CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 3 
The moving train drowned out the rest of the policeman’s words. A few minutes later he was only a tiny dot far down the tracks. In another minute the dot disappeared.
“What did he say?” Peter asked as Libby followed Caleb into the railroad car.
Libby hated to tell him, but Caleb tried. He didn’t bother taking out the slate. Instead he finger spelled the letter D in the sign Peter had taught them to use for Dexter’s name.
“Dexter broke out of jail,” Peter said. It wasn’t a question. He knew. “When did he escape?”
This time Caleb used the slate. “Sometime during the night. When the policeman brought Dexter breakfast, he was gone.”
“So he had already escaped when we were there.” It wasn’t hard for Peter to figure out the next step. “The policeman ran to the depot, hoping to catch the train before it took off. He wanted to catch Dexter before he left town.”
As if forcing himself to be brave, Peter lifted his head. “Dexter might have gotten on this train before we got here. If he did, I’m going to find out right this minute!”
Taking the lead, Peter started through the first railroad car. Libby and Caleb followed close behind. Toward the back of the second car, two seats faced each other. There a group of men huddled together, blocking the aisle for anyone who wanted to walk through. Peter led Libby and Caleb far enough to see what was going on, then stopped.
At the center of the group was a man whose gaze darted from one person to the next. His dark hair was parted almost in the middle and slicked down against his head. His mustache spread wide, curling up at both ends. With long slender fingers he held up one piece of jewelry after another, then spread them out on the seat turned to face him.
Just then a man put down a dollar bill and threw dice across a wooden board. When they rolled to a stop, everyone leaned forward. A cheer went up.
Making sure that all of them could see, the man with the mustache held a piece of jewelry high. When he handed it to the man who rolled the dice, another cheer went up.
Suddenly three men grabbed for the dice. After a brief scuffle, one of them held out his closed fist. Around him, other men threw down money. Gathering it quickly, the man with the mustache made change from a roll of bills.
Libby studied the man collecting the money. In spite of his expensive clothing and his businesslike manner, his face looked hard. As Libby watched, he glanced over his shoulder, as if making sure who was behind him.
Peter waited only a moment longer, then whirled around. Without looking back to see if Libby and Caleb followed, he stalked off. Going from one car to the next, Peter walked as far forward as he could go to get away from the men. There, where two seats faced each other, Peter dropped down.
His eyes flashed with anger. “Did you see him?” he demanded as Libby and Caleb took the seat opposite him. “Did you see Dexter next to the gambler?”
Palms up, Libby shrugged her shoulders to ask, “Where?” She had been so busy watching the man leading the gambling that she hadn’t seen Dexter.
“Next to the man who rolled the dice,” Peter said. “His back was to us, but I would know him anywhere, even from the back.”
So would I, Libby thought. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. About five feet ten inches tall. Usually wears a hat, suit, white shirt, and tie. But somehow I missed him.
Once, Peter had told her that Dexter didn’t know how to dress. Though he wore expensive clothes, his suit jacket didn’t fit, and his tie often slipped out of place.
“You’re sure it was Dexter?” Caleb asked Peter on the slate. When he nodded, Caleb wrote again. “Let’s talk to the conductor.”
Caleb jumped up and brought the conductor to where they were sitting. “My friend wants to tell you something.” Caleb motioned for Peter to go ahead.
Without wasting a moment Peter started in. “You have a man on the train who escaped from jail last night. The Springfield police arrested him early Sunday morning for stealing money from two different people. He’s sitting with that bunch of men who are gambling.”
The conductor drew back. “How do you know?”
Seeming to read the conductor’s lips, Peter answered, “I helped the policeman arrest him.” Peter looked toward Libby. “She helped too.”
The conductor peered down over his spectacles. “A young snip like you? And this girl helped, you said?” That seemed to make it even worse.
This time Peter looked puzzled, as though he couldn’t guess what the conductor had said.
“Please,” Caleb said, offering the slate. “Peter is deaf. Please write what you want to say.”
Instead, the conductor stared first at Peter, then at Caleb. “You expect me to believe your story?”
