Violence of the Mountain Man. William W. Johnstone

ain’t never seen that much money at one time.”

      Van Arndt smiled. “That is a good-looking wad of money, I have to admit.”

      “If you think that’s a lot of money, you should see what they have on deposit in the bank in Frisco. Why, I’ll bet they have over one hundred thousand dollars there.”

      “A hundred thousand dollars? That’s a lot of money for a small-town bank, ain’t it? Why is it that they have so much money, do you reckon?”

      “They got all that money because there’s a cattleman there, a fella by the name of Byron Davencourt, and he is buying up all the beef he can,” Gibbs said. “He only bought fifteen head from me, but I reckon he’ll be buyin’ three thousand head or so before he’s all finished and done.”

      “A hundred thousand dollars in the bank of Frisco,” Van Arndt said. “That would sure be some sight to see.”

      “Ha, I reckon it would,” Gibbs said. “Not that nobody is goin’ to ever get a chance to look at it, though. I expect they’ll keep it locked up good and safe.”

      Gibbs looked more closely at Van Arndt. “Say, Mr. Mason, I don’t mean no insult or nothin’, but why is it you’re so pale? Are you sick?”

      “I’m what you call an albino,” Van Arndt said. “My skin doesn’t produce any color. There are a lot of colored people who are albinos, and they are as white as any white man.”

      “You don’t say? Are you a colored man or a white man?” Gibbs asked.

      “I’m a white man,” Van Arndt answered.

      “Well, I’ll be. I ain’t never seen anything like that,” Gibbs said. “Like I say, I don’t mean to be insultin’ or nothin’. I hope you ain’t takin’ offense.”

      “No offense taken,” Van Arndt said.

      The conductor came through the car again. “Folks, the next stop is Grant. We’ll be there about twenty minutes, just long enough for you to get yourselves some supper. Grant, next stop,” he said again as he moved through the car and out onto the vestibule, heading for the next car.

      “Would you care to have supper with me?” Van Arndt said.

      “Why, I would be pleased to,” Gibbs said. “Hardest thing about travelin’ alone is havin’ to eat alone. But when you are lucky to find someone that’s good company, such as I’ve just done, why, sittin’ down to a meal with such a person can be a pure pleasure.”

      After a supper of ham and fried potatoes, Van Arndt and Gibbs walked out of the depot café and stood for a moment on the darkened patterned-brick platform. The train that had brought them to Grant was sitting on the track, puffing as it vented steam from the pressure the fireman was maintaining.

      “Do you think there is any depot café anywhere in the country that serves anything other than ham and fried potatoes?” Gibbs asked with a little laugh.

      “That seems to be the standard fare all right,” Van Arndt answered. The truth was, Van Arndt was just agreeing with Gibbs, because he had not ridden on enough trains to be able to comment.

      “I have to admit that it wasn’t bad eatin’, though it could have been that I was just hungry,” Gibbs said.

      “Yeah, I suppose, but—” Van Arndt paused in mid-sentence. “Damn, look at that!” he said excitedly, pointing toward the front of the engine.

      “Look at what?”

      “I think I saw, no, I know I saw a little child crawling across the track in front of the engine.”

      “What? Are you sure?”

      “I’m positive. It was a little girl. She must have gotten away from her mother.”

      “Good heavens, she’s got no business crawling around on the track!” Gibbs said. “What if she is under the train when it starts? There’s no way the engineer could possibly see her. Good Lord, she could be run over and killed.”

      “Yeah, that’s what I think, too. Come on,” Van Arndt said, starting toward the front of the train. “Let’s see if we can find her.”

      “Yes, by all means, let’s do!” Gibbs agreed.

      The two men hurried toward the front of the train, then around to the other side.

      “Where is she?” Gibbs asked. “I don’t see her!” “I don’t see her either. Maybe she’s under the train.”

      “Oh, heavens, I certainly hope not,” Gibbs said.

      “We’d better look. I’ll look under the tender, you look under the express car,” Van Arndt suggested.

      Van Arndt leaned over to look under the tender while Gibbs headed for the next car behind. Once Gibbs passed Van Arndt, Van Arndt stood up, pulled his knife, then moved quickly until he was standing right behind Gibbs.

      Sensing Van Arndt’s presence, Gibbs turned around. “What is it? Did you see her under the—unhh!”

      Van Arndt, holding the blade sideways and palm up in his hand, plunged the knife into Gibb’s left side, aiming for the heart. Gibbs grunted in pain as the blade slipped easily in between his fourth and fifth ribs. His eyes grew large, and he looked at Van Arndt with an expression of confusion on his face and in his eyes.

      “Mason! What—what are you—?”

      That was as far as Gibbs got before his eyes closed and he fell off the knife. Quickly, Van Arndt took Gibbs’s money before pushing him under the car. Then he walked back around to the depot platform, and was standing there when the other passengers came out of the café and boarded the train.

      Van Arndt didn’t reboard. Instead, he remained on the platform until the train started to leave; then he hurried into the depot. He saw a man behind the counter. The man was wearing a billed cap with a shield that read: STATIONMASTER.

      “Are you the stationmaster?” Van Arndt asked.

      “That’s what it says on my hat,” the man said, pointing to the shield. “The name is Travelsted. What can I do for you?”

      “Mr. Travelsted, you’d better come quick!” Van Arndt said. “I think the train just ran over someone as it was leaving the station.”

      “What?” the stationmaster gasped. “What are you talking about? What do you mean you think the train ran over someone?”

      “It was a fella named Gibbs,” Van Arndt said. “I’m pretty sure he must’ve got run over.”

      “You are just pretty sure? Good Lord, man, that’s not something that you can just casually speculate about. What makes you think this man—Gibbs, did you call him?”

      “Yes, Donnie Gibbs.”

      “What makes you think the train ran over Gibbs? Did you see it happen?”

      “No, I didn’t exactly see it. But I’m pretty sure it happened.”

      “Are you and Gibbs friends?”

      “Not in particular,” Van Arndt said. “The thing is, we met on the train, and we come in here to take our supper together. Then, after supper, we was standin’ out here on the depot platform waitin’ to get back on the train. That’s when Gibbs said he seen a baby crawling on the track. I have to tell you, Mr. Travelsted, I looked, but I didn’t see nothin’. I told him I didn’t see nothin’, but he was bound and determined to go rescue the baby, so round the train he went. I waited for him, but he didn’t come back. Then, when the train pulled away, I thought maybe he’d be standin’ on the other side, but he wasn’t.”

      “Are you sure he didn’t come back? Don’t you think it could be that he got on the train without you seein’ him?”

      “I suppose that could