Read Online Breakheart Pass by Alistair MacLean - Free Book Online

'Right. The Fort first.'
    Ferguson tapped out a call-up signal three times in succession. Almost at once, through his earphones, could be heard the faint chatter of Morse. Ferguson eased back his earphones and said: 'A minute, sir. They're fetching Colonel Fairchild.'
    While they were waiting Marica entered, closely followed by the Rev. Peabody. Peabody was wearing his graveside expression and looked as if he had passed a very bad night. Marica glanced first, without expression, at Deakin, then, interrogatively, at her uncle.
    'We're in touch with Fort Humboldt, my dear,' the Governor said. 'We should have the latest report in a minute.'
    Faintly, the renewed sound of Morse could be heard from the earphones. Ferguson wrote, rapidly but neatly, tore a sheet from his pad and handed it to Claremont.
    More than a day's journey away over the mountains, eight men sat or stood in the telegraphy room in Fort Humboldt. The central and unquestionably the dominating figure in the room lounged in a swivel chair behind a rather splendid leather-topped mahogany table, with both his filthy riding boots resting squarely on top of the desk. The spurs which he needlessly affected had left the leather top in several degrees less than mint condition, a consideration that apparently left the wearer unmoved. His general appearance attested to the first impression that there was little of the aesthetic about him. Even seated, it could be seen that he was a tall figure, bulky and broadshouldered, with a ragged deerskin jacket pulled back to reveal a sagging belt weighted down by a pair of Peacemaker Colts. Above the jacket and below a stetson that had been old while the jacket was still in its first youth, a high-boned face, hooked nose, cold eyes of a washed-out grey and a week's growth of beard overlaying a naturally swarthy complexion gave one the impression of being in the presence of a ruthless desperado, which was, in fact, a pretty apt description for Sepp Calhoun.
    A man dressed in United States Cavalry uniform was seated by the side of Calhoun's table, while several feet away another soldier sat by the telegraph. Calhoun looked at the man by his side.
    'Well, Carter, let's see if Simpson really transmitted the message I gave him to translate.' Scowling, Carter passed the message across. Calhoun took it and read aloud: '“Three more cases. No more deaths. Hope epidemic has passed peak. Expected time of arrival, please.”' He looked towards the operator. 'Takes a clever man not to be too clever, eh, Simpson? Ain't either of us can afford to make a mistake, is there?'
    In the day coach Colonel Claremont had just read out the same message. He laid the note down and said: 'Well, that does make good news. Our time of arrival?' He glanced at O'Brien. 'Approximately.'
    'To haul this heavy load with a single loco?' O'Brien pondered briefly. 'Thirty hours, I'd say, sir. I can check with Banlon.'
    'No need. Near enough.' He turned to Ferguson. 'You heard? Tell them–'
    Marica said: 'My father–'
    Ferguson nodded, transmitted. He listened to the reply, eased his headphones and looked up. He said: “Expect you tomorrow afternoon. Colonel Fairchild well.”
    While Marica smiled her relief, Pearce said: 'Could you tell the Colonel I'm aboard, coming to take Sepp Calhoun into custody?'
    In the Fort Humboldt telegraph room, Sepp Calhoun was also smiling, but not with relief. He made no attempt to conceal the wicked amusement in his eyes as he handed a slip of telegraph paper to a tall, grey-haired, grey-moustached Colonel of the United States Cavalry. 'Honestly, now. Colonel Fairchild, doesn't that beat everything! They're going to come to take poor old Sepp Calhoun into custody. Whatever in the world shall I do?'
    Colonel Fairchild read the message and said nothing. His face expressed nothing. Contemptuously, he opened his fingers and let the message drop to the floor. For a moment Calhoun's eyes became still, then he relaxed and