Longarm on the Thunderbird Run

“That won’t be so easy to do, Marshal. I mean, there’s plenty of places a man can hide on a train. We can search the cars and the rods and what not, but, hell, a fella can burrow down into the ore or crawl inside the wood car and stack wood over himself

just lots of ways.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Longarm told them. “What I want the guards to do is to make damn sure nobody passes them on foot.”

“That we can do easy.”

“If you boys can guarantee me that much, then I think we’ll be able to get a handle on this thing.”

“Marshal, you got my word on it anyhow.”

“And mine.”

Batson just nodded.

“Won’t anybody walk out of here.”

“Then I want you each to go get your people moving. Quick as you’re done, come back and we’ll talk some more about the rest of what I have in mind. Mind, though, nobody, not even one of the big bosses, goes out along those tracks.”

“What about if you—”

“I won’t,” Longarm cut him off. “You can tell the guards that too. I won’t be writing out any passes, and I won’t be sending any messages. If anybody tries to tell them otherwise he’s a liar and probably one of the White Hoods, and they have my permission to shoot if the liar resists. Understood? No exceptions, not even for county supervisors. Not for nobody.”

“Guaranteed,” Sawyer said. “Nobody goes out until this thing is over.”

“And you are all sure that no one can leave any other way but by the tracks?”

“No chance, Marshal,” Neal said.

“No chance,” Batson agreed.

“Not even by foot?”

“I’ve done a lot of hiking and climbing around here, Marshal,” Batson said. “It’s kind of a hobby of mine. The way we’re cut off back here I don’t think a man could make it out afoot unless he had ropes and pitons and a hell of a lot of mountain climbing experience. Of course, in the areas you can reach, there’s an awful lot of places a bunch like the White Hoods could crawl into and hide, for months if they had to while they waited for things to cool down.”

Longarm smiled. “I think they’re gonna find that once I get hot, I don’t cool down so easy. Not until I get what I want, that is. And right now what I want are those White Hoods and the former sheriff.”

“You don’t get any argument from us on that one, Marshal.”

“We’ll go get our guards set, then come see you. Uh, would it be all right if we send more that two men per outfit? We could send a good sized crew and supplies to keep them there. Set up a rotating schedule with at least one man from each mine standing guard at all times?”

“That sounds all right to me.”

“Then we’ll see you shortly, Marshal. An‘ you’d better know that no son of a bitch will be leaving Thunderbird Canyon till those murdering cocksuckers are dead.”

Longarm raised an eyebrow.

“Or in irons, of course,” Sawyer said without conviction.

The man’s meaning was clear enough. These men who had just lost friends in the bank explosion had no intention of letting a single White Hood live long enough to stand trial for his crimes.

“I’ll see you after a while then,” Longarm said. He forced himself to his feet again with a weary sigh and headed for the train depot while the security people hurried off into the night.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“You want what?” The trainmaster planted his fists on his hips and glared.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s all that difficult to understand.” Longarm struck a match and bent to the flame, lighting his cheroot. He shook the match out and flicked the spent stick into the cinders and gravel that lined the edge of the roadbed. “Think of it as a vacation,” he said.

“You son of a bitch,” the trainmaster declared.

“It’s a common enough opinion,” Longarm agreed pleasantly.

“I don’t care what you say, mister

”

“It isn’t mister, it’s Marshal. And if you so much as make steam in that boiler until I say different, man, I’ll have you in irons on charges of obstructing justice.” Longarm smiled at the angry man. “With a nice, clean record behind you, I’d say you wouldn’t get more than eighteen months, maybe two years out of it.”

“You can’t be serious,” the trainmaster said in a voice that was more pleading than threatening now.

“Matter of fact, sir, I’m just about as serious as I can get. This train doesn’t move, not an inch, until we’ve got a handle on the White Hoods.”

“But that

you don’t realize what that means,” the trainmaster tried again.

“The way I understand it, stopping this train from moving means that Thunderbird Canyon is isolated. Completely cut off from the rest of the world. Nobody in, nobody out. No food, no booze, no nothing until this matter is cleared.”

“I can’t believe you would stand there and tell me—”

“Of course you can’t. You wouldn’t do such a thing to folks. Well, I would. And I have. Anybody wants to complain, you just point the finger at me. I’ve been cussed before. I reckon I can stand it again. Anybody complains, you explain to ‘em that you ain’t responsible. But I suggest you keep in mind that no matter who complains or what they say or do or promise, if this train moves again before I say it moves again, it’s you who’ll be pulling time in a federal prison and not them.” Longarm clamped the end of the cheroot between his teeth and smiled at the frustrated trainmaster.

“What am I supposed to tell Meade Park?” the man demanded.

“Tell ‘em the truth, of course. I never get upset about anybody saying anything that’s so.”

“But

”

Longarm turned and walked over to the cab of the locomotive where a grime-and soot-covered fireman was feeding chunks of split pine into the box. He climbed the short steel ladder into the cab and tapped the man on the shoulder.

“Pull your fire,” he instructed.

“What?”

“You heard me. Dump it.”

“But we’ll need—”

“Not today you won’t.”

The fireman looked past Longarm to the trainmaster and received a reluctant nod confirming the marshal’s order. “Dump it, Johnny.”

“If you say so, but damned if I unnerstand

” The fireman shook his head and muttered and cussed some, but he grabbed a poker and shovel off the rack nearby and began pulling the fire.

“Just to make sure nobody does anything funny,” Longarm said, “as soon as that boiler cools some, I want the water drained, too.”

“Shit, is there anything else you want? The keys t‘ my house maybe? My oldest daughter for a sacrifice?”

Longarm chuckled, even though that slight effort made his head feel like it was splitting apart. “Just keep this train sitting right where it is, and we won’t have a problem.”

He left the train crew to their unexpected morning efforts and headed back toward the hotel. It would be daylight soon, and already there was enough pale, predawn blush in the eastern sky that Longarm could see the small troop of shotgun-bearing security guards moving down the tracks, their arms laden with boxes of provisions and bundles that would likely be tents and bedding.

Thunderbird Canyon was closed off now, he realized with satisfaction. No one could enter the canyon. More importantly, no one could leave it.

The White Hoods and Paul Markham were at this end of the canyon still, and here they would remain until Longarm had them safely in custody. Again in Markham’s case. For the first time, though, as far as the infamous White Hoods were concerned.

He rubbed his eyes and felt the prickly growth of beard stubble on his chin. Right now he needed to see the security chiefs again and get them moving. Then perhaps he could steal an hour or two for some sleep before he got down to the down-and-dirty of the search for the murdering thieves who had dynamited the bank.

Lordy, but he did need some rest. He walked on toward the hotel with a shambling, stiff-legged gait that made him look and feel twenty years older than he was.