Two deputies guarding the tower waved good-by as the locomotive eased forward.  Two linemen kept them company.  Told there were dead men in the tower, they announced that the bodies would need someone in attendance, so they would wait in front of the door.

Once out of earshot, Gordon explained.  “They’re superstitious as can be, heard they two men just died, think we’re headed into death, and will go no farther.  Murphy may dock them a day’s pay, except he’s told enough tales of banshees and haunts that he’ll respect them.  Besides, if he does, the rest of his linemen will work to rule.  Or threaten to quit.”

“We’re really moving slowly,” Winston observed.

“Rule one,” Steve explained, “If you pass a red light, we did, you haveta be able to stop in half the track you can see.  Track winds for a piece.”

“Absolutely,” Gordon agreed.  “Also, I suspect the break is close.  Tower six, telegraph is dead.”

The locomotive and its three cars rolled slowly into the afternoon heat.  Gradually the colors of the ground changed, the dull tan being supplanted by small patches of brighter orange.

“We get over that crest,” Gordon told Winston, “and there’s a way long view, but have to take it real slow to the military crest.  But here we are, and…”

Gordon released the engine’s throttle, sounded the whistle, and hit the brakes.  The train shuddered under the sudden change.  A loud screech marked wheels sliding over the track as the locomotive ground to a stop.

“I don’t see rails a bit ahead,” he announced, “and that landscape is just…wrong.”

“Where are the bushes?” Steve asked.  “It’s all that orange dust.  The rocks look like they sagged, no sharp edges.”