Deakin reached quickly for the security of a ventilator and stared down into the gorge. Carlos, tumbling through the air in an almost grotesquely lazy slow motion, vanished into the snow-filled depths. As he disappeared, a long thin fading scream of terror reached up from the blackness below.
Deakin's were not the only ears to hear Carlos's last sound on earth. Henry, busy tending a pot of coffee on the stove, looked up sharply. He stood for a few moments in a tensely waiting position, then, when no other sound came, shrugged and returned to the coffee-pot.
Winded, breathing heavily and massaging his bruised neck – an action which gave his aching right shoulder as much pain as it gave his neck solace – Deakin clung for some time to the ventilator, then edged cautiously to the rear of the supply wagon and lowered himself on to the rear platform. He moved inside, lit another oil-lamp and continued his research. He opened two more of the Army Medical Corps boxes. As before, those contained Winchester ammunition. He came to a fifth, was about to pass it by when he noticed that it was slightly more elongated than the others. That was enough for Deakin to get his cold chisel working immediately. The box was jammed with stone-coloured gutta-percha bags, the type frequently employed for the transport of gunpowder.
Deakin decided to open one more box even though it seemed in every way identical to its predecessor. This one was packed with small cylindrical objects, each about eight inches in length, each wrapped in grey greased paper, presumably waterproof. Deakin pocketed two of these, extinguished the oil-lamp, moved forward and took his sheepskin jacket down from the circular observation window it had been blanketing off and was in the process of shrugging into it when, through the window, he saw the rear door of the second coach open and Henry appear. He was carrying a coffee-pot, two mugs and a lantern. He closed the door behind him and looked around in mild astonishment. Apparently it had not been in Carlos's nature to abandon his post.
Deakin didn't wait. He moved quickly down the aisle to the rear of the supply wagon, passed out on to the rear platform and took up position at one of the observation windows.
Henry, lantern held high, opened the door and advanced slowly into the supply wagon. He looked to his left and stood quite still, his face registering total disbelief, perfectly understandable in the circumstances; Henry had not looked to find six oiled wooden boxes with their lids cavalierly wrenched off to expose their contents of ammunition, gunpowder and blasting powder. Slowly, in a fashion not far removed from that of a somnambulist, Henry laid down the coffee-pot and mugs and moved slowly towards the rear of the supply wagon, where he stopped, eyes wide and mouth open, looking down at the three opened coffins, two with the Winchester rifles, the third with the mortal remains of the Reverend Peabody. Recovering from his temporary trancelike state, Henry looked around almost wildly, as if to reassure himself that he was not in the company of the deranged vandal responsible for what lay around him, hesitated, made to retrace his steps, changed his mind and made for the rear of the coach. Deakin, who was now becoming proficient in such matters, made for the roof of the coach.
Henry emerged on to the rear platform. Long seconds passed before his now clearly rather dazed mind could accept the evidence of his senses, or what remained of them. The expression of shocked and staring incredulity as he realized that the rest of the train was no longer there was so extreme as to be almost a parody of the real thing. He stood there like a man turned to stone. Suddenly volition returned. He whirled round and disappeared through the still open doorway. Deakin swung down and followed him, although at a rather more sedate pace.
Henry ran through the supply wagon, the passageway in the sleeping coach and finally the passageway in the first coach until he reached the officers' day compartment at the front where Deakin was supposedly safely bedded down for the night. Henry's instinct had been unerring. Deakin had flown. Henry wasted no time in expressing stupefaction or any other emotion – by that time he'd probably have been stupefied to find Deakin still there – but turned at once and ran back the way he had come. As he crossed from the first to the second coaches he had a great deal too many things on his mind even to consider looking upwards, but even had he done so it was highly unlikely that he would have seen Deakin crouched on the roof above. As Henry rushed into the passageway of the sleeping coach, leaving the door wide open behind him, Deakin swung down to the platform and waited with interest by the open doorway.
He hadn't long to wait. There came the sound of a frantic hammering on a door, then Henry's voice. Henry's voice sounded as Henry had looked, overwrought.
