"I know," she interrupted bitterly. "Maybe you don't even realize what she means to you. But I've seen it for some time, although I didn't want to admit it. Anyway," she lifted her shoulders, "my mind is made up. Please don't come to see me again."
Anger—or at least disappointment—should have touched Danner then, but he felt nothing. He dropped his hands from her shoulders, not knowing what to say. She moved away from him then, stopping at the corridor and looking back.
"I've decided to marry Billy, if and when he asks me. And I don't think that will be long once he learns I'm unattached, because he's loved me for a long time." When she saw that Danner wasn't going to reply, she turned and vanished down the long corridor.
How long he stood there staring along the vacant corridor Danner didn't know. He heard the morning westbound passenger train arrive and leave, then he opened the front door and started along the boardwalk toward the depot. Lona was right, he thought. She deserved more from marriage than she could get from him. Could she also be right about Melinda? Was that why Melinda filled his thoughts so often, and why he wanted to please her? He didn't think so, but it didn't really matter. He and Melinda came from different worlds, too, just as he and Lona did. And there was still the matter of the unexplained Spaulding robbery.
Danner mounted the steps to the depot platform and crossed it to the office. Nodding to the clerks, he rapped on Wainright's office door. A gruff voice told him to come in. He stopped just inside the door, staring at Old Man Corbin who stood in front of Wainright's desk. Corbin must have come in on the morning westbound. Now he puffed angrily on a long black cigar, devoid of his usual benevolent appearance.
"Good to see you, Mr. Danner," Corbin greeted him. Danner nodded and removed his hat. Wainright slumped in a chair behind his desk with a trace of sulkiness, absently fingering the sawed-off shotgun which lay on the desk top. Apparently, he had become quite fond of the vicious weapon. Hostility hung heavily in the air. It was obvious that Corbin and his nephew had been brawling just before Danner arrived, and just as obvious that the old man had come out on top. Even yet, anger stained the faces of both men.
"Finding that train was a good piece of work," Corbin said with some of his usual heartiness. "Congratulations."
Danner nodded his thanks.
Corbin replaced the cigar in his mouth and with hands clasped behind his back, he paced back and forth in silence. Then he stopped and removed the cigar.
"I want to offer you my apologies for the way my nephew has treated you," Corbin said. "I've decided to remove him as general manager here. If you'll return to your old job, I'm sure the next manager will treat you with more consideration."
Danner glanced at the set features of Wainright and compassion touched him briefly. Recent events had toughened Wainright in some ways, making him more of a man, and softened him in other ways, improving his disposition. Working with him wouldn't be so unpleasant now. Then Danner glanced at Corbin.
"You can't really blame Tom very much," Danner said.
"What's that?"
"Everyone around here thought I had a part in that Spaulding robbery. And this train robbery was a perfect frame for me. Torn took an understandable course of action, even if he was wrong."
"You would defend him, after all that has happened?" Corbin demanded incredulously.
"He's made mistakes," Danner admitted, "but they were natural mistakes that almost anyone would have made. He has shown pretty poor judgment of men, but he isn't likely to do so again. In fact, most any Easterner coming out here would most likely do the same thing. I think you stand a better chance with Tom than if you sent out a new man."
"I see." Corbin puffed on the cigar thoughtfully. "I want you back on the job here. Do you think the two of you could work together in harmony?"
"I think so," Danner said, "now."
Danner half expected bitterness from Wainright at having his job saved by one he had hated. And Danner didn't want gratitude. When he saw Wainright's face he knew he would get neither. Instead, he saw respect soften the premature lines and he knew he had been right. They'd get along now, having learned to respect each other. A gentle tapping on the door broke the stillness of the room.
"Come in," Corbin said.
The door opened and Melinda moved inside, clutching a set of saddlebags with both hands. The whiteness of her features and the stunned, sick look in her eyes brought immediate apprehension to Danner. Silently she walked up to him, holding out the saddlebags. He took them from her and waited for her to speak.
"How much money was stolen from the express-car during that Spaulding robbery?"
"About $30,000."
Dully, she nodded. "I thought that was the amount. That's how much is in these saddlebags."
Hastily Danner dumped the contents of the bags on the top of the desk. Among the packages of crisp new bills nestled a pistol—a LeFaucheaux pin-fire pistol. A prickling danced along his backbone as he grabbed the pistol. Looking around, he spotted a pillow on the divan across the room. Quickly he moved across the room and grabbed up the pillow, wrapping it around the gun clutched in his hand. Then he stepped over to the window. Pointing the gun skyward, he pulled the trigger. A muffled sound came from the gun; the acrid sting of gunpowder made his nose twitch. Tossing the pillow aside, he withdrew the empty shell. The pin entered the shell case at about a sixty-degree angle. Wainright hurried over from his desk.
"Is it the gun which killed the Dooleys?"
Danner nodded, fixing his gaze on Melinda. A dumb misery clouded her vision and she seemed on the verge of collapse. Then she called on some hidden inner strength and regained control of herself, gesturing toward the saddlebags.
"I believe you'll find some old bloodstains on one side," she said.
Danner picked up the pouches and looked closely at some dark splotches.
Melinda put out a hand to the edge of the desk to steady herself. "I found the saddlebags this morning in the feed bin of our stable—just about four feet from where we found my father's body." She hesitated, fighting against a breakdown now. "I guess my father hid them there just before he died."
The breath left Danner as if he had been kicked in the stomach. A roaring beat against his ears and a sickness grew within him. He shook his head in protest, but he knew she was right. At last he had a full picture of what had happened, going all the way back to the Colonel's desperate need for money to fight off bankruptcy. The Colonel had been one of the few men who knew of the payroll shipment. And it had taken a thorough knowledge of the railroad to stage the robbery so smoothly.
Danner turned to the open window, placing both forearms against the sill and lowering his head in silent agony. He tried to blank out his tortured mind—but he could see the Colonel planning the robbery with the five Dooleys, taking care to lure Danner out of the way with the minor warehouse robbery the night before. He could see the Colonel waiting for the Dooleys after the robbery, taking the money and killing the brothers—but not before Ike Dooley squeezed off the shot that had later killed the Colonel. Danner closed his eyes tighter. Still he could see the Colonel with a bullet in his chest, leaving the empty pin-fire shells behind to point an accusing finger at Tuso. The Colonel must have known he was dying, but he didn't want the world to know he was a thief and a killer.
A tugging at his sleeve brought Danner back to reality. Melinda looked up into his eyes, sharing his misery, her own face wet with tears.
"Everyone respected the Colonel," she cried. "But you—and I—we loved him. How—"
She fell against him and he wrapped both arms around her, clutching her tightly. A blackness descended on him, erasing all conscious thought.