The Irishman sees the two fleeing and attempts to shoot at them with his "laser eye", convinced that they'll report his location to someone. You won't let anyone know where I am you b*st*rds!
The Irishman is pleased that the bolt hit, but the shot didn't deal much to the one survivor and only singed his butt.
Leon shudders and raises his pistol to sight at the braves as they run, but they're already on their way. "Hold your fire, everyone," he calls out, easing his revolver back into its holster. After the Irishman shoots another something at one of the braves, he snarls, "I said hold your fire, dammit!" He brushes some of the dust and dirt off his trousers and pats a duster pocket. Frowning, he looks back to the shattered remains of his bourbon, then pulls out a cigar case and lights one up. "Who knows how long we'll be out here, and what we'll face. Conserve ammunition."
Casting a glance at the train--Nothing worth salvaging in there, I bet. It's supposed to be giveth and taketh. You could at least try helping me out--Leon shakes his head and draws his rifle. "Right. That's gonna finish going up in a moment here, so we'd best get moving. Hope everyone has what they want on 'em, 'cause the luggage car ain't worth salvaging. Anyone know where the nearest town is?"
He blows a smoke ring as the others respond and looks at Drake's shoulder. "You want me to take a look at that, Shotgun? Hate for you to go septic on us." Assuming Drake is okay with this, Leon steps up and takes a look at the arrow stump sticking out of his shoulder. Here's hoping You actually want to give right now...
"Hallelujah and hold the cabbage," Leon whispers as he shoves the arrow the rest of the way through and presses on the wound. After a minute, he pulls his hand off, and the hole is done bleeding and actually looks fine. "Might scar a little, but you're alright." He pats Drake on the shoulder and steps back. "Don't strain it too hard, though."
Drake shrugs at Leon's suggestion to look at the wound, then winces as the arrow bounces in his shoulder. "Suppose it can't hurt much worse." Drake grunts for a moment as Leon pushes the remainder of the arrow shaft through, and rolls his shoulder to loosen the mended muscle. "Thought I'd left behind this magic bullsh*t when I left the Confederation," he grumbles, pulling on his duster and sliding his bag over his shoulder.
He slings his shotgun around to his back, walking up towards the fallen War Leader. Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a stake carved with the body of an emaciated, half-dead beast with the body of a furred human and the head of deer, with its skeletal hands folded over its chest. About three-fourths of the way down the the shaft of the stake, the figure fades into a solid, wooden point. Grabbing the stake at the middle, Drake drives it through the War Leader's eye, and spits a curse at him in Apache. "I hope they feast on your corpse," he finishes, and walks back to join the group.
"This'll get bad fast, no doubt about it." Drake says as he rejoins the others. "We probably want to get out of 'ere quick, before that ghost rock goes up. I don't know much about the area, but I believe there's a town close by we can head to."
Veronica, after realizing that the fight has ended, turns her attention to the other problem at hand. That a**hole is gonna pay for what he did to my skirt and for almost killing me, she thinks to herself as she comes up behind Leon. Just as he finishes his sentence and steps back from Drake, she punches him across his face. "Watch where the f*ck you're shooting next time, you son of a b!tch. I expect reimbursement for the perfectly good skirt you've managed to ruin with your poorly aimed shot." Veronica continues to glare at Leon after she has finished speaking in an attempt to get what she wants.
Leon pauses for a moment after Drake's comment, and follows after him as he walks over to the War Chief. "Hey there, son, I've been told I've got healer's hands, and I can patch up a wound or two, but I wouldn't go so far as to say magic. It probably just wasn't as bad as you thought." He gives a little smile that quickly sours as the native drives a stake into the dead man's eye.
"...Well, anyway." He steps back and looks around the area as he takes another drag on his cigar. Wendigos here too, Father? You've got a rage unmatched.
He turns to see Veronica approaching angrily. And speaking of. He opens his mouth to speak when she throws a beautiful right cross, and Leon reels back a step, gingerly touching his jaw. He also casts a mournful eye at the cigar that was knocked from his mouth and is now quickly dying on the ground. First the liquor, now the tobacco. If I didn't know better, I'd guess You were sending me a message.