'God's sake, Major, come quickly. They're gone, they're all gone!'
'What the devil are you talking about?' O'Brien's voice was distinctly testy, the voice of one rudely awakened from sound slumber. 'Talk sense, man.'
'Gone, Major, gone. The two horse wagons – they're no longer there.'
'What? You're drunk.'
'Wish to God I was. Gone, I tell you. And the ammunition and explosives boxes have been forced open. And the coffins. And Carlos is gone. And so is Deakin. No sign of either of them. I heard a scream. Major–'
Deakin didn't wait to hear more. He crossed to the second coach, passed through the dining compartment, stopped outside Marica's door, tested it, found it locked, used his keys, and went inside, closing the door securely behind him. A night-light, turned low, burned on a little table beside Marica's bunk. Deakin crossed to this, turned it up, placed a hand on the blanket-clad shoulder of the sleeping girl and shook gently. She stirred, turned, opened her eyes, opened them much wider still, then opened her mouth. A large hand closed over it–'
Don't. You'll die if you do.' Her eyes opened even wider and Deakin shook his head, trying to look encouraging, which was a pretty difficult thing to do in the circumstances. 'Not by my hand, ma'am.' He jerked his free thumb towards the door. 'Your friends out there. They're after me.
When they get me, they'll kill me. Can you hide me?' He removed his hand. Despite the racing pulse in her neck she was no longer terrified, but her eyes were still wary. Her lips moved without her speaking, then she said : 'Why should I?'
'You save my life. I'll save yours.'
She looked at him with little reaction, not so much dispassionately as without understanding, then slowly shook her head. Deakin twisted his belt until the under side showed, opened a buttoned compartment, extracted a card and showed it to her. She read it, at first uncomprehending; her eyes widened again, then she nodded and looked at him in slow understanding. There came the sound of voices from the passageway. Marica slipped from her bunk and gestured urgently to Deakin, who climbed in and pressed closely against the compartment partition. pulling the clothes over his head. Marica quickly turned down the night-light and was just climbing into the bunk when a knock came at the door. Marica did not answer but instead busied herself with arranging the clothing on the bed to conceal Deakin as effectively as possible. The knock came again, more peremptorily this time.
Marica propped herself on an elbow and said in a sleepy voice: 'Who is it?'
'Major O'Brien, ma'am.'
'Come in, come in. The door's not locked.' The door opened and O'Brien stood in the doorway, making no move to come further. Marica said in an indignant voice: 'What on earth do you mean by disturbing me at this hour, Major?'
O'Brien was most apologetic. 'The prisoner Deakin, Miss Fairchild. He's escaped.'
'Escaped? Don't be ridiculous. Where could a man escape to in this wilderness?'
'That's just the point, ma'am. There is no place to escape to. That's why we think he's still aboard the train.'
Marica looked at him in cold disbelief. 'And you thought that perhaps I–'
Hastily and at his most pacific O'Brien said: 'No, no. Miss Fairchild. It's just that he could have sneaked in here silently when you were asleep–'
'Well, he's not hiding under my bed.' There was considerable asperity in Marica's tone.
'I can see that, ma'am. Please excuse me.' O'Brien beat
what was clearly an uncharacteristically rapid retreat, and the sound of his footsteps was lost as he moved along the passageway. Deakin's head appeared from under the clothes–'
Well now, ma'am.' Deakin's voice was frankly admiring. 'That was something. And you never even had to tell a lie. I'd never have believed–'
'Out! You're covered with snow from head to foot and I'm freezing.'
'No. You get out. Get out, get dressed and bring Colonel Claremont here.'
'Get dressed! With – with you lying–'
Deakin laid a weary forearm across his eyes 'My dear girl – that is to say, I mean, ma'am – I have other and less pleasant things to think of. You saw that card. Don't let anyone hear you talk to him. Don't let anyone see you bring him here. And don't tell him I'm here.'
