Gordon eased off on the throttle and sounded the steam whistle.

“Here we are,” he announced as the train came to a stop. 

The reception committee, the two men who manned the tower, waved, one from the platform, the other from his second floor window.

“News from Prescott?” Gordon asked.

“Phoenix decided to send a train after all.  It’s delayed,” came the shout from the tower.  “Governor was asking for the Army Observation Corps to lend him a  plane, but they were both being serviced.”

“I’ll be up there in a minute,” Gordon said.  “Prescott railmaster wanted to be sure he’d heard from me before we go ahead.”

Finally the silent Tower Five was approached.  Gordon sounded his whistle as his locomotive pulled to a  stop.  The platform, such as it was, was vacant.  No one called from the tower’s second floor.  Gordon impatiently sounded the whistle, once and again.

“Where the devil are they?” he asked, not quite speaking to himself.  “They can’t both be taking a nap, not in broad daylight, not in this heat.”

“That whistle would wake the dead,” Steve Smith said.  Outside the train, the men could hear nothing beyond the hiss of steam leaking from the locomotive’s cylinders.

“I need to go and look,” Gordon announced.  “And remind them of their job.”

“Mister Gordon, Sir,” Winston said politely, “if there are missing people, I should be the one to look.  It’s my job, I think.”  He tapped the badge he was wearing.

“Suit yourself,” Gordon answered.  “But I get to kick their butts if they’re sleeping on the job.”

“Understood.”  Winston pulled a belt from his carryall and carefully holstered his revolver. “Better safe than sorry.”