by Ray Tassin
"Who was the fourth man in that Spaulding robbery?"
Dooley's only answer was glaring hatred. "You'll be dead in minutes. Give me his name and I'll square accounts for you."
Viciously, Dooley cursed him until another spasm of pain choked him off. When the pain subsided for a moment he glared at Danner with clouded vision.
"It had to be you or—"
"Or who," Danner demanded, grasping Dooley by the shoulder.
"Damn you," Dooley spat out, and turned his face away. Wainright interrupted them.
"Browder is still inside," he said, fondling his scattergun. The action so far hadn't lessened his thirst for violence. Reluctantly, Danner stepped away from Dooley and drew his Colts. Browder would be as difficult to take as a wounded grizzly.
Moving to the edge of the doorway, Danner used his gun to motion Wainright to the far side. At another gesture they sprinted inside. Heavy silence greeted them, and a vast emptiness. Browder's buggy—without its horse—stood near the entrance. With an oath, Danner started running toward the far end of the building.
He stopped after twenty yards and gazed at the west wall of the building. A gaping hole let in the afternoon sunlight. Browder had knocked out the siding, apparently, and had made his escape riding the buggy horse bareback. The horse couldn't carry his four hundred pounds very far. Wainright raced over to the hole then.
"Looks like both of the big ones got clear," Wainright fumed. Danner nodded, wondering if he should get his horse and try to follow Browder or stay here and clean up the mess.
Tuso's lead was enough to get him out of the territory, but Browder would have to have several fresh horses to make it. He glanced around the building, his gaze stopping on the east side of the main entrance. Here stood what had once been the office of the granary. Wearily, Danner stepped inside the ten by sixteen room and glanced about. Half a dozen bunks had been nailed along the outside wall, and five now contained bedrolls. Under each was a railroad-type footlocker. When Wainright came in, Danner nodded toward the far end.
"You start there," he said, "and I'll work in from this end. Check each footlocker."
"For what?" Wainright demanded.
"A pin-fire pistol."
Wainright stared at him, his eyes narrowed with speculation. But he moved to the far bunk without further questioning. In the first footlocker Danner found an assortment of city clothes which identified the possessions of Carp. As he opened the second locker he heard an exclamation from Wainright.
"Is this it?"
Wainright held up an odd-looking pistol. In two strides Danner reached him and grabbed the weapon. Stamped on the barrel was the legend: LeFaucheaux, 12mm.
Jubilance swelled Danner's chest.
"What's it all about?" Wainright demanded. But Danner hardly heard him. He dumped the contents of the footlocker onto the bunk and rummaged through the pile—a leather vest, well-worn set of saddle bags now empty, a set of spurs, some shirts big enough to fit Tuso, and a package of old newspaper clippings about the Civil War. He pawed through some other odds and ends but found nothing that definitely identified the gear as the property of Tuso. Dooley could do that, if he still lived. Wainright broke into his thoughts.
"I demand to know the significance of this find."
Danner moved out of the room with quick strides. Melinda was just coming in the big outer doorway, but Danner brushed by her. When he reached Ears Dooley, he knew a moment of panic. Dooley's eyes were closed. Danner grasped him by the shoulder and the eyes flickered open. Then Danner held the pin-fire gun inches away from Dooley's face.
"Can you see this gun?" Danner watched slow assent mount in the eyes. "This is the gun that killed your three brothers after the Spaulding robbery. I found it in one of the footlockers. Now will you give me the man's name?"
A puzzled look washed across the thin face and Dooley remained silent for so long that Danner thought he wasn't going to answer. "The gun—is Tuso's," he gasped, pain again twisting his thin face.
Danner nodded with satisfaction and started to stand up, but Dooley stopped him with his next words.
"Tuso—wasn't the fourth man. How—" He twisted once, the sight fading from his eyes as he died.
Stunned, Danner saw the life ebb away and could do nothing to stop it. Tuso had to be the fourth man, he told himself. Browder sure as the devil couldn't have ridden a horse that far, and the fourth man certainly had used a saddle horse.