Marica gave him a very old-fashioned speculative look but she didn't argue any more. There was something in Deakin's face that precluded further argument. She dressed quickly, left and returned within two minutes, followed by an understandably bewildered-looking Colonel Claremont.
As Marica closed the door behind them Deakin drew back the covers from his face and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk.
'Deakin! Deakin!' Claremont stared his disbelief. 'What in God's name–' He broke off and reached for the Colt at his waist.
'Leave that damned gun alone.' Deakin said tiredly. 'You're going to have every chance to use it later. Not on me, though.'
He handed Claremont his card. Claremont took it hesitantly, read it, then read it a second time and third time. He said: '“John Stanton Deakin… United States Government … Federal Secret Service … Allan Pinkerton.”' Claremont recovered his aplomb with remarkable speed and calmly handed the card back to Deakin. 'Mr Pinkerton I know personally. That's his signature. I know you too. Now. Or I know of you. In 1866 you were John Stanton. You were the man who broke open the $700,000 Adams Express robbery in that year.' Deakin nodded. 'What do you want me to do, Mr Deakin?'
'What does he want you - but you've only just met him. Colonel.' Marica was openly incredulous. 'How do you know that he – I mean, don't you question him or–'
'No one questions John Stanton Deakin, my dear.' Claremont's voice was almost gentle.
'But I've never even heard of–'
'We're not allowed to advertise,' Deakin said patiently. 'Secret Service the card says. There's no time for questions. They're on to me now and neither of your lives is worth a burnt-out match.' He paused reflectively. 'That would still hold true even if they weren't on to me. But it's come earlier now. Every other person left alive on this train at this moment has only one ambition in life – to see we don't stay alive.' He opened the door a crack, listened, then closed it. 'They're up front, talking. Now's our one and only chance. Come on.' He ripped the sheets from Marica's bed and stuffed them under his jacket.
Claremont said: 'What do you want those for?'
'Later. Come on.'
'Come on?' Marica spoke almost wildly. 'My uncle! I can't leave–'
Deakin said very softly. ' I intend to see that the honourable and upright Governor, your beloved uncle, stands trial for murder, high treason and grand larceny.'
Marica looked at him in totally uncomprehending silence, her face registering almost a state of shock. Deakin eased open the door. A babble of excited raised voices could be heard from the officers' day compartment. Henry, at the moment, was holding the floor.
'Richmond! That's where I saw him. Richmond!' Henry sounded acutely unhappy. 'Sixty-three, it was. A Union espionage agent. I saw him just the once. He escaped. But that's him.'
'God! A Federal agent.' O'Brien's tone was vicious but the accompanying apprehension was more than just underlying. 'You know what this means, Governor?'
Apparently the Governor knew all too well what it meant. His voice was shaking and pitched abnormally high.
'Find him! For God's sake find him. Find him and kill him. Do you hear me? Kill him! Kill him!'
'I think he wants to kill me,' Deakin said in Marica's ear. 'Charming old boy, isn't he?'
Deakin hurried soft-footed down the passageway, a white-faced, badly shaken Marica behind with a singularly unflustered Claremont bringing up the rear. They walked quickly through the dining-room and moved out on to the rear platform. Wordlessly, Deakin gestured towards the roof. Claremont glanced at him in momentary puzzlement, then nodded his understanding. With an assist from Deakin he was swiftly on the roof, clinging to a ventilator with one hand while reaching for Marica with the other. Soon all three were on the roof, huddled together, their backs to the driving snow.
'This is dreadful!' Marica's voice was shaking, but it was with cold and not from fear. 'We'll freeze to death up here.'
'Don't speak ill of train roofs.' Deakin said reprovingly. 'They've become a kind of second home to me. Besides, at this moment, it's the safest place on this train. Bend down!'
At the urging of both his voice and arms they bent down as a thick broom of feathery conifer needles brushed their backs. Deakin said : 'The safest place if, that is, you watch out for those damned low-lying branches.'
'And now?' Claremont was very calm, with the faint air of a man who expected to be enjoying himself any moment.
