Colorado Sam Read Online Free Page B

Lacey, asked in return, “What do you mean, who’s Heft Thomas? He’s the foreman of the Tanner Ranch, has been for years.”
    Â Â  Nathan studied Lacey. “You said this Heft Thomas is to meet me at Placer Tank. How do you know that?” 
    Â Â  The conductor’s ruddy face darkened. “I told him,” Rueben Bean admitted. “I told Jake and Lacey who you are as well as who you’re meeting so they wouldn’t report me to the division super. The Denver and Rio Grande shows no mercy to employees that allow passengers aboard their freight trains.” 
    Nathan wriggled the barrel of the six-gun and asked the conductor, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 
    Â Â  “Heft told me you wasn’t to know. He wired me at Pueblo,” Rueben Bean said. ”He knew which Southern Pacific train from Denver you’d be riding. He asked me to meet you and sneak you aboard the 420. You were to believe that someone named Ira Westfall had ordered us to take you through to Alamosa. We’re really to hand you over to Heft at Placer Tank.”
    Â Â  Nathan relaxed a little, but made no move to lower the six-gun. “Where’s Placer Tank?” 
    Â Â  Rueben Bean checked his pocket watch. “It’s dead ahead and we should be there in less than three minutes. I was coming to wake you when you slipped off the bench.”
    Â Â  The timeliness of the conductor’s calculation was apparent immediately. The caboose shuddered as the two giant Mogul engines pulling the freight began braking for the watering stop at Placer Tank. Rueben Bean smiled at Nathan. “We mean you no harm, Mr. Tanner, and if you don’t mind, we must see after our duties.”
    Â Â  At Nathan’s “fine by me” the trainmen were on the move. Conductor Bean and Lacey snatched up lanterns and left by the rear door while Jake scampered up into the cupola. 
    Â Â  Nathan settled back on the bench. He laid the six-gun in his lap and wiped his sweaty palm on a pants leg. He’d never pointed a gun at anyone before. He suspected that he’d wrung information from the rough-and-tumble trainmen not because they feared him, but because they were afraid he might accidentally shoot one of them if they spooked him or misspoke in any way. If any of the trainmen had taken offense, he hoped he didn’t meet up with them again unless he had the upper hand. A pointed gun might get results, but it sure wasn’t going to make a bosom friend of anybody. 
    Â Â  The 420 slowed to a crawl. By the clock above Rueben Bean’s desk, it was almost midnight. Nathan slid the six-gun into his carpetbag and donned his jacket and cap. He tried not to think about the dog nightmare, but that was impossible. He knew he would never forget falling from the bench in front of the train crew. The next best thing to forgetting such an embarrassment was to get away from the scene, and that, thank the Lord, was about to happen.            
    Â Â  The 420 came to a full stop. Lacey and Conductor Bean dropped to the ground and went forward toward the watering tower up by the engine. Without so much as a glance at Nathan, Jake climbed down from the cupola, fisted a lantern, and stepped out onto the rear platform. Nathan gave Jake a head start, then grabbed his carpetbag and followed the brakeman outside. 
    Â Â  The raw chill of the night made him shiver. The air of the San Luis Valley at 7,500 feet on a late September night was a far cry from the stifling heat of the St. Louis waterfront. If he were in for a ride of any distance by wagon or on horseback, it promised to be a finger-numbing journey. 
    Â Â  Unsure exactly where he was to meet Heft Thomas, Nathan held firm at the rear of the caboose. He looked along each side of the train, but saw neither riding horses nor a wagon. He began to worry. The watering of the engine would