Danner noticed Wainright and Melinda staring at the gun with fascination and he looked at it himself. Then shock gripped his stomach muscles and he exhaled raggedly. The weapon looked like it hadn't been fired in years. He stuck his finger in the end of the barrel, twisted it, and brought it out covered with dust and a trace of rust. Still unbelieving, he aimed the gun skyward and pulled the trigger. The muffled report of aged powder confirmed his fears even before he removed the empty shell case and examined it. The pin went into the side of the shell case at a perfect ninety-degree angle, not sixty degrees like the pins in the shells he had found by the bodies of the Dooleys.
Complete defeat washed over him, stunning and bitter dejection that left him weak and uncaring. Another piece to fit the puzzle, he thought, and nowhere to get more pieces. The fourth man had known of Tuso and his ancient pin-fire pistol. He'd somehow secured a duplicate weapon, committed three murders and left three shell cases behind, deliberately, to point out Tuso as the killer. By keeping quiet about the shells, Danner had merely transferred the suspicion from Tuso to himself. Wainright took the pistol from his limp grip and inspected it carefully before handing it back to him.
"Well," he snapped. "Was Tuso the fourth man or not?"
Danner hesitated, then shook his head. "No," he admitted.
Surprise touched Wainright's features, and the face of Melinda softened with something like pity. She wanted to believe in him, Danner thought, but it didn't seem to matter now. Wainright moved closer to him, his mouth thinned back.
"Is that all you've got to say?"
"What do you want," Danner grated harshly, "a signed confession?"
Melinda stepped in between them without looking at either. "Let's get away from this appalling place."
Danner walked tiredly to the locomotive and asked when the train would be ready to roll.
"Not long," the engineer answered, shifting a chew of tobacco in his mouth. "Another five minutes, maybe."
Danner nodded, then stiffened, listening. A crackling sound reached him and he glanced about, finding no cause for the sound. Then he looked at the sky above the edge of the shallow depression holding the granary. Black clouds filled the air, much like storm clouds; but elsewhere the sky was clear, the sun shining. Then the smell of smoke reached him and he started running up the slope of the bowl. At the top he stopped to look southwestward. From half a mile away a wall of flames twenty feet high and more than a mile wide swept toward the bowl. Tuso or Browder—most likely Tuso—had fired the prairie in an attempt to forever hide the fate of the missing train.
Danner plunged down the slope, waving at Melinda and Wainright. "Prairie fire," he shouted. "Get aboard the train!" Both of them scrambled up into the cab and Danner leaped in behind them without touching the ladder.
"The boiler ain't quite hot enough yet," the engineer growled, testing the throttle.
"It'll get a lot hotter in a couple of minutes if you don't get us out of here," Danner warned.
"Well," the engineer said doubtfully, "it'll move slowly, I guess." With a weak hissing of steam the locomotive inched forward. Creaks and pops worked along the string of cars. Danner scanned the sky above the southwest rim. He could hear the roar of the blaze now as the black smoke rolled upward in great gusts. Finally the entire train rolled forward slowly. Danner nodded to Wainright.
"We better move to the back of the train. Some of the cars might catch fire and well need to cut them loose."
Wainright nodded assent and laid his shotgun on the floor of the cab. Danner scrambled ove
r the ricks of wood that filled the tender. Then he leaped to the top of the lead boxcar and started rearward.
The locomotive strained against the thirty boxcars of wheat, barely moving them. Only half of the cars had moved away from the side of the granary when a solid sheet of flames cleared the rim of the bowl and raced toward the ancient building. Danner jumped to the next car, increasing his speed.
Now the flames enveloped the granary, spreading through the dried out timbers of the structure almost faster than the eye could follow. The train lurched and Danner sprawled face down on the top of a boxcar about halfway back. Only a last second grab of the catwalk kept him from falling over the side. Wainright caught up with him then.
"This train will never outrun that fire!" Wainright shouted.
"It'll have to as far as the river. The fire will burn itself out there."
