by Ray Tassin
"Do you think you'll ever succeed?"
Her eyebrow arched sharply as she looked up into his face. "Succeed in what?"
"In making up your mind about me."
The startled look that spread across her features told him he had guessed right, and he smiled. Surprisingly, she smiled in return and seemed to relax, which made dancing more enjoyable. They finished the dance in silence, and remained in the center of the floor until another number started. Danner lost his thoughts in the dancing until Melinda spoke.
"You are a strange paradox."
"How so?"
She danced silently for so long that Danner thought she wasn't going to answer. When she did speak again, it was to ask another question.
"Are you really so indifferent to what people think of you? I mean, you've made no effort to stop people from blaming you for that Spaulding robbery. Yet I understand you once half-killed a man for calling you a foul name."
"There's a difference in what people think about me and what they say in front of me," Danner said. "If I ignored a spoken insult, I'd be inviting every tough in the territory to move in on the railroad."
"That's a rather harsh philosophy."
"Perhaps."
"What about your dispute this morning with Mr. Wainright?"
"If he told you that much, I guess he told you the rest of it."
Danner couldn't be sure in the uncertain light, but he thought he saw a flush touch her cheeks.
"Mr. Wainright is your employer now. Perhaps you should—"
"He's a bitter and warped man, more crippled in mind than body." Danner felt her back stiffen under his palm.
"He hasn't always been that way," she said. "He was a fine athlete when I first knew him in Baltimore. But after the accident—well, a thing like that would change almost any man."
"Only if he lets it," Danner said. He bumped into a lanky granger without offering an apology. Melinda pulled away from him almost to arm's length.
"That's an easy thing to say for one who isn't handicapped."
Danner pulled her closer again without losing the rhythm of the music. "All men have handicaps of one kind or another. If they are any sort of men at all, they must learn to live with those handicaps."
"And what is your handicap?" she challenged him.
"Men like Wainright."
Slowly the hardness returned to her face, revealing an inner toughness she had acquired from the Colonel. Even her diminutive loveliness couldn't hide that. Once again she was uncertain about him. With a moment's regret, Danner blamed himself for the transformation, then he put the thought aside. What she thought about him shouldn't matter, now or ever, he thought.
They finished the dance without further talk, and when the music ended, Danner escorted her from the dancing area. Wainright waited, a cup of punch in his hand, bright flames of fury in his eyes.
Danner returned Wainright's curt nod, then thanked Melinda for the dances. She eyed him thoughtfully before nodding. He crossed the floor to the stage and found Lona and McDaniel standing in front of the chairs. Lona glared at him angrily. Without a word to him, she turned to McDaniel.
"I believe you wanted another dance, Billy."
"Huh?" McDaniel showed his bewilderment with slack jaws. "But you said—"
"I changed my mind."
"Is it okay, Jeff?"
Danner spread his hands.
"Of course."
Happily, McDaniel whirled Lona onto the floor.
Danner eased into his chair, knowing he shouldn't antagonize Lona by showing any interest in Melinda. Lona really couldn't help the jealousy she felt toward Melinda. Or was that really it? He wondered if maybe it really wasn't a jealousy of his love for railroading, with Melinda a personification of what Lona disliked the most. He abandoned the thought when he saw Wainright striding up, glaring at him.
"Could I have a moment with you outside?" The unmistakable indignation in Wainright's face held Danner's attention for a moment, then he nodded and led the way through the crowd and across the porch to the yard. Halting by a buggy, he waited for Wainright to speak. Even in the semi-darkness the face of Wainright shone whitely, his mouth a thin and compressed line, and Danner began to feel his own self-control ebb.
"Mr. Danner," Wainright broke the heavy silence. "I think you need a lesson in company policy." He leaned close, his face not more than two feet away from Danner.
"There are two kinds of people in the Great Plains Central family—the hired hands and the employers. There's a distinct line between the two, and GPC doesn't approve of hired hands attempting to cross that line. Do I make myself clear?"
"Company policy, or your policy?" Danner asked.
