Isaac eyes narrowed. "Where will you be?"
Josh felt his face flush. "I swore to my father that I would stay out of the woods. The truth is, I don’t know what I will do that day. But we need you. Maybe you need us."
Isaac rubbed his snake stick. He and Tom looked at each other, and a silent signal seemed to pass between them. Isaac said, "I’ll think on it."
Josh nodded. It was the best he could have expected.
Isaac reached into the sack and brought out the last piece of chicken. "You worry too much. Eat some chicken."
Josh ate. Slick looked up and licked his lips. Josh looked at Isaac. "Would it show disrespect if I gave this to Slick?"
The old Indian chuckled and coughed. “No disrespect to Slick—he lives off suckers."
* * *
On Monday at six p.m., Joe Buck placed his hand on the throttle of No. 88. He looked at Josh and Amy on the fireman’s side. "Did Ed get the flagmen at the intersections? Senoca hasn’t seen a steam engine coming through for a long time."
"Flagmen on site."
"Did you close the steam chest relief valves?"
"Check."
"Remove chock chains from drivers?"
"Check. All done."
“Here goes." Joe opened the cylinder cocks. He pushed the reverse lever all the way forward, pulled the safety pin out of the throttle, squeezed the latch, and pulled back on the throttle. Steam and water sprayed the adjoining tracks, and the front wheels spun for a moment. Then the locomotive jerked forward.
Josh almost fell out of his seat. "What happened?"
"I’m out of practice," Joe said. "When the locomotive starts to move forward, the water in the boiler moves backward. That shifts weight from front to back and the front drivers slip.”
No. 88 chugged slowly away from the coal chute and out into the yard. Joe pointed to the shovel. "Add coal. Slow."
Josh opened the fire door and stared into the hot fire, feeling the heat against his face. He scooped in two shovels of coal. "Keep the blower valve open just enough to provide draft."
"Okay."
They moved slowly, keeping under the 10 miles per hour yard limit. Even at this speed, Josh felt the power of the locomotive’s engine. It was like a heart beating: whump, whump, whump. Josh felt exhilarated. Now he knew how his grandfather must have felt when he started his runs years ago. It was like being set free. He reached over and squeezed Amy’s hand. She smiled at him. She was wearing overalls, and her hair was tucked under a Texas Rangers baseball cap. She had smudges on her face. She was beautiful, and he loved her.
They passed out of the yard, heading east. A flagman at the first intersection waved them through. They picked up speed as the noise and vibration increased. Hot cinders began to settle over everything. Amy yelled over the noise to Joe. "Why do you have the reverse lever forward?"
"Tell her, Josh."
"The reverse lever controls steam to the cylinders. That sets the work load done by the engine. Superheated steam is powerful. When we first start moving, we work with the reverse gear all the way forward. Steam is coming in during only 85 percent of the piston stroke. As we gain speed, we move reverse back toward center. That reduces the time steam admitted to the cylinder, which allows the steam to expand more. That unleashes power."
Amy gave him a vacant look. "Oh."
They passed a second intersection near the lumber yard. Joe gave a blast on the whistle, and several workmen waved. As they moved through Senoca, people stopped mowing their lawns and gawked at them. Kids and dogs ran along. No one had seen anything like No. 88 in decades. Josh smiled and waved.
Joe said, "Check your fire."
Josh opened the fire door and looked inside. "I think it’s okay.”
"Any ‘dead mules?"‘
"Dead mules?"
"Large piles of coal. If the stoker jets aren’t working right, those piles can block off the grate. That means no air-and no burn."
Josh looked again. "No dead mules." He shut the door.
"Good. Keep checking now and then."
Amy shouted into Josh’s ear. "Joe knows trains."
"Right."
They were up to 15 miles per hour. Josh checked the fire again, then the steam pressure. Since they were not carrying a full load today, he kept the blower on just enough to keep a draft in the firebox. They passed another intersection. He saw the back of Hedrick’s Funeral Home, but he didn’t have time to think about what had happened there. He had to keep his mind on business. The engine throbbed with power. He was much more aware of the power of this steam locomotive than when he had been on the diesel. This was like feeling an open-cockpit plane under the seat of your pants rather than a smooth jet.
