Tiffany Case gestured towards a row of cans against the station wall. “Just filled her up,” she whispered back. “It’s what they use for inspecting the line. And I can work it. And I shifted the points. Hurry. Get aboard,” she giggled breathlessly. “Next stop Rhyolite.”
“My God, you’re a girl,” whispered Bond. “But there’ll be a hell of a noise when we start that thing. Wait. Got an idea. Got some matches?” Half his pain had fallen away from him. The breath came fast through his teeth as he turned away from her and focused on the silent, tinder-dry buildings.
She was wearing slacks and a shirt. She dug into the pocket of the slacks and handed him her lighter. “What’s the idea?” she said. “We oughta be moving.”
But Bond lurched over to the row of petrol tins and started opening them and hurling the contents over the wooden walls and platform. When he had emptied half a dozen cans he went back to her. “Get her going.” He bent agonizingly down and picked up a crumpled newspaper from beside the rails. There was the angry whine of the self-starter and then the little two-stroke engine caught and started hammering busily.
Bond flicked the lighter. The piece of paper flared and he flung it away from him amongst the petrol cans. The whoosh of flame almost caught him as he threw himself backwards on to the little platform of the car. But then the girl let in the clutch and the handcar started down the line.
There was a rattle and a sickening lurch at the points and then they were out on the main line and the speedometer was trembling at thirty and the girl’s hair was flowing back like a golden banner towards him.
Bond turned and looked back at the great bloom of fame they had left behind them. He could almost hear the dry boards crackling and the shouts of the sleepers as they dashed from their rooms. If only it would get Wint and Kidd and catch the paint on the Pullman and fire the wood in the tender of The Cannon-ball and finish off the gangster’s box of toys!
But he and the’ girl had their own problems. What time was it? Bond gulped down the cool night air and tried to get his mind to work again. The moon was low. Four o’clock? Bond hunched his way painfully up the platform to the two bucket seats and somehow scrambled over and got down beside the girl.
He put an arm round her shoulders, and she turned and smiled into his eyes. She raised her voice above the noise of the engine and the hammer of the iron wheels on the rails. “That was quite an exit. Like something out of an old Buster Keaton film. How d’you feel?” She surveyed the battered face. “You look terrible.”
“Nothing broken,” said Bond. “Suppose that’s what’s meant by an eighty percenter.” He grinned painfully. “It’s better being kicked than being shot.”
The girl’s face cringed. “I just had to sit there and pretend that I didn’t care. Spang stayed and listened and watched me. Then they checked up on the ropes and slung you into the waiting room and everyone went happily to bed. I waited an hour in my room and then I got busy. The worst part was trying to wake you up.”
Bond tightened his arm round her shoulders. “I’ll tell you what I think of you when it doesn’t hurt so much. But what about you, Tiffany? You’ll be in a jam if they catch up with us. And who are those two men in the hoods, Wint and Kidd? What are they going to do about all this? I wouldn’t mind seeing a little more of those two.”
The girl glanced sideways at the grim curl of the bruised lips. “Never seen them without those hoods on,” she said truthfully. “They’re supposed to be from Detroit. Strictly bad news. They do the strongarm work and special undercover jobs. They’ll all be after us now. But don’t you worry about me.” She looked up at him again and her eyes were shining and happy. “First thing is to get this crate to Rhyolite. Then we’ll have to find a car somewhere and get over the state border into California. I’ve got plenty of money. Then we’ll get you to a doctor and buy you a bath and a shirt and think again. I got your gun. One of the help brought it over when they’d finished picking up the pieces of those two guys you wrassled with in the Pink Garter. I collected it after Spang had gone to bed.” She unbuttoned her shirt and dug into the waistband of her slacks.