sir.'
'I do?' Deakin looked at him consideringly. 'Yes, I do believe I do. My apologies.' He took the end of the rope, made a double bowline, thrust his legs through the loops and took a bight around his waist. 'I'd like another rope, too.'
'Another rope?' Claremont frowned. 'That one would support a horse.'
'I wasn't thinking so much about horses. Would you think it fitting for an army colonel to lie down there until the vultures picked you clean to the bone? Or is it only cavalrymen who rate a decent burial?'
Claremont bestowed a momentary blue glare on Deakin, whirled and nodded to Bellew. Within a minute a soldier had returned with a rope and within two more, after a dizzying, swaying descent, Deakin had secured a foothold on the spur of rock which held the broken body of Jackson.
For almost a minute, buffeted by the gusting winds down the ravine, Deakin remained stooped over the prone figure, then secured the second rope round Jackson. He straightened, lifted a hand in signal and was hauled back up to the bridge again.
'Well?' Predictably, the impatient Claremont.
Deakin undid his rope and rubbed two painfully grazed knees. 'Fractured skull, nearly every major rib in his body broken.' He looked enquiringly at Banlon. 'He had a rag tied to his right wrist.'
'That's right.' Banlon appeared to have shrunk another impossible inch or two. 'He was outside, clearing the snow from my driving window, when he fell off. Tying the rag like that is an old fireman's trick. He can hang on with both hands.'
'Didn't hang on this time, did he? I think I know why. Marshal, you'd better come – as law officer you'll be asked to certify the death certificate. Disbarred doctors are denied that privilege.'
Pearce hesitated, nodded and moved off after Deakin, O'Brien following close behind. Deakin reached the locomotive, walked a couple of paces past the cab and looked up. The snow in the vicinity of the engineer's window and on the after part of the boiler casing had been rubbed off. Deakin swung up to the cab and, watched by Pearce, O'Brien and Banlon, who had now joined them, looked first around him and then behind him. The tender was now two-thirds empty, with the bulk of the cordwood stacked to the rear. On the right-hand side the cords lay in disarray on the floor, as if a heap of them had fallen forward.
Deakin's eyes had become very still and watchful. His nose wrinkled and after a few moments his eyes shifted sideways and downwards. Deakin stooped, reached behind some tangled pieces of cordwood, straightened and held out a bottle.
'Tequila. He was reeking of the stuff, had some of it spilled on his clothes.' He looked incredulously at Banlon. 'And you knew nothing – nothing of this?'
'Just what I was going to ask.' Pearce looked and sounded grim.
'God's my witness, Marshal.' If Banlon kept shrinking at his present rate his eventual disappearance was only a matter of time. 'I've no sense of smell – ask anybody. I didn't know Jackson until he joined us at Ogden – and I never even knew that he drank that stuff.'
'You know now.' Claremont had made his appearance in the cab. 'We all know now. Poor devil. As for you, Banlon, I'm putting you under military law. Any more drinking and you'll end up in a cell in Fort Humboldt and I'll have you dismissed the Union Pacific'
Banlon tried to look aggrieved but his heart wasn't in it. 'I never drink on duty, sir.'
'You were drinking yesterday afternoon at the Reese City depot.'
'I mean when I'm driving the train–'
'That'll do. No more questions. Marshal?'
'Nothing more to ask. Colonel. It's open and shut to me.'
'Right.' Claremont turned back to Banlon. 'I'll have Bellew detail a trooper as fireman.' He made a gesture of dismissal and made to turn away.
Banlon said hurriedly: 'Two things, Colonel.' Claremont turned. 'You can see we're running low on fuel and there's a depot about a mile and a half up the valley–'
'Yes, yes. I'll detail a loading party. And –?'
'I'm pretty well bushed, sir. And this business of Jackson … If Devlin – that's the brakeman – could relieve me in a couple of hours–'
'That shall be arranged.'
A soldier in a peaked cavalryman's cap peered out from the side of the locomotive through the now heavily falling snow. He said to Banlon: 'I think this must be the fuel dump coming up.'
Banlon joined them, nodded, returned to the controls and brought the train to a gentle stop, so positioning it that it brought up with locomotive and tender precisely opposite the fuel dump, an open-faced, three-sided shack piled high with cordwood. Banlon said: 'Fetch the loading detail, would you?'
The loading detail, about a dozen men in all, were on the scene in only a matter of seconds and a remarkably unhappy band of troopers they appeared to be. One had the impression that, given the option, they'd have taken on twice their number of hostile Indians rather than the chore on hand and their reluctance for the appointed task was wholly understandable: although it was now approaching noon, the sky was so dark and the now wind-whipped snow so heavy that the light was no better than that of late dusk and visibility no more than a few feet; and the cold was deepening with the passing of every moment. The soldiers, shivering with cold and stamping their feet, lined up with their backs to the developing blizzard and passed the cordwood arm to arm between the fuel store and the tender. And they moved very quickly indeed: no one had to tell them that the sooner they had finished, the sooner they were back in the comparative warmth of their coaches.
Some way back on the other side of the train. an indistinct figure moved quickly and silently along the track- side and climbed silently on to the platform at the front of the supply wagon. The door was locked. The man, wearing an army overcoat and a peaked cavalryman's cap, stooped, examined the lock, produced a heavy bunch of keys, selected one and inserted it. The door opened at once, and closed almost immediately as the man entered.
A match scratched, flared and a small oil-lamp came to life. Deakin brushed snow from his greatcoat – O'Brien had provided him with some protection against the elements – moved towards the centre of the wagon and looked around him.
To the rear of the coach, packed four deep and two wide in obviously makeshift racks on either side of the central aisle, were exactly thirty-two coffins, all of them identical in shape and size: whoever made coffins for the army apparently visualized all cavalrymen as being exactly the same shape, size and weight. Most of the rest of the wagon was given up to supplies of one kind and another. The right-hand side was given up to neatly stored piles of bagged and crated food supplies. All the left-hand side was stacked with brass-bound oiled wooden boxes, which took up a relatively small space, and unidentified objects lashed down under tarpaulins. The wooden boxes bore the legend: MEDICAL CORPS SUPPLIES: UNITED STATES ARMY. Deakin lifted a corner of the first tarpaulin. The boxes there, also oiled wood, bore the marking, in large red letters: DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! The next few tarpaulins covered boxes similarly marked. The last and smallest tarpaulin to be lifted revealed a tall narrow grey box with a leather carrying handle. It was marked: US ARMY POSTS & TELEGRAPHS.
Deakin lifted off the tarpaulin covering this box, rolled it, thrust it under his coat, picked up the grey box, doused the lamp and left, locking the door behind him. Even during the brief time he had been inside the supply wagon the visibility had become appreciably worse. It was as well, Deakin reflected, that they had the security of the railway lines to guide them on their way: in such weather, a horse and rider, or horses and coaches, would, like as not, have ended up in the depths of the ravine.
Lugging the heavy transmitter and now making little attempt at concealment, Deakin hurried along the length of the supply wagon and climbed up the front platform of the leading horse wagon. The door was unlocked. He passed inside, closed the door, lowered the transmitter, located and lit an oil-lamp.
Nearly all the horses were standing, the majority of them chewing mournfully on the hay from the managers bolted to the side of the wagon. They had little enough room to move in their individual stalls but seemed unconcerned about it. Nor did they show much concern for Deakin's presence. Such few as bothered to acknowledge his presence looked at him incuriously, then as idly turned their heads away.
Deakin paid no attention to the horses. He was much more interested in the source of their food supply, a