"Of course, ma'am. I'm truly sorry about your skirt." He pulls another cigar out, lights it, and offers her one. "I'll make sure to buy you a nice one when we get back to civilization. A nice one. Silk if you like." He grins and taps his jaw. "Nice fabric to go with a nice punch. Where'd you learn to hit like that?"
The Indians take the posse's pause to jump onto their horses and with one more shout they gallop away, taking their fallen comrades mounts with them. They disappear over the rise a moment later and are out of sight. Taking stock of the area, it seems that there's not another living soul left among the wreckage. If anyone else managed to survive the crash, they're long gone.
As Drake surveys the area, he gets a rough feel of where the train jumped the tracks. Unfortunately, the rail line runs through a particularly desolate part of the Sierra-Nevada Mountains, and there ain't another town for miles. The fastest way back to civilization seems to be following the rails down out of the mountains. Though the walk through the cold mountain winter may be a bit treacherous.
Veronica seems flustered by the compliment for a moment. I certainly don't hear that everyday. She tries to regain her composure as she graciously accepts the cigar and responds, "I own-" her voice trails off for a minute and you notice a flicker of sadness. "I owned a bar. Had to break up the fights every night. Drunken bastards always know how to pick a fight, don't they?" Veronica smirks a little bit before saying, "Where'd you learn to shoot? I'm only askin' so I know where I shouldn't go in case I want any lessons."
Eloi walks over to where his bag and staff were deposited after his roll and after retrieving his gear promptly begins emptying everything on the ground by a larger outcropping. You may see a large assortment of items, ranging from sticks of dynamite to a tube of lipstick, fall out of his bag and his coat as he empties that out as well, methodically checking every pocket as he mules to himself in aggravation. dere be no way meh luck is dis bad is gotta be de work o' some kinda black juju, at dis rate it's jus gonna take meh even longer to get ta California. Ah swear I'm comin for ya cher, I'm comin. After he stops mumbling to himself Eloi starts humming a slow tune with an easy that suggest that he does so quite often.
"Heh." Leon chuckles and holds out his match to light Veronica's cigar. "Learned it partly from being one of those 'drunken bastards' myself." He taps the butt of his revolver and sighs. "And it mostly comes natural. The hitting and the missing, to be honest. It comes and goes. Sometimes I blow a man's head off and see it sail through the air thirty paces." He gestures over to the dead brave and then back to Veronica. "Sometimes I owe a lady a skirt. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and all that."
He blows another cloud of smoke and pats his thigh. "Well, we should probably get moving on. Shotgun, any word on a settlement near here?"
"I'm afraid it looks like the fastest way out of the mountains is followin' the tracks. I've found where we jumped the tracks, though, so at least we've got a path to follow." Drake looks up at the mountains, knowing full well how nasty the winters can be. "That said, I suggest we get moving now. It'll be damned cold once night comes, and I don't relish spending more time out here in the mountains than we have to." Drake once again grabs his shotgun, and fills the empty chamber with a shell from his bag.
Walking over to Eloi, Drake picks up a piece of his gear and tosses it to him. "C'mon Juju, let's get packed and movin'. Y'don't exactly look fit to spend a night out here." Leaving the shotgun slung around his neck, Drake stands back up to address Leon and the others. "And while the nickname fits, you can quit callin' me 'Shotgun'. The name's Drake."
After the preacher, yells at the Irishman to stop fighting, he appears miffed at being prevented from finishing off the attackers. For most of the conversation, he stays a bit away from the group because he is not fully certain he should trust them, being particularly skeptical of the gambler and the native due to the card game. He feels reasonable trusting of the preacher, but doesn't know what to think about the woman, except never to mess with her skirts, or her fists.
When "Drake" finishes speaking, the Irishman says Well, I guess I have much of an option, now, do I? Trust four random people I just met, or stay here and freeze. I'll follow you guys, but just give me my space and I shouldn't freak out...much. And NEVER touch or ask what's in my briefcase, and hopefully we'll be fine until we hit California... if we make it that far.