The dials and gauges were bewildering. Joe had taken days to explain the ones Josh had to know for this test run. If Josh did well, he and Amy could make the Hickory Creek run in the cab. It would be a one-shot deal. Joe said they had earned it. They passed the Dairy Queen. Sammy Jack Pricer and a few of the guys were leaning against the side of Sammy Jack’s red Corvette. Josh waved. A few miles east of town, Joe slowed down as one of the Choctaw’s yardmen pulled a lever and switched them onto the oval curve for the return trip. That was when the trouble started. Josh didn’t know it then, but it would prove to be the least of their troubles that day.
An injector pipe burst a leak.
Joe spat a stream of Red Man out the window. Then he followed it with a stream of curse words. As they ground to a halt, steam hissing, Joe turned to Amy and apologized. "Forgot we had a lady present."
They got down from the cab to check the leak. Josh heard a laugh and turned around. More bad luck. No. 88 had stalled out fifty yards from the Dairy Queen.
"Hey!" Sammy Jack yelled. "Spring a leak, Wade?"
Josh ignored him.
Joe looked at the pipe. "Damn."
“Can we fix it here?" Josh asked.
"Nope. We got a superheater busted too, at the firebox end where it’s hard to fix." He spat another stream of juice. "We’ll have to get a tow."
Josh suffered the kidding of Sammy Jack Pricer and his cronies for the next hour, before the Choctaw yard crew arrived with a diesel. Josh sat with Amy in the cab of No. 88. He felt mad at first, but then he had to laugh about it. All the people who had cheered them on as they had headed out of town now leaned on their rakes, and gawked at the locomotive being towed back in.
Tuesday and Wednesday, they worked harder than before. They repaired the injector pipe, but the superheater was tougher. They unbolted the firebox door, stuck a 26-inch fan in to try and stay cool, muscled out over half a ton of drafting gear, pulled the bad superheater, plugged its header connections, reassembled everything, lit another fire, and had working steam by sundown Wednesday. Josh felt so tired he could drop.
He had another worry too: his father was getting more tense each day. His eyes looked haunted, his cheeks hollow, and he wasn’t eating well. Josh started checking on him in the office whenever he could. Frequently, Ed would be on the phone, talking low. Whenever he saw Josh, he would hang up. Something was going down, Josh knew. Whatever it was seemed bigger than the problems with No. 88. Josh began wondering whom Ed was talking to on the phone.
At sundown Wednesday, Josh went into the office to get a Coke. As he walked down the hall toward the machine, he saw his Dad on the phone again. Ed had his back to Josh. He said something, scribbled on a note pad, ripped off the page, and hung up. When he turned and saw Josh, he looked startled.
"I just came in to get a Coke."
"Fine." He sounded jumpy. "How’s it going out there?"
"We fixed the injector pipe and the superheater. Everybody’s dragging ass, but we did it."
"Go home and sleep. You look more than just drag-ass tired. You’ve lost weight."
"I was going to say the same about you, Dad."
Ed ran his hand over his bald head. "We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
"Pair of aces."
Ed smiled. "I call
ed Wake earlier. He said to tell you since he got your blood, he craves Raylene’s fried chicken."
"Tell him to be glad he doesn’t crave peyote."
Ed laughed. "I’m going home. You coming?"
"I want to help Joe with some clean-up. I guess he told you he’s going to sleep on a cot in the office tonight—in case anybody comes nosing around the yard. Anyway, Amy’s going to give me a ride."
“Speaking of Amy, I called her father to see if we were working her too hard.”
“What did they say?”
“They’ve never seen her so happy. I guess they think hard work is good for her.” Ed gave Josh an appraising look. “They said something is agreeing with her.”
“Well…good.”
“Yeah. Well, I’ve got a crockpot of stew waiting. Eat when you get home.” Ed left in the pickup.
