Giordino tensed for the impact that would smash his flesh and bones into a ghastly spray of crimson and white. He made up his mind he was going to die, and that was that. The deafening clangor was upon them, assaulting their ear drums. They felt as though they had been thrust into some strange vacuum where twentieth-century reasoning lost all relevance.
Then, as if by magic, the impossible thing passed over them. "Now!" Pitt shouted above the din.
They all dropped their hands and stared, eyes still adjusted to the dark.
The light was now aimed away and traveling down the abandoned track bed, the locomotive sound diminishing in its wake. They could clearly see a black rectangle centered in the glow about eight feet off the ground. They watched fascinated as it grew smaller in the distance and then turned up the grade to the bridge, where it blinked out and the accompanying clatter died into the storm. "What in hell was that?" Chase finally muttered.
"An antique locomotive headlamp and an amplifier," answered Pitt.
"Oh, yeah?" grunted Giordino skeptically. "Then how does it float in mid-air?"
"On a wire strung from the old telegraph poles."
"Too bad there has to be a logical explanation," said Chase, sadly shaking his head. "I hate to see good supernatural legends debunked."
Pitt gestured toward the sky. "Keep looking. Your legend should be returning anytime now."
They grouped around the nearest telegraph pole and stared upward into the darkness. A minute later a black shape emerged and slipped noiselessly through the air above them. Then it melted back into the shadows and was gone. "Fooled hell out of me," Giordino admitted.
"Where did the thing come from?" asked Chase.
Pitt didn't answer immediately. He suddenly stood illuminated by a lightning strike in a distant field; the flash revealed a contemplative look on his face. Finally he said, "You know what I think?"
"No, what?"
"I think we should all have a cup of coffee and a slice of hot apple pie."
By the time they knocked on Ansel Magee's door they looked like drowned rats. The big sculptor cordially invited them in and took their wet coats. While Pitt made the introductions, Annie Magee, true to expectations, hurried into the kitchen to rustle up coffee and pie, only this time it was cherry.
"What brings you gentlemen out on such a miserable night?" asked Magee.
"We were chasing ghosts," Pitt replied.
Magee's eyes narrowed. "Any luck?"
"May we talk about it in the depot office?"
Magee nodded agreeably. "Of course. Come, come."
It took little urging for him to regale Chase and Giordino with the history behind the office and its former occupants. As he talked, he built a fire in the potbellied stove. Pitt sat silently at Sam Harding's old rolltop desk. He'd heard the lecture before and his mind was elsewhere.
Magee was in the midst of pointing out the bullet in Hiram Meecham's chessboard when Annie entered, carrying a tray with cups and plates.
After the last scrap of pie was gone, Magee looked across the office at Pitt. "You never did say whether you found a ghost."
"No," Pitt replied. "No ghost. But we did find a clever rig that fakes the phantom train."
Magee's broad shoulders drooped and he shrugged. "I always knew someone would discover the secret someday. I even had the local folks fooled. Not that any of them minded. They're all quite proud of having a ghost they can call their own. Sort of gives them something to brag about to the tourists."
"When did you get wise to it?" Annie asked.
"The night I came to your door. Earlier I was standing on the bridge abutment when you sent the phantom on a run. Just before it reached me the lamp blinked out and the sound shut down."
"You saw how it worked then?"
"No, I was blinded by the glare. By the time my eyes readjusted to the dark it was long gone. Baffled the hell out of me at first. My gut instinct was to search the ground level. That only added to my confusion when I failed to find tracks in the snow. But I'm a man with a curious streak. I wondered why the old railbed was torn up and hauled away down to the last cross tie and yet the telegraph poles were left standing. Railroad officials are a tightfisted lot. They don't like to leave any reusable equipment behind when they abandon a right-of-way. I began following the poles until I came to the last one in line. It stands at the door of a shed beside your private track. I also noticed that the headlamp was missing from your locomotive."
"I have to give you credit, Mr. Pitt," said Magee. "You're the first to hit upon the truth."