“Yes, we do expect you to believe us,” Caleb answered. “Peter is not making up a story. He’s telling the truth.”
The conductor snorted. “You’re just youngsters! How do I know you’re not trying to make a fool of me? What happens if I accuse a law-abiding man of something he didn’t do?”
“Law-abiding?” This time it was Caleb who scoffed. “The man you want is sitting in the midst of a bunch of gamblers. Those men are playing for high stakes—a dollar a throw. A man can work a long time to earn the money he’s taking from them.”
“You want to get me in trouble?” The conductor shook his head. “You’re not going to trick me into making a fool of myself. Say all you like, but I find it hard to believe that an escaped jailbird is on this train.”
“Those men are blocking the aisle.” Caleb was angry now. “They aren’t even letting the passengers walk through the car. They’re a nuisance to the women and children on board. They shouldn’t be allowed on this train!”
“And I am the conductor, young man! I am running these cars and taking care of passengers. Perhaps the three of you are the ones who should be thrown off this train.”
The conductor stomped off, then looked back. “Young whippersnappers! I’m not going to fall for a trick like yours!”
When the conductor left them, the railroad car seemed strangely silent. Feeling both scared and discouraged, Libby stared out the window. The train was passing through prairie that stretched for miles around them. Wherever there had been enough water, prairie grass as tall as Libby waved in the wind. Between the long stems grew blue and white flowers with now and then a scattering of red. Even now, in the morning, heat seemed to rise from the ground in waves.
Looking at the flowers, Libby breathed deep and tried to put away her anger at the conductor’s refusal to help. Only then did she remember Allan Pinkerton. Besides being an excellent detective hired by railroad companies to protect passengers from crime, Mr. Pinkerton played an active part in the Underground Railroad. Reaching into a pocket of her dress, Libby pulled out his letter. Quickly she read the short note, then showed it to Caleb and Peter:
I need to go on, but if you travel through the Junction I can help you. Before I was a detective I was a cooper—a barrel maker. In the neigboring city of Bloomington, I have a friend named Ryan O’Malley who has the tools I need. I’ll stop there and make a barrel big enough for your largest freight. Ryan also has barrels for smaller freight. If you want extra barrels for the Christina, ask my friend for whatever you need.
Caleb’s pleased grin lit his blue eyes. “Barrels are just exactly what we need! I was wondering how to hide Jordan and his father. Mr. Pinkerton probably knew they needed to pass through the Junction. We’re even headed in the right direction!”
A moment later Caleb said, “We just have one more thing we need to figure out. We’ve got to do something to protect Peter. If Dexter sees him …” Pointing to Peter, Caleb gave Dexter’s sign name, then their secret sign for Danger!
But Peter straightened, sitting tall as if not wanting anyone to fight his battles for him. “I’ll make sure Dexter doesn’t see me. I’ve done that before.”
Again Caleb gave the sign for Dexter, then pointed to himself. Using a combination of signs and writing, Caleb explained. “I can recognize Dexter, but he doesn’t know me.”
With Libby it was different. “Dexter knows you,” Caleb said. “He knows you stopped him from getting what he wanted.”
“Caleb’s right, Libby,” Peter said. “You stopped Dexter twice—once with Jordan, once with me. He knows you, and he’ll never forget your red hair.”
Uneasy now, Libby pulled a long strand forward. The light through the window brought out the auburn color. As always, the deep red and gold and the length of her hair filled Libby with pride.
“It’s your red hair that’s the problem,” Caleb said.
Libby’s stomach tightened. She didn’t like the way this conversation was going. More than once she’d heard Caleb make plans to rescue someone. When Caleb planned something, he meant to see it through, and as far as Libby knew, he always did. Deep inside, Libby had a feeling that she didn’t want to know what Caleb was about to say.
Now he pointed at Peter. Then Caleb looked Libby straight in the eyes. When he was sure he had her attention, he began writing on the slate so that Peter would understand. “Something bothers me, Libby. Even if Peter manages to hide, you will give him away.”