Free Showdown at Dead End Canyon by Robert Vaughan Page A

need a ride.”
    “You’ll have to take that up with the conductor,” the engineer said.
    Even as the engineer was talking, the conductor came walking up alongside the train to see why they had made an unscheduled stop. He was holding an open watch in his hand.
    “Smitty, what’s going on? Why are we stopped?” he asked. “We’ve got a schedule to keep.”
    “This here fella wants a ride,” the engineer replied. “His horse went down.”
    The conductor studied Hawke, obviously put off by his trail-worn appearance. He shook his head no and waved his hand dismissively.
    “We don’t pick up drifters,” the conductor said to Hawke.
    “Are you saying you’d leave a man stranded out here?” Hawke asked.
    “When we reach the next stop, I will inform someone that you are out here,” the conductor replied.
    “Well now, that certainly isn’t very Christian of you, Mr. Marshal,” Pamela said, coming up from her place of seclusion.
    The conductor gasped. “Miss Dorchester! My Lord, what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Did you know the whole line has been looking for you? What happened? Did you fall from the train?”
    “I was kidnapped,” Pamela said.
    “Kidnapped? What do you mean, kidnapped?”
    “I mean that when the train stopped for water, someone came on board and kidnapped me.”
    “Oh, heavens!”
    “This gentleman saved my life. Now we are trying to get back to Green River. That is, unless you plan to make us rely on shank’s mare.” Pamela looked over at Hawke and smiled,calling his attention to the fact that she had acquired the Americanism for her own.
    “No, of course I would never do anything like that,” the conductor said, falling all over himself now to please her. “I can find accommodations in one of the first-class cars for you, and your friend can ride—”
    “In the first-class car, with me,” Pamela said, interrupting the conductor.
    The conductor cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, ma’am. Yes, of course, he can ride with you as well.”
    “I appreciate that,” Hawke replied. “Oh, and by the way—Smitty, is it?” Hawke called up to the engineer.
    “That’s what folks call me. My real name is Malcolm Smith.”
    “Well, Mr. Malcolm Smith, you can tell your fireman to take his gun off me? I’m just another passenger now.”
    “Billy,” the engineer called. “Come on out.”
    There was a rustling sound as the fireman climbed out of the pile of wood. He leaned the shotgun against the edge of the tender, then began brushing himself off.
    “How’d you know he was there?” Pamela asked.
    “He had to be somewhere,” Hawke said. “It takes two men to drive a train, and Mr. Smith was the only one in the cab.”
    “Billy, you were pointing your gun at me?” Pamela asked.
    “No, ma’am, not you,” Billy replied. “I was just pointin’ it at him.” He nodded toward Hawke. “Hope you didn’t take no offense at it, mister,” he added.
    “No offense taken,” Hawke replied. “Under the circumstances, it was the prudent thing to do.”
    “This way, please,” the conductor said, starting toward the rear of the train.
    “Do have someone bring us some food from the diningcar, would you?” Pamela said. “I haven’t eaten for some time now, and I am famished.”
    “Oh, that won’t be possible, I’m afraid. The dining car is closed,” the conductor replied.
    “Open it.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Hawke followed Pamela onto the train, dropping his saddle on the platform deck just before they went into the car. There were two men and two women in the car, all sitting in overstuffed, comfortable chairs. They were well-dressed, as befit their station, and they looked up in curiosity and ill-concealed irritation as Hawke and Pamela invaded their domain.
    “Good evening,” Pamela said, smiling brightly at the others in the car. No one returned her greeting, and a moment later Hawke overheard one of the men grumbling to the others.
    “I’m all for