“The tracks go to Marfa. That’s where I’m headed.” Ike knew the train with Schofield and his rifles was long gone. He felt a small pang as he mentally added, and Lily. Still, he felt an obligation to let the law know what danger lay ahead if—when—the railroad owner peddled the guns to the Comancheros. These soldiers were too shot up to worry over gunrunners.
“It’s out of our way. I can send along a private to keep you company, if you like, sir.” The corporal’s tone told Ike all he needed to know. He wanted to keep what remained of his patrol together and not split it further. Sending a private along on such a mission proved risky—the soldier might keep on riding and never report for duty again.
“I can ride faster on my own,” Ike hastily explained. “You have to go slow or risk injuring the lieutenant more.”
“I’m glad you understand, sir. But if you like, stay with us ’til we get to the post. From there, Colonel Grierson’ll be glad to send an entire patrol to escort you to Marfa. It’s not that far from the post. A day’s ride.”
“Get on the trail, Corporal. Give my regards to your commanding officer. Colonel Grierson, is it?”
“Benjamin Grierson, sir.” The corporal paused, then said, “You might have saved more of us than just the lieutenant, sir. Thank you.” The non-com saluted Ike, then put his heels to his horse’s flanks and rocketed away, bellowing orders as he went.
The remnant of the patrol veered away from the tracks and were swallowed by the night in a few minutes. Ike watched until he sat alone in the early morning. Fingers of false dawn sought to infect the eastern sky, but enough of the storm remained to keep the light at bay for a while longer. He picked up the pace. His pony trotted along, content to maintain the quicker gait. The Apaches had trained the horse well.
Ike drifted as he followed the tracks, snapping awake only when the sun warmed the side of his face. He wiped away the beginning of a river of sweat. For the first time he wished the rain clouds would sweep across the land again. This way the heat built, and the sun baked the side of his face. More than once during the day he let the horse have its head and seek out water. The pony’s unerring sense of where to find small pools of sweet water impressed him, but drink as he might, he wasn’t able to stop his belly from grumbling. It had been a long time since he’d eaten, and the pitiful small amount of water hardly slaked his thirst. Better to let the horse drink its fill since his life depended on reliable transport.
During the heat of the afternoon, he found a thick-leafed bush and slept fitfully while the horse nibbled at weeds and sage and anything else it could find. By twilight, he rode on, wondering if the soldiers had returned to their post and if the lieutenant had survived the trip. From the amount of blood the officer had lost, Ike doubted it.
And he doubted he’d ever catch up with Lily again. He thought a great deal about her. He had been smitten by women before, but they had never returned his affection. He snorted, thinking the only reason Lily seemed interested was the badge he carried in his coat pocket.
The badge belonging to a real Federal marshal.
“Maybe she sensed I was acting and was attracted to the performance. She’s got to be quite an actress herself,” he said as he rode along. The pony turned its head at his words and fixed him with a big brown eye that seemed to mock him.
He rode through the night and into the day, beginning to despair of ever reaching Marfa. He had long since given up hope that he would see Lily again. The train would be all the way to El Paso by now. Or even farther if it went on across Arizona to the coast.
At noon, the sun hammered down directly on the top of his head. He pulled the hat brim down as far as he could over his ears to protect his neck and face from the savage rays. Even so, he felt the heat cooking his brain. Ike had never experienced sunstroke before but realized the visions on the horizon were either mirages or hallucinations. He was in such a condition that it didn’t bother him that, if it was sunstroke, he was dying by inches.
He rode along the tracks, marveling at the detailed hallucinations. So many of the hallucinations waved to him. Others stared. A few pointed. When a young boy drew back with a slingshot and sent a rock sailing past his head, Ike snapped out of his trance. These weren’t imaginings of an overheated mind. They were reality. He shook his head and heard distant sounds.
“. . . Indian horse, but he ain’t no Injun.”
It finally came to him that he had reached Marfa. In spite of the heat and lack of water and food, he had arrived in the town. And then his heart sank. The mirage ahead proved he was still dreaming. The caboose looked solid and real. He sucked in a deep breath. The smells causing his nostrils to flare were what he expected of a town, of a rail yard. The sulfur and soot and burnt metal made his head spin.
He turned and called to a man wearing a tall striped hat who trudged alongside the tracks, “What is this place?”
“Marfa,” came the reply. The worker pushed his hat back. “I know you. You’re the fellow who shot the train robber we had back outside Eagle Pass.”
“You’re the same engineer?” Ike’s heart raced. “Why are you still here?”
The engineer shook his head sadly.
“The Apaches done tore up the track north of here. We decided to lay over ’til the cavalry gave us the all clear.” He shook his head a little faster. “I’m all for steamin’ out when the tracks are replaced. I’ve got a schedule to keep, and I’m already days late. Days! What’ll the home office think of me and how I run my train?”
Ike looked up at the train. Ahead of the caboose were the three freight cars, and ahead of them Schofield’s Pullman and three passenger cars before the coal tender and engine.
“You unload any freight?”
“No reason. It’s all goin’ to Franklin. None of the passengers have left, neither. If you want to go to El Paso or Yuma or the coast, you got no reason to leave here.” The engineer wiped his mouth with a swipe of his oily sleeve. All he did was smear soot. “Not got nuthin’ ’gainst Marfa, but the only reason it exists is for me to take on water and coal.”
“I made a little detour, but you’ve got all your passengers back.”
“Minus the train robber you smoked. I hope Mr. Schofield gave you plenty of a reward for that.”
“This isn’t his train,” Ike said, hoping the engineer would give a bit more information.
“A private train running on Southern Pacific tracks. That’s not too unusual. Just ain’t my druthers, but it is Mr. Schofield’s private train.”
“You work for Mr. Schofield, then?”
“That I do,” the engineer said. “Ain’t quite sure why we’re headin’ north. I prefer the San Antonio–Houston run.” He winked broadly. “I got me a sweetheart in Houston. You ever been there?”
Ike wanted nothing less than to revisit his time in Houston.
“You know anywhere I can sell this horse?”
“All marked up with war paint, ain’t it? Not my bailiwick, as they say. You might ask the depot manager. He’s a local. Lived here most of his life. Heard tell that he deals in all kinds of products that come through the station, if you follow my meaning. The Southern Pacific doesn’t care about him runnin’ side businesses, even if they’re on the shady side.”
“He’s in the depot?”
“Last I saw, and that wasn’t more ’n ten minutes back.” The engineer worked a switch back and forth, making sure that it worked smoothly. “All oiled. Time for me to squirt some oil into the wheel bearings. Good seein’ you back aboard. What with them Apaches prowlin’ along the tracks, another gun will ease the passengers’ worries.”
Ike suspected the engineer cottoned to the idea of someone else among the passengers to defend the train, too.