by Alan David
‘Sure. Don’t worry. It will take a little time, but we’ll have the best gunhands available before this is done. The trouble is, Ike Mozee can’t afford to get behind schedule. It’s tight as it is, and we’ve got to make Apache Pass ahead of Western Pacific or the Company will go broke. Ride out to end of track as fast as you can, Chet, and tell Ike he’ll have to use his construction crews to defend the place. The gunhands you’ve already got out there will have to push ahead to guard the trestles and graders and surveyors, and scout for trouble coming in. I know we’re gonna be over-stretched until we get more men, but we can’t hire just any gunnie who comes along. And I’ve got to go to Miller’s Crossing today. You make sure everything is secure at end of track then cut across country and join me in Miller’s Crossing. You should get there in time to check with me so we can jump the night freight back here. I want you moving around all the time, Chet. It’ll be hell on you for a spell, but if you sit down and rest anywhere then Yaro’s boys are gonna be drawing a bead on you.’
‘I’ll fight them anywhere they wanta make a stand,’ Manning retorted as they entered the stable and he began to saddle his horse.
‘No.’ Asa slapped a heavy hand upon his shoulder. ‘I figure Yaro would like nothing better. I’ve read reports of what he did to other railroads, and he’s hell on wheels. We’ve got to play this cagey, Chet, and don’t you forget it.’
‘You know me!’ Manning smiled grimly as he met the older man’s harsh gaze. ‘I never backed off from a fight, and I’m ready to lay down my life for the Railroad.’
‘You’re no good to me dead, and you’ve got to bear that in mind. I’m gonna need you more than ever now. You’ll have to be more than my strong right hand, Chet. You’ve got to be my eyes and ears, for I’ll have to stick around town and handle the general situation. You’ll be my commander in the field, and there’s no one else I can rely on.’ Asa paused for a moment, and bitterness showed in his face. He sighed heavily. ‘I had great plans for Willard, but he sure don’t live up to my expectations.’
‘I know he’s your son, but you got to accept the fact that he’s a man in his own right, and he could be taking after his mother. You can’t expect him to turn out to be a fully fledged Railroader just because you are. He ain’t suited to the rough life, but mebbe he ain’t no less of a man for that.’,
‘I guess you’re right, but a man sets great store by his only son, you know. Now if you had been my son I could have lived with anything else.’
Manning smiled tightly and readied his horse for travel. He led the animal outside and let it drink, then turned to face the older man.
‘Be seeing you,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a lot of riding to do, but I’ll be in Miller’s Crossing soon as I can. If you have to pull out before I show then leave a message for me.’
‘Take care out there!’ Asa held out his hand, and when Manning clasped it they looked into each other’s eyes.
‘You betcha. Watch out for yourself, huh?’ Manning smiled and turned to swing into his saddle, pausing to check that he had everything he needed, and his dark eyes glinted as he checked his surroundings. Then he lifted a hand and rode out, making for end of track.
He was cautious, for the shooting in town warned him just how deeply he was involved in this life and death struggle to push iron rails through the wilderness. It was a challenging task for every man who drew Company pay, whether he was a member of a work crew or the District Superintendent himself. But for the chief troubleshooter it was more than a job; a dangerous mission against impossible odds, sweaty and backbreaking, brawling and violent. The men who worked in the construction gangs were a mixed bunch, including immigrants, Civil War veterans, freed slaves, and even Chinese, and keeping them in line and getting work completed at top speed at all times constituted a major achievement. But with trouble looming from outside sources it would need a miracle to maintain the efficient progress that was being made. There was too large an area and not enough men to cover it adequately. Manning knew that, but was undaunted, and pushed his horse fast to get on with what he had to do.
End of track was a familiar sight to him, but when he reached it this time he reined up to look around with critical eyes. Almost as soon as he showed himself upon the skyline overlooking the construction camp he was challenged by a rider, and turned to find himself covered by an alert-eyed guard and a ready-held rifle. He identified himself and the guard went back into cover. Manning was satisfied, and rode down the long slope and into the camp.
