The Trainmasters (26 page)

Robert Stockton, Thomson went on to explain, was something of a hero and a great man. He had served with distinction in the
War of 1812. A few years later he negotiated with the Barbary pirates for the strip of land in West Africa that was later
to become the nation of Liberia. After that he became an American agent in the Texas Republic, charged with protecting the
Texans from the machinations of the British who were trying to prevent the union of Texas and the United States. In 1846 he
was instrumental in severing California from Mexico, after which he served in the Senate. And recently, there was talk of
nominating him for the presidency.

Stockton was a friend and ally of Edgar Thomson’s, and Thomson needed him to stay that way. But Stockton had a problem: his
son Francis. And Thomson could help his friend Stockton with that problem by employing Francis. So he did. Robert Stockton
and Edgar Thomson remained friends and allies. And Edgar Thomson retained the younger Stockton on his engineering staff.

In fact, Francis Stockton was actually more than qualified to handle the job. He had learned his profession at the United
States Military Academy, the best engineering school in the United States. And he was smart; he graduated third in the class
of 1845. And he was courageous; he’d won medals for bravery in the war with Mexico. But he was also trouble. He drank considerably
more than he should, he seduced the wives of superior officers, and worst of all, he was insubordinate and disobedient. And
so he was discharged from the army in 1849, honorably so, on account of his father. After that, he spent some time in California,
where he failed to make himself rich. And when he returned East, his father approached his friend Edgar Thomson.

Once Francis was on his staff, Thomson quickly learned what young Stockton’s military superiors had already discovered: that
Francis Stockton was brilliant, brave, dashing, reckless, insubordinate, disobedient, and totally undependable.

He performed brilliantly those tasks he himself chose to do but did not take orders well; he was impervious to the directives
issued by anyone but himself.

And there was something else that Thomson had against Stockton. He left it unspoken, but John sensed it was something personal.

After hearing Thomson’s opinion of Francis Stockton, John Cariysle had every expectation that he would despise this young
man. In Stockton, John expected to meet an American version of the type he had met—and hated—numerous times in Britain: the
dissolute scion of aristocratic parents. But, though there were clearly elements of that in Francis Stockton, he did not otherwise
fit the type.

In fact, John almost, but not quite, found himself liking him.

Stockton was waiting, along with Harold Harrison, in the administration building in the supervising engineer’s office. When
John entered the room, he found a tall and erect young man who was quite good-looking. He retained some of his West Point
breeding. His hair was glossy black and brushed straight back from a high forehead. His eyes were dark. And he was clean-shaven,
which made him look younger than his thirty years. In spite of his youthful appearance, he did not look innocent. He had clearly
been drinking. His face was flushed, and there was a thin film of sweat on his cheeks and forehead. He wore no jacket and
no tie: his shirt was open at the collar, its sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, it stails were tucked in differently into
his trousers, and it was filthy. He had obviously been wearing it for several days.

And yet, for all the obvious signs of dissipation, his dark eyes were clear and alert. And he had an interested, expectant
look on his face. He was clearly not bored with himself or the life he was leading. And there was an intriguing verve and
graceful, fluid motion in his face and body as he talked. If his mouth had not been set in a sarcastic, hostile smile, John
would have been moved to form an instant good impression of him.

When Thomson introduced Stockton to John Carlysle, the smile did not leave his face, but his grip was nevertheless firm when
they shook hands, and he looked John in the eye, though the look was a little askance and off-center. It was a curious, testing,
“show me” look. After he finished his assessment of John, he backed away and leaned indolently against the wall.

“How are you, ‘Uncle’ Edgar?” he said to Thomson in a voice not quite dripping with insolence. “I trust you have been well.”

“Very well, thank you, Francis,” Thomson said.

“And what brings you to require my presence?” he asked. “I couldn’t imagine what you would want me for. I thought, after our
last encounter, that you’d never want to see me again.”

“Sit, Francis. You make me nervous leaning there against the wall.”

Stockton’s insolent smile widened, but he obeyed. With close to infinite lassitude, he moved across the floor to the chair
Thomson pointed out for him. When he sat down, his body fairly slumped in a disrespectful slouch.

