The way this thing looked to be working out so far, the thief or thieves were short on manpower. One man, or anyway, no more than a few. More than that would not be able to keep the plan secret in a small, enclosed community like Thunderbird Canyon. The more people you have to trust to keep any secret, the less likely that secret will be kept. So he had to believe that the spurious White Hood Gang of Thunderbird Canyon was at most a handful of men.
Yet it would take time for a few men to move that much gold into hiding. They certainly had not had such an amount of time available to them after the explosion and virtual collapse of the bank.
Besides, the shattering force of the explosion dropped tons and tons of rubble onto the vault. The empty vault. If the explosion had been for the purpose of opening the vault, as Longarm and everyone else had been assuming right along, not stopping to think as Longarm was now, it would not have been possible for the thieves to reach the vault under all that stone and timber.
The gold had to have been stolen before the explosion.
Why in the hell hadnt he seen that earlier, Longarm moaned silently to himself.
The answer to that one was simple enough, of course. It was because he and everybody else was being led around by the nose in this thing, with the thief or thieves doing the leading.
The bank and vault were blown up and the vault was emptied, and therefore the explosion was to open the vault. Thats what it looked like on the surface, anyway. And never once had anybody gotten around to questioning that obvious but erroneous fact.
Well, Longarm was damn sure questioning it now.
That money was stolen before the explosion. Therefore the explosion itself was a ruse. A way of throwing the law off the scent.
Why, then, the deaths of five or six or seven good men?
Obviously, Longarm realized, those men were killed in cold, deliberate blood to keep anyone from discovering the identity of the thieves.
Had the guards all been held under gunpoint while the heavy gold was transferred out of the bank, then placed near the vault and deliberately murdered with a heavy charge of dynamite?
That seemed entirely possible.
The men had to be destroyed to protect their murderer, just as Donald James Potter was destroyed.
Why with dynamite, though, damnit?
Why with all that noise and destruction?
Potter was knifed.
The murderer tried to kill Longarm with a rifle.
So why were the men guarding the bank killed in such a way that the attention of the entire town was immediately and dramatically drawn to the scene of the crime?
That, damnit, made no sense. Not on the surface of things, anyway.
The guards could have been tied and gagged and conveniently murdered by stabbing or strangulation so that the killers would have had hours to get away from the scene.
That made much more sense than the roaring devastation of a massive explosion powerful enough to rip a whole building apart.
Was any of those men, those bodies, tied up, Mr. Simmonds? Did you find any ropes on their hands or anything like that?
Whatre you, some kinda fuckin crazy? Simmonds took another long swallow of the whiskey, although he looked like it was not giving him anything close to the mind-numbing relief he wanted.
Longarm decided to take the answer as a no. Simmonds or somebody would surely have brought it to his attention if that had been the case, anyway.
Thanks, Longarm said. Youve been more help than you know.
Simmonds grunted and reached for his bottle. There was friends o mine in there, mister. Friends o mine. An I hadta pick em up in pieces. The burly mine foreman started to cry over his whiskey. I reached for a hand, mister, an thats all there was there. Just the hand. An I dont even know whose it was.
Longarm left Simmonds to his misery.
Chapter Forty
It was getting on toward late afternoon by the time Longarm got down the mountain to the town again, and the damned train was making steam. He went charging down to the depot ready to have someones ass, but the trainmaster quickly explained.
Im not going anywhere, Marshal. Really. Just having my engineer run a check on the boiler while we got the down time. The man contrived to look and sound as innocent as a newborn. Honest. We dont even have the cars filled. Look for yourself.
Longarm did and grunted an acknowledgment that the man was telling him the truth. All right then, but see that you dont turn a wheel until I give you the go-ahead.
I wont. The trainmaster pulled a plug from his pocket, offered it to Longarm, and bit off a chew for himself. While youre handy, though, Marshal, would you mind telling me if this is gonna take much longer?
I dont think so, Longarm said. Maybe you can make your regular run tomorrow morning.
The man looked relieved. Thats good news, Marshal. We stay down much longer and Im afraid the line will start dockin our pay. He grinned. Deep as Im in debt already, I couldnt afford that.
Did I hear you say the train can run again tomorrow?
Longarm turned. The telegraph operator had come up behind them and asked the question.
Its only a possibility. I dont want you putting that on the wire, though. It all depends.
The telegrapher looked disappointed.
While Im here, Longarm said, Id like my answer from Marshal Vail.
What answer?
To that message I sent him
when was it
yesterday?
Oh. The telegrapher shrugged. Hasnt been no answer for you yet, Marshal. When it comes in, you want me to have it sent to the hotel or have somebody look for you personal?
Longarm frowned, then relaxed. Just have it sent to the hotel. That will be fine.
Soon as it comes in, the operator said.
Longarm turned as if to leave, then stopped and said, Theres something Id like you to do for me. Its important.
The telegraphers lips twitched, hovering between a frown and an uncertain smile. Whats that?
I want you to find Deputy Charlie Frye and bring him here.
Me, Marshal?
Longarms expression hardened. In a voice of stern command he snapped, Yes, you, damnit.
Im supposed to be on duty, Marshal, right by my key, and
Now! Longarm ordered.
The telegrapher took a half step backward, then nodded and turned to hurry off toward the town.
Kind of hard on him, werent you? the trainmaster observed. He rolled his cud from one cheek to the other and spat, expertly splattering a small spider that was climbing from the roadbed onto the platform.
Maybe, Longarm conceded. Easily ordered around, is he?
Who, Carter? I suppose so. Never thought about it before, but I guess you could say that.
Yeah, well
Longarm left the trainmaster and crossed the platform to the empty office. The telegraphers key sat idle and quiet on the counter beside his desk.
Longarm glanced out the window to make sure the operator was not yet returning, then sat before the mans key.
U.S. Marshal Billy Vail had never taken this long to respond to one of his deputiess requests for assistance before. And Longarm did not believe Billy had gotten suddenly lazy now.
Longarm flexed his fingers for a moment, then bent to the telegraph key, tapping out a quick dot-and-dash series of letters.
A minute or so later he tried it again.
There was no response from the other end of the wire.
Longarm smiled grimly to himself, left the desk and began to poke around the railroad office.
When the telegrapher returned with Charlie Frye in tow, Longarm was relaxing in a swivel chair with cheroot cocked at a jaunty angle in his jaw.