Devlin did as he was told and stepped out into a wet and gusty stream of rain. He turned his head and closed his eyes as the prison car door closed. When he looked up he was alone on the platform, his captor, or was it a rescuer, was not with him. Within seconds he was freezing and soaked, wind and water almost blinding him as it mixed with the blood from his crack on the head.

He leaned out and stared through the weather to the rear of the train where he could just make out several people busily doing something with a lot of arm waving and running around. Toward the engine, he could see the back of the engineer's head and only managed to duck back as he turned to look down to the track at the rear.

Otis tried the door behind him but it was locked and he wondered what his mysterious visitor was doing in the prison car. The door on the kitchen car opened easily, to his surprise, and he slipped inside cautiously, stopping to listen for any sound of activity. He crept forward, his eyes falling on the array of cooking utensils and the rack of knives by the counter. Grinning, Otis selected a large butcher knife with a razor edge and hefted it in his hand with grim satisfaction.

He crept to the door that led to the dining car and holding his ear tight to the wood, listened for anything beyond the sound of the storm. Devlin frowned and wondered at the change of events. His mind flashed back to the grotesque form of the prison guard with the fork handle protruding from his mouth and he felt a shiver of excitement; something was on his side and if it was luck he would take all he could get.

He opened the door a crack and peered inside, hoping to find somebody to use as a hostage or to get a weapon from but when he opened it more he let out a long shivery sigh, finding it empty. He crossed through the dining car and paused again. This time it was far riskier. A sudden lull in the storm's intensity allowed him to hear the babble of voices in the next car, the lounge, and he wondered if he could get inside without notice until he realized they might be coming his way.

Why was everyone in the lounge? He cursed silently and thought about going outside and maybe making his way to the engine and the more he thought about it the better it sounded. He hurried back through the cars to the kitchen door and stepped out onto the rain-pelted platform.

Clifford sat on the same box Harlan had used to eat dinner, shaking. The plan had been to kill him where he was tied up but he just didn't have the sand. It occurred to him that if he pushed him outside and then alerted the Marshal to his escape, Devlin would be shot down by them and he could just say he was trying to help by checking the car while they were busy at the bridge. He held his breath as he slowly opened the door, checking to make sure Devlin wasn't waiting. Instead, his eyes popped open in surprise as Harriet pushed him back inside and shut the door.

"What are you—?"

She put a finger to her lips and pointed behind him. When Clifford turned he felt a searing pain in his back and he stumbled forward, tripping over the box and onto the floor. He tried to catch his breath but the pain was excruciating and when he attempted to look back he felt another stinging thrust between his shoulder blades. Blood filled his mouth and he coughed it out as his head hit the floor.

"It's my money!" He heard as the light went out and his breath bubbled a final sigh. "My money!"

Carl shook his head and wiped the rain from his face. "If I back her up again it's liable to put too much weight on the busted struts."

"Only a foot or so, Carl, wouldn't that be enough?" Ryan ducked his head into the gusting wind as the car rocked dangerously on the broken rail. "We gotta do something."

"I say we uncouple the damn thing and worry about it later." Jigger brushed a ham of a hand over his soaking face and swore at the elements.

"Might be the best solution, Marshal. Folks can sleep in the lounge 'til we get to Judgement."

"I don't like it." Ryan stared at the rail and swore. "Just try it once, Carl. If it don't work we'll leave it here."

"The only way I'll do that is with somebody up there on the coupling pin. If there's any sign at all of derailin' or the bridge breakin' up, I want that pin pulled smartly and a signal to shunt clear."

"Let's just get on with it afore we all drown out here." Deke complained.

"Right. Deke, you get the coupling pin, Jigger, you go and check on Devlin." They exchanged cautious looks. "Mister Howe you get up to the lounge car and tell them folks to stay to the front and keep still."

Ryan watched the men move off and gave a final pat to Carl's shoulder as the old engineer scurried back toward the engine.

Peter Soughton, scolded and encouraged in equal doses managed to do a credible job in setting Amos's broken leg and with a generous donation of laudanum from Penny's medicinal supply, the patient was resting quite comfortably on the two dining tables that had been shoved together.

"Great work, doc," Cybil said with an accompanying slap on the back.

"I need a drink." Peter slumped onto one of the chairs by the window and covered his mouth with his hand, attended to by a couple of the others. With their attention taken, Harriet slipped back into the car and settled quietly in a corner seat. She had waited until Devlin went into the dining car before crossing to the prison car and on the way back she had sneaked back inside when Devlin tried to head toward the engine.

"I think we could all use a little something. How about it Stanley?" Abner inquired.

Stanley was about to object at being the bartender while supposedly in charge of the passengers when the door slid open and Jonas Howe stepped in, sopping wet and dripping huge wet puddles on the carpeted floor.

"Marshal wants every one right up at the front end and sittin' still. The train is still stuck on a broken rail and we might have to leave the sleepin' car behind." He looked at the group and did a quick count. "We're missin' some folks. Anyone know where they are?"

"I have important papers in my compartment. I can't leave those behind." James Howden leaped up and started for the sleeping car.

"Whoah there, mister. You can't go back there right now." Jonas stopped the struggling man with a steel-like grip on his arm, steering him down onto one of the dining chairs. Howden complained and sputtered until threatened by Judge Tumbler and then sank into a dark sulk.

"That Clifford fella's not here." Abner noted.