He traded a wink with the stationmaster, and swung up into the locomotive, dodging the hot cylinder below the driver's box with practiced ease.He traded a wink with the stationmaster, and swung up into the locomotive, dodging the hot cylinder below the driver's box with practiced ease. A minute and a reprimand later, he dropped out the other side onto the tracks, and sauntered down the far side of the train, watching the dusty carriage windows as he made his way back to the luggage car. No-one ever looked out the off-side windows when they were boarding, and it was a good opportunity to make sure his quarry wasn't leaving on the train that had brought him. No sign of MacTavish; that was all the better. Reclaiming his black leather Gladstone from the handler, Frewling headed purposefully for the station office. *** "Just so's you know why I'm here," Frewling said, tossing a much- folded paper onto the stationmaster's desk. "Not much to do with the rail line here, but it does affect the Company as a whole." One could hear the capital letter quite easily in the respectful way he pronounced the word. Frewling sipped his whiskey, avoiding the crack in the glass. This wouldn't do. The Company would have to send out a new set of glassware to the station. There were standards to keep, even in the Arizona Territory. The stationmaster adjusted his wire-rimmed specs on the end of his beaky nose and unfolded the paper. WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE, the headline screamed. Below a badly-made woodcut of a man with dark hair and deep-set eyes, KYLE MACTAVISH, for TRAIN ROBBERY and MURDER. REWARD: $500. "My heavens, that's quite a sum, Mr. Frewling." The stationmaster smoothed the flyer onto the leather pad of his desk. "M-hm," Frewling put down his whiskey half finished and took his boots off the stationmaster's desk, "and I intend to collect it. |