He dropped the knife.
Then plunged his hand into a shallow pool of water beneath the bridge.
He seized the burning cord and forced it beneath the surface.
Steam hissed.
The flame vanished.
Daniel held it underwater.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Nothing happened.
He released the cord.
For a moment, he could only kneel there, breathing hard.
Then a voice spoke above him.
"Well, ain't that disappointing."
Daniel looked up.
Wade Briggs stood on the maintenance platform, holding a second revolver.
His injured right hand hung uselessly at his side.
He aimed with his left.
Daniel slowly rose.
"Morning, Wade."
Briggs's face was twisted with pain and rage.
"You ruined everything."
Daniel glanced toward the tracks.
"Not yet."
Briggs smiled.
"You think that's the only charge?"
Daniel went cold.
"What?"
The gunman laughed.
"Mr. Ashcroft ain't stupid."
Daniel looked toward the eastern end of the bridge.
Another thin trail of smoke rose from beneath the far supports.
A second fuse.
Briggs had been distracting him.
Daniel looked back.
"You son of a—"
Briggs fired.
The bullet struck Daniel's shoulder.
Pain exploded through his upper body.
He stumbled backward.
His revolver fell from his hand and slid across the rocks.
Briggs stepped closer.
"Five years," he said. "Five years I've been waiting to finish what we started in Kansas."
Daniel pressed one hand against his shoulder.
Blood seeped between his fingers.
Briggs aimed at his chest.
"Any last words?"
Daniel looked past him.
Toward the ridge.
A small figure stood among the trees.
Peter Bellamy.
The boy held an old hunting rifle.
His hands trembled.
Daniel's eyes widened.
"No," he whispered.
Briggs noticed his expression.
He began to turn.
The rifle cracked.
The shot struck the wooden platform beside Briggs.
The gunman flinched and lost his footing.
He fell against the railing.
Daniel lunged forward.
He grabbed Briggs's coat.
For one terrible moment, both men struggled on the edge of the platform.
Briggs struck Daniel's wounded shoulder.
Daniel gasped.
The gunman raised his revolver.
Daniel seized his wrist.
The weapon fired into the sky.
Then the rotten railing gave way.
Briggs fell.
His scream echoed through the gorge.
Daniel dropped to his knees.
He looked over the edge.
Far below, the river rushed between jagged rocks.
Briggs had disappeared into the water.
Daniel did not know whether he was alive.
He had no time to find out.
The second fuse was still burning.
He scrambled toward the far end of the bridge.
The train whistle sounded again.
Closer.
Much closer.
Daniel looked east.
A plume of black smoke appeared beyond the curve.
The locomotive was approaching.
He ran.
His shoulder throbbed.
Blood soaked his shirt.
Every breath sent pain through his ribs.
But he kept moving.
The second charge was fastened beneath the far support beam.
Daniel reached it.
The fuse was nearly gone.
He grabbed the cord.
Pulled.
It would not move.
He searched for his knife.
Gone.
He looked around desperately.
A rusted railroad spike lay beside the track.
He seized it.
Then struck the fastening that held the fuse against the beam.
Once.
Twice.
The metal bent.
The fuse burned closer.
Daniel struck again.
The fastening snapped.
He pulled the cord free.
But this time there was no water nearby.
The river lay far below.
He looked at the burning fuse.
Then at the open gorge.
Without hesitating, he threw the entire loose cord over the edge.
It fell into the river.
A moment later, a muffled explosion erupted below.
Water shot upward in a white plume.
The sound echoed between the cliffs.
Daniel staggered backward.
He had stopped the second charge from detonating against the bridge.
But the locomotive was still approaching.
And the engineer had no idea what had happened.
Daniel climbed onto the tracks.
He waved both arms.
"STOP!"
The train continued.
He shouted again.
"STOP THE TRAIN!"
The whistle screamed.
The engineer had seen him.
But the locomotive was moving too fast.
Daniel stood between the rails.
The enormous machine thundered toward him.
He could see the engineer leaning from the cab.
The man was shouting.
Steam poured from the wheels.
The brakes shrieked.
Daniel waved his coat.
Then, at the last possible moment, he threw himself sideways.
The locomotive passed within inches of his boots.
Hot steam blasted across his face.
The train slowed.
Carriages rattled.
Iron wheels screamed against steel.
Finally, the engine stopped halfway across the bridge.
Daniel lay on the gravel beside the tracks, gasping.
For several seconds, he could not move.
Then footsteps approached.
A man in a soot-covered cap jumped down from the locomotive.
"What in God's name are you doing?"
Daniel rolled onto his back.
The engineer stared at his bloodstained shirt.
"You're hurt!"
Daniel managed a weak smile.
"Been worse."
The engineer looked toward the bridge.
"What happened?"
"Explosives."
The man's face went white.
"Where?"
Daniel pointed beneath the supports.
"Two charges. Both disabled."
The engineer stared at him.
Then toward the passengers emerging from the carriages.
"Sweet mercy."
Daniel struggled to sit.
"Listen carefully."
The engineer knelt beside him.
"What?"
"There's a mailbag on this train."
"Of course."
"It contains documents that must reach Denver."
The engineer frowned.
"What kind of documents?"
"Evidence against Caleb Voss and Edward Ashcroft."
The man's expression changed.
He looked toward the town.
Then back at Daniel.
"You're Daniel Mercer."
Daniel nodded.
The engineer stared.
"There's a reward for you."
"Five hundred dollars."
The man swallowed.
Daniel looked him in the eye.
"Would you rather have the money or know you helped expose the men who nearly killed everyone on your train?"
The engineer was silent.
Then he stood.
He looked toward the passengers.
A woman held a frightened child.
An elderly man leaned against the carriage door.
Two railroad workers were examining the damaged bridge.
The engineer turned back to Daniel.
"My name's Henry Dawson."
Daniel nodded.
"Good to meet you, Henry."
Dawson extended his hand.
"Get up."
Daniel stared.
"What?"
"We've got a train to move."
He helped Daniel to his feet.