Rails were being laid, for work started at first light and continued until darkness fell. Apart from laying rails, ravines had to be filled, spidery trestles run across rivers and valleys, and tunnels had to be punched through mountains — work which was done largely by human muscle power. The construction camp at end of track was only a part of the organisation necessary. The work crews, labouring flat out, laid two to five miles of track a day, on ground which had to be prepared by graders and pick-and-shovel men who levelled out ridges and cleared away any barrier, while, farther out, the surveyors, with their support teams of transitmen and chainmen, staked out the path to be followed. Everything had to be co-ordinated, and each cog in the complicated business was important, for a hold-up anywhere along the chain could bring the whole organisation to a grinding halt.
A steam whistle sounded as Manning rode into the camp, and he saw a number of flatcars being shunted by a work engine. The flatcars carried rails to within half a mile of the railhead, where they were loaded on to carts drawn by horses. Each cart went at a gallop to the end of track where work gangs of ‘rust-eaters’ were waiting.
Manning paused to glance around again, using his instincts as much as his eyes and ears, mentally placing a finger on the pulse of the camp. A cart was being unloaded, the rust-eaters working in pairs, the first two seizing hold of the end of a 500-pound rail and moving forward, the others taking hold until it was clear of the cart. They went forward at a run, and, at the word of command, dropped the rail, right side up, in its place on the wooden ties set on the prepared roadbed. It took each gang less than thirty seconds to remove a rail from a cart and drop it into position, and they averaged four rails a minute throughout the long, broiling hours of sunlight. Each rail was secured to the ties by thirty spikes, each spike requiring just three blows to drive it home, and there were four hundred rails to a mile of track.
The work was going ahead monotonously, which was a good sign, and Manning noted that the countless number of men hurrying about their work had rifles handy. They were ready to stop working at the drop of a hat and snatch up their guns to defend themselves on the spot. But Manning was not so concerned about defending this camp — which daily moved inexorably towards Apache Pass — for Ben Yaro would be foolish to attack it. The graders and surveyors were more vulnerable, as were the trestle bridges which carried the track across ravines and gorges. A few sticks of dynamite could take out a section of vital track and create extra weeks of hard work.
Ike Mozee was bending over a table standing beside his coach on the loopline, bareheaded, shirt sleeves rolled up, talking to a couple of his gang-foremen and thumping a large scale map. Manning smiled as he dismounted and trailed his reins. Mozee would take time out to have a go at him about extra guards, but they had to get their priorities right, and he waited until the camp boss had dismissed his subordinates before announcing his presence.
‘Am I glad to see you!’ Mozee paused for a moment, shrugging his powerful shoulders. His face wore a worried expression, and Manning was aware of most of the problems facing this over-worked man. ‘Say, you had a narrow escape in town early today, didn’t you? Who were those men out to get you?’
‘I didn’t get the chance to ask them, but I figure they were some of Ben Yaro’s gunnies.’
‘So it’s certain that Yaro is moving in against us. How are you gonna help me, Chet? I got to keep pushing these rails south and west or we ain’t gonna see anything at Apache Pass except Western Pacific’s
dust as they go through. I reckon you’re gonna need an army of guards to keep my men working without trouble.’
‘We don’t have an army, Ike, and you’re gonna have to get used to the idea of fighting your own battles around the camp. I see that all your workers do have rifles ready. They’ll have to use them if necessary.’
‘Now look! It ain’t part of our contract to fight off raiders: We got more than enough to do without that kind of thing slowing us up.’
‘I know your troubles, Ike, and I’m gonna do what I can for you, but you’ve got to understand the problems facing us right now. You don’t really believe that Yaro will ride in here against a couple of hundred rifles, do you? I’m sure he won’t, and Asa agrees with me. What we’ve got to do is guard the track and the small groups you’ve got strung out between here and Apache Pass. They’re the men Yaro will aim to hit, and if he knocks them off then your schedules will be right up the creek.’
