Train's Trust by Max Brand

Author:Max Brand [Brand, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781632201546
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2015-02-16T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

At the door of the stable, as he sauntered out there, Chick Logan found young Brewer leaning against one side of the door.

“How are you, Chick?” asked the young worthy. “What’s the noise tonight?”

Logan stepped to the side. “D’you come in from the chief?” he asked.

“Yep. I’m to take back the news.”

“All good. Somebody else has spotted Train. A dick, I think. At any rate, he’s cutting and running. And I’m going along with him. I’m a hard-working prospector that’s tired of work and wants some excitement. I warned him, and then I asked him if I could go along.”

“Hard-working? You?” And Sid Brewer grinned. “If he’s got half an eye, he’ll tumble to you, pal.”

“Let him tumble. But I guess not. I’m his benefactor, old son. I’ll have him tied to me before the night’s over.”

“You may have a call before the morning.”

“Some of the boys going to ride along behind?”

“Me and Harry Tice.”

“That all?”

“Ain’t it enough?”

“Not by my way of thinking. This Train is a fox. You can lay to that. And if he gets suspicious, we’ll wish we was thirty instead of three.”

“He’s good, eh?”

“He’s lightning, son. I seen him work.”

“Keep an ear open. That’s all I’m told to tell you. And don’t ride your horse to death. We may want some time on your trail.”

“I’ll fix that. Stay easy, Sid.”

Brewer strolled away toward the hotel. Logan went on to the saddling of the horses which he led, as agreed, into the thickly grouped trees west of the stable. Then he whistled. A moment later Train was with him.

They rode by broad moonlight to the rear of Morriston, then circled around it and struck away to the north and east. There was no particular goal in the mind’s eye of Train. He only wished to put a few comfortable miles between him and Gresham. And, on the way, he told his companion something of the little detective.

“He takes hold of a trail like a bulldog on the end of a rope,” he said to Chick. “He’s the gent that run down Lew Hendricks two years ago. He stuck eight months on Lew’s trail. Dodged him from New York to Montreal, to Vancouver, to Sydney, to Shanghai, to Frisco, and then to Havana. Got him when he landed in New Orleans on the return trip. Kept that scent for eight months. That’s the way with Gresham. I’d rather have a hundred after me than that one Gresham. And if he finds you’re with me, he’ll rake over your past until he ties something on you, if he can. Better be sure of yourself if you ride with me tonight, old-timer.”

And with this, he turned a little in the saddle and searched the face of Logan, but he was met by a cheerful blank.

They camped beside a small spring among the mountains, ten miles from the town. There they boiled a cup of coffee and afterward turned in.

But Chick Logan only waited until he heard the deep and regular breathing of his companion.

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