Robert Parker - Ironhorse

“Everett?” Virgil said.

“Given the circumstances,” I said, “I’d say more than probable.”

Virgil moved to the window, and looked north up the track.

“Where would we find one of these telegraph lineman or superintendents?” Virgil said.

“The superintendents are never,” Sam said, “or hardly ever, through here. They operate out of the north and south terminals.”

“The lineman are stationed on each end, too,” Jenny said.

“There are two of ’em,” Sam said. “LeFlore brothers. They pretty much live on the line, all up and down it.”

“LeFlore? They Choctaw?” I asked.

“They are,” Jenny said. “I, I grew up with them.”

“They wouldn’t happen to be here now, would they?” Virgil asked. “In Half Moon Junction?”

“Nope,” Sam said, looking at Jenny. “We don’t know where they are.”

“Jimmy John works out of Division City and his brother Buck’s out of Paris, but like Sam said they live on the line,” Jenny said.

“Know ’em, Berkeley?” Virgil said. “These LeFlores?”

“Can’t say I do, no.”

Virgil looked back to the map.

“Do you know if there is still a telegraph line through to the mines?” Virgil asked.

“Got no idea,” Sam said.

“I can try and contact Jimmy John,” Jenny said. “See if he responds.”

“No, please,” the governor said. “Those kind of notions are too risky.”

“Sure,” Jenny said. “I understand, sir.”

Virgil stood looking at the map for a moment before he looked to Jenny.

“Jenny, Sam said you know Choctaw,” Virgil said. “That right?”

“She sure does,” Sam said. “Like I tol’ ya.”

Virgil motioned to the key sitting in front of Jenny.

“You wire in Choctaw?” Virgil said.

“I can.”

“Do the other operators?”

Jenny shook her head.

“No, not anymore. Other operators can code out Choctaw, and on occasion they do, but they are just relaying letters in the notes; they don’t actually know the language. I do. My daddy was half Choctaw. He taught the language to me. I grew up with it.”

“The linemen use it at all? The LeFlores, do they communicate with it? Do you communicate with it?”

“When they have something to say between them they don’t want anyone else to know, they do,” Sam said, looking at Jenny.

“Like I said, none of the other operators know Choctaw; the superintendents don’t know it. Just me and Buck and Jimmy John. Every so often Choctaws wishing to communicate by wire use it, but that’s all.”

“For the most part, Choctaws don’t mess with the wire,” Sam said. “Choctaw are a superstitious lot. Leave voice on the wire to nowhere bad, they say.”

Jenny offered a wry turn of her lips. “That’s right.”

“Regardless, whatever it is you are thinking, Marshal,” the governor said, “we don’t have time to waste. Please prepare. Let’s do this, pay attention to these demands to the letter.”

“We will do,” Virgil said. “First, tell me something you and your daughters share, like a secret or some such?”

“What?” the governor said. “I don’t understand.”

“I want to make sure we hear from them,” Virgil said. “I want to know of their safety before we do anything. What’s their favorite something or other, song, time of year, color? Something we can wire for them to answer.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Hobbs said.

The governor looked out the window, thinking.

Richard III wrote back and straightaway confirmed two important facts. The first being that plum pudding was sure enough the answer to the governor’s inquiry, and the second was that the telegraph signal was still most certainly weak. The governor sat in the chair next to the desk. He pinched at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“I suppose this provides us the necessary conclusion for you to get under way, Marshal?”

“Does,” Virgil said.

Virgil turned, looking out the window north up the rail.

“What about that?” Virgil said.

He looked back to me as he pointed up the track.

In the far distance at the top of the incline north of town, we could see the smoke from the Ironhorse as it came over the rise and started down the grade toward the depot.

I knew what Virgil was thinking.

“That Yard Goat got tender enough to travel between the water stations, Sam?” I said.

“Sure,” Sam said. “Well, of course, it depends.”

“On what?” Virgil asked.

“The load it’s pulling,” Sam said. “On its own, no problem, though. Won’t do too much too long; it’s only got a sloped back twenty-five-hundred-gallon tender.”

“Meaning?” Virgil said.

“Regular tenders for main engines are thirty-five hundred gallons; some are even bigger,” Sam said.

“So more than likely it would?” Virgil said. “Long as it’s not too heavy?”

“That’s right, long as it’s not too heavy.”

Virgil looked out the window behind us and pointed to the stock car sitting in the switchyard near the water tower.

“Let’s say the Ironhorse pulls that stock car there with some horses,” Virgil said.

“Don’t see why not,” Sam said. “It’s got smaller drive wheels, ya know, so you ain’t gonna go fast like a regular running engine, but it will sure enough move.”

“Faster than a horse, though,” Virgil said.

“Covering distance,” Sam said. “You bet, faster than a horse.”

Virgil turned back looking north, watching the Ironhorse getting closer.

“Not gonna snug that mule to a redbud tree tomorrow early, Everett,” Virgil said.

“No,” I said, “they won’t.”

“They’ll do that late afternoon.”

“What are you thinking,” the governor said, “in regard to the locomotive?”

“We try and contact the lineman, LeFlore, to show us the line’s in, figure what is active and what is not active. We go up tonight in the Ironhorse. They won’t be expecting us to be getting up there in that short amount of time. We find out where they are hiding out, surprise them.”

“No,” the governor said. “I want the money delivered, and I want my daughters to be returned to me. I’m sure you can understand my concern, Marshal?”

“Understand your concern completely, but there is no guarantee, money or no money, he will honor this arrangement.”

“Agreed,” Hobbs said. “This man is mad. A goddamn mule? I tell you, simply mad. And there is absolutely no knowing what he might be capable of.”

The governor stared at Virgil with a contemplative expression and started pacing again. His hands were behind his back this time, like an officer’s. He made three turns across the floor of the telegraph office before he spoke up.

“What would be your move, your strategy, in this scenario?” the governor said.

“Just what I said, get to the lineman LeFlore. He will know what lines are active and what lines are not.”

The governor worked his way back and forth in the office some more. He was looking down at the floor, thinking as he paced.

“What if you don’t find them?” the governor said.

“Don’t find ’em,” Virgil said, “we come back before nightfall and load the mule.”

Virgil looked at me.

“Worth a try,” I said.

The governor paced a few more times before he stopped and looked to Virgil.

“Okay,” he said.

“We don’t find them,” Virgil said, “we pack the mule, send it on its way.”

“Without question you do,” the governor said. “I do not want to be reeling from tragedy for monetary concerns. I care not about the money, Marshal, make no mistake about that, not one iota. If my daughters’ lives were not in danger it would of course be a different situation, but frankly it is not a different situation.”