They made a fairly orderly procession out of the old abandoned mine turned science laboratory to the area just outside, where Wilder's horse and the buckboard were waiting for them. With Caleb's help, Phelps loaded up the still unconscious but no longer bleeding Radcliffe onto the buckboard. There was room for passengers, so some of them took turns there and riding the horse, but it wasn't far and it wasn't much faster than walking since the path was more like a trail than a road.

Along the way Gabby peppered Wilder with questions, and the scientist did the best to put things in layman's terms and also to explain his actions to people who didn't seem really too much in the way of favoring them but still seemed curious. Others chimed in, whenever they could get a word in edgewise - a hard thing to do around the old miner.

In due course, they made their way back to the baggage train, and found clothes from their bags to replace the old. The passenger car was notably empty, but there was a large gathering a little bit away from the tracks towards where the engine was. Even from near the baggage car, a group of folks could easily be made out near a fairly sizable fire and if they hadn't been seen, they would be heard from the sounds of conversation and merriment that drifted over in the dark night. Enough to be the passengers, and more - with a good number of horses hitched up to some nearby trees.

The sound of a joyful dog barking pierced the night and grew closer as Clementine dashed into view and over towards Gabby.

"You got yourself a good dog there, old timer," said one of the miners as he approached the recently returned group.

"Buncha Union Blue guards showed up and some folks from the town - not too long ago. They're tryin' to see if they can do somethin' for the train. Apparently they just ride around here patrols, make sure ain't nobody messin' with their trains. Oh, and I see you got that feller back," he said, pointing to Wilder.

"Not too much trouble, then?"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:21, Sun 02 Dec 2012.

"Clementine! My Darlin'!" Gabby shouts as the yellow lab leaps up and begins licking the old timer. He hugs Clementine tight and begins petting her, laughing in delight. Clementine barks at the compliment, and Gabby grins. "Sure enough!"

"Well, had a bit o' trouble, but it's all taken care of." Gabby replies to the question. "And boy, do I have a story for you folks! But afore I go jawin' about that, we all need to get to our effects. need a change o' clothes to replace what got damaged, to protect folks' modesty."

He squinted a bit in the dark, not really sure he could make out what Gabby was talking about. He seemed to notice some missing shirts and some pants, and then kinda turned sideways so he wasn't looking at them directly - instead off into the distance.

"Yeah, you know stuff can get caught on things when there's trees around, or even jagged rocks. I done lost more than one good shirt that way. That's when I started wearing the cheapest shirts I could find," he said.

"Well, actually, there's a story in all that...but I'll get to it in a bit."

"I'm sure you will. Anyway, when y'all are ready there's some food and such up at the fire and some coffee. Nothin' fancy, but it's hot. I'm sure everyone will be quite keen on hearin' whatever it is you mean to say. I'm gonna get back up there myself." With a nod to the others, he meandered his way through the dark back up towards the big fire around where the engine was and sat down talking with the others there.

From a distance, what they were saying couldn't be made out but it was generally a warm and pleasant sound of conversation that most likely had nothing to do with the walking dead or living nightmares.

Coraline was plenty thankful when they made it back to the train without incident and reached the baggage car.  She had plenty of dresses to replace the one she'd inadvertently destroyed, though still mourned the loss of the maroon one.  It was flattering color on her and draped beautifully.  When she'd had time to change in relative privacy, she'd chosen a deep forest green that brought out her soft brown eyes.  Back outside, she'd handed Randolph his duster with a soft murmur of thanks, still more than a little embarrassed that she'd had to wear it in the first place.  Though she'd done her best to hide her particular skills, she couldn't be sure what any of them had seen or how much they understood.

Daniel spent the ride back trying to talk with Wilder, to get some information about why and how he did what he did. He occasionally glance at Coraline when she wasn't looking, now that her modesty was protected, but didn't approach her on the journey.

Once they returned to the train, he went to visit Jacques, to be sure he was well, then found his way to the baggage car to retrieve his spare shirt. His one spare shirt. He hadn't thought the vigilante business would cause him to go through clothing so quickly. He considered all the ways that he might be able to deal with the problem and settled on learning how to sew.

As they get dressed, Randolph takes the opportunity for a quiet word with Gabby: "Mr. Clarke, I'd appreciate it if you didn't go into too much detail about what happened in the mine. Right now it's what we in the newspaper business call a scoop. I'm sure my publisher would be glad to come across with a modest emolument -- a payment of, say, twenty-five dollars, maybe even fifty."

He turns to the other men as he ties his cravat, raising his voice, "In fact, Marshalls, Alex, it might be best if we soft pedal the walking dead and poor Bob's nature. It might make it less likely that Radcliffe or even Wilder will get lynched.