“John,” Thomson said, looking at Carlysle, “you sit next to me.” He pointed to a chair. “And Harrison, would you hand me my
saddlebags? Then sit over here.”

While Thomson and Carlysle were in the tunnel, Thomson’s saddlebags had been brought to the office. Now Thomson opened them
and withdrew the bound volume containing the report on the caves.

Then he turned through the volume to the report and laid it out on a table. “I want you to tell me about this, Francis,” he
said to Stockton.

“What would you like to know, Mr. Thomson?” Stockton asked. John noted that he said “Mr. Thomson” and not “Uncle Edgar”; Stockton
had lost some of his initial sarcasm. And there was a baffled look on his face. His expression said he thought the report
contained nothing but out-of-date and irrelevant information. But there was curiosity there, too. He was not ready to dismiss
Edgar Thomson’s interest.

“I’d like to know something about that cave system you investigated,” Thomson went on calmly. “I’m especially interested in
its extent. Could you tell me about that?”

Still looking baffled but curious, Stockton answered, “It’s in the report, I guess. And I suppose you’ve read that. But if
you’d like to know more than the report states, well then…”

“That’s right. We’ve read it,” Thomson said, indicating John with a nod of his head. “And we’ve found that it raises some
fascinating questions. We feel that you can give us answers to many of them.”

“I’m not sure why you want to know that,” Stockton said. “And I truthfully can’t say that I remember much, but I’d be delighted
to tell you all I know.”

“Bear with me, Francis. I’ll be clearer soon, I’m sure.” He pointed to the introduction to the report. “It says here that
you spent two days examining the caves. Could you tell me about that… tell me how you went about it?”

“There’s not much to say, really,” Stockton said. “I found a couple of men who knew the caves; and I took them inside, and
we looked around a bit. The caves didn’t seem to go anywhere near the route projected for the tunnel. So that’s what I wrote.”

“I see.”

“What were the names of the men who went with you?” John asked.

“Aaron Kolb and his son Durl, and a boy named Joel Crawford,” Stockton said. “Kolb and his son live next to one of the entrances
to the caves. Just inside the entrance is a large open space, as high and wide as a church. Kolb uses it as a barn. He keeps
hogs in there. And he’s a distiller, too. He stores barrels of whiskey deeper inside; ages the stuff there. Crawford is a
neighbor of Kolb’s. He and Kolb’s kid have spent a lot of time exploring the caves. They know them pretty well.”

“Crawford works the tunnel,” Harrison said. “He’s one of the men that’s missing.”

As Harrison said that, Thomson shook his head and muttered sadly. “Goddamn! Another man… !”

“And so you say that you spent two days with them in the caves?” John continued.

“That’s right.”

“And they know the caves well?”

“The two boys do. Aaron Kolb wasn’t much interested in going inside.”

“And you explored the caves thoroughly in those two days?”

Stockton looked at him. He was still baffled and curious. “I looked around.” He shrugged.

Thomson looked at John. “Explain our theory about the cave-in, would you please, John?”

Carlysle told him the ideas he and Thomson had discussed. As John talked, Stockton’s eyes grew wide and doubtful. And as John
went on, he began to shake his head vigorously. When John was finished, he spoke almost as the final word left John’s mouth.

“No!” he said, with some passion. “Not at all. I don’t see that. None of the cave galleries I looked into extended that high
into the mountain. All the caves I investigated went down-—below the level of Kolb’s entrance. They were all formerly underground
waterways. I concluded that there just wasn’t enough water in the mountain to carve large caves higher up. And I saw no evidence
that there might have been anything different. So I don’t see how the theory makes sense.”

“I don’t believe you, Francis,” Thomson said. Up until now, his voice was gentle, calm, and friendly. But now Thomson turned
steely. “I don’t believe you spent two days in those caves. 1 don’t believe you made anything like a thorough investigation.
I don’t trust you, Francis. I never have… You’ve never given me cause to.”

“I
did
spend two days in those caves,” Stockton flared. “I went everywhere the report said that I went. I saw what I said I saw.”

