Chapter 8

Penny accepted a seat near the center of attention, which was considerable from the males in the car and a definite improvement, but she kept glancing at Jonas, puzzled as to why he didn't fawn over her as the others were. Even if he was older, she'd had older men melting at her feet regularly. Jonas chose a place along one side of the car and remained standing when Harriet arrived and took the seat in front of him.

Judge Tumbler noted the time aloud when all parties were finally assembled in the lounge and turned the meeting over to Ryan. There was a sudden murmur and a few feminine squeals as the car suddenly entered a tunnel and grew dark; several seconds later it burst into the dull spread of a sunless sky, sitting beneath the dark clouds that seemed to press it down. Ryan braced a hand on the back of a seat and waited for the talk to quiet.

"This won't take long because I only have but one main rule. Nobody, and I mean nobody, goes to the car past the kitchen. That's where our prisoner stays along with myself, and the two guards. Otis Devlin is a stone killer and has absolutely no conscience. It was those very qualities that were prominent in the deaths of your relatives. Make no mistake, he will try anything to get free between now and Sunday and I aim to see that he fails."

"Are you saying we might be in some danger here?" Abner Wentworth asked nervously. He removed his glasses and polished them on the end of his tie.

"Not if you follow my rule, Mister Wentworth. Now frankly, I don't see you or anyone else here actively seeking an audience with Otis but I am concerned that perhaps a little vigilante justice might be playing around in a few minds. I sincerely hope I'm wrong 'cause Otis is going to Judgement and I'm going to see he gets there."

"As the court appointed attorney, Marshal, I believe that I might enjoy some exception to that ru-"

"Wrong, Mister Wentworth. There are no exceptions and no reason to make any. Clear?"

There was a rustle of material and Ryan turned to catch Cybil, with a mischievous smirk, jotting on her notepad.

"I hope you got all of that, Miss Marsh." He said with a little annoyance.

"Indeed Marshal, indeed. I just have to fill in between the lines now." She sat back and crossed her legs, smiling boldly at him.

"Is there any medicine for pain on board?" Peter Soughton groaned from his seat along one side of the car.

"What kind of pain? I thought you were a doctor." Jean asked with a stifled snort.

Peter flushed and shot her a dirty look. "I hurt my back... when the train started." He glared at Jean, daring her to speak. "I don't have any left in my medical kit." Penny started to raise a hand and then lowered it quickly.

"You could sue." Clifford Williams piped up in an officious voice.

"Whoah, let's not get started with stuff like that." Ryan stepped forward and pulled a cord along the ceiling.

"The railroad has a responsibility," Clifford persisted.

"I said stow it, Mister Williams. This is not a forum for civil law cases." Ryan stared him down and then turned as Stanley popped through the door.

"Mister Soughton has injured his back, Stanley, do we have any pain killers on board?"

"All the necessaries, Marshal. Come with me, sir and we'll get you fixed right up." He helped Peter to the dining car door and waved a cheery goodbye.

"Okay, any questions?" Ryan waited a beat and then suggested they all head to the dining car for some dinner.

"Do you sleep in the same car as the prisoner, Marshal?" Ryan felt the bare arm slip through his as they stepped into the alcove at the end of the car after the others.

"Yep. But the car's divided into two parts with a separate door."

"So you're with the guards."

"I am. Is this all that newsworthy, Miss Marsh?"

She smiled and gave his arm a slight squeeze. "I just find everything about you newsworthy... Ryan. May I call you Ryan?"

"It's my name, Cable."

"Cybil. It's Cybil not Cable." Her voice gathered an icy tinge and she withdrew her arm.

"Sorry. Don't want to be misquoted."

She hung back as he opened the door and stepped across the swaying platforms without a glance back.

******

"I'll tell the Marshal that the prisoner's dinner is ready." Stanley slipped off his kitchen apron and went into the dining portion of the car and over to the Marshal's table. Abner Wentworth and James Howden shared his company, dunning him with rules and regulations regarding the conduct of his office with respect to his rules regarding the prisoner. Ryan felt relieved when Stanley gave him his message.

"How about the guards?"

"Coming right behind, sir."

"Thanks Stanley, I'll take it back now." Ryan stood and excused himself, retrieving the dinner from the kitchen and carrying on to the prisoner's car.

The guards, Jigger, and Harlan Phelps, were sitting on two crates and playing cards on another. In the corner of the car, shackled to an eyebolt welded to the floor, Otis Devlin watched with a dour expression, brightening when Ryan arrived.

"Finally. I thought I was supposed to hang not starve to death."

"Don't worry, Dawg," Jigger laughed, "we want you fatter so's the fall through the trap will make a noisier crack."

"Speakin' of traps, why don't you just keep yours shut." Devlin struggled to his knees and balanced himself as Ryan set the tray of food in front of him. "Gonna join me, Marshal?"

"Not in this life, Otis." He turned to the guards. "Yours is comin' right away. He behavin'?"

"Can't do much else, boss," Harlan said, calling gin and tossing his cards down.

"Shit! That's the third time." Jigger grumbled.

"Hey Marshal, Jigger the Nigger can't play cards, guess all they can do is dance, eh?"

Ryan clamped a hand on the guards shoulder preventing him from rising. "Just eat your food and shut up, Otis. The only one dancin' will be you on Sunday afternoon."


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