought about Emma, about looking into her eyes, and I wondered if I’d ever look into them again.

The next section was full of passengers not knowing what would happen to them. The grieving widow, the old toothless man, the chubby man, the Apache woman, the undertaker, the freckle-faced woman, and Whip, all hunkered down in a coach, sitting stock-still on the tracks in the pouring rain. The next section, the single coach carrying Virgil and me, was now rolling freely downgrade. The last section held the governor, his wife, Bloody Bob, Vince, the remainder of the bandits, and the stock trailer with my bony dark-headed roan and Virgil’s chestnut stud. Even though it was raining and it was dark, Virgil and I could see each other. There was a full moon above the rain clouds providing us with an eerie hint of silver light. The whites of Virgil’s eyes had a subtle glow. We stood side by side, looking down the track into the darkness. I turned the wheel, adjusting the brake, keeping our speed steady as the blowing rain swirled around us.

“Like sailors,” I said.

“It’s wet enough,” Virgil said. “I’ll give you that.”

“Fact remains, though, we’re on a hard damn rail that ain’t leading to the open seas.”

“That’s a fact.”

“We go at it alone,” I said.

“We do.”

“Like we’ve done many times before.”

“We have.”

“Can’t think of anybody I’d rather be going at it with.”

“Me neither,” Virgil said.

I thought of Virgil’s words. Luck most often is accompanied with knowing what you are doing.

We rode in silence for a while before I asked, “You want to tell me about what was in that telegram?”