The snow was gathering wet and sticky in drifts all around the wheels of the train cars. A bitter wind carried the heavy flurries across the open spaces almost horizontally. The pines stood helplessly, draped in snowy mantles and surrendering to the wind's caprice. Devlin had rolled into a small ball but he knew he would never last the night without even a jacket and the cold metal barrel of the rifle was making his hands ache.

His teeth banged together loud enough to worry him and he made a conscious effort to keep them still. He peeked up over the gathering drift in front of him and stared at the lounge car. A faint glimmer of light leaked from behind the drawn curtains and he knew they were bedding down, taking turns watching the doors. He shivered uncontrollably and considered his chances, concluding they were slim to none.

"Nuthin' for it, Otis," he muttered. "Give up, at least you'll be warm and get fed. There'll be other chances." He stood and ran in a crouch toward the rear of the train, flattening against the side and gaining a small respite from the wind. Snow was freezing on his eyelashes and his nose ran into icicles, his feet were getting numb.

He thought about how he might do this. He could bang on the side of the car and yell that he was giving up then back away and let them see him toss the rifle down or he could go to the door and do the same thing except whoever was keeping lookout might just shoot him first. He needed another plan, something that worked better than his previous ones. When it hit him, he slapped the side of his head so hard it hurt both his head and his hand.

The cold's froze your brain, Otis, you dimwit. He crept away from the car and ran in a slipping crouch along the track to the prison car, finding it still locked. From there he moved on to the engine and climbed up into the cab. The fire was barely glowing and he quickly began stoking it carefully, throwing a piece of his bloody bandage on to start a flame. A few minutes later Otis had a small fire starting in the firebox and he practically shoved his hands into the flames to warm them.

He glanced around the cab and noticed that the control levers were missing; there was no way he could start the train and get away. Clever, Marshal. Very clever. At least I'll be warm for a while, he thought, also wondering how he could get back the advantage before morning. He shoveled more coal into the firebox then huddled down next to it and concentrated on not shivering.

Ryan shook himself awake and got to his feet, aching from sitting on the hard floor between the seats. He made his way to the back door and told the Judge to stand down and to get one of the other men to relieve Jonas. He cupped his hands to the window and stared out but his breath immediately fogged the glass and he swore to himself, stepping back and waiting for it to clear; he didn't want to wipe it off and make it all smeary.

Judge Tumbler picked his way down the aisle past the bundled couples and stopped, poking James Howden on the shoulder.

"You're the next watch, young man."

James jerked and sat up abruptly. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"We're all takin' turns and this is yours." He held out the gun and waited.

"I'm not placing myself in any danger for an incompetent Marshal, my duty is to the victims." He said pompously.

The Judge made a disgusting noise with his mouth and straightened up. "I know where you think your duty lies you disgraceful excuse for a man." He went to Peter Soughton, shaking his shoulder. Penny opened a sleepy eye and placed a finger near her lips, missing as she slurred a caution to be quiet. Tumbler frowned in disgust when he saw the small, empty bottle sticking out from under the blanket. Angry and worried, he went back to the bar and kicked Stanley's foot.

"You're up Stanley. Go and relieve Jonas. We got ourselves a train full of cowards, drunks and addicts." He waited until he was certain Stanley was awake and aware then he went back to speak to Ryan. "Howden's refusing to help and the Doc and that Miss Hatcher are both drugged out of their heads."

Ryan stared at him in disbelief. "Are they crazy? Don't they realize what we're up against with this guy?"

"I think they figure he'll be frozen stiff by morning. Either that or they'll be dead themselves."

"Has Jonas bin' relieved?"

"Yep. Stanley."

"Go grab some shut-eye then Judge, like it or not we'll have to tend these idiots ourselves." He gave the Judge a companionable slap on the back and turned to look out into the white, snowy night.

"I hope I wasn't included in that comment, Marshal."

Ryan turned to see Cybil leaning against the doorway right behind him. "I wasn't makin' distinctions."

"Wow! Diplomacy certainly isn't your strong suit." She looked past him into the night. "Think he's still nearby?"

"Where's he gonna go? Devlin is a gut survivor. Unless you see him dead and buried you don't turn your back no matter what the circumstances."

"You had a chance to make that happen didn't you?" She studied the worry creases around his pale eyes and the bitter twist to his mouth as he prepared a reply. Marshal Ryan Waites was not a man to coddle nor did he enjoy leadership. He was a loner, best suited to starting and finishing a job on his own terms. Cybil took in the sadness behind the strength and felt an unusual empathy for him. When she realized he'd spoken she blushed and looked away.

"I'm sorry, I- I was – was thinking..."

"So was I." He held her gaze for a moment and then dropped the matter, returning to look out the window.

What had she missed? Did he say something- something she would have appreciated somehow? She drew in her breath and tried another tack. "I was speaking with Mrs. Dingwall and I have a strong feeling that her husband's death is being more celebrated than grieved."

"After what I heard, nothing surprises me anymore about this crowd."

"You mean, 'idiots'?"

He looked back at her and swallowed hard. In the car's light her skin glowed like pale gold and her hair shimmered with each flicker of the flame. "Uuh that was- that was..."

"Not for my ears." She smiled and her teeth gleamed white against the red of her lips.

Ryan smiled and nodded. "Right. Bad timing I guess."

She moved around to lean on the frame and face him directly. "What do you think will happen?"

"Tonight? Nothing, but then if he gets cold enough he might get reckless."

"You think he's still around then, he didn't try and run away?"

"Not in this snow. Bad enough he's outside at all but runnin' around these mountains blind..." He let the statement trail off.

"Abner thinks we'll find him frozen in the morning."

"Abner's more optimistic than me. I tracked the man for a long time, he survived some pretty rough conditions."

"You must have as well then," Cybil canted her head, waiting.

He looked away and shrugged noncommittally. A noisy gust of wind rattled the glass in the door and a dusting of snow swirled through cracks around the door. Ryan pulled his coat collar close and shivered. "You better get back under your blanket, it doesn't take too much to get chilled out here."

"I could share it with you, you don't look any too warm to me."

"Don't make me think poorly of you, Miss Marsh, I've kinda held you in a little higher regard than some of the others."

Cybil's mouth dropped and she turned away quickly so he wouldn't see her flaming cheeks. "Go- goodnight, Marshal." She moved swiftly back to her seat, crawled under the blanket and kept her face hidden. "You are an idiot," she scolded herself.