Longarm on the Thunderbird Run

coach.

?Hello.? The man smiled and pushed a hand forward. ?Jonas Russable,? the man said. ?I?m in mining supplies. With Hancock and Morrison, Cincinnati. You??

?Custis Long,? Longarm introduced himself. He did not particularly want to lie to the open-faced and friendly drummer, so he neglected to state any occupation to the man.

Of course, Longarm realized, as far as he knew this smiling Russable fellow might actually be the leader of the White Hoods. Still, that seemed unlikely.

?Smoke?? Russable offered him a cheap rum crook. Longarm would rather have smoked a used handkerchief.

?No, thanks. I have my own.? Longarm nipped off the tip of one of his cheroots and accepted a light off Russable?s already half-smoked crook. ?Thanks.?

?I haven?t seen you in Thunderbird Canyon before, Mr. Long,? Russable said, obviously hinting for further infor­ mation.

?First trip,? Longarm admitted.

?You, uh, are in mining supplies too, I take it??

?What? Oh.? Longarm smiled. The fellow was worried about competition, he guessed. Afraid his meal ticket might be cancelled or at least reduced if someone else came in to contest his prices. ?No. I?m looking around for, uh, speculations. So to speak.?

Russable?s smile became broader. ?Ah. Very good, Mr. Long.? He had nothing to fear from Longarm.

?You know the area, I take it?? Longarm asked, making small talk.

?Oh, yes. Twice a month, I come up here. Regular as a clock.?

?That?s interesting.? It wasn?t. There was little Longarm could think of that would be more boring than having to do something?anything?with the regularity of clockwork.

?Used to frighten me, I must say,? Russable said.

?Really? I hadn?t realized Thunderbird Canyon was that rough a camp.?

Russable laughed like Longarm had just cracked a par­ticularly funny joke.

Longarm raised an eyebrow.

Still laughing, Russable explained, ?The camp is en­tirely pleasant, I assure you. After all, where is anyone to run to if there should be trouble? It?s a small town, really, and everyone knows everyone else. No, sir, you need fear no danger in Thunderbird Canyon. It?s this damnable train ride that used to frighten me so.?

?Really?? Longarm looked around. Russable must be an easily frightened man if this bothered him. The narrow- gauge train was crawling along a ledge a dozen feet or so above a roaring cascade of a mountain white-water stream, but there was hardly anything frightening about that. Not that Longarm could see. The roadbed was wide enough, if barely, the rock was solid, and the foamy water of the river was a safe distance below. Perhaps in springtime during the snow-melt season there might be reason for concern, but certainly not now.

Russable chuckled but did not elaborate. The two men leaned on the railing that surrounded the platform and smoked their cigars in a silence that was companionable rather than strained.

The grade increased slightly, and the tiny locomotive slowed to the strain of the pull, even though the long string of ore cars ahead were running empty. Russable chuckled again for some inexplicable reason. He had finished his vile-smelling rum crook, but remained where he was at the rail.

?Don?t feel like having your eardrums shattered today?? Longarm asked.

Russable grinned. ?Something like that.?

The leaping water of the mountain stream fell farther and farther below them as the railbed mounted the side of the steep-walled canyon. Now there was probably more than a hundred feet of drop to the roaring water.

The train slowed again with a clank and a groan, and Longarm was glad he had a hold on the railing, or he might have lost his balance. The grade was quite sharp now, and the mountain river below was looking farther and farther away until it appeared quite small.

Russable?s grin turned sly.

There was more shaking and shuddering along the string of cars, and Russable chuckled.

?What the hell??

Russable hooked a thumb forward. ?Take a look,? he suggested.

Longarm moved to the side of the platform and leaned out to see ahead of the passenger coach.

There was absolutely nothing there save blue sky and the towering rock wall on the opposite side of the narrow gorge of Thunderbird Canyon.

Nothing.

Then Longarm spotted a golden eagle soaring on the gusty wind currents of the canyon air. A good fifty feet beneath the chuffing train. Longarm smiled. So that was it. Russable was afraid of heights. Hell, they didn?t bother Longarm. He had more serious things to concern himself with.

The cars ahead of the passenger coach had already dis­appeared around a bend in the narrow track. Now the pas­senger coach too swung round the curve with a lurch.

The damned drummer was laughing again.

?Now look down,? Russable suggested.