The sun began to set as Martin continued to perform the Aldi Operation.

His friends placed food purchased at the local saloon (local by the terms of the Arizona territory, Martin couldn’t imagine going for food a mile away back home in Blackwall) by the door, and occasionally the door would crack open and a hand would creep through and seize the food. Moments later, the hand would return to deposit an empty dish.

As the sun set, Mr. Reeves turned the electric lamps on the walls on. Soft, yellow light filled the station.

“You have electric lamps all the way out here?” Joseph asked.

“That’s not all. We even have an electrograph.” Mr. Reeves answered. “It’s in that room over there, next to the bathroom. We have everything the stations East have, just in smaller quantities. To be honest, I prefer being out here. It puts me closer to my other work, and there aren’t any walk-ins to bother me. The station back East is like an office, but this is like a fort. You rest up, eat up, gear up, and go.”

“We never have to worry about comparing stations back home on the account of only having one.” Joseph said. “Perks of living on a tiny island, I suppose. Everything in our business is centralized at our office in Blackwall. It’s where we keep our equipment, our notes, our library, our ghosts--everything is in the office.”

“And in the tunnels below the offices.” Mr. Reeves said with a wry smile.

“Ah, yes. But we’re not supposed to talk about those! I don’t think I would call our office an office, actually. That’s just the name for it. And I don’t think I’d call it a fort, either. I think it’s like a home, really.”

“I can see that. With how much time you three spend there, it truly is your home-away-from-home.”

“Anyway, Mr. Reeves, now that we have a little time on our hands, what say you teach me one of those card games popular out here in the great American West?”

“Sure.” Mr. Reeves produced a deck of cards from out of the pockets of his duster coat.

“You keep a deck of cards on your person?” Joseph asked.

“It’s not the most important thing to keep handy while you're on the trail, I wouldn’t even say it’s in the 10 most important things, but when there’s no work to do, you have to find something to do.” Mr. Reeves turned to Matthew. “Dr. Ernst, you want me to deal you in?”

Matthew answered by tapping his notebook. He had a lot to record.

“Alright.” Mr. Reeves said. “Suit yourself.”

Evening turned to night as Matthew wrote in his notebook and Joseph wagered his pence against Mr. Reeves’ pennies. Martin continued to work away in the room in which they kept a haunted piano. Mr. Leeds had departed without a sound, leaving his coat and hat and gloves on his chair, all neatly folded. No one was surprised. It was his nature to be active at night, when it was dark, and no eye could see him. In the night, he could be free to be what he was, stretch his wings wide, and take to the air.

A sharp cry came from outside, like an owl, but deeper, and with warbling notes.

“Boss sounds like he’s on the hunt.” Mr. Reeves said.

“You know, there are some elements of his physiognomy I envy.” Joseph said. “His ability to devour raw food, for instance. I like that. I think it would save me a lot of time not to have to cook things.”

“That’s what you envy?’ Mr. Reeves asked. “Not that he can fly, but that he can strip a moose down to the bone in seconds?”

“Oh, well, I can fly. I fly often.” Joseph replied. “I fly with Whistle, mostly, but also with the Sky Witch, and Martin’s thought-form creatures. But I can’t eat a mouse raw.”

“And you would want to do that?”

“If I could, and had the stomach and palette for it. It seems like a very efficient way of eating.”

Mr. Reeves made a face. “Disgusting! Almost as disgusting as your chances, Dr. Morton.” Mr. Reeves placed a pair of twos and fours down on the table.

“Sorry to disappoint you, my friend.” Joseph placed down a straight.

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Mr. Reeves tossed a nickel onto Morton’s pile. “What are you going to do with all that, anyway? You can’t spend it in Blackwall.”

“I’m not sure. But I like having it!” Joseph said. “I think I may take a page from your organization and put it all in a glass case by my desk. I’ll get bronze labels for all these coints--penny, won from Bass Reeeves, nickel, won from Bass Reeves, second penny, won from Bass Reeves, third penny, won from Bass Reeves…”

“You’re not cheating, are you, Dr. Morton?” Mr. Reeves asked. “You remember what I did to the last man that cheated me at cards, don’t you?”

“He’s not cheating. He’s just very good at card games.” Matthew said, not bothering to look up from his notes. “He used to be an alienist before he became a manesologist.”

“What’s an alienist?” Mr. Reeves asked.

“One who studies the patterns and behaviors of men.” Joseph said. “Sometimes, I can figure out what a man is going to do before he himself knows it.”

“You sound like a manhunter.” Mr. Reeves said.

“Coming from you, Mr. Reeves, I take that as a huge compliment!” Joseph said.

Martin suddenly opened the door and stumbled into the main room of the Poeists station. His short blonde hair was disheveled and dark bags had formed beneath his eyes, but he perked up when he saw the scrambled eggs and coffee waiting for him on the table. “Ah! Wonderful!” he exclaimed.

“After seeing how fast you devoured what we left out, we had to go get you seconds for dinner.” Mr. Reeves said. “The saloon owner sure was surprised to see us back so soon! I also got you some coffee. I heard you liked it over tea.”

