It’s cold. And dark. If any o’ them coyotes think they’re gettin’ anywhere near here, I’ve got a Colt Peacemaker round that says otherwise. I’ve got a bad feelin’ about the train crew though. Mr Crocker was up and down the cars ever’ time I turned around for the last three days, why, a body couldn’t visit the dinin’ car without makin’ way for him, comin’ up the aisle. I’m afraid that crew is up to no good. There was a bucket’s worth o’ blood all over that baggage car—whatever poor soul shed that is none too healthy right now. Dammit, my best stockins were soaked in lantern oil and bits o’ my second best hurricane lantern all over my trunk and that dark purple flounced fancy dress with the bustle I never liked none too much; I guess that’s no big loss. But I don’t know how I’ll make it to Salt Lake in time to catch the corn market; if there’s no barley to be had there by the time I arrive, I’ll be mad enough to bite a rattlesnake!
I sure am glad I wore these trousers though, this blow up is fixin’ to set this cold weather in, I fear, and I sure don’t want to be trudgin’ through no snow in a skirt! Speakin’ a’ skirts, that widow’s a strange ‘un; resourceful though. She had them folks outta that passenger car lickety-split, as my mama used to say. She don’t say much, but what she do say, a body oughta hear! Can’t quite get a read on that sickly feller, but there’s another that don’t set around with ‘is thumb up his ass when somethin’ needs doin’. Gotta find that man some less ratty clothes though, he looks a sight.
I was thinkin’ o’ leaving my lil’ Derringer at home before we left, but that lil’ baby’s pulled me through more scrapes safely now than I care to recall! Worth its weight in ghost rock, that is. There go them coyotes again; hate them varmints. I don’t know if Richard’s gonna make it—how will we get him off this pass with that neck? Mebbe that shaman will set him to rights; never know what will happen when they get those herbs out and start singin’ to the Great Spirit—I’m none too religious, but a body’s gotta admit, they’s something unnatural goin’ on sometime, for the good or the bad.
What was that!? Normally, I’m not so jumpy, but I usually leave the adventurin’ to my papa when he’s around—that man’s got woods sense like nobody’s business. I kin hold my own if I have to, but I’d just as soon be tucked up in my four poster on a howlin’ night like this. I reckon it’s about time to wake the widder fer her watch…