Only five cars remained alongside the granary now. The locomotive cleared the crest of the bowl and picked up speed heading downhill. Danner resumed his sprint to the back of the train, anxiously watching the progress of the cars away from the blazing building. Heat blistered his face and hands now and he slowed his pace, moving rearward but getting no closer to the building.
Then the gutted granary began to crumble!
Danner stopped, scarcely breathing, watching the last of the boxcars pull clear. Then the building collapsed with an explosion that sent flaming splinters flying. One chunk of burning debris landed on top of the caboose, but Danner was eight cars away. He started running again as the train reached a speed of ten or twelve miles an hour. When the car he was on cleared the rim of the bowl, he nearly lost his balance and had to stop for a moment. Then the caboose cleared the edge of the bowl, permitting another big jump in speed as the entire train moved downgrade. By the time Danner reached the caboose, flames covered the rear half of the top. He didn't even bother to consider it; he worked down the ladder and pulled the coupling pin. The caboose would drop back as soon as the tracks leveled out. He climbed back to the top of the last boxcar and turned as the wall of flames broke over the edge of the bowl and spurted on toward the train. Then the train began to pull away from the slowing caboose, now almost covered with flames. Danner and Wainright hunkered down at the back end of the boxcar, watching with fascination and no little fear as the flames gained on the train.
Movement at the end of the caboose caught Danner's eye. Horrified, he saw the vast bulk of Browder come spilling out of the door and jump to the ground. Browder started loping toward the train waving his arms, but Danner could only watch while Browder fell farther into the background. Apparently, Browder had only ridden his buggy horse to the end of the granary, then abandoned it for a hiding place in the caboose, unknowingly sealing his own hellish fate.
The racing holocaust caught up with Browder then and he vanished behind the wall with a scream that sickened Danner. He and Wainright looked at each other, nauseated. A feeling akin to comradeship grew between them, as it often does between men who share a battlefield horror. Danner knew then that never again would he and Wainright face each other as foes.
An awareness of reckless speed touched Danner, and he realized the train must be shooting toward the river at more than fifty miles an hour, a suicidal speed on such poor trackage. Gradually the flaming front fell back. It was Wainright who mentioned it, his voice sounding strained. "It looks as if we're in the clear."
"Not quite," Danner replied without spirit. When Wainright shot him a quizzical look, he nodded over his shoulder toward the north.
"We'll be at the bridge soon. At this speed that old structure won't hold up."
Wainright jumped to his feet and stared anxiously ahead. "We're far enough ahead of the fire to slow down," he said.
Danner stood up slowly. "Too far ahead. That puts us too close to the bridge. We'll be there before we could get forward and warn the engineer." Even then he could see the spans ahead. "Get ready to jump."
Wainright crouched at the left edge of the boxcar as Danner hunkered down on the right side, his eyes fixed on the bridge ahead. Sparks from the locomotive showered both sides of the track and some of them pelted against his face.
The locomotive reached the bridge and started across and Danner almost stopped breathing. The bridge seemed to be holding. As the last car neared the bridge Danner could see the overhead beams vibrating, could even feel a tremor from the treacherous trackage across the piling. Then the last boxcar started across, swaying dangerously. Too late to jump now, Danner realized.
A sinking sensation touched him and he knew the bridge was collapsing under the burden of the train. Yet the Mogul engine struggled on, and the long string of cars followed. Finally the entire train pulled clear of the bridge and Danner heard a sharp cracking followed by a series of heavy rumbles. He looked back in time to see the old bridge drop into the bed of the river, and a weakness worked upward through his body.
How long he sat frozen to the top of the boxcar he didn't know, but he became aware of the train slowing and he looked around to find Wainright getting up.
"The main line is just ahead," Wainright said. "What now?"
What now, Danner thought with a dullness he didn't fully understand. Then he shook off the feeling and got to his feet.
"We might as well take it on to Junction City right now," Danner said. "If I went back to Richfield without a stack of bank drafts, those grangers might decide to hang me anyway."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Billy McDaniel favored Danner with his characteristic, dog-friendly grin, then leaned back against the pillows piled up at the back of his bed. Pale and thin looking, he'd be out of bed within a couple of weeks, the doctor had said when Danner first came in. Now Danner relaxed in the bedside chair and finished giving Billy an account of his finding the train and the events which followed. McDaniel listened attentively, occasionally smiling with satisfaction. But when Danner explained about the pin-fire pistol, a shadow touched the heavy features. Silence fell between them, each lost in his own thoughts until Danner heard the door open behind him.
