“Isn’t this very human? I was rushed in conversation and the outcome wasn’t to your liking.” Taunted Surnan.

“Still, now that the conversation is over. I wouldn’t mind trying some of that famous barbeque from that mysterious chef of yours.” Continued Surnan, scooting his stool out from under him.

“I understand now. There was never a choice was there?” Prodded Pistol.

The train remained silent, almost in reverence to a revelation everyone was seemingly desperate to know. Pistol walked from behind his bar and pulled up a stool right next to Surnan, lowering his gaze onto the same level as Surnan’s. Pistol sat close to Surnan’s right side as though to tell him a secret. So close, in fact, he could smell the moisture evaporate from Surnan’s skin. Pistol couldn’t help but think he smelled of rainwater and morning dew. “Could a spirit who smells of something so pleasant be so dangerous?”, thought Pistol.

“Now you’re getting it!” Hinted Surnan with a surge of excitement.

Surnan became visibly excited. Sarah watched as the spirit returned to his stool like a child awaiting his favorite meal.

“You understand? Yes?” Imitated Surnan.

“Yes. You are a spirit of fate. A Drauger.” Realized Pistol with a softening breath of relief.

“Yes and-” Tried adding Surnan.

“AND you cannot hurt us. At least not directly.” Interjected Pistol, his gaze tightening once more.

“Well, you were going to figure me either way. Do other spirits talk much on this train?”Added Surnan.

“Not usually.” Quipped Sarah, scanning Surnan with a dissecting stare.

“Spirits don’t do much talkin’ - it ain’t my job to make em do so- I just take em’ from one place to another. When I made a pact with this train, I was warned of very powerful spirits who can bend some rules. The other spirits simply don’t fit your description. Surnan.” Explained Pistol calmly yet sternly, even Surnan clenched his fist, if only for a moment.

“And what description is that?” Asked Surnan.

“Kind and considerate.” Muttered Sarah from under her breath.

“Don’t matter. Least not now. The number of spirits who can manipulate passage onto the train can be counted on my four fingers.” Confessed Pistol.

Sarah slowly backed away from Pistol’s side and receded into the confines of a booth nearby the bar. She simply scooted the miner Nick had recently knocked out and pressed her ear from a distance. She could feel Surnan’s gaze occasionally shift to her while it was conversing with Pistol, however, she wasn’t going to let it intimidate her. Still, Sarah knew better than to interrupt Pistol when puts on his serious face; “it starts with a bite to his lower lip, then a furrowed brow, then someone’s on the floor. I’m sticking with the team back here.”, thought Nick and Sarah in unison.

“A shame you're missing one finger then because I happen to have an idea of four more spirits who most certainly can cause you some considerable amount of -kind and considerate- mischief.” Taunted Surnan, leaning over the countertop just in front of Pistol.

“And you…you are under the assumption I’ve let you count to five. I don’t care how powerful you think you are, the Whisky Sunday is my part of me. My domain. So please move forward with this inevitable trap you set out for me to step knee-deep in. I’m sure spirits have better things to bully an old man and his train. ” Challenged Pistol, unwavering of Surnan’s stature.

“Oi, Pistol. What are we dealin’ with? Somethin’ needs to happen rye quick?” Questioned Nick, with sobering resolve.

“He ain’t here to hurt nobody. He’s here to make a deal. A very powerful kind of deal.” Answered Pistol, careful to not break eye contact with the spirit.

“Nick. Take all of everyone and get em’ outta here. And Sarah, don’t you worry about this train cart for a while. You will not come back in here unless I say. Do you hear me?” Commanded Pistol.

As if the miners had already expected this command, Nick had gestured a simple rotation of a finger and most of everyone began to follow him down the aisle opposite the bar, leaving into the darkness of the sliding door at the end of the train cart. Anyone who had been drunk or knocked out was simply sprung upon Nick’s large shoulder or hung over his arm.

“You too girl. Especially you. ” Pleaded Nick, turning to Sarah as the last passenger on the train cart.

Nick’s whisper was kind yet stern. He appeared ready to pull Sarah alongside him if need be as she staggered to follow behind him. Sarah glanced at Pistol unsure, looking back several times to make sure he was alright. From afar, Pistol was just another old man having a drink. “Please let him be that old man who is just having a drink.”, worried Sarah.

“Pistol is an iron bull at heart. There is a reason he’s called Pistol.” Muttered Nick, from the darkness of the sliding door.

“Sides, you got a chef who can kick arse right? And I hear you don’t fall too far behind either.” Assured Nick as he took a couple of steps away from the door and into the moonlight of the train cart.

“Yeah. Sure do.” Sarah nodded her head.

“Then? A desert, need not ask for more sand girl.” Chuckled Nick, tugging at her shoulder gently.

Sarah’s tightened lips gave way to a creaking smile and after a couple of seconds of nodding her head, she reluctantly followed Nick to the other side of the train cart door. With the loud thud of the door, silence blanketed the train once more.