Part 27 (1/2)
”I get you. Where is Gr--where is the man who flagged the train?”
Nelson turned with his hand on the door-k.n.o.b.
”In the car back locked into a compartment with an armed guard before it. He wanted to talk but I wasn't taking chances with any middle-aged Lochinvar until after we'd pa.s.sed the Hold-up. Got the woman in the case locked up, haven't you?”
”Yes, she----” Courtlandt cut off the explanation he was about to offer.
Why enlighten Nelson? If he could keep Jerry's name out of the mix-up, so much the better. Greyson wouldn't be likely to talk.
”All right, see that she doesn't break loose. A girl who would flivver along a railroad track would have to be roped and tied to keep her out of a wild party like this or I miss my guess.”
Steve looked unseeingly at the door as it closed behind Nelson. He was right; it would be like Jerry to get into the mix-up. He would stop at her compartment as he went forward and make sure that she was there. He unfastened the holster from his belt and flung it to the desk. With a slight bulge in the region of the hip pocket of his riding breeches he left the office. At the door of the compartment in which he had left Jerry he knocked.
There was no answer. He tapped again and listened. There was no sound inside save the creaking of woodwork and springs as the car swayed with the grinding of wheels. Courtlandt whitened. Could she have left her room? With quick impatience he opened the door and stepped inside. In his surprise he slammed it behind him. Jerry, rolled in a blanket, lay in the bunk asleep.
Even the noise he had made did not rouse her. Evidently the maid had taken her clothing to dry it, for she was blanketed like a mummy from her feet to her dimpled chin. Courtlandt crossed the narrow s.p.a.ce between them and looked down upon her. Her hair was spread over the pillow to dry, her dark lashes lay like fringes, the one cheek visible had a long red scratch, a bare foot hung over the edge of the bunk. Her sleep was so profound that she barely breathed.
Why was she so exhausted, Steve wondered anxiously. In a flash he remembered. She had been up all the night before with Mrs. Carey. Was it only last night that he had taken her to the B C ranch? It seemed weeks ago. No wonder that she was tired; she couldn't have had much sleep in the last forty-eight hours. What did the bruise mean? He leaned over her and touched it lightly. It was not a recent scratch. Very gently he raised the pink foot which swayed with every motion of the car and covered it with the blanket. He looked down upon the girl for a moment.
With jaw set and the veins in his temples standing out like cords he went out and closed the door behind him.
The train barely crawled as Courtlandt swung from the step of the coach to the ground. His eyes were strained; there was a white line about his lips as he pulled himself up into the gangway between tender and engine.
The storm had rolled east-ward. Above the distant mountains a broad and yellow moon played at hide-and-seek with fleecy remnants of cloud. Stars appeared dimly, reconnoitered for a moment, then shone with steady brilliancy. Nelson, seated on a tool-box in the cab, rolled a cigarette with slightly unsteady fingers. The engineer had his head out of the window; his a.s.sistant was tinkering a bit of balky machinery. Nelson looked up as Courtlandt appeared.
”Did you come out to see the wheels go round Steve? I'd rather ride here than anywhere else myself. What the devil! What's to pay now, Hawks?” as the engineer ground on the brakes.
”Boulder on the track,” rumbled the sooty man. He turned white under the soot as his eyes crossed in a futile endeavor to look along the s.h.i.+ny blue nose of an automatic in the hand of his grimy a.s.sistant.
”Hands up, all of you! Come over here, Hawks. You gentlemen can talk to me while my friends give the train the once-over.”
”Well, I'll be----”
”You sure will if you talk,” growled the grimy one, looking like a popular conception of his satanic majesty sans horns. Courtlandt and Nelson who had been caught completely off guard by this attack from within, stood with upraised arms. ”Now, what t'ell!” The gun swayed for the fraction of a second as a figure slid down over the coal in the tender and landed in a crumpled heap in the gangway. Courtlandt seized the opportunity. By the aboriginal expedient of kicking his victim smartly in the s.h.i.+n he surprised the grimy one into a howl of pain.
Instinctively one hand reached for the aching member. Steve seized the revolver.
”You're some gunman,” he jeered. ”Go back into that corner and sit down!” And Satan's understudy, shorn of all of his gun and two-thirds of his bravado--went. ”Hawks, tie his feet and hands. Here's his gun.
Nelson, I can manage if you want to give orders elsewhere. What have we here?”
The man who had fallen from the tender had struggled to his feet. He braced himself against the side of the cab. His hair was matted down over his eyes, his khaki s.h.i.+rt was in strips, his breeches and riding boots were caked with mud; evidently he had been a rider before he turned bandit, Courtlandt thought as he covered him with his forty-five.
Hawks was standing guard with his prisoner's own automatic. Fate has a keen sense of comedy.
”What's your business?” Steve demanded. The man made an evident effort to rally his senses. His voice was low and broken as he answered:
”There are twenty men in the gap--waiting for this train--the silver--bricks. Here--here are the names----” He fumbled in his s.h.i.+rt.
Steve watched him with wary eyes, his finger on the trigger of his gun.
The trussed man in the corner swore volubly. The engineer silenced him with the toe of his boot. Courtlandt took a step nearer the gasping, groping man. The light was dim, if he were tricking him--but he wasn't.
With painful effort he produced a paper. His right arm hung helpless. A red spot the size of a nickel appeared on the breast of his s.h.i.+rt. ”Here it is. I--I played into Ranlett's hands with the steers--Steve.” He collapsed in a heap on the floor.
”Steve!”