Eloi turns and grabs the dynamite that Drake tossed to/at him. Oi! Mon'ami dis aint somtin you just toss around like a beads on Mardi Gras. More to himself. Well dere aint no hex bag in my gear, which means dat someone else in dis party probably be cursed. Great. Eloi lets out a sigh of the damned and starts to repack his bag. He shouts back to the newly named Drake. Ah be packed up an ready to roll in two shakes.
The posse takes to walkin' along the railroad tracks. The wrecked train engine seems to have been launched off to the tracks and lays on its side beside the tracks. White hot ghost rock flames illuminate the night as you pass by. The tracks seem oddly twisted, lick they were broken by some outside force. Just ahead, it becomes clear what the problem is. A massive hole sits in the middle of the ground, with the tracks falling away into the dim light below.
The tunnel is obviously man made, with curve smooth walls that could only be made with tools. There's even a set of railroad tracks runnin' roughly east to west under the ground. The underground tracks vanish into the darkness once out of the pillar of light caused by the hole.
Leon shifts his rifle and slots two cartridges from his gunbelt to his revolver's cylinder as it looks like the group is getting ready to leave. He cocks his gaze Henry's way and raises an eyebrow. "Well, that's just dandy, Irish. But I think I speak for all of us when I say I don't give a damn what's in the briefcase. So long as it doesn't slow you down it can be filled with the souls of the damned for all I care. We just best get a move on before we freeze."
As the group moves down the tracks, Leon makes his way to the front, his hand resting on the butt of his revolver, although he doesn't draw the weapon just yet. Hate to alarm any other kindly folks we might find in these hills. Of course, knowing You, You'll just send more mad Apaches. Good thing You gave me quick hands, ain't it? He plucks the cigar out of his mouth for a moment to examine it. Good hands and bad tobacco. Have to buy some better stuff when we get to California...
Not that that's likely. Leon takes the cigar in his hand again and lets out a low whistle as the group stumbles on the hole in the tracks. "Jee-hosaphat," he comments before replacing the cigar between his teeth. "Either we've got some downright industrious Indians, or something ain't right here." He glances to Drake. "You ever known your kin to do something like this? 'Cause I sure ain't heard of it."
Eloi pokes around the edge of the hole for a few seconds to make sure that the stones are secure and then starts making his way down. oh dis look like it mus' ave an interesting story behind it I wonder where it leads? Come on mon'amies wherever dis tunnel be leadin it must be warmer den out 'ere am I right.
"Most'a my kin don't bother with guns, let alone what you'd need to make somethin' like this. I'm gonna guess they stumbled across it and damn well left it be. That said, we probably shouldn't." Drake slings his shotgun around his neck and sidles up against the side of the hole. "We don't seem to have much in the way of winter wear, and it's likely warmer down there, at the very least. And I say we see where it leads." With that, Drake slides down the side of the whole, landing hard on the train tracks, and stands up to take a look around.
Leon sighs and pulls the cigar from his mouth. Fear not the valley of the shadow and all that, right? Oughta say something spiritual and enlightening here. But mostly I think You're just taking me on some damn fool escapade. He heaves another breath and gestures to the hole. "Well, ladies and gentlemen first." That said, he draws his revolver and waits for the others to enter the hole, covering the group's backs, before clambering down himself.
The Irishman thinks to himself that this could easily be a trap, but also realizes that there are less sides that he could be attacked from, and also agrees with the Native's point about it being warmer. He heads down after the Preacher covers them.
Seeing the Irishman go into the hole, Veronica contemplates for a moment. Must be alright if even he will go in, and I certainly don't feel like freezing out here tonight. Even so, best to be prepared. She makes sure her rifle is ready to go just in case she might need to fire it. After a long drag on her cigar and a glance at Leon, Veronica heads down into the hole as well.
