that powered the

gleaming steel driving shafts.

Karlstrom paused and watched fondly as another engine shunted slowly

past. 'Amazing, aren't they?" He crossed the last two tracks. 'This

one's a real beauty."

When they drew level with the cab, Karlstrom stood aside and motioned

Steve to climb aboard first.

Reaching the footplate, Karlstrom unhooked a two-way radio and spoke to

the yard marshal's office. 'This is Baker-King plus one aboard

Southern Belle on Stand Five. You got any dear track for me?"

'Stand-by, Baker-King. Affirmative. We're switching you out of the

yard onto the north-eastern section. You're clear up-line as far as

Beaumont."

'Roger. Thanks, Ned. Under steam and pulling away."

Steve took the radio from Karlstrom's outstretched hand and returned it

to its place on the wall of the cab. After leaning out to check both

sides of the track, ahead and behind, Karlstrom released the brakes and

eased open the throttle. The huge locomotive shuddered momentarily as

the driving wheels got a proper purchase on the rails, amid a deafening

hiss of steam, then began to glide forward. 'See that stack of logs

behind you?"

Steve checked the loaded tender and nodded.

Karlstrom handed him a pair of heavy work-gloves.

'Stick a couple of dozen into the firebox." He leant down and unlocked

the door to the roaring furnace. 'Once they're in, push 'em to the

back with that stoking iron." ?'Yess-sirr!" Steve went to work.

When the firebox was full, Steve took his stand at the window on the

opposite of the cab to Karlstrom. They had left the yard behind and

were now rolling east through open country. They passed several

work-details of Mutes labouring on the down-line under Tracker

overseers.

Some of the Trackers were armed with carbines, and rode aboard blue

six-wheel vehicles - a type Steve had never seen before.

'Bobcats,' shouted Karlstrom, sensing the question in Steve's mind. He

checked the steam and brake pressure dials then leaned back out of the

driver's side-window.

Steve, whose antennae were always extended in situations like this, was

fascinated by the change in Karlstrom's demeanour. He was still

issuing orders in the same peremptory manner but he was no longer the

dry, ruthless Director of AMEXICO that Steve had first encountered.

Karlstrom seemed exhilarated by the rush of air on his face, mixing

with the smell of engine oil, warm iron and woodsmoke. He was really

enjoying himself.

Like a small boy ....

Karlstrom eyed him shrewdly. 'What d'you think?" he demanded. 'Isn't

this great?!" 'Yes." Steve rodded some more logs into the firebox,

closed it off and straightened up. 'It's also tough on the back."

'Nothing comes easy, Brickanan. If you want to be an

engine-driver, you have to learn to be a fireman first."

Karlstrom smiled. 'You ought to consider yourself lucky.

Some people never even get to ride in the cab."

'No, sir. I'm aware of that." Steve watched Karlstrom rub his oily

rag tenderly over the gleaming pipe work.

The way you might caress a naked woman. 'Are all the First Family

hooked on trains?"

'The ones that count are,' said Karlstrom. 'It's in the blood. It was

the train that opened up America. Forget the covered wagons - the long

lines of prairie schooners.

It's the men who built the locos and the railroads who were the real

pioneers. That was the era when America first achieved real

greatness.

You could travel coast to coast and north to south. D'you wanna know

something?

In the golden years, there were three hundred and sixty thousand miles

of track! Can you imagine that?! The railways were the arteries and

veins of the nation, the trains its life blood."

Steve nodded respectfully. Karlstrom's eyes, fired up with a passion

he had never displayed in more formal encounters, reminded Steve of

good o" crazy Uncle Bart.