Bear Claws by Robert Lee Murphy

Author:Robert Lee Murphy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gale, Cengage Learning
Published: 2015-05-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 31

Fifteen minutes later, the four riders approached the bridge across the North Platte. Beyond the bridge, to the north of the tracks and west of the river, Will could see the sprawl of Fort Fred Steele’s complex. The dozens of new buildings were not surrounded by a protective stockade. Like the fort outside Cheyenne, the size of the garrison would ensure that Indians thought twice about an attack.

A handful of soldiers on a ferry pulled the craft toward the east bank of the river, their horses swimming in the water alongside. They too must be on their way to investigate the explosion and constant whistling. For a moment, Will wondered why they didn’t just ride over the bridge.

A closer inspection provided the answer—the tracks crossed the span on open girders. A man could walk across, stepping from one railroad tie to another, but not a horse.

A quarter mile to the east of the bridge, Will saw the freight train stopped on the tracks. He wheeled Buck toward the train and raced parallel to the rails. The others followed.

Clouds of steam spiraled skyward from the locomotive, whose boiler tilted downward at a steep angle. Three men stood beside the cab of the engine. Will recognized one of them—Hobart Johnson, the conductor.

Will and his companions drew up even with the locomotive and reined in. Will stepped down from his saddle. “Mr. Johnson, what happened?”

“Hello, Will.” Johnson pointed to the front of the locomotive. The leading wheels, beneath the cowcatcher, hung suspended in midair. The frame supporting the boiler rested on the trestle’s abutment. “Bridge blew up. Whatever the explosive was, the vibrations transmitted from the train through the rails evidently set it off before we reached the bridge. Engineer Patton slammed on the brakes and kept us from plunging into the gulch. Boiler’s cracked, though. Can’t stop the steam escaping through the whistle.”

“Vlademar, climb up there and knock that whistle off.” Engineer Patton motioned for his fireman to step forward. “Careful. That steam will roast your hide.”

The engineer handed the fireman a wrench and helped him clamber up the side of the locomotive.

The soldiers had gotten across the river and rode up to the engine. “What’s going on here?” a sergeant shouted over the whistle’s scream.

“Trestle blew up, Sergeant,” Johnson said. “Damaged an engine, as you can see, and the telegraph line is down, too. The poles were mounted on the side of the bridge. They’re gone now.”

The sergeant turned back to the half-dozen men who sat behind him. “Arrest that Indian, Corporal.” He pointed to Lone Eagle, who had ridden his pony down into the gully crossed by the bridge and was busy poking among the debris of timbers with his bow.

“Why?” Will asked.

“He’s an Indian, isn’t he? He must have had something to do with this.”

“No, he didn’t. He’s with me.”

“That’s right, Sergeant,” Johnson said, “he didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Then who did?”

Conductor Johnson shrugged. “Don’t know, but I did see a white man, wearing a bowler hat, riding away right after the explosion.

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