Ryan instructed his deputies to take Devlin back to his cell, give him his bucket and then bring the bucket, the extra chains and locks and Devlin to the train station. They had plenty of time so they could walk him the long way, which meant a difficult shuffling over the rutted, mucky streets. He watched as the two deputies shoved Devlin roughly and with pleasure, back into the rear of the jail and into his cell.

Across the street was the barbershop and Ryan picked his way through the mud, grabbing his hat brim as a sharp gust tried to snatch it away, and jumped up onto the wooden walk in front of the store. A fine mist of rain stung his face and he worried about traveling through the mountains in bad weather.

The man seated in the tilted chair with his feet on a barrel and a dirty stub of black cigar jutting from a beneath a luxuriant silver moustache regarded Ryan with interest.

"You Gil Wilder?" Ryan asked, pointing to the shop's sign.

"The very same, Marshal. You needing a haircut or shave?"

"Nope. Information." The barber chewed his little cigar and watched with a twinkle in his eye as Ryan pulled up his collar and hoisted a flank on the rail in front of the shop. "I understand you're the town's human library and best source for gossip, facts and everything in between."

"Human Library... I like that. Yessir, I like the sound of that." Gil took out his stub of cigar and spat. "It's 'cause I get all the eastern papers and read them through and through. Man's gotta know what's goin' on in the world, not just his little corner of the country."

"Right now it's just my little corner that interests me." He handed Gil his copy of the sheet with the names of the people taking the train to Judgement. "What can you tell me about any of these folks?"

Gil studied the list, making faces and various noises then he tossed away his cigar and jabbed the page with an uncommonly slender finger, a vast contrast with the rest of his image. "Judge Tumbler I know. Decent enough man away from the bench."

"And on the bench?" Ryan asked.

"He's totally against hangin' and such. Commutes all the death sentences to life. Says that's a worse punishment than dyin'. Personally, I believe a body can get used to pretty much anythin', including a life behind bars." Gil looked up at Ryan. "I'm surprised he's the one representin' the government on this. Seems passing strange."

"Anyone else?" Ryan asked, filing away the information.

"Wentworth is a toady lawyer cum politician. Read somewhere he was supposed to have done some finaglin' behind the scenes that helped a dark horse senator get elected. Left him with a bit of clout in the government." He moved his finger down the list. "What's a victim's advocate?"

"That's Howden. He's gonna make an appeal for compensation from the court for the victim's loss and sufferin'. Sounds a tad wormy to me."

"I think your right. Probably a huckster chasin' quick money." He read on, "Don't know the doc. Kinda young ain't he?"

"He's a pathologist, I'm told. He's just along to give official confirmation that Devlin is dead. Another unnecessary government appointment."

"Somebody's daddy pullin' strings?" Ryan shrugged. "Oh-ho! Cybil Marsh! Well now you've got your hands full there, Marshal." Gil slapped his thigh and chuckled. "First rate freelance writer for a couple of the eastern papers I read. She's good. Fair. Smart and honest."

"Why would that be trouble?"

"She's also peskier than a saddle bur; just won't never quit until she's got what she wants."

Ryan sighed. "How about the kin?"

"Seth Dingwall I know. Nasty son-of-a-bitch. Bin in my chair twice when he's come to town to sell stock. Pigs or sheep or somethin'. Minute he's paid and I'm finished cleanin' him up he's off to Tessie's."

"Tessie?"

"At the hotel. She's in charge of our local female entertainment. Don't know his wife." He carried on reading. "Don't know Jonas Howe nor the Bellows women. Oh thunder! Slap me silly but you are one lucky lawman, Marshal. Penelope Hatcher is goin' with you."

"Who's she?" Ryan frowned.

"Who's she! Marshal you need to board your horse and spend some time in civilization. Penny Hatcher is the theatre's toast from coast to coast. The queen of the footlights."

"An actress."

"Not just an actress, Marshal, the youngest, prettiest, most celebrated actress since Lily Langtree. Even more." Ryan remained unimpressed and just stared at the barber. "You are a strange one, Marshal." He read out a few more names that he didn't know and then gave Ryan a run down on the train crew. "Best I can do." He handed the list back.

"I appreciate your help, Mister Wilder. It's good to know somethin' about the people you have to take charge of."

"Good luck to you on that, son." Gil chuckled again, lighting up another black cigar with relish.

******

Carl 'Whistler' Jacobs plodded along the wooden platform on sore feet, stemming from a lot of years doing exactly the same thing, examining the condition of his engine. Clouds of steam jetted out, engulfing him entirely as he carried on, whistling tunelessly to himself. He couldn't count the number of times he'd performed the same ritual, each one a singular pleasure. Carl loved the railway and he loved his engine.

This trip he would be hauling a custom configuration of just four cars; the kitchen/dining car, the lounge car, the sleeping car at the end and right behind his engine, the special prison car with the tiny catwalk down the right side so he could get to the kitchen without going inside. The guards had the back half of the car for sleeping and the front half was where the prisoner was kept. Carl was happy that this particular prisoner would be chained to the floor bolt for the entire trip.

"Everything okay, Carl?"

"Yup. Always is, Amos. The passengers here yet?" Carl patted his face and neck with a soiled kerchief and stuffed it into his overall pocket. He gave a cursory bang with his wrench to an innocent piece of metal just to complete the act of inspecting.

"Comin' now, boss. Hope that man is bound good and tight; I bin' havin' bad dreams about this run."

"You always was a jittery nigger, Amos. Marshal's a good man, he'll see that everything's fine. You just get that fire stoked to a hummin' run and we'll be good shape."

"Fire is stoked, boss. Gauges settlin' in perfect. Just waitin' for you now."

"I'll get Stanley out to meet the Marshal and be right back." Carl thumped down the platform, his heavy body bending the legs inside his baggy overalls. He tugged at the peak of his cap and spit, clearing his throat before greeting the Marshal.

"Marshal Waites, Carl Jacobs."

"Ryan's good enough." Ryan greeted the engineer with a firm handshake and nodded solemnly.

"Know all about you, Ryan. Knew about your grandfather, Gage Talbot too." He watched for a reaction but got nothing but a cold stare. "Another good man." Carl raised a hand and beckoned to the face peering from between the cars. "This is Stanley, when he gets here. He'll be the one to talk to when we're on the way if you need anything. He's our Porter."