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FROM THE ALAMOSA'S rear platform, I watched as the brakeman checked the brakes, and the fireman went about the business of taking on water before beginning the descent down the four percent grade from Cumbres. I had learned a bit about the route while talking to the conductor and brakeman on the ride from Sublette to Cumbres. It was evident the crew was proud of their train and the railroad that operated it.
It was explained to me by the brakeman that, like all narrow gauge mountain railroads, the civil engineer who laid out the San Juan Extension traded distance and curves for gentler grades. This explained the series of curves in boxlike canyons that kept grades to a minimum as the track wound back and forth. More curves were utilized to minimize the amount of earthwork required in construction. All of which, when combined with a track gauge of a mere three feet instead of the standard gauge of four feet eight and a half inches made for slow speeds.
Having established to my satisfaction, Mueller had been murdered and not died as a result of misadventure, my next priority was to attempt to arrive at the motive behind his murder. An employee for the War Department and a physicist suggested my victim was engaged in some type of research that was important for the war effort.
This was pure speculation on my part, of course. Mueller could have been a paper-pusher, just another bureaucrat in a vast army of bureaucrats. There could have been a woman involved though the lack of a picture of a woman or any love notes made that possibility highly unlikely. Given that the same crews worked the passenger train regularly, it would have been almost impossible for them not to get to know Muller if he was traveling to carry on a clandestine affair.
I crossed having an extra-marital affair off the list of possibilities and focused my thoughts around Mueller's job. He'd traveled across the country from Tennessee to Colorado, on the government's dime. Nowhere in his wallet and the receipts it contained or the report Callahan had rushed me through detailed the nature of his work for the War Department.
“Agent Paine?”
My train of thought broken, I looked up to see the conductor looking at me hopefully. Our train started with an uncharacteristic lurch forward which the conductor failed to notice.
“Mr. Johnson here is a regular passenger on the San Juan. He’d like to talk to you if you don’t mind.”
Standing behind the conductor was what could only be described as a character. The man appeared to be in his early sixties, with a face tanned like leather and deep crow’s feet around his eyes. His head was adorned with a cowboy hat that had seen better times. The leathery skin of his neck disappeared into a plaid shirt tucked into denim pants held up by a brown leather belt and a large brass buckle. To complete the costume, the man’s feet were ensconced in a pair of black cowboy boots that, like his hat, had seen better days.
"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," the man informed me, nodding to Andrew, the conductor. "But, I couldn't help but overhear you talking to the crew about this Mueller fellow."
I was relieved to have finally come across someone who'd met Mueller while he still lived and breathed. I gave a quick nod to the conductor, relieving him of having to wait to see how the introduction played out.
"Let me introduce myself," I said, standing up hurriedly from my seat's plush comfort. "Special Agent Nelson Paine." I extended my hand to Johnson, who took it and nearly crushed my hand with his powerful grip. Age certainly had no effect on his fitness.
“I’d call you a G-man, except I know you fellows in the Bureau don’t like that moniker,” Johnson laughed. “Andrew Johnson is my name, just like that unfortunate fellow who was president and got himself impeached for no good reason. Folks just call me Johnson.”
We both took a seat and sized one another up quickly. I fired the first salvo and asked the obvious question. “How did you know Johann Mueller?”
“Ran across the fellow on the train down from Denver. It’s not often I get to talk shop with another scientist, I’m a geologist by trade,” Johnson explained. “If I start talking about rocks, sedimentary layers, this formation or that formation and the practical use of a given mineral, people’s eyes just glaze over.”
"I understand," I replied, chuckling. "Most people don't realize how much investigative work is boring and involves mind numbing repetition. They just want to hear about the gangsters' shootout, which, fortunately, I haven't had to any of."
"Mueller was an interesting fellow," Johnson volunteered. "Had it tough growing up, but that's a common enough life experience. Managed to get an education, seems he was a natural at advanced math and that sort of thing and was trying to make a life for himself. Along came Adolf and his ilk, and our people reached out to him. From what he said, it wasn't much of a decision to immigrate."
“Did Mueller give any indication he thought he was being followed or was in danger in any way?”
“Naw,” Johnson replied, shaking his head. “I got the feeling the fellow was naturally skittish. If you’d heard his stories about getting picked on growing up, him being a small fellow and all, bookish too, you’d see why he might act that way. No, I didn’t get the feeling he felt threatened by someone in particular, just that he was skittish as a rule.”
Johnson paused to look out the window at the trees as the train passed through the countryside. “This is the tricky part of the trip, the four percent grade downhill. If the engineer lets the train runaway,” he chuckled grimly, “we’re likely to have a wreck before we reach Chama.”
I must have made a face as Johnson brushed his comment off like it was nothing, a mere joke he’d made in passing and nothing more. “We’ll cross some pretty good sized canyons, the last of which will be at Lobato. Pretty scenery but not as interesting as some of the rock formations we’ll pass through.”
"No, I think Mueller was looking for something. He was very interested in the different minerals and their uses in this part of the state. He was headed to Rico, or Ridgeway, I'm not sure which. You'll have to travel on one of those infernal contraptions they call a motor on the Rio Grande Southern to get there. Those things scare me, always overheating, and I wouldn't trust those brakes if my life depended on them. And of course, when your riding in the thing, that's exactly the case. If you have to travel on the RGS, try to take the mixed train if you can. Just don’t expect to arrive on time no matter how you travel.”
"Did Mueller mention why he was headed to that part of Colorado?"
"No, but I can guess," Johnson replied with a smile. "Mueller, being a physicist, I'm sure he was interested in radium and what is called yellowcake. Things they mine up in that part of the San Juans, and some of it is shipped out on the RGS and the Rio Grande."
“I’ve never heard of either,” I replied. “What use is there for that sort of thing?”
Johnson pointed at my wristwatch. "Radium is what they use to make the markings on your watch glow enough for you to tell the time when it's dark. Yellowcake? That I couldn't tell you, but it's got some similar properties seeing as it contains the element uranium."
“AND YOU THINK MUELLER knew what use might be made of these minerals?”
"I'm certain of it. Mueller didn't come right out and say it, but it was obvious he was an expert on the different properties of those minerals. Mueller let slip he worked for the War Department, so I figured it was something to do with superweapons or some such. You know, the things you might read about in a good science fiction tale, ray guns or some such thing."
“Interesting. I had no idea,” I informed Johnson. “Any idea why he was traveling here from Tennessee?”
“He didn’t say, but I can guess,” the geologist replied. “To be specific, Mueller was coming from Oak Ridge, Tennessee.”
“That doesn’t mean a thing to me,” I informed Johnson.
“I’m not surprised. It’s one of those hush, hush places the government runs.” Johnson winked at me. “You being a G-man, I think it’s safe to tell you this. I’ve been there. Mueller being a physicist, he would have been right at home there.”
Johnson stood up, offering his hand a second time. “When you get to be my age, you need a nap now and then. It was nice meeting you, Special Agent Paine. I hope I was of some help in your investigation.”
Prepared for the bone crushing handshake, I gave a better show for myself on the second round, thanked Johnson, and settled back into my seat. I needed time to consider what I had learned about the mysterious Johann Mueller.