‘Hell, Yaro won’t have to ride in here to give me trouble.’ Mozee shook his head angrily. ‘A couple of men with rifles up on the skyline can pin us down for hours at a time. You’ve been in a camp when snipers have been shooting at us. The men won’t take too much of that and you know it.’
‘We’re bringing in more men as soon as we can recruit them, but for the time being you’ll have to take care of this camp by yourself. That’s all I’m asking, Ike. You can do it. You’ve done it before. Hell, you once stood off three hundred Comanches with a handful of construction workers. Don’t make life more difficult than it is. We’re all on the same side, remember, and we’re doing our best.’
‘What about the guard who got his throat cut last night? If that kind of thing is gonna happen my men won’t get any sleep, and if they don’t sleep good they won’t work.’
‘He was a guard and not one of your men. I just rode up to the skyline and one of our guards rode out and challenged me. Nobody can get in here without you getting prior warning. My guards have orders to shoot first and ask questions afterwards, and any shooting on the skylines should have your men grabbing their rifles and hunkering down on the defensive.’
‘Okay!’ Mozee wiped his sweating forehead with a dusty sleeve. ‘I know what the situation is, Chet, and I know you’re doing your best. Don’t worry about the camp here. Yaro would be a fool to try and hit us. And the bridges behind us can always be rebuilt if they are blown. The thing you’ve got to do is protect the smaller work gangs strung out in front of us, like you suggested, and make sure we don’t lose any rolling stock or equipment. Yaro knows all about railroads, remember, and he’ll know where to hit us so it hurts. You’ve got to out-think him, Chet, not to try to out-fight him.’
‘Leave it to Asa. He’s already got things humming. He’s gone out to Miller’s Crossing, and I’ve got to cut across and see him there. Soon as we get some more gunhands we’ll send them out, and there’ll be a strong guard with everything moving along the track between here and Buffalo Junction. You’ll get your supplies, Ike, and you’ll be able to keep pushing for Apache Pass.’
‘Yeah, well I can’t worry about Ben Yaro. I’ll leave that to you. I got too much on my plate as it is. There’s a granite ridge between us and Apache Pass and we’re having trouble blowing a hole through it. All the sandstone in this part of the country, and we have to come up against something like this! There’s no way around it so we’ve got to go through, and we’re blasting forward about eighteen inches a day, that’s all. I’ve got my best men working on it, and we’re working from both sides towards the middle, but it’s a big hold-up, Chet, and it’s the kind of thing I have to worry about. Three of my men were killed this morning with their first blast of the day. It’s getting tough, real tough.’
‘Yeah, and there’s one thing you can be sure of,’ Manning rasped between his teeth. ‘It’s gonna get a lot tougher before it’s over, Ike.’
A commotion near at hand attracted their attention and Manning dropped a hand to his gun butt as he turned to check what was going on. A fight was taking place and a group of men had stopped work to watch it. One of the gang foremen went to break it up and was hit across the head with a pick handle. The two men were using pick handles instead of fists, and Mozee cursed sharply and started forward, until Manning grasped his elbow.
‘I better stop it,’ the camp boss rapped. ‘Since I spoke to you during the night I’ve had nothing but trouble. I spoke too soon when I said the camp was quiet. But that big feller there is a stranger. He ain’t been hired by us. I know every face among our gangs.’
‘One of Yaro’s trouble-makers!’ Manning strode forward quickly, pushing through the surrounding crowd, and his narrowed brown eyes took in the powerful physique of the stranger, who was whaling the tar out of a shorter, stocky man, catching him a glancing blow on the side of the head which sent him spinning to the ground, his pick handle flying in an arc to land almost at Manning’s feet.
‘Throw down that pick handle,’ he snapped. ‘I wanta talk to you.’ His right hand was resting on the butt of his holstered gun.
‘Your kind is only good with a gun in your mitt,’ came the insolent reply. ‘Pick up that handle you’ve got your big feet on and see what you can do.’