Lona walked to the foot of the bed, smiling serenely at both of them. A red ribbon gathered her long pale hair at shoulder level, giving her a girlish appearance.
"I hate to break up your visit," she told Danner, "but Billy must not be overtaxed."
Danner nodded his understanding and got up to leave. Hesitating, he darted a glance at Lona, wondering how to tell Lona of his decision. Reluctantly, he looked at McDaniel.
"As soon as you are on your feet, I'm giving you title to my half of the farm." He raised his hand to stifle the protest he saw rising to the face of McDaniel. "We'll keep it businesslike. You give me a mortgage for the amount due and pay it off when you can."
They both glanced at Lona expectantly, awaiting an outburst of protest. But she remained silent. Except for a touch of color on each cheek, she appeared completely unconcerned. Danner waited, finally growing restless with the continued silence.
"I'll drop in again tomorrow," he told McDaniel. "You take it easy." With a nod to Lona, he left the room. Hurriedly he moved down the corridor, across the reception room and had reached the outer door when Lona called to him. He stopped and turned to face her. It would come now, he thought. She just hadn't wanted to make a scene in front of McDaniel. Strangely, though, he saw no signs of anger on her face. But he did detect some turmoil in the way she toyed with the cameo hanging at her throat.
"I'm sorry about the farm," Danner ventured. "I—Billy belongs out there—but I just don't fit in."
"I know." She moved over to the west window and gazed out at a yard engine moving empty flatcars. "I'm glad, actually. It makes it easier to say what I must."
Unsure of the direction she was heading, Danner waited. When she faced him again, her lips were drawn out in a thin line.
"I've decided not to marry you." The simple statement caught him unprepared. He met her steady gaze uncertainly.
"That farm couldn't mean that much, not even to yo
u."
"It isn't the farm," she snapped, a hint of temper showing now. "I made this decision two days ago, before I knew—well—" She made a helpless gesture then faced the window again. "After I found out why you went to Topeka."
"We don't have to live on a farm to have a good marriage."
"No." She turned on him, her face flushed. "No, we don't. But we do have to love each other. You've never loved me. I knew that from the first, but I thought you would, eventually. Perhaps you would have if Melinda hadn't—"
"Lona," Danner caught her by the shoulders. "There's never been—"
"I know," she interrupted bitterly. "Maybe you don't even realize what she means to you. But I've seen it for some time, although I didn't want to admit it. Anyway," she lifted her shoulders, "my mind is made up. Please don't come to see me again."
Anger—or at least disappointment—should have touched Danner then, but he felt nothing. He dropped his hands from her shoulders, not knowing what to say. She moved away from him then, stopping at the corridor and looking back.
"I've decided to marry Billy, if and when he asks me. And I don't think that will be long once he learns I'm unattached, because he's loved me for a long time." When she saw that Danner wasn't going to reply, she turned and vanished down the long corridor.
How long he stood there staring along the vacant corridor Danner didn't know. He heard the morning westbound passenger train arrive and leave, then he opened the front door and started along the boardwalk toward the depot. Lona was right, he thought. She deserved more from marriage than she could get from him. Could she also be right about Melinda? Was that why Melinda filled his thoughts so often, and why he wanted to please her? He didn't think so, but it didn't really matter. He and Melinda came from different worlds, too, just as he and Lona did. And there was still the matter of the unexplained Spaulding robbery.
Danner mounted the steps to the depot platform and crossed it to the office. Nodding to the clerks, he rapped on Wainright's office door. A gruff voice told him to come in. He stopped just inside the door, staring at Old Man Corbin who stood in front of Wainright's desk. Corbin must have come in on the morning westbound. Now he puffed angrily on a long black cigar, devoid of his usual benevolent appearance.
