Free The Warrior Sheep Go West by Christopher Russell Page B

for everyone.
    â€œRespect for the dead, man…” murmured Links.
    They all looked at their hooves in silence.
    â€œSo I think,” said Wills, “we have to get to a place called Las Vegas now.”
    He’d seen a railway line as the helicopter was landing. The warriors, even Oxo, knew about railways as well as helicopters. They’d been on a train once, though only in the guard’s van. It was time to try again.
    Wills found a green man and crossed a road, then saw a sign to the railway station. The only problem was that it directed the sheep down a side street full of houses. Each house had a low white fence. And inside each fence was a well-watered lawn. After the desert experience, the temptation was too much.
    â€œFeed the fleece to fight the foe!” cried Sal.
    Oxo didn’t need telling twice. He skipped over the first fence and got his head down in the life-giving greenery. The noise of juicy ripping soon had the other sheep, even Wills, following his example.
    â€œKeep moving,” called Wills, between stuffed mouthfuls. “Eat on the hoof.”
    So the warriors shuffled through the gardens like four-legged lawn mowers.
    When they finally reached the station parking lot, Wills saw a poster with a picture of a strange-looking train.
    ALL ABOARD SNORTING SAM!
    FORT WILMOT TO GRAND CANYON AND BACK
    JUMP OFF FOR LAS VEGAS
    In the distance beyond the station, he heard a loud, slightly mournful whistle.
    â€œGuys!” he called urgently. “I think there’s a train coming!”
    The others dragged themselves away from their lawns and followed as Wills hurried toward the station and squeezed through a gateway on to the platform. A large crowd of people was already waiting, chatting excitedly, craning their necks to catch a first glimpse of the oncoming train.
    â€œHere he comes, Junior,” said a man, hoisting a little boy up on to his shoulders.
    â€œIs it Snorting Sam?” asked the boy excitedly.
    â€œThe real deal,” his dad assured him.
    The whistle blew again and a huge cloud of smoke belched from the funnel as the train clanked into the station. It was a very old steam locomotive, with big wheels, high carriages, lots of shiny brass, and a huge metal scoop fixed to the front.
    â€œThat’s a cow catcher,” the dad said to Junior. “They used to scoop away critters that strayed on to the rails.”
    The driver was standing on the footplate, pulling on the brake. He waved to the waiting passengers as the giant wheels ground to a halt. Beside him, sweat streaming down his coal-blackened face, the stoker leaned on his shovel in front of the open furnace. At the very back of the train, there was an open platform with a thick brass rail around it.
    People clambered eagerly up the steps into the carriages and found their seats. Junior’s dad made his way to the back, to the viewing platform, and stood leaning against the rail with his son.
    â€œLet’s follow him,” said Wills. “We won’t be so noticeable out there.”
    He’d remembered something about needing tickets. The sheep squeezed through and stood on the viewing platform, trying to look as if they weren’t there.
    â€œThis is so much nicer than the last train we were on,” said Sal approvingly.
    â€œYeah,” said Links. “Everything in America’s more modern, right.”
    The whistle screeched, jets of steam hissed out on to the platform, and the wheels began to turn. Junior waved excitedly and the train chugged out of the station.
    â€œWho brought the woollies?”
    A ticket inspector had appeared in the carriage next to the viewing platform. Everyone shrugged and looked at everyone else.
    â€œAw, they’re not doing any harm,” called Junior’s dad. “Let ’em come for the ride.”
    The inspector shrugged. “OK,” he said. “I’ll give ’em a sheep day return.”
    He laughed,