Free Breakheart Pass by Alistair MacLean Page A

just cleared the bridge when Marica staggered and almost fell as the train brakes screeched and jolted the train to a violent halt. None of the men in the dining compartment was similarly affected for the sufficient reason that they were all sitting down: but the explosive language of Claremont could be taken as being fairly representative of their general feelings. Within seconds, Claremont, O'Brien, Pearce and, more leisurely, Deakin had risen, moved out on to the rear platform of the leading coach and swung down to the ankle-deep snow of the track-side.
    Banlon, his wizened face twisted with anxiety, came running down the track. O'Brien caught and checked him, Banlon struggled to free himself. He shouted: 'God's sake, let go! He's fallen off.'
    'Who has, man?'
    'Jackson, my fireman!' Banlon broke free and ran on to the bridge, stopped and peered down into the murky depths. He hurried on another few paces and looked again. This time he remained where he was, first kneeling and then lowering himself until he was prone on the snow. He was joined almost immediately by the others, including by now Sergeant Bellew and some soldiers. All of them peered gingerly over the edge of the bridge.
    Sixty, perhaps seventy feet below, a crumpled figure lay huddled on a spur of rock. Over a hundred feet below that again the foaming white waters of the river at the foot of the gorge could dimly be discerned.
    Pearce said: 'Well, Doctor Deakin?' The emphasis on the 'doctor' was minimal: but it was there.
    Deakin was curt. 'He's dead. Any fool can see that.'
    'I don't regard myself as a fool and I can't see it,' Pearce said mildly. 'He might be in need of medical assistance. Agreed, Colonel Claremont?'
    'I have no power to ask this man–'
    Deakin said: 'And neither has Pearce. And if I go down, what guarantee have I that Pearce won't arrange for a life-line to slip? We all know the high opinion the Marshal has of me and we all know that after my trial I'm for the drop. It would save the Marshal an awful lot of time and trouble if he were kind of accidentally to arrange for me to have this drop now – right down to the bottom of the gorge.'
    'There'll be six of my soldiers belaying that rope, Deakin.' Claremont's face was stony. 'You insult me, sir.'
    'I do?' Deakin looked at him consideringly. 'Yes, I do believe I do. My apologies.' He took the end of the rope, made a double bowline, thrust his legs through the loops and took a bight around his waist. 'I'd like another rope, too.'
    'Another rope?' Claremont frowned. 'That one would support a horse.'
    'I wasn't thinking so much about horses. Would you think it fitting for an army colonel to lie down there until the vultures picked you clean to the bone? Or is it only cavalrymen who rate a decent burial?'
    Claremont bestowed a momentary blue glare on Deakin, whirled and nodded to Bellew. Within a minute a soldier had returned with a rope and within two more, after a dizzying, swaying descent, Deakin had secured a foothold on the spur of rock which held the broken body of Jackson.
    For almost a minute, buffeted by the gusting winds down the ravine, Deakin remained stooped over the prone figure, then secured the second rope round Jackson. He straightened, lifted a hand in signal and was hauled back up to the bridge again.
    'Well?' Predictably, the impatient Claremont.
    Deakin undid his rope and rubbed two painfully grazed knees. 'Fractured skull, nearly every major rib in his body broken.' He looked enquiringly at Banlon. 'He had a rag tied to his right wrist.'
    'That's right.' Banlon appeared to have shrunk another impossible inch or two. 'He was outside, clearing the snow from my driving window, when he fell off. Tying the rag like that is an old fireman's trick. He can hang on with both hands.'
    'Didn't hang on this time, did he? I think I know why. Marshal, you'd better come – as law officer you'll be asked to certify the death certificate. Disbarred doctors are denied that