'We wait. We wait and we listen.' Deakin stretched himself out on the roof and put his ear to the ventilator. Claremont at once did the same. Deakin reached out an arm and pulled Marica down beside them.
She said coldly: 'You don't have to keep your arm round me.'
'It's the romantic surroundings,' Deakin explained, i'm very susceptible to that sort of thing.'
'Are you indeed?' Her voice was icy as the night.
'I don't want you to fall off the damned train.' She lapsed into hurt silence.
'They're there,' Claremont said softly. Deakin nodded.
O'Brien, Pearce and Henry, all with guns in their hands, stood in momentary indecision in the dining compartment.
Pearce said: 'If Henry heard a scream and Deakin did have a fight with Carlos, maybe they both fell off the train and–'
In so far as it was possible for the Governor to run, he came running into the compartment. Two yards and he was out of breath.
'My niece! She's gone!'
There was a brief, baffled silence from which O'Brien was the first to recover. He said to Henry: 'Go see if Colonel Claremont – no, I'll go myself.'
Deakin and Claremont exchanged glances, then Deakin twisted and peered over the rear edge just in time to see O'Brien crossing swiftly between the first and second coaches. O'Brien, Deakin noted, had forgotten the elementary courtesy of holstering his pistol before going calling on his commanding officer. Deakin moved back to the ventilator, absent-mindedly putting his arm round the girl's shoulders. If she had objections, she failed to voice them.
Claremont said: 'You and Carlos had differences?'
'Some. On the roof of the supply wagon. He fell off.'
'Carlos? Fell off? That nice big cheerful man?' Marica's capacity for absorbing fresh and increasingly unwelcome information was about exhausted. 'But – but he may be badly hurt. I mean, lying back there on the track-side, perhaps freezing to death in this awful cold.'
'He's badly hurt all right. But he's not on the track-side and he isn't feeling a thing. We were passing over a bridge at the time. He fell a long, long way down to the bottom of a ravine.'
'You killed him.' Deakin could barely catch the husky words. 'But that's murder!'
'Every man needs a hobby.' Deakin tightened his grip on her shoulders. 'Or perhaps you'd rather I was lying at the bottom of that ravine? I damn nearly was.'
She was silent for a few moments, then said: 'I'm sorry. I am a fool.'
'Yes,' Claremont said ungallantly. 'Well, Mr Deakin, what's next?'
'We take over the locomotive.'
'We'd be safe there?'
'Once we've disposed of our friend Banlon we will.' Claremont looked at him without understanding. 'I'm afraid so, Colonel. Banlon.'
'I can't believe it.'
'The shades of the three men he's already killed would believe it all right.'
'Three men?'
'To my certain knowledge.'
It took Claremont a very brief time only to come to terms with the fresh reality. He said in a calm voice: 'So he's armed?'
'I don't know. I think so. Anyway, Rafferty has his rifle with him. Banlon would use that – after shoving Rafferty over the side.'
'He could hear us coming? He could hold us off?' 'It's an uncertain world, Colonel.'
'We could take our stand in the train. In a passageway. In a doorway. I've got my revolver–'
'Hopeless. They're desperate men. With all respect, Colonel, I doubt whether you could match either Pearce or O'Brien with a hand gun. And even if you could hold them off there would still be an awful lot of gunfire. And the first shot Banlon hears he's on his guard. Nobody could get near his cab – and he'd drive straight through to Fort Humboldt without stopping.'
'So? We'd be among friends.'
'I'm afraid not.' He held up a warning finger, looked cautiously over the rear edge of the roof in time to see O'Brien crossing from the second to the first coach. He put his ear to the ventilator again. From the tone of his voice O'Brien's relaxed urbanity appeared to have abandoned him.
The Colonel's gone too! Henry, stay here, see no one passes you – either way. Shoot on sight. Kill on sight. Nathan, Governor – we'll start from the back and search every inch of this damned train.'
Deakin gestured urgently forward but Claremont, on his knees now, was staring towards the rear of the train.
Breakheart Pass Page 12
