Breakheart Pass Read Online Free Page B

hands tied behind his back and put him on an eighteen-inch hobble. Our friend here seems to have the habit of disappearing into thin air.'
    'Who do you think you are? God almighty?' There was a trace, slight though the combination was, of self-righteous anger and quavering defiance in Deakin's voice. 'You can't do this to me. You're not a lawman. You're only a soldier.'
    'Only a soldier. Why, you–' Claremont held himself in check then said with some satisfaction: 'A twelve-inch hobble. Sergeant Bellew.'
    'That will be a pleasure, sir.' It was obviously an even greater pleasure for Sergeant Bellew to have his and his Colonel's displeasure directed against a common antagonist, however innocuous that antagonist might seem, rather than have the Colonel's wrath directed against him personally. Bellew withdrew a whistle from his tunic, took a deep breath and blew three ear-piercing blasts in rapid succession. Claremont winced, made a gesture that the others should follow him and led the way down towards the depot. After about a hundred yards, Claremont, O'Brien by his side, stopped and looked back. There was issuing forth from the doors of the Imperial what must have been an unprecedented exodus in the annals of Reese City. The motley crew could hardly have been classified under the heading of the halt and the lame and the blind, but they came pretty close to qualifying for it.
    Due to the fact that the dilution of their whisky with water would have brought immediate and permanent ostracism to any of the Imperial's devoted clientele, at least half of those who emerged had the rolling, weaving gait of a windjammer sailor who had spent too long at sea. Two of them limped badly and one, no soberer than the rest, was making remarkably good time on a pair of crutches; he at least had the support that the others lacked. Pearce joined them and issued what appeared to be a series of rapid instructions. O'Brien watched the grey-bearded band disperse in a variety of directions and slowly shook his head from side to side.
    He said: 'If they were on a treasure hunt for a buried bottle of bourbon, I'd have my money on them any day. As it is–'
    'I know, I know,' Claremont turned dispiritedly and resumed the trek to the depot. Smoke and steam were issuing profusely and Banlon, clearly, had a full head of steam up. The engineer looked out.
    'Any signs, sir?'
    'I'm afraid not, Banlon.'
    Banlon hesitated. 'Still want me to keep a full head of steam up, Colonel?'
    'And why not?'
    'You mean – we're going to pull out with or without the Captain and the Lieutenant?'
    'That's precisely what I mean. Fifteen minutes, Banlon. Just fifteen minutes.'
    'But Captain Oakland and Lieutenant Newell–'
    'They'll just have to catch the next train, won't they?'
    'But, sir, that might be days–'
    'At the moment, I'm hardly in the mood to worry over the welfare of the Captain and the Lieutenant.' He turned to the others and gestured towards the steps leading up to the front of the first coach. 'It's cold and it's going to be a damned sight colder. Governor, with your permission, I'd like Major O'Brien stay with me a little. Just until this fellow Deakin is brought along. Nothing against my own men, mind you, none better, but I don't trust them to cope with a slippery customer like Deakin. But I think the Major can cope admirably – and without exerting himself unduly. Just till Pearce gets back.'
    O'Brien smiled and said nothing. Governor Fairchild nodded his agreement, then hastily mounted the steps. Even in the past fifteen minutes the late afternoon had become noticeably colder.
    Claremont nodded briefly to O'Brien, then slowly began to walk the length of the train, from time to time slapping his very English swaggerstick – his sole concession to individuality or eccentricity, it all depended upon how one viewed it – against his leather riding boots. Colonel Claremont knew next to nothing about trains but he had been born with an