“The son of a bitch,” Berkeley said quietly. “The son of a bitch.”
86
We left Berkeley’s black breed with Gobble Greene in Standley Station and set off again in the Ironhorse steaming north up the winding rail. Gobble told us his horse was a big dun gelding with a dark mane and tail. And if we happened to find him, he’d like to have him back.
“I’m a bad judge of character,” Berkeley said.
Berkeley shoveled a load of coal into the firebox.
“Like I told you, I never saw Lassiter’s color,” Berkeley said. “You damn sure did, Virgil. You saw it.”
“Goes with the territory of being a lawman,” Virgil said.
“Well, hell, I’m a lawman, too,” Berkeley said. “Don’t forget I’m the constable-elect of Half Moon Junction.”
“You’re a pimp,” Virgil said, “who happens to be a constable.”
Uncle Ted laughed and slapped his knee.
Berkeley stopped shoveling and looked at Virgil.
“Course,” Virgil said, “with all that shoveling, you don’t smell like a pimp no more.”
Virgil took a final pull on his stubby cigar and flicked it out of the cab. He looked at Berkeley without an inkling of a smile, but Berkeley knew he was being ribbed.
Berkeley looked at me and Virgil and smiled.
“Well, hell,” Berkeley said. “Anyway, I did not see it coming, Virgil.”
Virgil didn’t much care for having friends like most men do. I suppose I was Virgil’s friend. Friendship, however, was not something Virgil was much concerned with. Virgil tolerated some men but avoided most. I could tell, however, Virgil genuinely liked Berkeley. He knew how much Berkeley cared for his horse, too. The relationship between a man and his horse Virgil understood well. Virgil knew that what had happened to the black Thoroughbred had deeply offended Berkeley. And it prompted Virgil to provide something he was not accustomed to providing: friendship.
“Double-dealing’s one thing,” Virgil said. “Stealing money is another. Stealing a man’s horse is altogether another. But riding a horse into the ground...”
Virgil shook his head.
“That’s ’bout as low as a man can go.”
Berkeley stood tall, looking at Virgil.
“It is,” Berkeley said. “It damn sure is.”
Berkeley shoveled a few more scoops of coal, closed the door on the firebox, and we traveled for a while in silence. The air was cooling off some as the Ironhorse continued to climb in elevation. After a while, Berkeley set his carpetbag in the center of the cab and opened it, showing us what was inside.
“Help yourself there, gentlemen.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Uncle Ted said.
Uncle Ted fished himself out a piece of jerky and a wedge of hardtack.
I got out some jerky from the bag and handed a piece to Virgil, a piece to Berkeley, and got some for myself.
“Got nothing other than water in there for the whistle?” Virgil said.
“A good pimp always provides,” Berkeley said.
He pulled out a full bottle of whiskey from the bottom of the bag and handed it to Virgil. Virgil twisted out the cork and took a drink. He handed the bottle to me. I took a drink and handed the bottle to Uncle Ted.
“No, thanks,” Uncle Ted said. “I only partake when I know I can get took.”
I handed the bottle to Berkeley, and he took a swig.
“So, this mining business?” Berkeley said. “What do you figure, Virgil? Do you think Lassiter and Wellington had a place near here? A meeting place of some sort?”
Virgil nodded slowly.
“Hard to know what to speculate,” Virgil said. “What do you allow, Everett?”
“Well, what we do know for certain,” I said. “Like Hobbs said, Lassiter has a history with the mines. Lassiter also believes the money is with Wellington.”
Virgil nodded.
“And he knows the Northbound Express did not make Tall Water Falls,” Virgil said. “Now he is in route, destination or no destination, but I believe as we are hunching on, that there is a destination.”
“Lassiter don’t know about the ransom demands, though,” Berkeley said as he passed the bottle again. “At least I don’t think there is any way for him to know.”
“That’s right,” Virgil said. “Be hard for him to know that.”
“I’d say there is some place,” I said. “Some backup place for a rendezvous.”
“Rendezvous!” Uncle Ted said, “I like that. Rendezvous... That’s French.”
87
It was starting to get light out as we pulled into Crystal Creek. The water tower at Crystal Creek was situated like the one at Standley Station, about one hundred yards south of the depot. After Berkeley filled the tender with water, Uncle Ted eased the Ironhorse up to the depot and stopped. There were no lamps burning, and the depot appeared to be empty.
The Crystal Creek depot was built more like the Greek Revival structure of the depot in Half Moon Junction, a long brick building with a mansard roof that extended over a wraparound porch. A lathed balustrade between columns supported the porch ceiling made of pressed metal that was picking up hints of metallic light from the glistening waters of the Kiamichi.
“You want me to pull up to the wye Sam was talking about, Marshal Cole?” Uncle Ted asked.
“I figure so,” Virgil said.
Uncle Ted moved the Johnson bar forward and the Ironhorse chugged slowly toward the wye north of town. We traveled a ways and crossed over a trestle north of town, passing over a creek that married with the Kiamichi River running by the depot.
“I’ll get the switch,” Berkeley said.
He climbed down from the engine hustling his big frame forward toward the switch.
Berkeley threw the switch and Uncle Ted eased the Ironhorse off the main rail and onto the wye section of track that curved off to the west behind a large wall of pine trees separating us from the main line.
“One thing you got going for you,” Uncle Ted said.
“That being?” Virgil said.
Uncle Ted pointed to the engine and first coach sitting off in the dark at the far end of the westward swing of the wye.
“There’s the down pony over there. We got plenty of room to back up and get back on the track heading forwardly south.”
“That’s good,” Virgil said.
“It is,” said Uncle Ted. “Might as well get us going that direction now, don’t you think?”
“I do,” Virgil said.
Uncle Ted moved the engine along the half-moon curve of the wye and throttled down to a stop short of the west switch. He looked back to Berkeley and pointed to the switch in front of us. Berkeley waved, nodding, and moved ahead of us and made the switch. Uncle Ted urged the engine forward and stopped. He looked back, watching Berkeley. Berkeley threw the switch again, and we backed up with our stock car now pointing to the north. Uncle Ted backed up shy of the main line, stopped the Ironhorse, and set the brake.
“This is it,” Uncle Ted said.
“Good,” Virgil said. “I reckon we shut this thing down until it’s time to return.”
“You got it,” Uncle Ted said. “Just so you know, if we go completely cold it will take three hours to fire back up, maybe longer.”
“How long will it take to get going again if you keep the fire stoked?” Virgil asked.
“Hour, tops.”
“You got enough coal to keep us warm?”
“Do if you don’t leave me here till winter.”
“Then let’s keep the fire burning.”
“Will do.”