I’m not sure how long it took us to get home, although we were able to scramble aboard a freight train at Hunter’s Rock—we could tell it was bound for Spokane—which cut the overall time considerably. All I remember is that I became fascinated by my friend’s faces as we sat between cars and watched the land pass, the late-afternoon sun painting everything redden-gold as the tracks clacked and livestock raised their heads, as we let our minds wander and tried not to think too hard about what had happened, nor our role in it.
Orley for his part was trying to sleep, and though we at first made sport of preventing him from doing so, we eventually relented and let him be. He had a job, after all, unlike either of us. Still, I watched him as the train rocked and he dozed, knowing even then that
