The Copper City - Chris Scott Wilson [47]
Quantro looked off to where the smokestack of the loco could be seen puffing toward them perched high above the wide black cowcatcher. It took barely a minute to draw level. The writing on the railroad cars read SOUTHERN PACIFIC RAILROAD. There were three of them followed by two boxcars, an express car, and the brake van at the rear. Quantro and Pete stood back, using the shadows of the damaged cars as cover until the train slowed to a halt. As the brakes locked, Quantro moved.
He ran, levering a shell into the Winchester’s chamber as he came around the end of the brake van. Past the express car, then he swiftly flicked off the hasp on the first boxcar. Pete covered him as he shoved open the door.
Two horses, neither of them Upton’s.
“Next one,” he ordered grimly, sliding the door shut.
One horse, Appaloosa. That wasn’t Upton’s either.
“Damn. Try the cars.”
They ran along the side of the boxcar, then jumped on to the rear platform of the last passenger car in the line. Quantro flung open the door. He went in rifle first.
Suddenly a bespectacled man in a guard’s uniform with only a flag in his hand barred the way. “Tickets, please.”
In no mood for explanations Quantro pushed past him.
“What the…?”
“Shut up,” Pete commanded, waving his rifle barrel in the man’s face. The guard flattened against the wall.
At the sound of their quick steps, passengers twisted in their seats to face them. Jaws dropped and eyes blinked. Complexions paled. A small boy had the courage born of innocence to ask, “Are them robbers?” in a loud whisper only to be hurriedly shushed by his mother. Quantro’s eyes raked the naked faces. Upton wasn’t there. He squeezed out on to the front platform of the car and vaulted over the rail on the rear platform of the next. The door handle jammed but released when he smashed the Winchester’s butt against it.
The second car yielded no results.
Cursing now, Quantro was through and into the final car. As he passed, a stout man jumped to his feet, his heavy gold watch chain swinging as he stepped out into the aisle. “Just what is the meaning of this, sir?” he demanded indignantly. Pete came up behind him and jabbed his rifle into the man’s kidneys.
“Sit down and shut up!” Pete pushed him out of the way with his Winchester. “And stay there!”
Quantro burst out on to the platform, confronted now by the locomotive’s tender stacked high with cordwood. Quickly, he leaned out to scan the offside of the train. Nothing. Then the depot side. Nothing. Pete appeared from the inside of the car, jerking his head in question.
Quantro grimaced and shook his head.
“The son of a bitch bluffed us,” Pete commented.
“And I thought I was being real smart,” Quantro said in disgust as he swung down to the ground, his Winchester canted over his shoulder. Standing by the railroad car he glanced up and down the track again.
“What now?”
“You tell me,” Quantro muttered.
“Watertank?”
“You got it in one,” Quantro said bitterly.
CHAPTER 12
It was the longest six miles Quantro had ever ridden on a train. How could he have misjudged Upton? He was getting sick of this. He just wanted it done and over with. The only way he could reconcile his error was that Upton had played real foxy and had let the northbound and the southbound go through, hedging his bets. If that was so, he would still be at Watertank. He had better be, thought Quantro. And if he is, we’ve got him.
Behind them, the buckskin and Pete’s paint pony were stabled in one of the boxcars, saddled and ready to jump out. Quantro watched the view of the San Pedro River until the tracks swung away from its banks, then he turned his hands to cleaning his guns. Pete had already attended to his and spent his time gazing restlessly at the passing scenery.
They didn’t talk much. They didn’t have much to say.
***
Upton sat up to ease the stiffness in his thighs. All this waiting was gnawing at his nerves. He had been sorely tempted