He heard shouts coming from outside and sat where he was for another while. He waited until he could hear nothing else and was sure the workers had left the train alone in the yard. The longer he sat, the more his thoughts wandered. His fever was getting worse—he could feel it as he started to sweat despite the cold. He rubbed his forehead; the pain was different from what it had been back when he had ran into that pony out in the open. What the hell had that even been? Did that guy seriously just walk right up to him, nonchalant as you'd like, and ask him a how do you do? Handy couldn't wrap his head around it.