Plotting!
Jose nodded and began unrolling maps. Bailey could see that these were labeled in English, which was nice. “They move the main work camp every six weeks,” the bandit chief explains. “The teams lay 2 miles a day of track on a good day, or at least a good day for the Massas.” The venom Jose packed into that term for the rulers of Coahuila was something to hear. “At least they did. In the last season, new overseers came. They whip the workers for any reason, or none at all. They keep the gibbets full, too. The work goes faster, now.”
“Bastards,” said Bailey. “Stupid ones, too.”
Nacho gave him a look. “Oh?”
Bailey smiled, without humor. “Slave-made stuff’s always gonna be dangerous. It’ll break in your hands, or pop a rivet, let you down when you need it most. But you whip a man when he’s laying track?” Bailey shook his head. “That, my friends, is a railroad you never want to take. It’ll smash you up out of sheer spite, it will.”