Ironhorse

87

It was starting to get light out as we pulled into Crystal Creek. The water tower at Crystal Creek was situated like the one at Standley Station, about one hundred yards south of the depot. After Berkeley filled the tender with water, Uncle Ted eased the Ironhorse up to the depot and stopped. There were no lamps burning, and the depot appeared to be empty.

The Crystal Creek depot was built more like the Greek Revival structure of the depot in Half Moon Junction, a long brick building with a mansard roof that extended over a wraparound porch. A lathed balustrade between columns supported the porch ceiling made of pressed metal that was picking up hints of metallic light from the glistening waters of the Kiamichi.

“You want me to pull up to the wye Sam was talking about, Marshal Cole?” Uncle Ted asked.

“I figure so,” Virgil said.

Uncle Ted moved the Johnson bar forward and the Ironhorse chugged slowly toward the wye north of town. We traveled a ways and crossed over a trestle north of town, passing over a creek that married with the Kiamichi River running by the depot.

“I’ll get the switch,” Berkeley said.

He climbed down from the engine hustling his big frame forward toward the switch.

Berkeley threw the switch and Uncle Ted eased the Ironhorse off the main rail and onto the wye section of track that curved off to the west behind a large wall of pine trees separating us from the main line.

“One thing you got going for you,” Uncle Ted said.

“That being?” Virgil said.

Uncle Ted pointed to the engine and first coach sitting off in the dark at the far end of the westward swing of the wye.

“There’s the down pony over there. We got plenty of room to back up and get back on the track heading forwardly south.”

“That’s good,” Virgil said.

“It is,” said Uncle Ted. “Might as well get us going that direction now, don’t you think?”

“I do,” Virgil said.

Uncle Ted moved the engine along the half-moon curve of the wye and throttled down to a stop short of the west switch. He looked back to Berkeley and pointed to the switch in front of us. Berkeley waved, nodding, and moved ahead of us and made the switch. Uncle Ted urged the engine forward and stopped. He looked back, watching Berkeley. Berkeley threw the switch again, and we backed up with our stock car now pointing to the north. Uncle Ted backed up shy of the main line, stopped the Ironhorse, and set the brake.

“This is it,” Uncle Ted said.

“Good,” Virgil said. “I reckon we shut this thing down until it’s time to return.”

“You got it,” Uncle Ted said. “Just so you know, if we go completely cold it will take three hours to fire back up, maybe longer.”

“How long will it take to get going again if you keep the fire stoked?” Virgil asked.

“Hour, tops.”

“You got enough coal to keep us warm?”

“Do if you don’t leave me here till winter.”

“Then let’s keep the fire burning.”

“Will do.”

Uncle Ted set about putting the Ironhorse into the biding pattern. He turned off the air jammer, shut down the hydrostatic lubricator, the whining dynamo, and finally closed the turret valve, cutting the supply to the injectors. He opened the door on the firebox, shoveled in more scoops of coal, and began moving the coals around, banking the fire.

“I’ll keep us warm,” Uncle Ted said. “Be as cozy as a concubine’s kitty when you return.”

The Ironhorse coughed a few final pounding chugs. The boiler shot out puffs of steam, and the big engine went silent. My ears felt like they were full of water from listening to the noisy locomotive. The only remaining noise was the cooling iron popping and the crackling from the fire inside the firebox. Virgil and I stepped out of the cab and climbed down from the Ironhorse.

“Virgil,” I said.

Virgil looked at me and followed my look to a dark stand of trees about thirty yards away, next to the river.

Virgil saw what I saw.

“Rider,” Virgil said.

“Is.”

Virgil slowly pulled back the lever and cocked the Henry rifle.

There was no movement from inside the trees, but there was without doubt someone there, sitting on a horse, watching us.