Out of the cold wind outside, the posse gazes around the darkness. The tunnel seems to stretch on in both directions, disappearing into darkness and making everything ahead disappear. A small spark of light appears to flicker far down the path heading west, just barely visible in the darkness.
As her eyes adjust to the dim light, Veronica looks around, trying to make out anything in the darkness. She moves a bit forward toward the small spark of light as she does so.
The light is too far to make out any details in the darkness. However, it seems to flicker like a lantern or lightbulb and shift around occasionally.
Leon takes in one final breath with the cigar, rolling the sweet smoke around in his mouth, before slowly blowing it out--upwards, towards the sky and out the hole--and tossing the cigar out of the tunnel. "Best not to have anything lit and smoking underground," he comments, gesturing to Veronica. "And probably better to head toward light rather than darkness. Unless you folks enjoy long strolls where you can't see."
As the group begins moving, he sticks his revolver back in its holster and draws his knife, holding it loosely by his side. If anyone gives him a questioning look, he shrugs and waves a hand around. "Guns are pretty loud to begin with. I don't care to find out how the echo would hurt my ears."
"Only good thing I've had in a while," Veronica states as she glances wistfully at the cigar in her hand. "Still, you're probably right." She drops the cigar on the ground and promptly uses the heel of her boot to stamp it out. "I never seem to catch a damn break. Can't even enjoy a fu*kin' cigar for a little while."
Veronica continues on with the group as they head towards the light making sure to keep her rifle at the ready. I ain't about to be surprised. Don't give a sh!t about the noise, so long as I ain't dead.
Drake brings the iron sights of his shotgun up to his eyes, moving forward with his barrel trained on the light. "I couldn't tell you who did this, but it sure wasn't any of my people. Most of them aren't too fond of railways, let alone the dynamite and other tools it would'a taken to clear this out." As the group moves forward through the darkness, he pauses. "Just wait a moment. If ya'll give me a minute, I can get us some light." Assuming the others wait, Drake reaches into his bag and pulls out a small lantern, then lights the oil with a match. Afterward, he shakes the match out and throws it on the ground. With the lantern in hand, he draws his revolver from his hip. "At least now we'll be able to see if anyone tries to get the drop on us."
Eloi flinches a little as Drake lights the lantern. Are you sure tat's a good idea mon'ami, now we be glowin' like de moon at midnight. Dat plus de fact dat dis ol ting be given off some creepy ass juju, I just don't tink we should be maken' dis any easier for de baddies. Not to mention dat in ol de horror books its de pretty one dat gets got first. Eloi puts away his cards, draws his staff and then positions himself squarely in the center of the people that look like they'd be good in a fight. (Drake, Veronica, Leon)
"We echo for miles down here, friend. If anyone's there, they've already heard us. Might as well make sure we can see where we're going. Who knows, they might'a laid down traps to make sure no one gets int'a there business. I'd sure like to see 'em before I've got my foot stuck in a bear trap." Drake smirks and looks over to Eloi. "And friend, pardon my language, but I think your juju is a load of horse sh*t."
As the posse moves down the tunnel, the light remains constant, acting like a beacon in the darkness. As you get closer and closer, you begin to hear the sounds of men and a few women echoing through the tunnel , the clang of picks and shovels, and the whir of heavy machinery. Finally, the source of the light comes into view. It looks vaguely like a man, but it's far too tall, rough guess would put it around eight feet tall, and made of black metal. A boxy torso roughly the size of a large oven turns as you approach and displays a symbol painted across it's chest. A red circle with factory spires in white in the center stands out against the pale gloom of the tunnel and the dark metal, with the word WASATCH in white letter along the top edge of the circle. The thing doesn't move again as it comes into sight, but you can make out a gatling gun large enough to sit on a turret replacing the things left arm.
"Wasatch..." Leon mutters the word to himself and squints, trying to make out what's going on up ahead. What're You sending me now, demons dressed in iron? A demon that works for a business of some kind judging by the label. Then he catches sight of the gatling gun and slowly slides his knife back into its scabbard. "Sheeyit." He stops for a moment and looks at the others.
