Steel Trails of Vengeance

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Danner dismounted at the switch which shuttled trains to the Strom trackage and inspected the curved rails carefully. Signs of usage were evident, but that meant nothing because freights sometimes used the old tracks as a siding to permit passenger trains to pass. He walked along the tracks leading his horse, for perhaps three hundred yards. Here the shiny tracks ended.

From here on south the rails were covered with rust, obviously unused for many seasons.

Stunned, Danner stared at the rust-covered rails. He heard the scuff of feet on cinders as Wainright and Melinda came up. Wainright hunkered down and scraped the top of the rail with his thumbnail.

'Well, Mr. Danner,' he looked up without rising, 'you may not believe this, but all the way here from Spaulding I'd been hoping that you were right—that we'd find that train at the end of this spur. I'm as disappointed as you must be.'

'It has to be at Strom,' Danner said flatly.

'Over those rails?' Wainright cried, jumping up.

Danner looked down the tracks and saw nothing but the dull glint of rusty rails. Then he moved to the side of the roadbed and hunkered down, trying to figure it out. Sunlight reflected against a shiny surface, and Danner stared along the rails without seeing the reflection again. Then he moved his head from one side to the other, finally catching the glint again, about twenty feet down the tracks. Wind from the morning dust storm had removed some of the sand drift from the side of the rail. The sun was being reflected from the head of a spike. Swiftly Danner strode to the spot and began pushing sand away from the rail.

None of the spikes showed signs of weathering. All of them were new. Wainright and Melinda stared intently at the area he had cleared away, their faces mirroring their lack of comprehension.

'Here's the answer,' Danner pointed at the bare spot he had cleared away. 'When you mentioned the theft of rails, you also said some kegs of spikes were stolen. But you said nothing about crossties.'

'That's right,' Wainright said. 'Only rails and spikes were stolen.'

'Here's why. Probably working at night so they wouldn't be seen by passing train crews, they substituted new rails here, ran the train over them, then replaced the old rails. They had to use new spikes, so they covered up the exposed heads with sand. Except for that dust storm this morning, they might have gotten away with it.'

Wainright dropped to his knees for a closer look. 'You are right,' he exclaimed. 'These spikes are new.'

Danner mounted, his gaze sweeping the area to the south. 'About seven hundred feet ahead we should find tracks with the rust ground off, because that's all the new rails they took. And there,' he pointed at a long and narrow mound of dirt paralleling the tracks, 'is where they hid the new rails after they removed them and returned the old trackage.'

Danner trotted his horse over to the mound and leaped to the ground, scooping loose soil away. Underneath, he found two shiny new rails side by side. Then he climbed back into the saddle and spurred southward. As he had predicted, the tracks at a point some seven hundred feet south showed signs of recent usage. Grunting with satisfaction, he stood back and nodded down when Wainright and Melinda arrived. Excitement brushed each of them as they jogged on ahead.

Soon the terrain lost its flatness, giving away to rocks and scrub trees which made the soil unfit for cultivation. The sun had neared its noon high when they reached the Richfield River. They rested their horses briefly while Danner looked up at the not-too-sturdy bridge spanning the wide but shallow river. It had supported the train once—he hoped it would again, provided he got a chance to bring the train over it. Some of the supports showed signs of decay, which meant the bridge would have to be crossed at a slow rate of speed.

They forded the river and pushed on to more flatland, country with the wildness of once-cultivated land long-abandoned by man. Here the soil was thinner than the land around Richfield, and long since worn out by overusage. A mixture of native grasses, weeds and wheat stood shoulder-high to Danner's mount, crowding in on the tracks. Burned brown and dry by summer wind and sun, the vegetation rustled softly now in a gentle breeze. Some of the weeds had grown up between the crossties only to be knocked down by the recent passage of the train. Through this passageway they moved at a trot until the vegetation thinned out to nothing more than knee- high prairie grass.

When they started up an incline Danner left the roadbed, for he knew the old Strom granary lay just ahead. By the time he reached the crest he was in a grove of trees. Here he dismounted, his senses alert. A lookout could be posted in this grove. But he weaved through the trees until he had a full view of the granary without encountering anyone. Wainright and Melinda pressed in on each side of him, watching silently, all three of them hunkered down.

A slight tremble touched Danner as he stared at the missing wheat train below.

The ridge they were on formed almost a complete circle around a slightly depressed area resembling a huge and shallow bowl. The old Strom granary occupied most of the distant half of the bowl, its front facing north. The train rested on tracks running along the near side of the building. Apparently it had been backed in from the main line, for the locomotive pointed north in the direction from which it had come. Wainright broke the stillness.

'It just now occurred to me,' Wainright whispered, suspicion pinching his face, 'that you found this place mighty easy. It could be that you already knew it was here and all that evidence was just a cover-up.'

'It could be,' Danner nodded.

'Stop it,' Melinda demanded. 'Both of you.'

Danner glanced at her, wondering what thoughts lay behind her lovely countenance. Then he returned his attention to the granary. He'd seen no one yet. Only the front door of the long, rectangular building was visible from the grove. Just above the top of the train the tops of loading doors could be seen the length of the structure.

'Let's go get that train,' Wainright said eagerly, making a clumsy effort to thumb back the twin hammers of the shotgun. Half expecting fear from Wainright, Danner wasn't prepared for the zeal shining from his face. He wanted to fight, Danner thought. But he shook his head.

'Not yet. Not until we know what's down there.'

'You're supposed to be the man of action,' Wainright retorted, with thinly veiled sarcasm.

'I'm not a damn fool. We'll wait, unless you wish to go it alone.'

Raw desire thinned the lips of Wainright, but he remained silent. Danner settled down to wait. When the hunger for tobacco grew strong he fished out his pipe, then decided against the risk. Twenty minutes later he pulled out the pipe again, then shoved it back into his shirt pocket. Waiting was the toughest part of any job.

Despite the shade of the trees, heat from the early afternoon sun brought a drowsiness to Danner. Moving back from the edge of the grove, he worked his way to the horses. But when he reached for his canteen, he heard a low warning cry from Wainright. Branches clutched at Danner as he hurried back.

'Over there.' Wainright pointed at a buggy and horseman coming from the west.

As the buggy started down the gentle slope of the bowl, Danner grunted softly. There could be no mistaking the four-hundred-pound bulk of Alec Browder in the buggy. And the black-clad horseman with the oversized shoulders tapering up from stunted legs had to be Tuso. Danner could hear the creaking of the buggy now. Apparently someone inside the granary heard it also. The big double door at the front of the building opened to spill out five men. Danner leaned forward with narrowed eyes, trying to distinguish the men. Big ears sticking out from a narrow head identified the front man as Ears Dooley. The second man spat into the dust, a gesture characteristic of Garr Green. The tall and thin pair in the back would be the Grell brothers. But Danner couldn't make out the dudish one in a light tan suit. When the individual darted a furtive look about him, Danner knew he was Lou Carp. That would make it a clean sweep, if Brant could get here with a posse before they pulled out.

A low oath came from Wainright and he uncoiled to his feet. 'Let's go get them,' he spat out.

'Help yourself,' Danner replied.

Wainright checked himself, indecision and eagerness conflicting within him.

'We know what's there now. Why wait?'

'As long as they remain there, our smartest move is not to move. Brant will be here with a posse before the day is over.'

Reluctantly, Wainright hunkered down again, laying the muzzle of the twelve-gauge across his thigh.

Browder halted his buggy in front of the open door. Without getting down, he issued a series of orders, gesturing toward the train. The Grells faded into the building and reappeared herding three other men.