“You think that we’re going to get saved?” Bowman asked no in particular.
“Yes, by Jesus,” Haley said with a short, barking laugh. “Well, some of us will be, anyway.”
“I’m being serious,” Bowman said, rolling his eyes. “Those men that went out into the storm the other day, surely they must have gotten to Cheyenne by now.”
“That is if they survived,” Ansel said, pulling up a chair. “For all we know, those men could be frozen on the train tracks a mile ahead.”
The marshals were barricaded in the first-class car, having never felt so isolated with so many people around. Davis and his traveling companions were holed up in their sleeping compartment while the marshals sat out in the corridor. Ansel had insisted on jamming the latch closed on the window in the compartment, to prevent the shooter from forcing it open. As well, he had his fellow marshals lean a table against the window, so that no one could see in. Even further, Ansel had the passengers douse their candle and cast their sleeping compartment in darkness. Enough passengers had already been lost, and he wasn’t interested in losing any more.
As exhausted as Ansel was, he still had his hand grazing his holstered gun, his eyes cautiously watching the door. He continued, “I don’t think we’re prepared for the very real possibility that no one is coming to save us. We’re almost out of coal in this car, and there’s no telling how much more coal we have left elsewhere on this godforsaken train. All we can hope for now is that our funerals will be nice. I hope they bury me under that maple tree in the family plot.” He smiled weakly. “It’d be nice to have some shade.”
“Well, since death is apparently knocking, I suppose we should confess our sins," Bowman said. “When I was a kid, I stole a newspaper.”
“I once had immoral relations with a married woman,” Haley said.
Bowman snorted. “Make sure to confess for that lie. I can’t imagine any woman putting up with you for more than a few minutes at a time, let alone a married one.”
Before Haley had a chance to respond, Ansel said, “I wish we weren’t here.”
“Well, I think it’s too late for us to return our tickets,” Bowman joked. “I’m sure the train company has some sort of policy against that.”
Ansel shook his head. “I mean, I wish that we weren’t standing watch outside of a rich man’s room, like we’re mercenaries.”
“Again, Russell, you know what we’re paid to do: to follow orders. And out here, the ranchers are the order,” Layton said listlessly.
“Maybe you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Well, that’s work for you,” Layton replied.
“And look at it this way,” Bowman said to Ansel. “There’s still a killer on the train who’s hunting down the rich ranchers. We’re doing good sitting here, more than you think we are.”
“Maybe we are. Irving, I’m going to need you to go and root around for some more coal. I’m starting to feel the chill.”
“I’ll get up in just a minute,” Layton said drowsily. “I promise.”