“The ten-o-three to Sonora and points south ain’t exactly a cannonball, mister,” the ticket agent said. “If I was you I’d talk to the engineer and ask him to let you off at the same place as them other folks.”
“The question is, am I chasing after the right folks,” Jacob O’Brien said.
The agent scratched his stubbly chin. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Do you recollect those people, the ones that left the train in Sonora?” Jacob said.
“I recollect they had a private Pullman and a passel of women,” the agent said. “And that’s all I know. There are gents that don’t like questions, and I didn’t ask none.”
Jacob was silent as he absorbed that and the agent said, “Hardcases, that’s what they were.”
“It sounds like the people I’m hunting,” Jacob said. “You hear any names?”
“I don’t give out passenger’s names to them as has no business knowing them.” The agent found himself looking down the barrel of Jacob’s Colt. He said quickly, “The man who rented the Pullman was called Mr. Moss, and that’s all I know. So you can put the cannon away.”
“Zebulon Moss?” Jacob asked, holstering his gun.
“Mr. Moss.”
“He’s the man for sure. A lot of women, you say?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Did you see a tall, handsome fellow, kinda favors me in some ways?” Jacob said.
“There ain’t no handsome fellas favor you, mister, if you’ll forgive me for saying.”
“Well, did you see a good-looking fellow, yellow hair, blue eyes, well set-up?”
“A few of the hardcases in the Pullman car looked like that.” The agent lowered his head to the ledger in front of him and his eyes were hidden by his black visor. The man’s talking was done.
Jacob reached inside his mackinaw and consulted his watch. He snapped it shut and said, “Will the ten-o-three be on time?”
The agent sighed and raised his eyes again. “It’s never early, so it’s always late. Ten minutes, thirty, who knows?”
“Thanks. You’ve been a big help.” Jacob turned away and headed out the door.
“Maybe we should open a line just for hardcases,” the agent mumbled. “Seems like we’re getting enough of them coming through here recent.”
Jacob stepped onto the depot platform and sat on a bench, his eyes scanning the bleak landscape around him. He built a cigarette and settled in for a wait, unsure of what lay ahead for him.
Was Shawn with Moss? Or had he already been killed?
Jacob shuddered. That was something he didn’t want to contemplate. Dromore without his laughing, handsome brother would be an empty, dreary place. And how could he break it to the colonel? It could kill him.
Aware that the black dog was creeping up on him, Jacob rose and walked to the edge of the platform. He looked at the line, the shiny iron rails vanishing into distance, and saw no sign of the train.
If Shawn was with Moss, perhaps a prisoner, he needed help, and damn soon.
According to the big railroad clock on the depot wall, the ten-o-three southbound was exactly fifteen minutes late. Other passengers had gathered on the platform, Mexican couples with children mostly, and a soldier in a shabby blue and red army uniform who carried a slung Lebel rifle.
After the locomotive chuffed to a halt, Jacob walked along the platform and hailed the engineer, who was leaning out of the cab, studying the line ahead. Jacob questioned him about Moss and asked if he could be dropped off at the same spot.
Yes, the engineer remembered the folks on the Pullman.
Yes, there were a bunch of pretty women on board, Chinese, black, and Anglo.
Yes, he could find the drop-off spot on the line again.
Yes, he could stop the train and give Jacob time to unload his horse.
“But,” the man said, “a little something for the inconvenience would not go amiss. If you catch my meaning, mister.”
“Would twenty dollars cover it?” Jacob said, steam jetting around his legs.
“Hell, mister, I’ll sell you the whole train for twenty dollars,” the engineer said. “Climb aboard.”