"Don't be insolent, mister," Wainright choked. "Miss Richfield is now a stockholder in GPC, as well as a member of the board of directors. Back East you wouldn't even be attending the same social functions. But since it is necessary for us to attend some of the public events in this uncouth country, you'll kindly be good enough to stay away from Miss Richfield. Otherwise, you are in for trouble."
Danner straightened. Bitterness could drive a man to great lengths, he thought. "You're pushing me too hard," he said.
"That'll be enough," Wainright stormed. "Just stay where you belong." He stalked back toward the schoolhouse. After a few strides his empty left coat sleeve worked loose from the pocket of the coat and swung like a pendulum.
Danner gripped the edge of the leather-covered buggy seat with his left hand, waiting for his anger to cool. The whistle of the late train reached him from far away, yet sharply clear. The sound comforted him somehow.
How long he waited there in the darkness Danner didn't know. Finally, he became aware that the music inside had stopped. The couples began drifting outside, calling goodnight to others, and Danner knew the dance was over. Shaking off the dead remains of his tension, he worked his way inside.
Lona sat by the bandstand, staring vacantly across the room and toying with the cameo brooch at her throat. McDaniel stood uncomfortably beside her, searching the dwindling crowd. When he saw Danner, his slow smile erased the worried look.
"Been looking for you, Jeff."
Danner ducked his head in greeting. Lona ignored him as she gathered her coat from the back of the chair and stood up. McDaniel seemed at a loss for anything else to say; his jowls moved as he swallowed.
"Well, thanks for the dances, Miss Lona. Good night. See you around, Jeff."
Danner nodded, then reached out to help Lona as she struggled with the light coat. She moved just enough to avoid his assistance, then started toward the door.
The trip to the Ralston home was a silent affair. Danner escorted Lona to the porch, then removed his hat. The night was dead still except for a prowling cat. Light streaming from the window in the door caught Lona in the face and she stepped back into the darkness.
"Lona," Danner ventured, not sure how to handle this. "We shouldn't be at odds like this all the time." He moved through the rectangle of light and stopped near her.
"No, we shouldn't be," she murmured, staring off the porch into the night.
Danner caught her by the shoulders and drew her close.
"Please, Jeff." She shook loose and moved away. Her husky voice barely reached him. "I'm not a fool—or maybe I am at that, for loving you."
"Dammit, Lona, that's—"
"Don't use profanity on me. I've been humiliated enough already tonight." Then she turned away, moving to the end of the porch.
Frustration took hold of Danner, shaking its way roughly into his chest. It was like fighting a shadow, it never stood still.
Before he could reply the front door opened and Lona's father came out on the porch—Olie Swensen, small for a Swede, and lacking the genial warmth of his ancestors. Light glistened atop his hairless head.
"Daughter," he growled, "if you're through spooning, we'd best be heading home."
"I'm through, Papa. All through."
CHAPTER FOUR
&
nbsp; Since the Swensens hadn't stayed over for morning church services, Danner slept late. By the time he reached the hotel cafe the church crowd had come and gone. He ate alone, then wandered down to the depot.
The eastbound left a single bag of mail and no passengers, and soon faded into the distance. Only the clatter of the telegraph key broke the early afternoon stillness. The Sunday relief telegrapher was a new man, and Danner didn't feel like getting acquainted just now so he lounged against the side of the depot, warmed by the sun. A smell of dryness and dust in the air indicated the beginning of another scorching summer. Danner missed the throb of life now absent from the Sunday-silent workshops and motionless yard engines.
Nothing stirred along the length of the main street except once when a swamper came out the rear of the Silver Dollar Saloon and emptied some trash into a large barrel. The clatter of the lid sent an old tomcat streaking along the alley. Then a rider broke the dust along the south road, drawing in toward Richfield. Danner watched idly while the speck grew larger. Another ten minutes crawled by before Danner could make out the oversized shape of a man bouncing out of motion with his horse. Only McDaniel rode a horse like that; McDaniel coming in from the little shack he lived in by the breaks along the Richfield River. Town living would have been more convenient for the railroader, but he couldn't forget the pleasantness of his childhood on an Illinois farm.
