And yet, how could it be? The next station south was Neenah-Menasha, and there was nothing due out of there for hours.
The clouds were thick overhead, and the field mists rolled like a cold fog in a November midnight. Even so, Martin should have been able to see the headlight as the train rushed on. But there was only the whistle, screaming out of the black throat of the night. Martin could recognize the equipment of just about any locomotive ever built, but he’d never heard a whistle that sounded like this one. It wasn’t signaling; it was screaming like a lost soul.
He stepped to one side, for the train was almost on top of him now. And suddenly there it was, looming along the tracks and grinding to a stop in less time than he’d believed possible. The wheels hadn’t been oiled, because they screamed too, screamed like the damned. But the train slid to a halt and the screams died away into a series of low, groaning sounds, and Martin looked up and saw that this was a passenger train. It was big and black, without a single light shining in the engine cab or any of the long string of cars; Martin couldn’t read any lettering on the sides, but he was pretty sure this train didn’t belong on the Northwestern Road.
He was even more sure when he saw the man clamber down out of the forward car. There was something wrong about the way he walked, as though one of his feet dragged, and about the lantern he carried. The lantern was dark, and the man held it up to his mouth and blew, and instantly it glowed redly. You don’t have to be a member of the Railway Brotherhood to know that this is a mighty peculiar way of lighting a lantern.
As the figure approached, Martin recognized the conductor’s cap perched on his head, and this made him feel a little better for a moment-until he noticed that it was worn a bit too high, as though there might be something sticking up on the forehead underneath it.
Still, Martin knew his manners, and when the man smiled at him, he said, “Good evening, Mr. Conductor.”
“Good evening, Martin.”
“How did you know my name?”
The man shrugged. “How did you know I was the Conductor?”
“You are, aren’t you?”
“To you, yes. Although other people, in other walks of life, may recognize me in different roles. For instance, you ought to see what I look like to the folks out in Hollywood.” The man grinned. “I travel a great deal,” he explained.
“What brings you here?” Martin asked.
“Why, you ought to know the answer to that, Martin. I came because you needed me. Tonight, I suddenly realized you were backsliding. Thinking of joining the Salvation Army, weren’t you?”
“Well-” Martin hesitated.
“Don’t be ashamed. To err is human, as somebody-or-other-once said. Reader’s Digest, wasn’t it? Never mind. The point is, I felt you needed me. So I switched over and came your way.”
“What for?”
“Why, to offer you a ride, of course. Isn’t it better to travel comfortably by train than to march along the cold streets behind a Salvation Army band? Hard on the feet, they tell me, and even harder on the eardrums.”
“I’m not sure I’d care to ride your train, sir,” Martin said. “Considering where I’m likely to end up.”
“Ah, yes. The old argument.” The Conductor sighed. “I suppose you’d prefer some sort of bargain, is that it?”
“Exactly,” Martin answered.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m all through with that sort of thing. There’s no shortage of prospective passengers anymore. Why should I offer you any special inducements?”
“You must want me, or else you wouldn’t have bothered to go out of your way to find me.”
The Conductor sighed again. “There you have a point. Pride was always my besetting weakness, I admit. And somehow I’d hate to lose you to the competition, after thinking of you as my own all these years.” He hesitated. “Yes, I’m prepared to deal with you on your own terms, if you insist.”
“The terms?” Martin asked.
“Standard proposition. Anything you want.”
“Ah,” said Martin.
“But I warn you in advance, there’ll be no tricks. I’ll grant you any wish you can name-but in return, you must promise to ride the train when the time comes.”
“Suppose it never comes?”
“It will.”
“Suppose I’ve got the kind of a wish that will keep me off forever?”
“There is no such wish.”
“Don’t be too sure.”
“Let me worry about that,” the Conductor told him. “No matter what you have in mind, I warn you that I’ll collect in the end. And there’ll be none of this last-minute hocus-pocus, either. No last-hour repentances, no blonde frauleins or fancy lawyers showing up to get you off. I offer a clean deal. That is to say, you’ll get what you want, and I’ll get what I want.”
“I’ve heard you trick people. They say you’re worse than a used-car salesman.”
“Now, wait a minute-”
“I apologize,” Martin said, hastily. “But it is supposed to be a fact that you can’t be trusted.”
“I admit it. On the other hand, you seem to think you have found a way out.”
“A sure-fire proposition.”
“Sure-fire? Very funny!” The man began to chuckle, then halted. “But we waste valuable time, Martin. Let’s get down to cases. What do you want from me?”
Martin took a deep breath. “I want to be able to stop Time.”
“Right now?”
“No. Not yet. And not for everybody. I realize that would be impossible, of course. But I want to be able to stop Time for myself. Just once, in the future. Whenever I get to a point where I know I’m happy and contented, that’s where I’d like to stop. So I can just keep on being happy forever.”
“That’s quite a proposition,” the Conductor mused. “I’ve got to admit I’ve never heard anything just like it before-and believe me, I’ve listened to some lulus in my day.” He grinned at Martin. “You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?”
“For years,” Martin admitted. Then he coughed. “Well, what do you say?”
“It’s not impossible, in terms of your own subjective time-sense,” the Conductor murmured. “Yes, I think it could be arranged.”
“But I mean really to stop. Not for me just to imagine it.”
“I understand. And it can be done.”
“Then you’ll agree?”
“Why not? I promised you, didn’t I? Give me your hand.”
Martin hesitated. “Will it hurt very much? I mean, I don’t like the sight of blood, and-”
“Nonsense! You’ve been listening to a lot of poppycock. We already have made our bargain, my boy. I merely intend to put something into your hand. The ways and means of fulfilling your wish. After all, there’s no telling at just what moment you may decide to exercise the agreement, and I can’t drop everything and come running. So it’s better if you can regulate matters for yourself.”
“You’re going to give me a Time-stopper?”
“That’s the general idea. As soon as I can decide what would be practical.” The Conductor hesitated. “Ah, the very thing! Here, take my watch.”
He pulled it out of his vest-pocket; a railroad watch in a silver case. He opened the back and made a delicate adjustment; Martin tried to see just exactly what he was doing, but the fingers moved in a blinding blur.
“There we are.” The Conductor smiled. “It’s all set, now. When you finally decide where you’d like to call a halt, merely turn the stem in reverse and unwind the watch until it stops. When it stops, Time stops, for you. Simple enough?” And the Conductor dropped the watch into Martin’s hand.
The young man closed his fingers tightly around the case. “That’s all there is to it, eh?”
“Absolutely. But remember-you can stop the watch only once. So you’d better make sure that you’re satisfied with the moment you choose to prolong. I caution you in all fairness; make very certain of your choice.”