Evil sometimes wears a pleasant face I have found. nnI strolled across the smoking car to the bar where the woman behind the bar smiled at me, her gold incisor gleaming from her mahogany face. She could have been any age, I suppose, from thirty to seventy. I'd seen her before, but not on every turn. She was polishing immaculately clear heavy tumblers, each with the etched RR symbol and the flutes at the bottom. nn"Your usual smoke, Mr. Richard?" nn"That would be very nice, Francine, thank you." Without waiting for me to reach the polished maple of the surface, she placed the humidor down and flipped back the lid. I smiled back and liberated three of Havana's best tobacco, long, dark, and deliciously aromatic, from their moist protective prison and inserted two of them into my stiff leather case, igniting the third from the match Francine that was holding.nnSometimes I amused my self by pretending that different members of the crew had developed deeper personal relationships than apparent, but seldom was the case. Francine and George were the exception that proved the rule. They had been married and divorced to each other three times.nnPropping my elbow on the bar and leaning back, sipped the sweet heady drink and turned to survey the car. The smoke was layered through the car and the scent of cigars mixed with stale beer oozed from the hard wood walls and the stamped tin ceilings. I dipped the tip of my cigar into my drink and drew another mouthful of the thick richness in, to allow it to flow out through my nose. nnThere were the usual and expected; salesmen, stockmen, a couple of military officers, a man of leisure. My curiosity became piqued when I noticed what I assumed from their complexion were two Indians. These were not turban wearing Sykes but neither were they Cherokee, Lakota, Navaho or any other native nation. While seeing Indians in the smoking car was a first, seeing them dressed in formal European attire was so unusual I caught myself staring and jerked my eyes away, but not before one noticed.