There were shouts of encouragement from the watching men, and Manning tightened his lips and bent without taking his eyes off the big man, who launched himself forward before Manning’s hands could reach the pick handle, and raised his own solid weapon for a skull-cracking blow. Manning snatched up the handle and hurled himself forwards, still bent double, driving in and upwards to beat the swinging handle, which was coming down vertically for his head. He thrust his pick handle forward, slamming the blunt end of it into the big man’s face, and felt a satisfactory jarring in his hands as he made contact. The impact halted the man in his tracks and flung him sideways, his pick handle spinning through the air. Blood spurted from his face as he crashed unconscious into the dust.
Mozee came forward then, cursing the workers, and order was restored. The men went back to work and the injured railroader and the gang foreman were carried away for treatment. Manning bent over the unconscious hardcase, searching him with practised hands, and relieved the figure of a long-bladed knife and a vest pocket hideout gun.
‘Hell, you’ve altered the shape of his face some,’ Mozee remarked, picking up a bucket of water and sluicing it over the man’s head and shoulders. ‘Some Doc is gonna have a helluva time piecing his nose together.’
‘His hard luck,’ Manning retorted callously. ‘So long as his jaw ain’t broke he can still talk. You better keep your eyes open for trouble-makers after this, Ike, and hold anyone you think might be drawing pay from Yaro. There’ll be a lot of agitators trying to sneak in.’
The man was beginning to stir, and Manning bent over him, peering into the rugged face that was already swelling badly. The prominent nose was bent crookedly to the left and blood dribbled from both nostrils. The man’s mouth was agape, revealing broken teeth, and he was breathing heavily, blowing out a fine spray of blood with each exhalation. But his eyes flickered and Manning gripped his shirtfront and hauled him upright, shaking him to try and bring back his scattered wits.
‘Okay,’ he said roughly. ‘You got some plain talking to do. Open your eyes and clear your mind. What in hell are you doing in this camp?’
The man sagged against Manning’s grip, but was held up-right despite his weight and bulk. Manning shook him again. There was no mercy in him. An enemy of the Railroad always fired him with unreasoning anger — he regarded hardcases as a doctor regarded disease — an implacable enemy to be fought wherever it was encountered.
‘Hell, he ain’t gonna be in any position to talk,’ Manning observed, letting the man fall face downwards in the dust. ‘And he can’t tell us anything we don’t already know. Throw him out of the camp, and I’ll have a word with Jake Mullin about maintaining a close watch to keep his type out. Jake is around, huh?’
‘I saw him first thing, but he went ahea
d with some of the guards to keep an eye on the graders. You want me to give him a message?’
‘No. Let it ride. Jake knows what it’s all about.’ Manning turned slowly to survey the busy camp, and the background noises, which were so familiar, fairly hummed around them. ‘Everything seems to be under control. I’d better head for Miller’s Crossing. I figure we can’t sit and wait for Yaro to hit us when and where he likes. That’s an open invitation to a beating. I reckon we’ve got to go out and find him and smash him on his own ground, not ours.’
‘I don’t care how you do it so long as he doesn’t stop me making my schedules,’ Mozee retorted. ‘I’ll see you around, Chet.’
‘Yeah.’ Manning looked down at the motionless hardcase, his lips compressed. ‘Keep us informed by telegraph about the situation out here, Ike. If you have any trouble at all then I want to know about it almost before it happens.’
‘You’ll get it,’ came the steady reply, and for a moment they looked into each other’s eyes, both grinning harshly. Then Manning nodded and turned to swing into his saddle. ‘Watch out for ambush,’ Mozee warned. ‘It looks like they’re really out to get you. Yaro must be scared of you, Chet.’
‘I figure Yaro is like me,’ Manning retorted, riding away. ‘He don’t scare easily.’
He left the camp, riding east, for Miller’s Crossing lay on a branch line, forming the third point of a triangle with Buffalo Junction and the construction camp being the other two points. He rode carefully, avoiding all likely ambush spots, and his mind was busy as he covered the dusty miles of rough country that lay like a physical barrier between him and his destination. It would be a good thing when the Railroad network was completed, he thought remotely, angling south to avoid a cluster of rocks which could make a good place for ambush. That was the only way this country could be tamed. Fast communication and travel were the answers to lawlessness.