Read Online Chase by Jessie Haas - Free Book Online

mother, and that was the end of Ned Plume.
    The train passed in a last gust of wind and noise. In the sudden quiet Fraser said, “So the wallet’s the least of it, even with that in it.”
    â€œWhat’s your meaning, mule man?” Plume’s voice was like steel. “What should a wallet have in it besides money?”
    â€œSix men’s lives. You said yourself—”
    â€œWhat surprises me about you,” Plume said, “—and I don’t like surprises, mind!—is how you keep asking questions. Most people in coal country learn it’s not healthy.”
    Fraser hadn’t asked a question, Phin was almost sure. He’d only said things, provocative things, like a man slipping a ferret down a rat hole to see what would come out.
    Plume said, “Let’s talk mules. Where’s your jack stock from? What you got for mares?”
    â€œThe jacks are out of Maryland—I’d rather have Kentucky, but you know how it is. The mares, though—”
    Fraser went on about his mules, making them sound like the best mules ever to set foot in a mine, just as a real salesman would. But were there any mules? Phin doubted it.
    He touched the roll in his pocket. Worth the lives of six men? But all he had was money, right?
    The train began to move. Soon it was plunging cross-country behind its own self-important shout— Out of my way! Out of my way.
    The men grew quieter. Miles passed—miles of sketching escape plans that would have worked perfectly, if only Phin didn’t need a clear path to the door; miles of licking the tobacco, trying to pretend that quenched a thirst; miles of dozing, half dreaming, negotiating the quicksand complexities of coal country only to jerk awake to the sound of a gunshot, and remember.
    Finally the whistle blew, the brakes made their long silvery squeal, and the train came to a stop.
    A station; yellow lantern light made the shadows blacker. Irish voices called back and forth. Something thumped on the roof above Phin’s head, and footstepswalked along the top of the car, then jumped to the next one. The horse snorted and scrambled up. “Shh,” Fraser said. “It’s only noise.”
    Outside the car door someone said, “Plume? Ned Plume?” Phin recognized the voice. Occasionally men from high in the organization visited Murray’s, men who cast silence before them like other men cast a shadow. Phin couldn’t put a face to this voice, but he’d heard it; heard, and been motioned out of the room by a jerk of Murray’s head.
    Plume answered carelessly. “Yeah. Here.” He jumped down from the boxcar, and his voice was lost in station bustle.
    â€œHow long are we stopping?” Fraser asked someone outside.
    â€œFive minutes, ten at the most.”
    â€œI need fresh water for the horse. Here.” Probably he handed the man a bill. Phin touched the money in his pocket. Money could pave the way—if only he could get out!
    The stallion seemed to feel the same. His hooves rang and banged on the bare wood floor, and Fraser kept turning him from the door.
    The man returned. Water crashed into the tub. Frasersaid, “They’re looking for a boy, right? Overhead?”
    â€œOverhead, under the cars—they’d have looked in this hay, only Plume himself was riding on it. Kid went south, likely, or he came through on an early freight.”
    â€œWhat’s he look like?”
    You know what I look like! Phin thought.
    â€œWhat does any boy look like? Dark hair, I think they said. Doesn’t have a coat, unless he stole one somewhere.”
    â€œCan’t ride the rods if he doesn’t have a coat.”
    â€œNot for long!” the man said cheerfully. “Freeze and fall off and be cut to mincemeat. Likely that’s what happened to him.”
    â€œAye, right enough.”
    Voices outside. The whistle blew, and a giant shadow loomed on the back