When McDaniel turned into the main street, Danner moved away from the depot to intercept him. McDaniel rode head down, uncomfortably, his jowls jouncing. When he spotted Danner his heavy features broke into a wide smile.
"Afternoon, Jeff."
Danner nodded, watching his big friend dismount. Outside of time spent with Lona, Danner's only social contact consisted of occasional games of Casino with McDaniel and Sheriff Brant. With mutual understanding they moved along the walk to the courthouse. Brant lay asleep on a cot, but instantly awakened when Danner tramped through the open door.
"Afternoon, boys." Brant scrubbed back his tousled, thinning gray hair, then forced on his boots. Danner nodded to him, dropped into a chair by the desk and loaded his pipe. By the time he had it going Brant began shuffling the cards. Danner jerked his head toward the cell block.
"Any trouble with the Dooleys?"
"Nope." Brant shook his head. "They're peaceful as milk cows—too peaceful for them." Glumly, he dealt the first hand in his awkward fashion.
They played cards silently then, but Danner had trouble keeping his mind on the game. He scanned his hand, then picked up a seven of hearts and had a Little Casino with the nine of spades.
Billy grumbled about his poor hand, providing the only break in the silence. Restlessness worked at Danner and more than once he found himself on the point of quitting the game. He heard the afternoon westbound come and go, its whistle soon only a distant sound, forlorn yet comforting. Still, he couldn't shake off the uneasiness.
About mid-afternoon the tread of several persons sounded outside the door and Alec Browder lumbered into the office, his great bulk shaking the floor with each step. Just behind him came Wainright and the swaggering, dandified Tuso. Danner knew that this was to be the climax of the uneasiness that had been working on him all day.
A round of nods failed to ease the tension that hung in the air. Danner remained seated. He suspected what would come next, but he waited for Wainright to commit himself.
Wainright moved a little closer to Danner, for a moment unsure of himself. Browder waited silently in the background, squinting through his thick-lensed glasses. He shifted his weight continually from one leg to the other, much like an elephant Danner had seen once in a St. Louis circus.
The black-clad Tuso leaned his left shoulder against the doorframe, while his right hand hung free near the butt of his holstered gun—a Colts, not a pin-fire. His barrel chest filled the width of the doorway, but his head reached little more than two-thirds of the way to the top of the arch. Now a smug grin split his swarthy features, crowding his broad nose closer to his small eyes. Danner eased up out of his chair. His movement ended the silent waiting.
"I've been looking for you, Danner," Wainright snapped.
Danner shuttled a quick glance to Browder, then eyed Wainright again, waiting. All uncertainty had vanished from Wainright's countenance.
"I've decided not to press charges against the Dooley brothers."
A fleeting anger brushed Danner, despite the fact that he had been half-expecting the statement. Now he struggled to maintain his air of indifference. Apparently Wainright had expected an outburst and seemed startled by Danner's quiet waiting.
"This gentleman," Wainright nodded toward Browder, "who is our biggest shipper, assures me a mistake has been made."
"Yes," Danner nodded. "The Dooleys have made many mistakes, but this is the first time I've been able to prove it."
Wainright flushed. "That isn't what I had in mind."
"If you let the Dooleys get away with this, they'll continue to steal everything that isn't nailed down. This lacks a lot of being their first stealing offense—just the first one I could prove. And stealing those rifles was just a diversion to make it easier for their brothers—"
"I've heard about your theory on the Spaulding robbery," Wainright interrupted harshly. "And about the part you may have had in it. I'm just trying to prevent a miscarriage of justice."
"Justice?" Danner moved closer to Wainright, stung by the insinuation. "I caught them with a case of stolen rifles. I have two witnesses who saw them carry the crate from our freight warehouse just minutes before the theft was reported to me. They deliberately permitted themselves to be seen in order to draw me out of Richfield."
