Perhaps the most prominent feature of the town was the train station. Two lines, a waiting room, wrought iron canopy and, at that moment, a huge locomotive hissing steam awaiting departure, a man filling the tender with water. The engine throbbed, beating like the heart of some prehistoric beast. Soloman pulled up his horse and breathed in the vapours. ‘I don’t know what it is, but that smell makes me feel like I’m home.’
Notch sniggered. ‘That ain’t no home I’d ever like to visit.’
‘Notch, I wouldn’t invite you anyway.’ Soloman sniffed loudly. ‘When was the last time you washed?’
‘Christmas morning, as always. Don’t see no point in washing away my natural oils, Sollo. It’s what protects me from diseases.’
‘Well you is ripe, my old friend. I reckon when this is done, we book ourselves
