On the way out Melvis's hard-bitten attitude softened as he asked Chiun, "You really ride steam locomotives in your youth?"
"From Kaesong to the railhead at Sinanju. And back. Many times."
"Man, I was born eighty years too late. I hanker for the clean smell of steam and coal smoke."
"Steam is heavenly, I agree."
Remo looked at them both as if they were crazy.
WHEN THEY RETURNED to the rental car, Remo took the wheel and waited for Chiun to close the passenger door.
"What's this about steam?"
"It is my cover," Chiun said airily. "I am conversant with trains."
"Just let me do the conversing, okay?"
"We will speak of this later."
"For crying out loud, we have a fifty-mile drive ahead of us."
"You drive. I will think."
"Suit yourself," said Remo, waiting until Melvis pulled out of his parking slot. Then he fell in behind him.
On the way out of town they drove past the freight yards. A derailment team was putting a boxcar back on the rails with a pair of Caterpillar tractors.
Chiun craned his neck to see the operation.
"What are you watching?"
"It is very interesting to see how they do it in this day and age."
"Huh?"
"When I was a youth, oxen were employed."
"They really had trains in Korea way back then?"
"Yes. In Pyongyang they were called ki-cha, which means 'steam cars.' We called them cheol-ma."
Remo blinked as he searched his mind for the English translation.
"Iron horse?"
"Yes. We called them iron horses."
"Funny. That's what the Indians used to call them in the days of the transcontinental railroad."
"Why should that surprise you, Remo? My ancestors settled this land."
"Let's not get carried away. Just because one of your ancestors came across the Bering Strait and pitched a tent doesn't mean every Hakawi and Poohawk is Korean."
"I have been reading of late. Your historians claim that America was settled by Koreans."
"Tell that to Leif Eriksson. Or Columbus, for that matter."
"It is true. This was a barren land until Koreans came. We conquered the wilderness to live in harmony with the land. Until the evil white man came, despoiling all."
"You been watching that Kevin Costner series again?"
"He actually wept when describing the horrors whites inflicted upon my ancestors' noble Cheyenne cousins."
"He could use an egoectomy," Remo grumbled.
"I am thinking of petitioning Emperor Smith for the return of my ancestors' stolen lands."
"Never happen."
"Oh, I do not want it all, Remo. Just all the land west of the Kutsen River."
"Where?" asked Remo, recalling kutsen was Korean for "muddy."
"You occupiers call it the Mississippi," Chiun sniffed.
"Save us all a world of grief. Don't even bring it up."
"Only the land closest to Korea is of interest to me, Remo. I do not think my ancestors traveled very far west, I do not recognize the eyes of the Powatans or the Mohawks. I suspect them of being Mongol vagabonds."
"Pocahontas was a Mongol? Is that what you're saying?"
"I defy you to find a trace of Koreanness in that tart's face," sniffed Chiun.
They followed Melvis's car through piney scrub hills. Oil-derrick farms bristled here and there. Finally they turned off onto a dirt road that ran alongside a rail bed. A freight train barreled by, and the Master of Sinanju's eyes went to it. A faint smile came to his thin lips.
"What are you looking at?" Remo asked.
Chiun sighed. "There is something about a train."
"You weren't kidding him back there?"
"I admit it. I am a buff."
"I admit it. I couldn't care less about trains. They're slow, noisy and they take too long. And I'm surprised you don't share that opinion."
"Barbarian. You have never known the sublime joys of steam."
"Cross my heart and hope to avoid it, too. I thought the only steam you cared about fluffed your rice."
"Have I never told you of my first train ride, Remo?"
"Yeah. No need to plow old ground. We have a busy day ahead of us"
"No, I insist."
"Look, you told it to me. I know it by heart. Give it a rest."
"Excellent," said Chiun, beaming. "Now, you tell it to me."
"Why do you want to hear your own story back?"
"Because I would like to savor the memory without the distraction of having to recount the details."
Remo said, "Tell me why that engineer wasn't decapitated and I'll tell you your story back."
"I will think about it," Chiun said vaguely.
And Remo smiled thinly. He had gotten out of a tough one. He couldn't remember Chiun's railroad story to save his life.
THE CROSSING at Big Sandy bore few signs that an accident had occurred. Fresh gravel lay in the rail bed, mixed in with older, rain-discolored ballast. The rails gleamed unbroken.
Melvis Cupper stood at trackside as he explained things. "SP hauler hit the sport vehicle along this stretch. Broke it apart and carried it three miles east, throwin' off sparks and hot steel."
"What happened to the driver?" Remo wondered aloud.
"No one knows."
"Anybody run the plate?"
"Never found a dang plate."
"Isn't that kinda strange?"
"Like I said, metal was Hang off for three miles. It's probably in the bluebonnets somewhere."
Remo looked at the tracks. They were sunk flush with the ground. Wooden sections lay on both sides of the track for the convenience of crossing vehicles.
"Rail's not very high."
"Yeah. That's so the cars can mosey across."
"Looks to me like you'd have to have four flats to stall out on this spot."
"Maybe he run out of gas."
Remo looked at Melvis Cupper. "You're full of easy answers."
"After this I gotta head east to look into that Amtrak spillover. I got my hands full. This was a common freight derailment. One dead hogger. No frontpage headlines. Gotta file it, forget it and move on. Way things are pickin' up, there's more comin'."
Remo noticed the Master of Sinanju lying down beside the rails. He placed one fragile ear to the rail, closing his eyes.
"Is he doing what I think he's doing?" Remo asked Melvis.
"Does my heart proud to see a foreigner who comprehends high iron. Way the Asiatics are floodin' in, you'd think the old ways are not long for this sorry world."
Remo said nothing.
Having satisfied himself that no train was coming, Chiun stood up and began walking the track.
"I guess we walk," said Remo.
They walked. The hot Texas sun beat down, and Melvis Cupper adjusted his Stetson, saying, "You boys really ought to get yourselves hatted up Texas style. Do you a world of good."
"Pass," said Remo,
"What about you, old fella?"
"I have known many summers. I do not fear the sun." His eyes were fixed on the ties.
"Suit yourself. But sunstroke ain't nothin' to wish away."
When they came to the section of track where the wood ties were scorched from the sport-vehicle gas tank going up, Chiun abruptly left the rail bed.
"Where we goin' now?" Melvis asked Remo.
"Where he goes."
"That don't answer my interrogative, as we say in east Texas."
"Learn to go with the flow," suggested Remo.
Chiun came to a flurry of footprints. He stooped, examining these. Remo watched him.
Melvis spoke up. "Those tracks won't tell you a damn thing. That's where we all stood the other day, pokin' about."
Chiun stood up.
"Where are the tracks of the escaping driver?" he asked.
"Search me. Figure he hightailed it for Mexico by now."
"Has it rained of late?" asked Chiun.
"Naw. Dry as a bleached cow skull."
"There should be tracks of the fleeing one."
"Well, if you can find 'em, you're more than welcome to 'em."