"Well Shotgun, looks like you weren't kidding about your folk not being at work here. I suggest we put away our weapons and proceed with some small caution."
Identifying the infamous Wasatch Rail logo takes no effort, but you know little about them. They've been out of the news ever since their rail wars efforts all but disappeared. Apparently, they quite literally went underground in their project. However, this strange metal man is something unexpected and gives you an uneasy feeling.
Eloi shifts his staff so that he is simply using it as a walking stick. Sh¡t, what di we just walk in on? Wasatch, dat's de rail line dat went poof a while back. Damn I swear ah read about den some where. An what de sam hell is de rest oh dis?
Eloi takes a moment to think until he remembers a series of old newspapers talking about the rail company. Wasatch is one of the six major companies competing in the Rail Wars and is based further west than most of the other lines. Their headquarters is in Salt Lake City in Deseret, as Wasatch is just one branch of Hellstromme Industries, the engineering company founded and run by Darius Hellstromme. He particularly remembers that Hellstromme was never very interested in the Rail Wars, calling them a waste of time. The papers suggested that he was only competing because he needed to if he was going to keep competitive in the industry.
Drake slowly holsters his revolver, raising his lantern to get a better look at the metal behemoth. "Yeah, I'd reckon a fight may not be our best idea here." Drake examines the logo on the metal man's chest. "Wasatch? Ain't that a rail company? And why the Gatling gun? Until that hole showed up, who would have noticed this damned tunnel to begin with?"
"I honestly have no idea, Mister Drake, but maybe we shouldn't ask too many questions just now. That's probably what they have the gun for."
The metal man seems unfazed by the posse, remaining still and at ease despite their presence. It makes no hostile actions of any sort, though it's strange lantern eye shines over them, apparently giving them a once over.
Leon continues his staring contest with the metal man for a few moments, then shrugs his shoulders and pulls out a cigar. They got light, they got guns, they got machinery no doubt sparking up a storm, they got an iron demon set up there with artillery for an arm. If You decide this cigar's gonna kill me, then You're as cruel as they say and I don't care. He slips a match out, strikes it, and lights the cigar.
"Well, he seems friendly enough," the preacher comments, gesturing to the automaton with his cigar. "And I don't reckon we've got anywhere else to go. Shall we?" With that he gives a small, dry grin and starts walking forward.
The Irishman finally focuses on the outside world again, after having turned inward to his "thoughts" due to being within a dimly lit tunnel and surrounded by a group of people he hardly knows, two situations that make him very anxious. He finally notices the light, the workers, and the giant humanoid furnace. He stares in awe as he wonders what he is looking at.
Total=7
It only takes a moment for the 'good' doctor to recognize one of Dr. Hellstromme's world famous automatons. Dozens of mad scientists have developed a variety of robotic weapons and companions, but Hellstromme is the only man who has ever made metal men that are capable of nearly independent thought. No one knows how they work, and anyone who has looked too hard for an answer has disappeared. This is clearly a combat model and if it hasn't attacked yet, it's not going to at all.
As the Irishman recognizes the automaton, he "remembers his original plans for an automaton." Damn that Dr. Hellstromme for taking MY ideas and actually making them work. He punches the nearby cave wall in frustration, but he only succeeds in making him forget about his "stolen idea" because of his hurt fist. Hmph. Well, at least from what I remember from my design, if it hasn't fired on us yet, it likely won't at all, but we still need to be cautious. He then slowly follows behind the preacher.
Leon glances over his shoulder at the preacher and raises his eyebrows. "Huh, really not gonna shoot?" He looks forward again and blows out a cloud of smoke. "Good, just like I figured." Still walking forward, the preacher brings his hand up and makes a small cross, hopefully where the others can't see. Thank You for letting that pay off. And for making Irish useful, although You could've sent someone a little less... interesting.
The preacher continues walking forward and eventually slows down and waves. "Howdy there."