“I’m sorry, Francis. I still don’t believe you. I think you failed me still one more time. What’s more, because you failed,
more than fifty lives have been lost.” And then he shook his head sadly. “But I’m guilty, too,” he said. “I’m guilty most
of all because I gave you the job to do in the first place, knowing that you’d probably do it badly. But I thought—
I thought
—mat the quality of your performance on that assignment wouldn’t have any serious impact on the construction of the tunnel.
As far as I was concerned, the caves were unimportant. I believed just what you reported, that they could never extend as
high as the tunnel. And so when I read the report, I read what I wanted to read… to my disgrace.”

“But, goddamn it!” Stockton said. “That was one job I did right!” And then he lifted his arms and let them drop, helplessly.
“Oh, shit,” he added. “Believe what you want to believe, ‘Uncle’ Edgar.” The sarcasm had very much returned to his voice.

Thomson pressed his lips together and shook his head. His mind was made up.

Then Harold Harrison cleared his throat and looked pleased. He very obviously agreed with Edgar Thomson’s opinion of Francis
Stockton.

But John Carlysle was by now not so sure about that. John was puzzled by the deep antipathy between the two men. There was
more to it than met the eye. He looked at Stockton and then at Thomson and then back to Stockton. He was beginning to think
that he would give the man a chance to show his stuff. And this might even become Stockton’s chance to prove he was justified
in his conclusions about the caves. “Francis,” he said. He paused, and there was a questioning look on his face. “May I call
you that?”

“It’s my name,” Stockton said.

“I want to go into the caves,” he said. “1 want to see if we can use the caves to reach the tunnel. I believe that there may
well be some men trapped in the tunnel beyond the cave-in. Would you accompany me?”

“Into the caves?” he shrugged. “Shit. Why not?”

“And do you think Kolb and his son will guide us?”

He cocked his brows and then shrugged. “Why not? Or at least Durl will come, anyway.”

“Good,” John said. “Then let’s do it.” He rose from his chair.

“Now?” Stockton asked.

“Instantly.”

“And you want to go along with this?” Stockton asked Edgar Thomson.

“If John wishes it,” Thomson said doubtfully.

“And you want
me
to accompany him?”

“If John wants you,” Thomson said, with an expression that said he would have done otherwise.

“All right then, I’m ready,” Stockton said, rising. He was also shaking his head. “I don’t understand a goddamn thing about
all this, though.”

“What do you mean?” Thomson asked.

“I expected that you had finally found the excuse you’ve been searching for to dismiss me. I thought you were about to throw
me off the works, off the site.”

“As you deserve?” Thomson asked, with scorn in his voice.

“I don’t deserve that,” Stockton replied. “Not on account of the report you have there.”

“We’ll see,” Thomson said. “But first let’s find out about those caves.” Then he motioned to Harrison. “Mr. Harrison, would
you go find Aaron Kolb and his son?”

“You want me to bring them here?”

Thomson thought a moment, then he looked at John.

“What do you think, John?”

“It seems to me that we should all meet down at Kolb’s place,” he said, “since an entrance to the caves is on his property.”

“That’s what I think, too. Meet him there.”

“And while Harrison goes to Kolb,” John said, “I expect Mr. Stockton and I can find the gear we’ll need to take into the caves.”
He looked at Stockton. “Can we do that?”

Stockton nodded.

“Then you go to Kolb right away, Harrison,” Thomson said. “I need him to be ready for us as soon as possible. Instantly. And
we’ll take care of the gear. Tell him that.”

“Yes, sir,” Harrison said. “I expect Kolb’ll be home now. He usually is.” He paused for a moment. “He makes pretty fair whiskey.
He does a lot of business with the crew of the tunnel,” he added, by way of explanation.

Thomson sighed. “I’m sure he does,” he said.

“Can you have him ready within the hour?” John asked.

“I can sure try.”

He left quickly.

Stockton gave Edgar Thomson a puzzled look. “You are talking like you are going down into the caves yourself. Are you?”

Thomson shook his head, ruefully. “No, I can’t. But I’d like to. God, how I’d like to.”