"We can just explain that it was a nest of ordinary bandidos that we cleared out. Men who derailed the train intent on abducting Mr. Wilder and robbing the passengers. Even Bob was just a freakishly large fellow."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:46, Sun 02 Dec 2012.

Gabby pulls out his spare pair of jeans and slips them on, then turns to Randolph and arcs an eyebrow. "What!? You think the rest o' the folks on the train were blind or somethin'? Or maybe stupid? These things weren't no banditos. Not even close. You think the Union Blue workers won't have done what we did, and poked about the place a bit? You think the townsfolk might not recognize some o' them bodies as loved ones Radcliffe made get up and dance around? You think poor Miss Linkous didn't get a real good up-and-personal look at the stitched-up remains o' Zachary Hanover trying to carry her away for a fate most dire?"

"People are already talkin', Mr. Darlin'. They're already scairt. A dose o' the truth will do 'em good, and I ain't gonna censor myself to protect your byline. I'm gonna give them folks what they need to hear--the God's honest truth, told in such a way that they won't rightly believe it, but will know, deep in their hearts, that it's safe now, and all is right in the world."

He glares at Randolph. "You want to protect your scoop, then I suggest you get yer pen out and start writin'. The only place gonna believe ya is the Epitaph, I expect, but at least you'll know the truth is out there. And shame on you, sir. Shame on you."

Randolph raises his hands in a placating manner, a blush stealing up his neck, "I meant no offense, Mr. Clarke, just trying to prevent a panic. If you think it will make people feel better thinking their departed were tricked up into puppets sent to do the will of another man, then you go right ahead and tell them. I hope you don't end up getting two men lynched with your reckless tale.

"Then again, perhaps the Marshalls can convince you otherwise."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:30, Sun 02 Dec 2012.

"Well," he said, scratching his scruffy chin, "I suppose you both do have a point. People saw what they saw and are gonna figure what they figure, I guess. As for my part, if anybody asks me I'm probably gonna just say that it's somethin' I'd rather not talk about."

He gestured towards where the others seem to be gathered. "It sounds like those folks are tryin' to forget what happened, and there's the point about them tryin' to string up Mr. Wilder here, and maybe take Radcliffe too 'fore he can meet justice in front of a court." He shrugged, seeming content to have said his piece.

Morgan had remained silent through the trip, his only words given right after Radcliffe was loaded onto the buckboard, sincerely thanking everyone that had been willing to venture to the mine with him and Phelps. Morgan knew none of them had been obliged to help. They'd all come freely, willing to risk their lives for another.

As he walked back to the train, Morgan's attention had alternated between Gabby's questioning of Wilder and his own contemplation of the evening's events. Parts of it still did not seem real. The dead men that walked, the hand that was Wilder's pet, the giant that was once Zachary Hanover, and the way that he, and much of their clothing, had abruptly unraveled. None of it seemed real. Yet he had lived through it all.

After he'd retrieved a fresh pair of jeans, he'd visited the miners and other passengers that had remained behind. He was thankful for their welcome and the hot meal they had prepared. Even their conversation about things that were mundane and of little consequence was a comfort.

When he'd rejoined Phelps he caught the conversation between Gabby and Darling. When Phelps spoke up, he felt obliged to do so as well.

"Gentlemen, my main priority at the moment is seeing Radcliffe safely to custody in Dodge. I understand Mr. Darling's concern about lynch mobs. I'd prefer not to have to contend with anyone trying to dispense their own brand of justice where Radcliffe is concerned. My opinion, he needs to answer for what he's done in a court of law. And I'd hate to see anyone coming after Mr. Wilder, even if I'm inclined to question the wisdom of his research."

"Gabby, you know me well enough to know I would never tell you to lie. I'm not going to now. But I will ask you to give me time to get Radcliffe safely in jail. Once he's behind bars, I'll leave the rest to your good judgment. I don't really know Mr. Darling, but I'm obliged to him for his help today, just as I'm obliged to you. I'm inclined to believe he's an honest man who will write an honest story, and I'll continue to think that until he proves me wrong. I hope the two of you can work out something amicable between you."

"I've never been one to talk much about the men I bring in, unless I have to give testimony in court. Radcliffe's no different in that regard."

Gabby scratches his beard. "I don't want no trouble fallin' on Wilder, to be sure, but as fer Radcliffe...he done these folks wrong. Very wrong. And frankly, these folk deserve to know about it. He stole their loved ones from out the ground and made 'em dance around and try to kill folk. That's seven kinds o' wrong. If one o' them folk goes to bury the bodies o' the deaders we put down, and finds a fellow they knew was among them, they'll want answers. They deserve to hear about it right here, right now, rather than read all about it in the paper later. They deserve to know the bastard's been caught, and is goin' to pay fer his crimes."