Walking past the mechanical man, Leon emerges into the light ahead of the posse. As his eyes adjust, he hears the shouts of several men calling for back-up. He can see a massive cave, all artificially dug out from the looks of it, with a train at the far end. Beyond that, a massive machine with a drill nearly as large as the tunnel is wide grinds to a halt at the shouting. Men dressed in dirty workmen's clothing rush to take defensive positions at piles of supplies near the cave's mouth, aiming rifles and revolvers toward the preacher.
"Hold your fire!" a tall man in overalls shouts as he rushes forward. "They hardly look like saboteurs to me!" The men hold their ground, but no one makes a move to attack. "Howdy stranger," the tall man calls out at Leon's greeting, keeping a safe distance and one hand on his shotgun. "What brings you down here?"
As you walk past the automaton, you get a slight headache and can't help feeling that this thing is well beyond anything you designed.
Eloi takes a moment to look around the new area as its lit up and decides that his earlier thoughts were probably on the money. Huh, so dis be were dat damn Hellstromme gone went poof to. An under ground railroad, amazing, my guess be dat old Hellstromme was taking de rail wars more seriously den anyone gave 'im credit for. Seeing the the men lined up with weapons at the ready Eloi's first response was to of course move behind Leon, however after hearing the other man he decided to risk talking. Finally someone whose number one way to deal wit people isn't "shoot everyting". Ello der, we're very sorry for interrupting but a train we were on above 'ere 'ad a bit of an accident, and well blew up. as we were walking along de line we saw a hole leading down to dis here tunnel an decided it be a bit less nippy down here. hehe didn't mean to scare anyone do' my apologies.
The man looks a little confused for a moment, then interprets Eloi's accent. "A hole in the..." He shakes his head. "Alright. Everyone, weapons down. They're just lost travelers. There's no need to get trigger-happy as long as they stay friendly." The rail workers visibly relax as they holster weapons and begin to move back to their work, though most of them are still keeping one eye on the group.
The man slings his shotgun over his back and approaches the posse. "Charlie Bill Buckner," he says, offering a hand to anyone who will take it. "Just call me Bill. I'll have a few of my boys head down and look at that hole you mentioned, but I'm afraid I'll have to take you into protective custody until we reach Lost Angels. Shouldn't take more than another week or so, but we can't risk a rival rail gang learning where we are. Only reason this plan has worked so long is that they think we've up and vanished. Word gets out, and they'll be on us like flies on cow patties." He scowls slightly and shakes his head.
"Anyway, I can promise your safety as long as you don't go starting fights. We've got a couple of VIPs on sight, so the boys are as handy with a gun as they are with a hammer and pick." He turns and gestures for the posse to follow him. "Come on, I should take you to the boss."
Leon willingly steps up and takes the man's hand. "Leon Hatcher." He hooks his thumb over his shoulder. "This here's Mister Eloi, Mister Drake who also goes by Shotgun on account of his fine piece, Mister Irish whose actual name I'm not sure of, and a Missus I ain't figured a good nickname for yet. Watch out for her right though, she knows more about crosses than me, and I'm a preacher." He taps the side of his nose and nods conspiratorially. "Good to meet you Bill, and downright hospitable of you to welcome us in out of the cold. I can promise you we won't breathe a word of this to anyone."
At the mention of the boss and Bill heading out, Leon glances at the others and shrugs. Well, we made it this far. You wouldn't be mean enough to send me into a trap, would You? He glances over at the metal man with the gatling arm again and swallows. Sure You wouldn't. Sometimes I'm not sure which I like less, You or the other guy.
Bill shakes Leon's hand with a friendly smile. "Pleasure to meet all of you, at least as much as I can give the circumstances. Must have been quite a day for all you folks." He gives a deep chuckle at Leon's introduction. "Strange little group you got here. Irish looks a might twitchy, but if the lady's as tough as you say, I imagine she's got all you well handled." He gestures over his shoulder. "Right this way. The boss will want a word before you settle in."