“I do.” Martin said. “I know tea is more properly British, but I can’t help but prefer coffee. I suppose I’m just not a proper Englishman.”

“Eh, you aren’t a proper man, let alone an Englishman!” Joseph said.

“And you aren’t a proper anything.” Martin said.

He sat down at the table and greedily devoured his eggs. “Oh, I love the bite this red sauce has! Mr. Reeves, you said that it was made of bird pepper? What is bird pepper?”

“Small, red, wild chilies.” Mr. Reeves explained. “They grow south of here near the Tumacacori Mountains. Birds love them.”

“Really?” Joseph asked. “I would have thought they would have been used to repel birds with the way that sauce smells.”

“No. Birds can’t get enough of the little peppers.” Mr. Reeves said.

“Ah! Who would have thought that avians would have such well-developed tastes?” Martin said.

“You would like something birds eat.” Joseph said. “Perhaps we should try you on bird seed next?”

Martin’s fork clattered on his empty plate.

“I love this so much, I’m going to bring this bird pepper back to Blackwall.” Martin said. “You like to grow your asphodels, Joseph, well I’m going to grow bird peppers.”

“They’ll die in that climate.” Mr. Reeves said.

“Don’t worry. Nick can make it as dry and hot as it needs to be.”

“Oh yes. I remember him. The fire wisp.” Mr. Reeves recalled how Nick had helped him and the others burn the Snallygaster to ashes. “How’s he doing?”

“Much the same.” Martin said. “Occasionally melancholic, but always helpful. He’s our light. Literally, our light. We use him so we don’t have to pay for lighting and heating at the office.”

Martin took a long swallow of the coffee. “Ah! Nice and hot!”

“It seems you only like food that burns and drink that scalds.” Joseph said.

“I like what I like.” Martin said. “Anyway, gentlemen, I’m going to finish this cup of coffee and then I’m off to bed!”

“Who drinks coffee before they go to sleep?” Joseph asked.

“I’ve done it a few times.” Mr. Reeves said.” It helps when you need to wake up early, or if you need to sleep light because owlhoots are moving around in the dark.”

“He doesn’t need to wake up early, and we all know who’s making the boogieman sounds outside tonight, so there’s no reason he should be drinking coffee.”

“I don’t care.” Martin said as he took another sip of coffee. “Say! This is rather thicker and chalkier than people normally make it.”

“Sorry if it's not to your liking.” Mr. Reeves said.

“Oh no! I prefer my coffee to be like this. Where did you learn how to it like this?”

Mr. Reeves shrugged. “Just on the trail.”

“Fascinating! Do you know what this coffee reminds me of? It reminds me of the coffee I drank back when I was a student of thaumaturgy studying the original texts of Abdul Alhazrad in Baghdad. My dear teacher Dr. Lumen made coffee like this, and he got it from a Turkish recipe that Afet Alhazrad shared with him.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about Turkish recipes. I just make it like how I learned to make it from cowboys.”

Martin smiled. “You know, whenever I find little commonalities like this, it refreshes my faith in God’s cosmic order.”

“Coffee does that to you?”

“It shows that things are always more interconnected than they appear. If a lawman in the United States makes his coffee like the venerable Afet Alhazrad of Bagdad, and neither knows the other exists, well, that’s a minor miracle!”

“A miracle?” Mr. Reeves smirked. “Come on, now. That’s a little much, don’t you think?”

“Well, I did say a minor one.”

“Well, speaking of minor miracles, where’s that Aldi compass you made?” Joseph asked. “Don’t go to bed without giving it to us first.”

“I have it right here.” Martin took out the mass of red hair, now twisted into the shape of a crucifix.

Joseph made a little face as he took the Aldi compass. “You tied it into a little cross! Why’d you do that?”

“It helped me concentrate, and the Red Ghost’s hair is surprisingly supple.”

“The things that you do when you’re by yourself. Look at you, playing with hair like a girl!”

“Someone should play with your hair. No one can tell where your beard ends and your hair begins.”

“I like that. It makes me look like a lion.”

“It makes you look like a gorilla.”

Joseph flicked the Aldi compass between his fingers. “ Well, so long as this little thing works, I suppose the shape doesn’t matter…”

“Oh, it will work, better than any Aldi compass you could possibly make, I might add! I did a very good job with that compass, if I do say so myself.”

“Or say so by yourself…” Joseph muttered.

“This compass is so good we may be able to wrap up this case tomorrow.” Martin turned to Mr. Reeves. “Anyway, where do we sleep?”

“On the floor, I’m afraid.” Mr. Reeves said. “We don’t have beds at the station, we don’t have the room for them, but we do have bedrolls. I’ll get them out.”

“You won’t need one for me.” Martin said.

He leaned back and relaxed seemingly in the empty air. He placed his arms behind his head.

“Ah, your thought-form dogs, I see.” Mr. Reeves said. “Or rather, I don’t see.”