Then the gutted granary began to crumble!
Danner stopped, scarcely breathing, watching the last of the boxcars pull clear. Then the building collapsed with an explosion that sent flaming splinters flying. One chunk of burning debris landed on top of the caboose, but Danner was eight cars away. He started running again as the train reached a speed of ten or twelve miles an hour. When the car he was on cleared the rim of the bowl, he nearly lost his balance and had to stop for a moment. Then the caboose cleared the edge of the bowl, permitting another big jump in speed as the entire train moved downgrade. By the time Danner reached the caboose, flames covered the rear half of the top. He didn't even bother to consider it; he worked down the ladder and pulled the coupling pin. The caboose would drop back as soon as the tracks leveled out. He climbed back to the top of the last boxcar and turned as the wall of flames broke over the edge of the bowl and spurted on toward the train. Then the train began to pull away from the slowing caboose, now almost covered with flames. Danner and Wainright hunkered down at the back end of the boxcar, watching with fascination and no little fear as the flames gained on the train.
Movement at the end of the caboose caught Danner's eye. Horrified, he saw the vast bulk of Browder come spilling out of the door and jump to the ground. Browder started loping toward the train waving his arms, but Danner could only watch while Browder fell farther into the background. Apparently, Browder had only ridden his buggy horse to the end of the granary, then abandoned it for a hiding place in the caboose, unknowingly sealing his own hellish fate.
The racing holocaust caught up with Browder then and he vanished behind the wall with a scream that sickened Danner. He and Wainright looked at each other, nauseated. A feeling akin to comradeship grew between them, as it often does between men who share a battlefield horror. Danner knew then that never again would he and Wainright face each other as foes.
An awareness of reckless speed touched Danner, and he realized the train must be shooting toward the river at more than fifty miles an hour, a suicidal speed on such poor trackage. Gradually the flaming front fell back. It was Wainright who mentioned it, his voice sounding strained. "It looks as if we're in the clear."
"Not quite," Danner replied without spirit. When Wainright shot him a quizzical look, he nodded over his shoulder toward the north.
"We'll be at the bridge soon. At this speed that old structure won't hold up."
Wainright jumped to his feet and stared anxiously ahead. "We're far enough ahead of the fire to slow down," he said.
Danner stood up slowly. "Too far ahead. That puts us too close to the bridge. We'll be there before we could get forward and warn the engineer." Even then he could see the spans ahead. "Get ready to jump."
Wainright crouched at the left edge of the boxcar as Danner hunkered down on the right side, his eyes fixed on the bridge ahead. Sparks from the locomotive showered both sides of the track and some of them pelted against his face.
The locomotive reached the bridge and started across and Danner almost stopped breathing. The bridge seemed to be holding. As the last car neared the bridge Danner could see the overhead beams vibrating, could even feel a tremor from the treacherous trackage across the piling. Then the last boxcar started across, swaying dangerously. Too late to jump now, Danner realized.
A sinking sensation touched him and he knew the bridge was collapsing under the burden of the train. Yet the Mogul engine struggled on, and the long string of cars followed. Finally the entire train pulled clear of the bridge and Danner heard a sharp cracking followed by a series of heavy rumbles. He looked back in time to see the old bridge drop into the bed of the river, and a weakness worked upward through his body.
How long he sat frozen to the top of the boxcar he didn't know, but he became aware of the train slowing and he looked around to find Wainright getting up.
"The main line is just ahead," Wainright said. "What now?"
What now, Danner thought with a dullness he didn't fully understand. Then he shook off the feeling and got to his feet.
"We might as well take it on to Junction City right now," Danner said. "If I went back to Richfield without a stack of bank drafts, those grangers might decide to hang me anyway."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Billy McDaniel favored Danner with his characteristic, dog-friendly grin, then leaned back against the pillows piled up at the back of his bed. Pale and thin looking, he'd be out of bed within a couple of weeks, the doctor had said when Danner first came in. Now Danner relaxed in the bedside chair and finished giving Billy an account of his finding the train and the events which followed. McDaniel listened attentively, occasionally smiling with satisfaction. But when Danner explained about the pin-fire pistol, a shadow touched the heavy features. Silence fell between them, each lost in his own thoughts until Danner heard the door open behind him.
Lona walked to the foot of the bed, smiling serenely at both of them. A red ribbon gathered her long pale hair at shoulder level, giving her a girlish appearance.
"I hate to break up your visit," she told Danner, "but Billy must not be overtaxed."
Danner nodded his understanding and got up to leave. Hesitating, he darted a glance at Lona, wondering how to tell Lona of his decision. Reluctantly, he looked at McDaniel.
"As soon as you are on your feet, I'm giving you title to my half of the farm." He raised his hand to stifle the protest he saw rising to the face of McDaniel. "We'll keep it businesslike. You give me a mortgage for the amount due and pay it off when you can."
They both glanced at Lona expectantly, awaiting an outburst of protest. But she remained silent. Except for a touch of color on each cheek, she appeared completely unconcerned. Danner waited, finally growing restless with the continued silence.
"I'll drop in again tomorrow," he told McDaniel. "You take it easy." With a nod to Lona, he left the room. Hurriedly he moved down the corridor, across the reception room and had reached the outer door when Lona called to him. He stopped and turned to face her. It would come now, he thought. She just hadn't wanted to make a scene in front of McDaniel. Strangely, though, he saw no signs of anger on her face. But he did detect some turmoil in the way she toyed with the cameo hanging at her throat.
"I'm sorry about the farm," Danner ventured. "I—Billy belongs out there—but I just don't fit in."
"I know." She moved over to the west window and gazed out at a yard engine moving empty flatcars. "I'm glad, actually. It makes it easier to say what I must."
Unsure of the direction she was heading, Danner waited. When she faced him again, her lips were drawn out in a thin line.
"I've decided not to marry you." The simple statement caught him unprepared. He met her steady gaze uncertainly.
"That farm couldn't mean that much, not even to you."
"It isn't the farm," she snapped, a hint of temper showing now. "I made this decision two days ago, before I knew—well—" She made a helpless gesture then faced the window again. "After I found out why you went to Topeka."
"We don't have to live on a farm to have a good marriage."
"No." She turned on him, her face flushed. "No, we don't. But we do have to love each other. You've never loved me. I knew that from the first, but I thought you would, eventually. Perhaps you would have if Melinda hadn't—"
"Lona," Danner caught her by the shoulders. "There's never been—"