Josh went back inside and got his Coke. Then he paused at the door to his father’s office. Something made him walk over and look at the note pad. There were imprints of several numbers. He could not read them. He looked around for what he needed. He didn’t find it, and he couldn’t ransack the office looking for it. He went outside.
Amy was walking up. “What’s the matter?”
“We need some pencils in there.”
“Some what?”
“Pencils. Everybody uses ball points.”
“Josh, are you losing it?”
“Hey, guy needs a pencil, he needs it now.”
She shook her head and moved a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Want me to go get some now?”
“Would you? I’ve gotta talk to Joe.”
She sighed. "Only because I love you." He gave her some money, and she got into her VW. "Any special kind? Bells and whistles? Colors?"
"Just pencils. Number two. Be sure they’re number two." He went into the maintenance shop and found Joe Buck pacing around No. 88. The big Indian’s hair was dripping with sweat. His red overalls showed dirt, grease, Red Man stain, and remnants of a melted Dove Bar. He looked at Josh. "Lemme have a sip of that."
Josh handed him the can. "I thought you only drank Coors.”
He drank and wiped his sweating face with a red neckerchief. "It’s hotter’n nine kinds of hell in here."
"Joe, why are you sleeping in the office tonight?”
"Security. We’ve worked hard to get to this point. I want to be near that engine."
"You think someone might mess with it?"
"Who knows? All I know is that I’ll feel better sleeping here.”
Josh looked at the steam engine. It was like an old friend now, not something alien like when he had started earlier in the summer. "We’ve shaped her up, haven’t we?"
"Yeah."
"Joe?”
"Yeah?"
"I’m worried about Dad."
"What’s to worry about?"
"He....well, he’s been acting different."
"How so?"
"I don’t know. More secretive. He’s on the phone a lot."
Joe looked at him. The sweat on his forehead shone in the light. "So what? He’s the owner. Why wouldn’t he be on the phone? He calls people all the time: suppliers, management, field crews."
"I just wondered if you’d noticed it."
"I’ve been too busy working on this thing to notice if he made a million calls." He leaned against the driver wheel of No. 88 and took out his pouch of Red Man. He bit off a chew. “Tell what I did notice, though.”
"What?"
"I noticed you must not have heard from Isaac yet."
Josh sighed. "Yeah."
"Been what, three days now?"
"Uh-huh."
"You think they’re gonna help you out with that dance?"
“I don’t know." He studied Joe’s face. The light made it look almost black, instead of red. He wondered how much Joe thought about his own Indian heritage. For some reason, that made Josh think about his own heritage—especially his grandfather.
"I wish Frank were here now."
"Your granddaddy? Yeah, Frank would get a kick out of how you’ve made a hand this summer. When you were growing up here, before you moved to Oklahoma City, I remember telling Frank, ‘He’s a handful.’ Frank said, ‘He’s just a boy."‘
"I wish he was here this summer.”
Joe nodded. “Isaac is wise like Frank was.”
Josh said, “I don’t know if he likes me, but he gave me the witchcraft pouch."
"And he didn’t say ‘no’ flat out to you on Saturday when you asked him for help."
"True." He was quiet for a moment. "Isaac would have liked Frank. Frank was ornery too. I just wish he was here. It’s been a tough summer."
Joe said. "You want to live through this summer?"
"Sure."
"Then start using your head instead of your heart. Leave the mystery-solving to the pros. And give your Daddy credit for some sense—he ain’t just sittin’ around waitin’ for something to happen."
Josh looked at him, wondering if Joe might know about Ed’s secretive phone calls. He heard Amy’s VW driving into the parking lot. "I’ve got to go .”
"Go ahead. I want to take one last look at that seal on the superheater." He pitched the office keys to Josh. "Go ahead and lock up. Bring me back the keys. I’ll go in and bed down later."
Josh went out into the parking lot and met Amy getting out of the VW. "You get ‘em?"
She handed Josh the package of pencils. "What’s this all about?"
