Ryan wondered just how much the engineer did know about him. Nothing that seemed to bother him anyway. He'd keep that in mind. He watched the young man swing down from the car and jog down the platform, huffing to a halt and spraying he and the engineer with a huge grin.

"Stanley, this is Marshal Waites. He'll be in charge of the passengers so anything he needs you get done right smartly, yes?"

"Absolutely, Carl. Pleasure, Marshal." The hand was soft in Ryan's and the grin began to look a little strained and dopey.

"You know what this trip is about do, son?"

"Oh yes! Bin' the talk o' the town for days now." Stanley shifted from foot to foot and stopped as he glanced over Ryan's shoulder. "Is that him?" Ryan turned slightly and nodded as he saw the two guards hustle Otis up the station steps and down the platform. "He don't look so dangerous."

"Be thankful he's shackled, son and you will not go anywhere near him—none of you. Understood?"

"Stanley's good at followin' orders and unless he somehow makes his way to the engine, you don't have to worry about me and Amos. There's Deke, Stanley. Better see what he wants."

"Who's Deke?" Waites squinted up at the car doorway.

"Our cook, Deke Travis." Carl made a drinking motion with his hand. "Likes to step away now and then for a tipple but he makes a mean chili and steak."

"I should warn you both right now, and this goes for everyone on the train. Any contact with the prisoner is forbidden—for any reason. Anyone breakin' that rule risks getting' shot by me, or the guards. Clear?"

"As day, Marshal. As day." Carl pushed Stanley on the shoulder and waved him back to work. "He's a good lad, Ryan. You don't need to worry."

"Until this is over, worry's my middle name."

Carl nodded and then indicated with his chin the gathering behind the Marshal. "These more of your charges?"

Two single men and a man holding the arm of an attractive woman climbed the short steps onto the platform and stood uncomfortably, looking around. The older of the two single men, Ryan presumed, was Abner Wentworth, one of the government appointed witnesses to his prisoner's execution. He appeared to be lecturing the other, much younger single man who Ryan couldn't place, possibly another witness.

He took out a piece of paper and consulted the list the governor had provided and started for the group, pegging the young man as Peter Soughton, the pathologist representing the Ministry of Justice. Abner's nose bobbed up and down with each hand gesture and when he was finished his head settled into his collar giving him a neck-less appearance. The couple stood apart, not speaking and the man looked angry and aggressive.

Ryan studied the group carefully, their presence and their function, way down on his list of respect. In his mind, Otis Devlin having any kind of a trial, foregone or not, was a waste and a crime in itself. He beckoned Stanley and directed him to speak to the passengers and get them on board and settled.

"Ah, they already told me somebody from the group has the compartment assignments and the keys." Stanley shrugged and waited.

"Fine. Find out who it is and get him crackin' then. And I want a list of who's where when you're done." Ryan turned and started toward the stiff looking group again, breathing a huge sigh of reluctant interest.

"Excuse me folks. I'm Marshal Waites, I'll be the one responsible for getting us all to Judgement."

"Sounds ominous." A pleasant voice suggested. Ryan followed the sound and met the grey eyes of the next arrival on the platform. "Cybil Marsh, Star Telegraph representative this trip, Marshal." A languid hand reached out and he took the fingers in his, noting the cool, soft skin.

"Pleasure, ma'am." His impression didn't match his words.

Another group arrived and Ryan waited until they were all assembled in front of him, quiet and paying attention. His eyes ranged over the group and he mentally allotted names from his list to the different faces, finding the easiest being that of Penny Hatcher, the actress.

She had been the one helped up the platform steps by the angry looking young man with Abner. Apparently some of the other men had experienced the same reaction to her beauty, as she seemed to be almost crowded among them.

"As ominous as this might sound," he began, carrying on from the reporter's comment. "Getting us all to Judgement is my objective. And whatever is necessary to keep you all in order while I do my job will be done. Complete cooperation will make things a lot easier."

"Is that some kind of suggestion that we won't be co-operative?" The red-faced young man that had arrived with Abner Wentworth thrust his jaw out at Ryan and pursed his lips.

"Not at all. I was just- well no. I didn't mean anything like that, Mister...?"

"Clifford Williams. I lost a brother to that monster."

"Well I'm truly sorry for your loss, Mister Williams. I hope we can all get this behind us as quickly as possible." Ryan didn't want to dwell on individual losses.

"Three days, anyway." The voice was gruff and loud and came from the portly figure of the one in the group that Ryan recognized from the barber's description, Judge Dalton Tumbler. "And by my late father's timepiece, we have about twenty minutes before departure. I suggest we all get on board and into our compartments.

We can assemble later in the lounge car to discuss any pertinent matters." Ryan felt a stab of anger at the man's assumption of authority but recognized the logic of the suggestion.

Stanley dropped a step stool from the doorway of the lounge car and jumped down, waving the passengers on board with a slight bow. Already on board and standing beside the entry to the sleeping car, James Howden, the Victim's Advocate representative, handed out compartment keys as the passengers shuffled past.

"I hope we can get together for a few words for my paper, Marshal." Cybil allowed a beaming Stanley to assist her into the train.

"I can't imagine what I might say that your paper would be interested in. Most of this story has already been said."

"But you must have a story, Marshal." She said, smiling coyly and disappearing inside.

"Whoooeee, Marshal. This might just be a fun trip after all." Stanley grinned hugely, suddenly shrinking into himself under Ryan's withering stare.

"Get this straight, son. There is nothing fun about this trip and don't you forget it." And you might just hope you don't know my story, Miss Marsh.

"Yessir." Stanley leaped aboard, hauled up the step and vanished.

"Marshal?" James Howden leaned out of the doorway and dangled a compartment list. "This is yours, sir, it's a list of where all the passengers are staying. You're in the car on the other side of the kitchen car... with the guards and- and...him."

"I know where I am." They watched the two guards hustling the prisoner awkwardly down the platform and up into the first car behind the engine. Ryan nodded and then walked over and took the list. "You must be Howden, right?"

"I am. James Howden, Victim's Advocate."

"Right. Well I'd appreciate it very much if you didn't start up with any of your rhetoric while we're on the train. I'm sure you understand."

Howden's face flamed and he straightened up, tugging his jacket down smartly. "My rhetoric, sir, is simply the advice of my department for victims of that monster you're transporting on securing whatever rights they are entitled to."

"Fine. Save it for the courtroom is all I'm askin'. While we're on this train, I decide on everyone's rights. Have a nice evening Mister Howden." Ryan could feel the heat of the glare on his back as he headed down the platform to his car. The whistle gave a series of ear-splitting blasts and the train gave a lurch forward accompanied by a noisy blast of steam.

Ryan grabbed the rail and swung aboard as Carl leaned out the window of the engine, smiling with satisfaction and waving goodbye to the stationmaster. This was his patch now and he loved every minute.