?You can?t be serious,? the trainmaster said in a voice that was more pleading than threatening now.
?Matter of fact, sir, I?m just about as serious as I can get. This train doesn?t move, not an inch, until we?ve got a handle on the White Hoods.?
?But that
you don?t realize what that means,? the trainmaster tried again.
?The way I understand it, stopping this train from moving means that Thunderbird Canyon is isolated. Com pletely cut off from the rest of the world. Nobody in, nobody out. No food, no booze, no nothing until this matter is cleared.?
?I can?t believe you would stand there and tell me??
?Of course you can?t. You wouldn?t do such a thing to folks. Well, I would. And I have. Anybody wants to com plain, you just point the finger at me. I?ve been cussed before. I reckon I can stand it again. Anybody complains, you explain to ?em that you ain?t responsible. But I suggest you keep in mind that no matter who complains or what they say or do or promise, if this train moves again before I say it moves again, it?s you who?ll be pulling time in a federal prison and not them.? Longarm clamped the end of the cheroot between his teeth and smiled at the frustrated trainmaster.
?What am I supposed to tell Meade Park?? the man demanded.
?Tell ?em the truth, of course. I never get upset about anybody saying anything that?s so.?
?But
?
Longarm turned and walked over to the cab of the locomotive where a grime-and soot-covered fireman was feeding chunks of split pine into the box. He climbed the short steel ladder into the cab and tapped the man on the shoulder.
?Pull your fire,? he instructed.
?What??
?You heard me. Dump it.?
?But we?ll need??
?Not today you won?t.?
The fireman looked past Longarm to the trainmaster and received a reluctant nod confirming the marshal?s order. ?Dump it, Johnny.?
?If you say so, but damned if I unnerstand
? The fireman shook his head and muttered and cussed some, but he grabbed a poker and shovel off the rack nearby and began pulling the fire.
?Just to make sure nobody does anything funny,? Longarm said, ?as soon as that boiler cools some, I want the water drained, too.?
?Shit, is there anything else you want? The keys t? my house maybe? My oldest daughter for a sacrifice??
Longarm chuckled, even though that slight effort made his head feel like it was splitting apart. ?Just keep this train sitting right where it is, and we won?t have a problem.?
He left the train crew to their unexpected morning efforts and headed back toward the hotel. It would be day light soon, and already there was enough pale, predawn blush in the eastern sky that Longarm could see the small troop of shotgun-bearing security guards moving down the tracks, their arms laden with boxes of provisions and bundles that would likely be tents and bedding.
Thunderbird Canyon was closed off now, he realized with satisfaction. No one could enter the canyon. More importantly, no one could leave it.
The White Hoods and Paul Markham were at this end of the canyon still, and here they would remain until Longarm had them safely in custody. Again in Markham?s case. For the first time, though, as far as the infamous White Hoods were concerned.
He rubbed his eyes and felt the prickly growth of beard stubble on his chin. Right now he needed to see the security chiefs again and get them moving. Then perhaps he could steal an hour or two for some sleep before he got down to the down-and-dirty of the search for the murdering thieves who had dynamited the bank.
Lordy, but he did need some rest. He walked on toward the hotel with a shambling, stiff-legged gait that made him look and feel twenty years older than he was.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Soft tapping on his door and a low, urgently repeated, ?Marshal. Marshal Long?? brought him reluctantly awake. The knocking and the whispering continued.
He sat up, his head still aching from sleep promised but as yet unfulfilled, and rubbed his eyes.
?Marshal Long? Please, sir??
The fool out there continued to whisper. Why the hell he would do that, Longarm couldn?t figure. Was he afraid of waking Longarm or something? Hell, that was why he was here, wasn?t it?
?Come in,? Longarm groaned.
?Door?s locked,? the whisper came back.
?Oh.? Longarm yawned, reached for a cheroot and shuffled slowly across the hotel room to the door.
He was beginning to think he?d have gotten more rest on this case if he?d set up his bed in the middle of a railroad station. Kansas City?s, for instance. There would?ve been fewer visitors and passersby pestering him
