Countless questions tortured his mind, adding fuel to his restlessness. The trackman had been right about one thing. A train couldn't just vanish.
Then he realized what a perfect frame this made for him. "YOU ARE TOO GOOD A PATSY." That was what Tuso had meant a few days before in the stable when he had said Danner was too good a patsy for what Browder had planned. And Danner had helped things along by leaving Richfield just before the wheat train.
A numb agony gripped Danner now and he groaned softly. He should have stayed with the shipment until it was sold. Too late, he realized he had committed the cardinal sin of all fighting men—he had underestimated his opponent.
It seemed an eternity before he boarded the westbound and the trip through the day dragged endlessly. Soon after dark he quit the AT&SF where the line joined the main line of the Great Plains Central. In the depot, he learned there wouldn't be another passenger train south until morning. But a few minutes later he spotted a freight train moving out to the south. He loped alongside, pulled himself into an open boxcar and settled down for the long journey to Junction City far to the southwest.
Danner didn't know when he fell asleep, but darkness still blanketed the car when he awoke.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and moved over to the open doorway. According to the looks of the sky, morning wasn't far off. The locomotive whistle sounded, drawing his attention forward. In the distance he made out a town, and soon he recognized Junction City. Hunkering down, he considered his next step. Too many people in Junction City knew him, especially around the railroad yards, for that had been the eastern end of the Colonel's railroad. He'd just have to chance it, however, for he had to reach Richfield quickly. The train began to slow as it passed the first scattered shacks. Danner tensed, waiting, and when the depot was a couple of hundred yards away he leaped, hit the ground running, tripped but regained his balance and came to a halt by a workshed, breathing heavily. Here he waited until the freight moved on south toward Cimarron Valley. From the roundhouse then came the early morning westbound for Richfield. It chugged along the south side of the depot and stopped in position for loading passengers, all but the last coach hidden from Danner's sight now by the depot. Moving over to the street paralleling the north-south tracks, Danner walked on to the north side of the depot and peered inside. The waiting room held quite a few people, but all were crowding out the door on the far side. The only telegrapher-clerk on duty was a stranger to Danner. When the waiting room was completely emptied, Danner went inside. At the desk he ordered a ticket to Richfield.
"That's the train out there loading now," the clerk muttered. "It leaves in about ten minutes."
Danner paid for the ticket and stuck it in his shirt pocket. Outside, the waiting platform held some two dozen passengers waiting to board the train, but none faced the waiting room. He turned back to the clerk, a youngster tired from the long night shift about ended.
"Anything new on that missing train?"
"Nothing," the youngster shook his head, "except one of those farmers died last night."
"Farmers?" A chill hit Danner then, and he thought of McDaniel.
"One of the two they found alongside the tracks a few miles from Richfield. He had a bullet in his throat. The other one was shot in the chest, but I guess he's still alive."
McDaniel and Gustafson, Danner thought. But which one was dead?
All the passengers were aboard now and the locomotive whistled a warning. Danner stepped outside and moved unhurriedly to the far end of the last coach. As the final whistle sounded he went up the steps and inside the car, dropping into the first seat at the rear of the half-filled coach. The nearest passenger, a drummer, sat six seats up and facing forward. Danner stuck his ticket in his hatband, slumped down and covered his face with the hat. Joe Bearden was the conductor on this train and he'd easily recognize Danner if he caught a glimpse of his face. But Joe wouldn't pay any attention to a sleeping passenger, especially one in rumpled clothes so much like many other passengers. Soon after the train jerked into motion Joe did just that—took the ticket from Danner's hatband, punched and replaced it with a grunt, then was gone.
Tilting his hat slightly, Danner watched the prairie race by. The finding of Gustafson and McDaniel only a few miles from Richfield indicated the train had been taken over at that point, yet it never reached Spaulding, and there were only two sidings between the two stations where the train could be hidden. But the two sidings would undoubtedly have been checked by now. It didn't make sense; a feeling of frustration touched Danner. Then he wondered if it had been Gustafson or McDaniel who had died. It didn't make much difference, probably, because the survivor had a chest wound and likely wouldn't last long.
The monotonous click of the wheels lulled Danner into a half-sleep through much of the morning. But he shook himself awake when the train began to slow for the stop at Spaulding. The engine moved on past the yellow frame station building and stopped at the wooden water tower, leaving the rear coach about a hundred feet from the station. The station, woodshed and water tower provided a minimum of relief from an otherwise barren area. Only the need for fuel and water before trains reached Richfield kept the station in existence. Few passengers ever boarded the train here and seldom did anyone ship from Spaulding. A movement caught Danner's attention and he pressed his face against the grimy window of the coach.
The Spaulding agent, Ma Grim, stepped out onto the platform in front of the station, her arms folded across a massive bosom and her blocky shape blending with the nondescript surroundings.
If the missing train had gone past Spaulding, Ma Grim would have reported it, Danner thought. Her devotion to the Colonel's railroad was beyond question. Danner considered leaving the coach long enough to talk to her, but the conductor moved into his line of vision and he decided against it.
Then the engine chuffed into motion again, soon leaving Spaulding behind. Midday heat reached an uncomfortable high and Danner went out to the open platform at the end of the coach. Holding on to the iron railing, he moved down the steps and sat down. About forty minutes west of Spaulding the train passed the first of the two sidings where the missing train might have gone. The rusty tracks pointed straight north, eventually reaching what had once been the small community of Velma. When Danner had gone there two years before he'd found only an abandoned cluster of rotting buildings. Tomorrow he would have to take another look at Velma.
Moving over to the sunny side of the platform, Danner sat down again on the steps, waiting for the second trunk line. The land flattened out to the south and he could see the tracks long before the train reached them. They, too, appeared rusty and unused, leading only to the abandoned community of Crossville.
Both Velma and Crossville spurs had appeared rust-covered, yet the missing train must have gone to one place or the other, for it couldn't get past Spaulding or Richfield unobserved, and it certainly wasn't on the main line.
Danner moved out of the hot sun and tried to figure an answer. About the only thing he could think of was that the tracks could have been so weathered that a train moving across only once hadn't ground off all the rust.
The forlorn whistle of the engine announced Richfield just ahead, and the train began to lose speed. Danner moved inside the coach and sat down, not wanting to be seen as the train pulled through town. The protest of wheels on rails worked along the cars and the train stopped finally. Danner went out the back end of the coach and dropped to the cinders. The small crowd at the platform all faced the first of the three passenger coaches, paying him no attention. He cut across the small city park toward the courthouse. Halfway across the street, a granger in a heavy grain wagon took a second look at him and snapped his team into a trot.