"You’ll see."
They went inside. Josh hurried to his father’s office, went to the pencil sharpener, and sharpened all the pencils. He put them in a drawer—all except one—that he used to shade over the impressions on the note pad by the phone.
"Josh!"
"Sshhh. Be quiet."
He kept a light touch, like he’d seen on television. In a minute he had highlighted three sets of numbers. He ripped off the sheet, and dialed the first number. No answer. He tried the others; no answer there either.
Amy placed her hands on her hips and gave him a withering look. They’re his personal calls—not your business!”
Josh tucked the sheet in his pocket. “I’ve gotta know.”
He went outside and returned the keys to Joe. Then he asked Amy for a ride home.
As they drove, Amy asked, “What are you going to do with those phone numbers?”
“Go see Brady Lembeck.”
“The clerk at Penny’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Why Brady?”
“He owes me a favor.”
“So?”
“His sister works for the telephone company. She has access to a computer with reverse phone numbers and addresses. And his sister oweshim a favor.”
She parked in front of Josh’s house. "You worry me sometimes.”
"Would a back rub help?"
She cut off the engine. "Yes."
Josh massaged her back for a few minutes. He kissed her and they parted. Inside, he ate some stew. He felt so tired he decided on a nap before showering. Much later, his dad was shaking him awake. "We’ve got to go down to the yard."
"The yard? Why?"
"Joe’s hurt. And somebody got to No. 88."
CHAPTER 12
Blood streamed down Joe Buck’s face. He was leaning against the cow catcher of No. 88 while Ed pressed a towel to his forehead. Joe said, "Bastards hit me with a tire iron."
Josh felt his anger growing. He looked at the locomotive: the injector pipe was cut. Air reservoir punctured. Both cylinders damaged. Air brake hose sliced. Someone had worked with a torch, bolt cutter and shears. Josh cursed under his breath, wondering how long it would take to repair the damage.
Ed said to Joe, "Get a look at who did this?"
"No. Something woke me up. I walked in and saw movement up near the front. Then somebody hit me. By the time I came to, they were driving away."
Josh said, "We’ll get you fixed up, then somehow we’ll get this repaired.”
J
oe laughed, the sound ending in a cough. "You two ain’t looked on the left side of No. 88 yet?"
They shook their heads.
Joe said, "We can patch holes. But we can’t replace parts that easy."
Ed said, "What parts?"
"They got off with the connecting rod to the drive wheel on the left side. We’ll play hell finding another one. That engine is fifty years old."
Josh and Ed looked at each other. They were too shocked to speak.
For the next six days, Josh learned how to work on faith. Josh, Amy, Ed, Joe and some of the yard crew worked to mend No. 88. They welded the injector pipe. They patched the cylinders and the air reservoirs. Replaced the air break hose. They scrounged parts from Burlington, and rigged replacements from scrap when parts were not available. Joe Buck was a genius at making things fit. But they worked on faith. Even with Joe’s genius and the sweat of those working under his direction, there was no hope for No. 88 unless they found a connecting rod for the driver wheel.
Ed had called every industry contact he knew, but he could not find the part. The company that had made No. 88 no longer existed. At sundown Wednesday, Joe spat a stream of tobacco, threw a spanner off the wall, and sat down on the ground. "It’s useless," he said.
Josh placed his wrench down and walked over to the big Indian. "There’s still time."
"No there ain’t.” Sweat glistened in his hair. "We’re done without that rod."
"You gotta believe, Joe," Josh said. "When you hired me earlier in the summer, you said you wouldn’t have any truck with a quitter."
"You proved you’re no quitter."
"Then prove you aren’t."
"Josh!" Ed Wade said. "Watch your mouth!"
The shop went quiet. The only sound was the distant hum of an air conditioner from the office. A moth circled the light above, casting a fluttering shadow around the shop. The fire came back into Joe’s eyes, and he stood up, towering over Josh.
Josh stood his ground. If getting whacked was the price to get Joe fired up again, he thought, it was cheap.
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