Sledge changed the subject. They can't be allowed to destroy the Union. They can't go on enslaving an entire race and breaking up families for profit. He eyed the car ceiling. Lon heard faint thumps, moving toward the blind end of the car next to the tender.
Someone's up there.
Sledge turned back his coat and put a hand on the butt of the shiny new Remington .36-caliber stuck in his belt. Sons of bitches bought their own tickets.