The engineer went off singing “Somebody in the House with Dinah.” Ike appreciated the man carrying the tune well. This made him long to hear Lily’s sweet voice again. He trotted alongside the train, noting as he passed that the freight cars were still sealed. The engineer had been right about the contents not being unloaded.
Ike dismounted outside the station and climbed the platform steps. His body protested every step, but when he saw Lily in the depot ticket office, the aches and pains disappeared. He rushed forward, only to come to an abrupt halt.
Schofield and his henchmen huddled together in furious discussion at the far side of the room. The way Kinchloe pointedly looked in Lily’s direction revealed the subject of their argument as surely as if Ike were close enough to spy on every word.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ike backed away, then slipped along the lobby wall to an exit at the side. He stepped out onto the platform and looked around. Schofield and his small army of railroad bulls still argued inside the depot. A few people loitered on the platform. He recognized some of the passengers and guessed none wanted to stray far from the train in case it pulled out. Ike knew the feeling of being left behind. If they found hotel rooms in Marfa or otherwise left the station, nobody would go fetch them if the situation to the north changed.
He stepped up to the locomotive’s cab and looked around. The engineer still tended his train, oiling wheels and checking switches in the rail yard. A youngster of ten or eleven slumped by the tender, taking a nap. It was his duty to keep the boiler stoked and the fire burning. If it went cold, the engine might be destroyed. If it wasn’t, reigniting the firebox required considerably more effort and time than the engineer—or, more likely, Schofield—desired.
Grabbing the rung beside the iron platform, Ike pulled himself up into the cab. For a moment, he leaned out the side and imagined himself driving the train. Then he remembered what he sought. He reached up and yanked the handle on the steam whistle. Even knowing the shrill sound was coming, he jumped in surprise.
Behind him, the stoker came awake, thrashing about. He knocked over his coal shovel, tried to stand, slipped on a piece of coal and landed hard.
“What ya doin’? You can’t blow that there whistle. Only the engineer can do that! He’ll skin me alive fer lettin’ you do that.”
“I’ll square it with him,” Ike said, having no intention of doing that. He swung down from the cab and hurried back to the door leading into the station lobby.
As expected, Schofield and his henchmen all rushed out to find what had caused the ruckus. Ike knew the fireman would claim a passenger had pulled the cord, and an argument would break out. The longer it lasted, the more the youngster protested he had nothing to do with it, the better it was. He slipped through the side door to where Lily stood looking out.
He slipped his hands around her trim waist and spun her around.
“How dare you!” She started to deliver a resounding slap to his cheek for such effrontery, then recognized him. Her mouth dropped open. “You’re back! Where’d you get off to? You look a mess. I thought I’d never see—”
He cut off her indignation with a kiss. She practically melted and clung to him. Lily put her cheek against his shoulder and sobbed. That burst of emotion surprised Ike.
“You’re back.”
“And your makeup is about gone. Come on.” He steered her out the back way and down the steps to where the pony worked to drink from a trough. Ike took a few seconds to move the horse to keep it from guzzling the entire trough. It had been a faithful companion, and letting it bloat was a disservice.
“That’s yours? An Indian pony all decked out in war paint. There must be quite the story behind that, Deputy Yarrow.” She eyed him as if she were a coconspirator, sharing a secret only the two of them knew. He realized the deception appealed to her sense of drama and playing a role onstage. It even forged a stronger bond between them by her way of thinking. Deceiving her caused him a pang of guilt, but this wasn’t the time or place to explain.
“Ike,” he corrected hastily. “I’m Isaac Scott now. You’d better not forget it, either, especially when any of the townspeople might overhear.” He knew the cat was out of the bag when it came to Schofield. Or was the cat in the bag when it came to his identity? The railroad owner and his henchmen all believed he was Judge Parker’s trusty enforcer. But having yet another entire town thinking he was Yarrow made him uneasy. The deception could unwind if anyone actually knew Augustus Yarrow.
“Sorry. We all have our roles to play. Yours carries a much worse penalty for failing to convince your audience.” She kissed him and whispered in his ear, “Ike.”
“The train’s not leaving anytime soon.” He took her arm and led her away from the depot.
“But it might. The conductor said they’d blow the whistle twice and call all aboard and—”
Ike had to laugh. He must have sent a thrill of anticipation through the anxiously awaiting passengers with his diversion. It had been worth it to be with Lily again.
“There’s a restaurant. I need food. And something to drink.”
“Liquor?” She sounded skeptical.
“Coffee. Water. Anything. It’s brutal out in the desert.”
“You fought the Apaches?”
He nodded. “It’s a long story, but I rode with a cavalry patrol from Fort Davis and rescued their lieutenant from . . .” Ike realized he was bragging. What he said was true, but the only reason he passed it along to the lovely young lady was to impress her. He had decided he wasn’t going to play the fearless Federal marshal with her. Sooner or later, she would find out, and anything she felt for him would turn sour for lying.
“That’s not important,” he said. “Tell me what’s happened aboard the train. I need to know every last detail.”
They found a table in the eatery and sat so they could glance out into the street but weren’t likely to be spotted if Kinchloe or any of the others from the railroad passed by.
Ike ate voraciously, trying not to gobble his food. That wouldn’t have been polite, but his empty belly and parched throat refused to cooperate. Lily watched him devour his meal and a good part of hers with some amusement. When he had stuffed himself and felt ready to explode, he leaned back.
“Dessert? The menu says they have peach cobbler.” Her broad smile told him she was joking. The smile turned to a look of amazement when he ordered a double helping.
He scraped the last of the cobbler from the plate and leaned back again, finished with food for the moment. What he needed now more than anything else was a long sleep. Trying to nap while riding astride the Indian pony only gave him a sore back, not the rest he needed. But other concerns kept him from finding a place to stretch out.
“The freight cars,” he said.
“What? Oh, yes,” Lily said. “I was thinking of something else.” She flashed him a wicked grin. He ignored it, as much as he wished to pursue what had been on her mind.
“I told the lieutenant about them, but the Apache war chief had used him as a pincushion, and his thoughts kinda derailed. He’ll live, I hope, but by the time he recovers enough to mention it, the rifles will be long gone.”
“You’re going to tell the local marshal? Is that a smart thing to do?”
“Why not? He’d want to stop Schofield from selling the rifles as much as the lieutenant or anyone at Fort Davis. If the rifles fall into Apache hands, the raiding so far will look puny. All of West Texas will become a bloody battlefield.”