"Danner," Browder's voice came like a roll of thunder in the confines of the small office. "I saw the Dooleys buy those rifles from two men right here in Richfield. Your witnesses were mistaken in their identification."
"And just who were those two men?" Danner made no attempt to hide the sarcasm he felt.
"Strangers to me," Browder rumbled, smiling thinly and moving his great bulk around.
"Browder, you are a liar."
Wainright stepped in between them, his eyes flaming. "That'll be enough from you, Danner. Mr. Browder's word is sufficient for me. I'm assuming the Dooleys bought those rifles and had nothing to do with the Spaulding robbery."
"Then I guess we better change the charge to 'receiving stolen property,'" Danner shot back. "That's good for five years in prison." His mouth muscles flicked tightly.
Browder waddled forward a couple of steps, still smiling faintly, but the slitted eyes behind the heavy glasses held no mirth. "The Dooley boys meant no harm. It isn't as if they knew those rifles were stolen—"
"The receiver's name was painted on the side of the crate," Danner said gently now. "I'm sure the Dooleys can read, and I'm equally certain that I can produce that crate in court."
"That's enough of this bickering," Wainright interrupted. "My mind is made up." He turned to the sheriff. "Great Plains Central hereby withdraws its charges, and orders the prisoners released."
Brant looked quizzically at Danner, but made no move toward the cell block. Despite the deep anger burning in his chest, Danner kept his voice under tight rein.
"I can't protect railroad property if you won't prosecute the thieves I bring in. If you release the Dooleys, you'll have to get yourself a new special agent."
The satisfaction that spread across the thin mouth of Wainright was a galling thing, yet Danner knew that no other course of action remained. Better to get it over with now, he thought. But already reaction created an emptiness within him, and a strong regret.
"The decision is yours, Danner," Wainright said. "If you don't wish to carry out orders and policies I make, you will be better off in another position. I can't have my policies questioned."
Tuso sneered openly now, the delight on his swarthy face a bitter taste to Danner. Browder seemed pleased also, though it was difficult to be certain of what lay behind the folds of f
at that nearly hid the squinted eyes. Temptation lay heavy in the right arm of Danner. It shocked him to realize how close he was to rashness. The knowledge eased the desire somewhat, making it possible to speak evenly.
"Wainright, you remember one thing. When this policy of yours blows up in your face, don't come crawling to me for help. I won't be available."
CHAPTER FIVE
It didn't take long for Danner to clear out his desk early Monday. None of the clerks had arrived by the time he left. By ten o'clock he had removed the last of his gear from the hotel room and loaded it on a pack horse. Then he mounted and jogged out the south road without a backward glance. But an empty feeling grew within him with each stride of his mount and soon he slumped dejectedly in the saddle. His four years with the Colonel had been more than just a job. The railroad had become something for him to believe in—a way of life. Yet it would have been impossible for him to remain under Wainright. With a strong effort Danner threw off the lethargy and became conscious of the vastness of the great plains spread out in each direction—a sea of wheat growing ripe. This, too, was a way of life, for men like Olie Swensen. Only once did Danner pass a farm house. From a quarter of a mile away the buildings seemed lost in the great expanse. A boy of not more than six years of age dashed around a brooder house holding his stick rifle ready for action.
By noon the flatness gave way to a gentle downward slope. Danner continued south until the winding Richfield River appeared in the distance as a twisting silver ribbon. Winds from the southwest kicked up dust devils now. Danner blinked against the fine flecks. The land roughened near the river. Just visible among a cluster of trees along the banks nestled McDaniel's shack. Here, Danner planned to live while he caught up on his fishing and loafing—and maybe long enough to make one more attempt at finding a pin-fire pistol. Time enough after that to start looking for a new job. He wondered if that Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe job was still open. The Union Pacific also had made him an offer last year, but that was too far north for a Texan to live.
Reining up before the unpainted frame structure, Danner sat slack in the saddle, wondering if he should ride over to the Swensen farm eight miles west and make peace with Lona. Then he shrugged the idea aside and began unloading his pack animal.
