Cy liked to drink, and from the sound of what had been going on when Longarm entered the baggage car, he was quite a gambler too. That didn’t have to mean a damned thing; plenty of men liked to play cards and take a little nip now and then. But Cy was evidently filled with a lot of anger and resentment too, and that whole combination could be explosive. Such a man could be ripe for exploitation by someone with deeper, darker motives.
That thought was going through Longarm’s mind when he heard a door open behind him. He didn’t have time to turn and see who had come onto the platform, nor from which car they had emerged. All he had time for was to hear the sudden rush of air as something came toward his head.
Then what felt like a two-by-four slammed into his skull, driving him forward against the railing around the platform. He was barely conscious of the hard shove that lifted his feet into the air and sent him flipping over the rail into nothingness.
Chapter 6
He might have passed out for a second or two; Longarm was never really sure about that. But the feeling of empty air all around him woke him up in a hurry, and instinct made him reach out desperately. Both hands closed around the top of the iron railing around the platform. With a jerk that nearly wrenched his shoulders from their sockets and brought a cry of pain from his mouth, his weight hit his arms. Somehow he managed to hang on.
His hat was gone, and the wind of the train’s passage caught his thick brown hair and whipped it into his eyes. He could see well enough as he looked up, though, to spot the shadowy figure of a man on the platform. The hombre had some sort of club in his upraised hands. Longarm’s thinking was more than a little addled by the unexpected attack and the impact of the blow to his head, but the part of his brain responsible for survival was screaming at the rest of him that the man was about to bring that club down on his clutching fingers.
Longarm’s feet dangled loosely. They would have anyway, since the platform was high enough that his feet wouldn’t touch the ground while he was hanging from the railing like this. But the echoing clatter of the train’s progress told him that they were on the trestle now. There was nothing between him and the Rio Grande far below except a lot of empty space.
The club whipped down, and Longarm jerked the fingers of his right hand away just in time to avoid the blow. But that put all his weight on his left hand, and the muscles and bones in the fingers of that hand cried out in agony. The attacker lifted the club again.
Longarm’s right hand closed over his watch chain and jerked the derringer from the pocket of his vest. He grabbed the little gun and lifted it, cocking it as he did so. The derringer cracked spitefully. Over the roar and clatter of the train’s wheels, Longarm heard a whine that told him the bullet had missed and had ricocheted off into the night from the iron of the platform.
The crack and flash of the shot was enough to spook his assailant, however. The man turned and plunged back through the door of the car, leaving Longarm hanging alone from the railing. Thankful for small favors, the marshal dropped the derringer and let it dangle at the end of the watch chain. He slapped that hand against the railing again and hung on tightly. Slowly but surely, the muscles in his shoulders bunching and rippling, he began to pull himself up.
He kept his eyes open, in case the attacker showed up again and made another try at knocking him off the train, but no one came onto the platform. Longarm kicked a leg up and managed to get a foothold. He lifted himself higher, gave another heave, and rolled over the railing to sprawl on the thick planks of the platform itself. His pulse was hammering wildly in his head, and his chest rose and fell hugely as he dragged air back into his lungs.
The train was off the trestle by now and was rolling across flat fields alongside the river. After a couple of minutes, Longarm was able to stand up. Recalling another job that had almost been the death of him, he said fervently, “Damn, I hate hanging off trains!”
He climbed rather unsteadily to his feet and looked around the platform for his hat. It was gone, of course, just as he had expected. No doubt it had sailed off into the Rio Grande. He hoped that the farmer who would no doubt fish it out of the river would enjoy having a snuff-brown, flat-crowned Stetson. It would be a lot worse for wear, by then, more than likely.
Longarm ran his fingers through his wind-tangled hair and took a couple more deep breaths. He tucked away the derringer in his vest pocket. He supposed he looked presentable enough. He went into the passenger car and headed for the senator’s compartment. Along the way, he looked at the passengers riding on the bench seats. Some were asleep, some read by the dim light of the lamps, others sat and smoked or simply sat. None of them gave him any more attention than an idle glance, and no one made his job any easier by jumping up and confessing to the attempt on his life. That came as no surprise.
Leon Mercer was alone in the compartment when Longarm tried the knob and found it unlocked, despite what he had told Padgett earlier. Mercer had several documents spread out on his lap. He looked up distractedly from his work and said, “Oh, it’s you, Marshal.”
“Damn right it’s me,” said Longarm. “Where’s the senator?”
“He went to use the, ah, facilities. He said he wouldn’t be gone long.”
Longarm bit back a curse. “I thought I told him to stay here in the compartment.”
Mercer shrugged and said mildly, “I gather that he didn’t have much choice in the matter.”
“All right, blast it. Which way did he go?”
“I believe it’s just at the near end of the next car.”
Longarm was still in the doorway of the compartment. He turned and started toward the door leading to the next car. It was only a few steps away, but before he could reach it, the door opened and Senator Padgett came bustling through. He stopped short when he saw Longarm standing there, an angry frown on his face.
“Hello, Marshal,” Padgett said.
“Thought I told you to stay in the compartment until I got back.” Longarm didn’t bother concealing his bad temper. His voice was curt.
Padgett began to frown as well. “I’ll thank you not to take that tone with me, sir,” he said. “I didn’t see any harm in answering the call of nature.” He put a hand to his stomach. “My digestion is not what it once was. One of the curses of advancing age, I suppose.”
“Maybe so, but I still wish you’d waited.”
“Well, no harm done. I’m fine. No one tried to kill me.”
“This time,” muttered Longarm.
“Granted.” Padgett seemed to notice for the first time that Longarm’s hat was gone. “You look a bit disheveled, Marshal. Is something wrong?”
Longarm shook his head. “I lost my hat while I was standing out on the platform,” he said. “Wind whipped it right off when we were going over that trestle. Last I saw of it, it was headed for the Rio Grande.”
Padgett chuckled, but said, “I’m sorry about your loss. I suppose you’ll be able to replace the hat in El Paso, though.”
“I reckon.” Longarm summoned up a rueful grin. “Wonder if Billy Vail would accept an expense voucher for the cost of a new one.”
“Knowing Marshal Vail as I do, I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Me neither. I suppose if all I lose is a hat, I’ll have come out all right.”
“Indeed. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”
Longarm had kept the senator jawing out here in the aisle long enough. He opened the door of the compartment again and stood aside. Padgett preceded him into the little room. Longarm stepped inside long enough to say, “These seats only make out into two bunks, so I’ll sleep outside on that bench right across from the door. Like I told you before, keep the door locked. Nobody’s going to bother you.”
“Your confidence makes my mind rest much easier, Marshal.” Longarm couldn’t tell if Padgett was being sarcastic or not. He thought the senator was sincere, but when a fella shaded the truth for a living, like most politicians did, it was hard to be sure about anything.