"Any trouble with the Dooleys?"
"Nope." Brant shook his head. "They're peaceful as milk cows—too peaceful for them." Glumly, he dealt the first hand in his awkward fashion.
They played cards silently then, but Danner had trouble keeping his mind on the game. He scanned his hand, then picked up a seven of hearts and had a Little Casino with the nine of spades.
Billy grumbled about his poor hand, providing the only break in the silence. Restlessness worked at Danner and more than once he found himself on the point of quitting the game. He heard the afternoon westbound come and go, its whistle soon only a distant sound, forlorn yet comforting. Still, he couldn't shake off the uneasiness.
About mid-afternoon the tread of several persons sounded outside the door and Alec Browder lumbered into the office, his great bulk shaking the floor with each step. Just behind him came Wainright and the swaggering, dandified Tuso. Danner knew that this was to be the climax of the uneasiness that had been working on him all day.
A round of nods failed to ease the tension that hung in the air. Danner remained seated. He suspected what would come next, but he waited for Wainright to commit himself.
Wainright moved a little closer to Danner, for a moment unsure of himself. Browder waited silently in the background, squinting through his thick-lensed glasses. He shifted his weight continually from one leg to the other, much like an elephant Danner had seen once in a St. Louis circus.
The black-clad Tuso leaned his left shoulder against the doorframe, while his right hand hung free near the butt of his holstered gun—a Colts, not a pin-fire. His barrel chest filled the width of the doorway, but his head reached little more than two-thirds of the way to the top of the arch. Now a smug grin split his swarthy features, crowding his broad nose closer to his small eyes. Danner eased up out of his chair. His movement ended the silent waiting.
"I've been looking for you, Danner," Wainright snapped.
Danner shuttled a quick glance to Browder, then eyed Wainright again, waiting. All uncertainty had vanished from Wainright's countenance.
"I've decided not to press charges against the Dooley brothers."
A fleeting anger brushed Danner, despite the fact that he had been half-expecting the statement. Now he struggled to maintain his air of indifference. Apparently Wainright had expected an outburst and seemed startled by Danner's quiet waiting.
"This gentleman," Wainright nodded toward Browder, "who is our biggest shipper, assures me a mistake has been made."
"Yes," Danner nodded. "The Dooleys have made many mistakes, but this is the first time I've been able to prove it."
Wainright flushed. "That isn't what I had in mind."
"If you let the Dooleys get away with this, they'll continue to steal everything that isn't nailed down. This lacks a lot of being their first stealing offense—just the first one I could prove. And stealing those rifles was just a diversion to make it easier for their brothers—"
"I've heard about your theory on the Spaulding robbery," Wainright interrupted harshly. "And about the part you may have had in it. I'm just trying to prevent a miscarriage of justice."
"Justice?" Danner moved closer to Wainright, stung by the insinuation. "I caught them with a case of stolen rifles. I have two witnesses who saw them carry the crate from our freight warehouse just minutes before the theft was reported to me. They deliberately permitted themselves to be seen in order to draw me out of Richfield."
"Danner," Browder's voice came like a roll of thunder in the confines of the small office. "I saw the Dooleys buy those rifles from two men right here in Richfield. Your witnesses were mistaken in their identification."
"And just who were those two men?" Danner made no attempt to hide the sarcasm he felt.
"Strangers to me," Browder rumbled, smiling thinly and moving his great bulk around.
"Browder, you are a liar."
Wainright stepped in between them, his eyes flaming. "That'll be enough from you, Danner. Mr. Browder's word is sufficient for me. I'm assuming the Dooleys bought those rifles and had nothing to do with the Spaulding robbery."
"Then I guess we better change the charge to 'receiving stolen property,'" Danner shot back. "That's good for five years in prison." His mouth muscles flicked tightly.
Browder waddled forward a couple of steps, still smiling faintly, but the slitted eyes behind the heavy glasses held no mirth. "The Dooley boys meant no harm. It isn't as if they knew those rifles were stolen—"
"The receiver's name was painted on the side of the crate," Danner said gently now. "I'm sure the Dooleys can read, and I'm equally certain that I can produce that crate in court."
"That's enough of this bickering," Wainright interrupted. "My mind is made up." He turned to the sheriff. "Great Plains Central hereby withdraws its charges, and orders the prisoners released."
Brant looked quizzically at Danner, but made no move toward the cell block. Despite the deep anger burning in his chest, Danner kept his voice under tight rein.
"I can't protect railroad property if you won't prosecute the thieves I bring in. If you release the Dooleys, you'll have to get yourself a new special agent."
The satisfaction that spread across the thin mouth of Wainright was a galling thing, yet Danner knew that no other course of action remained. Better to get it over with now, he thought. But already reaction created an emptiness within him, and a strong regret.
"The decision is yours, Danner," Wainright said. "If you don't wish to carry out orders and policies I make, you will be better off in another position. I can't have my policies questioned."
Tuso sneered openly now, the delight on his swarthy face a bitter taste to Danner. Browder seemed pleased also, though it was difficult to be certain of what lay behind the folds of fat that nearly hid the squinted eyes. Temptation lay heavy in the right arm of Danner. It shocked him to realize how close he was to rashness. The knowledge eased the desire somewhat, making it possible to speak evenly.
"Wainright, you remember one thing. When this policy of yours blows up in your face, don't come crawling to me for help. I won't be available."
CHAPTER FIVE
It didn't take long for Danner to clear out his desk early Monday. None of the clerks had arrived by the time he left. By ten o'clock he had removed the last of his gear from the hotel room and loaded it on a pack horse. Then he mounted and jogged out the south road without a backward glance. But an empty feeling grew within him with each stride of his mount and soon he slumped dejectedly in the saddle. His four years with the Colonel had been more than just a job. The railroad had become something for him to believe in—a way of life. Yet it would have been impossible for him to remain under Wainright. With a strong effort Danner threw off the lethargy and became conscious of the vastness of the great plains spread out in each direction—a sea of wheat growing ripe. This, too, was a way of life, for men like Olie Swensen. Only once did Danner pass a farm house. From a quarter of a mile away the buildings seemed lost in the great expanse. A boy of not more than six years of age dashed around a brooder house holding his stick rifle ready for action.
By noon the flatness gave way to a gentle downward slope. Danner continued south until the winding Richfield River appeared in the distance as a twisting silver ribbon. Winds from the southwest kicked up dust devils now. Danner blinked against the fine flecks. The land roughened near the river. Just visible among a cluster of trees along the banks nestled McDaniel's shack. Here, Danner planned to live while he caught up on his fishing and loafing—and maybe long enough to make one more attempt at finding a pin-fire pistol. Time enough after that to start looking for a new job. He wondered if that Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe job was still open. The Union Pacific also had made him an offer last year, but that was too far north for a Texan to live.