In one of the comfortable berths, an older man dozed. In his mind's eye he didn't see the flatness of the Kansas landscape, the small farmsteads that they passed, the telegraph poles that strung wire along the tracks. It wasn't dark in his head. No, the old man dreamed of majestic mountains, vibrant streams, the heft of a pick in his callused hands. He dreamed of the sweat of his brow, the bay of his mule. He dreamed of gold.

The train rocked suddenly. Just a normal track variance, nothing alarming, but it jerked the old man out of his dreams. He looked around the car, blinking and rubbing his eyes to get the grit out, then yawned and stretched, groaning a little as he worked out the kink in his neck. It had still been sunny out when he'd dozed off. He looked at the bench beside him, and patted the yellow dog curled there fondly. his mouth was dry, he realized, so he reached into the pocket of his faded flannel shirt and withdrew a small silver flask. He opened it, took a swig, swished the whiskey about his mouth for a bit, then swallowed.

he looked at the figure on the bench across from him. "So, where do ya reckon we're at now?"

The cards seem to leap from his hands, scattering across the seat and onto the floor. Heedless of the crease in his immaculate trousers, the young man bends to retrieve the cards and sorts them back into a block.

"You see, Miss Hawthorne, that is what invariably happens at some point," he explains, blushing slightly, "It's as though playing cards sense my unfamiliarity and will not abide me. It's quite embarrassing.

"Please show me where I'm going wrong."

He passes the deck back to her, watching her graceful fingers take them delicately, but comfortably, as though they belong there.

"Perhaps we could attract another pair of players and have a game of whist," he adds, looking about the car, "I'm afraid I have no head for poker either. I'm always confusing the straight and the -- what is it when they're all the same color? -- the flush." He flashes her a satisfied smile, proud of his knowledge.

"Why, Mister Darling, even you have to admit that you're getting better under my brief tutelage," she said, amusement evident in her voice.  She picked up a card that had flown into her lap, turning it about in her bare fingers before sliding it into the middle.  The cards blurred as she shuffled, transferring them from one hand to the other quite quickly.  "You should at least learn enough to keep yourself from being fleeced, I would think, but then I somehow doubt you shall be throwing your money on the table any time soon.  You are far too sensible for that."

Eyes of lovely brown flitted briefly to his face as she shuffled, then flitted to the others traveling in the car.  "Oh, I would not mind in the slightest if anyone wished to join us, particularly if they have money to lose."  Her ready smile softened the acerbic comment, making it almost a joke, though Randolph knew that she never joked about money.

"Prolly about halfway there, old timer," he said gruffly, though not unpleasantly. Following Gabby's example, the man reached for his flask and took a swig. He offered it to the man next to him.