The Cotton Fire

Patrick watched the train workers battle the orange flames.

First the men detached the cargo car from the other cars. This gave the men space to work. It also kept the sparks from drifting to the other cars.

Patrick could hear the loud crackling and snapping of the fire. The smoke mingled with the clouds, and the sky turned even darker.

Workers near the station were stomping on flying sparks.

A line of bucket carriers formed. Men brought water from a stream that flowed behind the station. Men perching on the side of the cargo car took the buckets. Then those men hoisted the buckets up to douse the fire.

Several male passengers from the number 7 got out to help. Even a man from the first-class sleeper car joined in.

“I’m going out there too,” Patrick said to Beth.

Beth opened her mouth to say something. But Patrick didn’t wait to hear it. He left through the back door.

“Keep a lookout for Jesse James,” Beth shouted after him.

Patrick approached the fire. The heat was intense. His face began to sweat as he neared the burning cargo car. No campfire he’d ever been near was this powerful.

Ashes floated through the air. A large, white tuft landed at his feet. Cotton was burning.

He joined the men who were carrying buckets of water. Someone put a bucket in front of him. He picked up the handle with one hand and lifted. The bucket wouldn’t move.

Patrick put two hands on the handle and lifted. This time the bucket got four inches off the ground. Then he dropped it.

“Mind if I help?” a man asked. “I’m Reverend Hagerty.”

Patrick recognized him as the passenger from the sleeper car. He was in a dark suit with a high white collar. His bow tie was a bit crooked. He had a thick beard like Mr. Alford’s.

“I can’t lift that much water,” Patrick said. “It’s too heavy.”

“Tell you the truth,” the reverend said, “I’m getting tired. I could use a hand. Let’s share the load.”

Patrick stood on one side of the bucket. The reverend stood on the other. Each put one hand on the bucket handle. Together they lifted the bucket.

“Much better,” Reverend Hagerty said. “Now let’s move toward the fire.”

Patrick could now see the cargo car up close. It was full of burning cotton bales.

The flames were now only a few feet high. The fire hissed when a bucketful of water was dumped on it.

Patrick and Reverend Hagerty made seven trips with the bucket. Finally the fire was ebbing.

“That’s it for a while,” a man in overalls said. “We can beat the fire down now.”

Patrick used the break to look around. He studied the faces of the men. None of them had the long, straight nose and moustache of Jesse James that Patrick had seen at the station.

But he did recognize one person: Leonard. The orphan was seated on the edge of the cargo car. He was covered in soot. The little guy was beating back the last of the flames with a rug.

Beth was watching the fire from her seat inside the passenger car. Miss Cookson was two rows up with the other children. They were wailing and sniffling. Beth guessed the fire scared them. They needed Miss Cookson’s comfort.

Beth felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around. It was the horseman.

He had on a white shirt and a jacket. The man’s jacket was a little damp. He held his wide-brimmed hat in his hands.

Beth had seen a hat just like it. But she couldn’t remember where.

“Are you the traveler who got on board late at Hogan Mountain?” the man said.

“I got on at the last stop,” Beth said. “Is that the Hogan Mountain depot?”

He nodded. His eyes narrowed. “Did you see anyone or anything that was suspicious?” the horseman asked.

Beth felt nervous. “I, um, was in a hurry,” she said. “I didn’t see much of the depot at all. Just the outhouse.”

The horseman laid his hat on a seat. Then he sat down next to her. His long legs barely fit in the space between seats. His boots smelled a little bit like corn chips.

He twisted the ends of his thick moustache.

“I’m Robert Pinkerton,” he said. “I’m looking for some missing evidence. It’s from a recent stagecoach robbery.”

Beth said, “I’m sure I haven’t seen it.”

“I’ll describe it,” Mr. Pinkerton said. “You might remember.”

“Okay,” Beth said, “but —”

Mr. Pinkerton cut in. “It’s a saddlebag,” he said. “With horseshoes burned into the leather. Inside was a badge —”

It was Beth’s turn to interrupt. “It was star-shaped,” she said. “And there were some bandanas, rope, and glasses!”

She clapped her hands. “I remember it now, even the carrots. And a hat went missing too, didn’t it? One just like yours!”

Mr. Pinkerton sat forward. “That’s right!” He seemed excited now too. “Where did you see it? I need to find it.”

Beth froze. Her eyes grew large with fear. She figured out her mistake too late. She couldn’t tell Mr. Pinkerton his evidence was in ancient Pompeii.

“I-I-I think,” Beth said, “you need to look out for Jesse James. The evidence isn’t really important. Here’s what is: the James gang is going to rob this train today.”

Mr. Pinkerton’s eyebrows shifted in concern. “And how do you know this?” he asked.

“My friend Eugene told me,” Beth said.

“Eugene again!” Mr. Pinkerton said. “I can’t believe it!” He got out of his seat and put on his hat. He leaned over Beth.

Beth shrank in her seat. She hoped Patrick would come back soon. She needed help.

“Stand up, miss,” Mr. Pinkerton said. His voice was steely. “You’re coming with me.”

“But the conductor told me to stay here,” Beth said.

“That doesn’t matter,” Mr. Pinkerton said. “Because you’re under arrest!”