A few miles north of Branch the woods that covered the prairie land gave way to burn-scarred stumps with little to hamper the wind that drove snow across the track.
As their speed increased, air pulled from the cab through l gaps in the canvas, slowly leeching the warmth from the cab and coal gasses from the firebox. It forced Karl to open the vent at the top of the cab, allowing fresh air into the tight space. It was a devil’s bargain, resulting in little warmth. The faster Karl drove his train, the colder they would get.
The canvas rattled, and Silas slid into the cab under the stiff tarp. He kneeled next to the firebox doors for a moment, his gloved hands held lightly to the hot steel. When the fire-man looked up at Karl, his face was gray. “The damn ropes froze; I had to pound the knots loose.”
“Get your hands off that damn steel, fool. You take a chance to get burned. What good will you be if you cannot tend the coal?”
Stony silence met the anger as Silas pulled his hands away from the face of the boiler and stood, the leather of his gloves creaking as his hands tightened to fists.
“We’re going to get cold this trip.” Karl was oblivious to the fire-man’s reaction. “There are more clothes in that box behind your chair, put it on and drink some coffee. Stay away from the steel.”
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As Silas pulled the clothing from his storage, Karl added more throttle and waited for vibrations. “Why the hell did you ask for me?”. Karl had expected the question.
Karl did not hold the fire-man in deep personal regard and would choose a different fire-man given half the chance, but tonight was different; tonight, Karl needed reliability; Silas knew the duties of a fire-man and performed his tasks without reminding, which was what Karl needed, even if they did not get along well.
“You do a damn good job for a Blackie.” Karl increased the train’s speed again.
The response stopped Silas as he was donning a thick hunting coat of red and white plaid. His brow beetled as he pulled down the kerchief and turned to stare at Karl while he finished buttoning the coat.
Suspicion was the only response Silas had in this rare moment of truth. Maybe the bastard was sick. Maybe Karl was burning up with a fever.
The cab was getting colder by the minute and windows clearing. A gust of icy wind traced snow across Karl’s neck. He glanced at Silas to find the fire-man had donned his clothes and was sitting in his seat looking at him.
“Hell, I thought it was because I’m colored.”
Karl stared at Silas as a man might look at a fool sitting on a wall. “Your skin is who you are. I dislike what you think.”
“What?”
“Watch the engine while I get my clothes on.” This was going to be a long night, Karl thought.
Karl normally wore thick denim coveralls while driving the train, but this night he added wool lined breeches and a thick wool lined leather coat. An old Indian had sold him deer skin boots and a raccoon hat, making for a strange uniform, but Karl stayed warm most winter nights. Once his clothes were on and he had regained his leather gloves, Karl slipped under the tarp and stood on the exposed apron of the tender.