He looks at Marshal Phelps. "What are you gonna tell Zachery's folks about what happened to him, Marshal? Do you want them wonderin' what happened to their poor boy all the rest o' their days?"

"Widow Hanover is an old woman, and her condition is somewhat frail. It's gonna be hard enough telling her that Zachary died. But I think it might kill 'er if'n I told her the whole truth of it. I plan to tell her that Zachary was murdered and that his killer was apprehended and is currently being escorted to Dodge City by a United States Marshal. That's all I got the heart in me to say. If she wants details, I'll figure somethin out at the time."

"Gabby, I understand you wanting these folks to know about their loved ones. Kinsley's not a long ride from Dodge. Little over two hours at a good clip. If Marshal Phelps is good with it, as soon as we have Radcliffe locked up, I'll ride to Kinsley with you so you can tell those folks the story. I'll let 'em know what's happened to Radcliffe, so they can hear it straight from the source.'

Gabby considers this.

"Hmmm...I suppose I can't argue with that. Just as long as we tell the folk in the train what went down, too. Mrs. Linkous especially...she needs to know that she's safe, and that the monster Radcliffe made o' poor Zachery won't be comin' after her no more."

Truth be told, he wasn't especially eager to "ride a good clip" anywhere, given his past with horses, but some things were worth being saddle sore for.

"If you two want to make a trip back to Kinsley later, you'd be more than welcome to do so. In fact, I'd gladly welcome any of you to Kinsley if you happen to pass through. I'm certainly appreciative of all your assistance tonight in apprehending Radcliffe," he said.

"As far as what to tell the others up ahead, I haven't figured that much out yet. I plan to keep quiet as much as I can. Maybe there's a middle path between tellin' everybody as much as Gabby seems to want to do, and the more reserved path that Marshal Morgan and Mr. Darling here advocate."

Wilder looked nervously at Gabby, and began to fidget with the corners of his sleeves.

"Marshal Phelps...Can I give you my statement now? I'd like to leave while I still have a chance to do so. I'm afraid that by the time you get to that crowd up ahead, any casual association of mine with Radcliffe will be seen as a black mark against me and my life will be forfeit. If it's all the same to you, I'll give it to you here."

"Once yer all dressed, why don't y'all mosey on up there? I'll talk to Wilder over here, and then send 'im on 'is way. Say your goodbyes, Wilder." He withdrew a small and rumpled notepad from his jacket, with a small pencil to go with it.

Wilder cleared his throat, and looked at all of those who had given him aid tonight. "Thank you all for saving my life, from the bottom of my heart. I wish I could say that perhaps our paths might cross again, but I'll be lucky to make it alive to...wherever I'm going."

Once he's dressed, Darling waits for Coraline to make her appearance before approaching the group gathered around the fire. He takes a sip from his flask and hails the conductor as he passes, "When do you think the locomotive will be repaired or replaced and the tracks set to rights so the train can continue to Dodge City? What I mean is, should I wait? Or should I get a ride to Kinsley and see about renting a buggy from the livery there?"

Daniel wandered back to where the others had gathered after changing clothes and checking on his horse. He caught the end of what his uncle had been saying. "Puttin' folks minds at ease should be high on our list. Course once uncle Gabby starts on talkin he ain't libel to stop afore the train done fixed. Now I think these folk on the train already saw them dedders. We can tell 'em there were more and they won't be bothered by 'em no more. The how's and whys of Radcliffe's sins don't necessarily need ta be told ta everyone right here and now. Mebbe it will help with the healin' later though. I c'n ride with ya ta help with yer story later, uncle. Right now I'll be happy if we get everyone that's still alive into Dodge that way. That is my top priority right now. The livin'."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:16, Tue 04 Dec 2012.

Over by the fire the conductor accepted the flask gratefully, and took a swig before passing it back. "Well, the bad news is that the engine is in pretty bad shape. It'll probably take us a while yet to get 'er repaired. The good news is the brakeman is back, and they brought back a couple buckboards with 'em - so there's no sense in worryin' about it or waitin' too long. Of course, if you gotta horse you can just ride yourself. They were gonna just go back to Kinsley just outta goodness, but them Union Blue folks showed up and said the railroad'd pay 'em if they'd take y'all to Dodge." He gestured over to the group of armed men in the uniform of Union Blue railroad, one that looked superficially similar to the Union's wartime uniform though it was markedly different to anyone that had actually fought in the war. The men themselves had a tough, grizzled look to them that lent to the impression that they might have been soldiers themselves once upon a time.

In reply to The Marshal (msg # 24):

"Well, that's certainly fine news. Saves my publisher a wad of money, hey?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:59, Wed 05 Dec 2012.

Gabby considers Danial's words. "I reckon I can leave out a few o' the more nasty details fer the moment." He waddles out to the gathered folk. "Howdy!"