He leads them toward the train itself and knocks on the door to the caboose. A moment later, a gaunt looking man with a fierce scowl and a gatling shotgun in one hand opens the door. "Visitors for the doctor," Bill grunts. The gaunt man simply closes the door again. There's a sound of movement inside, then the door opens all the way in a silent invitation to enter. "I have to get back to work, but feel free to find me later and we can chat," Bill says. "And be polite. The boss's bodyguards... well they give my men the willies. And these boys have been fightin' a war for couple years now, so that should tell you something." Bill heads back to the rail crew, barking a few orders to the men and leaving the posse to head inside alone.
After passing the automaton, the Irishman holds head a bit and keeps looking back at the automaton looking incredibly confused for some reason that doesn't even make sense to the Irishman. He stays to the side a bit and just listens to the conversation, only reacting when his nickname is mentioned, jumping a little bit each time, but then calming down (as best as he can) when he realizes it is just an introduction. He follows the rest of the group to the boss's room, but after Bill leaves and before they enter, he grabs onto the preachers shoulder and in an almost whisper says, Dr. Henry. Dr. Henry O'Clearly. That's my name. I normally wouldn't tell people, in all honesty I REALLY hate telling people, but if I'm in a lot of situations I don't care for at all, I might as well face one of my fears to try to calm down. Just don't go telling everyone my name now. If you've got to mention me, Dr. Irish is fine.
Leon nods and tips his hat to Bill. "Again, thank you kindly for the welcome and bringing us this way. I'll make sure to keep 'em in line, and stay on our toes."
After the foreman(?) leaves, Leon turns to the doctor when he grabs his shoulder and listens intently. "Alright, Irish, calm down. I won't go blabbing. Loose tongues are the tool of the devil and all that. Good to know your actual name, though." He turns to the others. "Well, we ready to meet the big man? Not the real Big Man, I mean. I hope not."
We had better not.
You step inside to see possibly the most luxurious rail car you've ever seen. The walls are carpeted with rich red velvet panels inset with cherry wood, with polished brass fixtures lining the walls. At the far end, a short dining table is set with silverware (that looks like actual silver) more fitting for a mansion than a train in a cave.
What immediately comes to your attention however, aside from a pair of abnormally gaunt guards standing in silence, are the two men sitting in plush armchairs. One man wears a white suit and a matching hat, that while immaculately clean, both bear the signs of frequent wear and tear. He hold a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other.
The other figure sits back in his chair, the angle obscuring his face from the light for a moment. Smoke curls off a fine ornate pipe in his mouth and he wears a scarlet smoking jacket. At your arrival, he leans forward, staring down the posse with piercing grey eyes. Suddenly, he smiles slightly. "Greetings travelers," he says amicably. "What brings you to our little expedition?"
"Mostly attempting not to freeze to death, truth be told." Drake lowers his lantern as he puts out the flame, moving forward into the rail car. "Been a long day for us, friend. We've managed to survive a train crash and a run-in with an Apache war band." He gestures to the others, then reaches into his bag and lights a cigar of his own. After taking a long drag, he exhales and looks to Hellstromme. "I managed to find my way back to the tracks, and it looks like our train went off the rails thanks to a hole underneath. I figured we'd be less likely to freeze to death down here, and one metal-man and some very confused miners later, we're here."
Looking to the two men, Drake continues after taking yet another drag off his cigar. He coughs once, then looks again to Hellstromme. "Just guessin', but you wouldn't happen to know nothin' bout that hole in the tracks, would you? After all, did lead us here to your little... expedition."
The 'good' doctor raises an eyebrow at Drake's explanation, then motions for one of his guards to come over. He leans over and whispers something in the guard's ear. The gaunt man just nods and leaves the carriage. Hellstromme sits back, looking over the party. He then gestures to a line of armchairs along the side of the cabin, which seems to be meant to carry as many as a dozen guests in luxury. "Please take a seat and relax a bit. You seem to have had a very trying day. My apologies my friends, it seems that our digging has dragged you into our little expedition. I'll have that taken care of shortly, but I suppose that's no help to you now. And, if I may toot my own horn a bit, you've come at the perfect time to witness a truly glorious moment in history."