The Hanging of Samuel Ash Read Online Free Page A

tramp, and he’d be right back where he started.
    When the short haul’s whistle lifted in the distance, he turned up track to wave it down. Two-way radios had been installed in most of the equipment by the end of the war, and with luck, the engineer might be able to call in and save him a trip back to Carlsbad.
    When the engine’s glimmer broke, the wigwag, freed of its encumbrance, fired up behind him, its lights swinging and its bell clanging.
    Hook swung his flashlight in a stop signal, and the short haul set her air. The ground trembled under Hook’s feet, and the heat from the engine warmed him as the engineer eased her up next to him. He leaned out of the cab window and pushed his hat back.
    â€œWhat the hell is going on?” he asked.
    â€œI’m rail security out of Clovis,” Hook said. “A man’s been hung off the wigwag. Could you radio the Carlsbad operator and have him send out the state police?”
    â€œHold on.” When he poked his head back out he said, “The fireman’s putting in a call.”
    â€œAppreciate it,” Hook said.
    â€œKnow how it happened?” he asked.
    Hook shook his head. “Not yet.”
    â€œSome folks need hanging,” he said. “Like this fireman I got in here.”
    â€œHanging a fireman isn’t illegal,” Hook said. “Long as he doesn’t obstruct the wigwag signal.”
    â€œI’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “There are wildcats popping up here and there, you know. Maybe they hung a scab?”
    â€œThink you could tell them to send out a meat wagon, too?” Hook asked.
    â€œHang on,” he said.
    Hook listened to the thump of the diesel engine as he waited.
    The engineer leaned out over his elbow. “They’re sending a trooper out and an ambulance. Anything else?”
    â€œNo. Thanks,” Hook said.
    The engineer nodded and brought up the engine. The rumble filled the night as he bumped out the slack and eased off down track. Hook waited until the end light disappeared before going back to the crossing.
    He sat down on the bumper of the road-rail. Moonlight cast onto the body lying crumpled and silent in the road. Hook rubbed the tension from his neck and wondered what plans and hopes had also died on this night. He pulled his collar up against the evening cool.
    â€œThey’re on their way, my friend,” he said. “They’ll be here soon.”

 
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    T HE PATROL CAR, with the ambulance close behind, rolled down the road with its emergency light on.
    Hook stepped into the road and signaled with his flashlight. The adrenaline could run high in these situations, and he had no intention of being mistaken for a criminal.
    The officer opened the door and stood behind it. “Identify yourself,” he said, his voice tight.
    â€œHook Runyon. I’m the Santa Fe bull out of Clovis, the one who called in.”
    Closing his door, the trooper came forward, his hand resting on the grip of his weapon. His hat was squared, and gray stripes ran the length of both pant legs. The gold badge on the front of his uniform shined.
    â€œOfficer Payne,” he said. “Step into the headlights, please.”
    Hook moved forward and waited as Officer Payne looked him over.
    â€œYou only got one arm,” he said.
    Hook looked at his prosthesis. “Been wondering why it took so long to button my shirt.”
    â€œI’ll have some identification. You don’t look like no bull I ever saw.”
    Hook rolled his eyes. It had been two years since anyone asked to see his badge. Now that he didn’t have one, every son of a bitch between here and Pecos wanted a look.
    â€œMust have left it on my bedside table. You can call my supervisor if you got a problem.”
    â€œWell,” he said. “I guess you wouldn’t be driving no railroad vehicle otherwise. You might want to consider carrying it in the future. Someone might