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Bowles, the mail clerk, was busy sorting mail and putting it into the pouch for delivery at the next town. In a safe in the corner of the mail car, there was an oversized white bag. Bowles had signed for the white bag when he came aboard, so he knew that it contained exactly $1,817. That was a lot of money, almost two years of his salary, and he was responsible for it. Being responsible for so much money made him nervous, and he would be glad when they reached Belfield, so he could be rid of it.
    There were four passenger cars behind the express car. Although this was a night train, there were no parlor cars on this run because, essentially, it was a local, stopping at just about every town along the route. Vance Dexter, the conductor, was in the last seat of the last car. There was light in this car, as there was in the other passenger cars, but it was soft and unobtrusive. The illumination came from low-burning kerosene lanterns that were mounted on gimbals on the walls of the car. Some of the passengers were awake and talking quietly among themselves, but most seemed to be trying to grab some sleep, though, as the seats did not recline as they did in some of the more plush parlor cars, sleep was rather difficult to come by.
    Dexter took out his pocket watch and examined it in the light of the lantern that was just over his seat. It was just after midnight. They weren’t due in Belfield for nearly two hours.
    He felt himself growing drowsy, so to ward off falling asleep, he got up and took another walk through the entire length of the train.
    When he reached the second car, he stopped and looked at the man halfway up on the left side. He was a big man, with hair the color of straw. His hat was pulled down over his eyes and his chest was forward on his chin. His arms were folded across his lap.
    From time to time, Dexter had celebrities ride on his train, and this passenger fit that category. He wasn’t sure that Falcon MacCallister would qualify as a celebrity in everyone’s book, but as far as he was concerned, MacCallister was as famous as any passenger he had ever carried. He was said to be one of the most accomplished men with a six-gun to ever roam the West. Stories about him were told and retold until they reached legendary proportions and Falcon MacCallister seemed larger than life.
    When Dexter learned that Falcon MacCallister was to be one of his passengers, he was actually quite surprised. He had heard so many stories about him that he wasn’t sure he really existed, or if he existed, was still alive. Many of the later stories told of MaCcallister’s death. One insisted that he had been surrounded by a gang of thirteen outlaws, but had killed twelve of them, succumbing only when the last bullet from his two guns had been fired. And even as the thirteenth outlaw shot him, MacCallister, according to the story, killed him by throwing his knife at him as he fell.
    Dexter learned who his passenger was only because MacCallister paid extra to have his horse transported in the stock car ahead.
    Although MacCallister had neither done nor said anything to suggest that he might be dangerous, Dexter was somewhat frightened of him. He was leery each time he walked by MacCallister’s seat, and he paused now to study the noted gunman while he took a deep breath to steel his courage.
    â€œCome on by me, conductor, I’m not going to bite,” MacCallister said quietly. He neither lifted his head nor opened his eyes, and Dexter wondered how he knew he was there.
    â€œThanks, uh, I just didn’t want to disturb you, is all.”
    Dexter passed him by, then walked all the way up to the front car. When he reached the front car, he stepped out onto the platform for a moment to let the fresh night air help revive him.
    That was when he heard the torpedoes.
    * * *
    There were three warning torpedoes on the track, and they popped loudly as the engine ran over them.
    â€œCephus! Torpedoes!” Clyde