“What in the name of good God is that?” demanded Fergusson, stepping back from the open door, eyes everywhere, voice cracking in confusion.
“Sounded like gunfire,” said Simms, standing with his back against the opposite side of the caboose, motionless, arms folded.
Shooting him a fierce look, Fergusson strode through the car to where Chico stood, neck straining, peering up to the roof of the caboose. “Go topside with the brakeman and find out what the hell is happening down the line.”
Chico gaped. “Go topside? Are you crazy? I"m not going up there, not for you, not for anyone.”
“Do it,” snapped Fergusson, tugging out his revolver. “I"ll kill you if you don"t.”
“You be careful who you"re threatening, Mr. Fergusson.” Chico grinned. “You haven"t even eased back the hammer on your piece.”
