Hip Deep in Bad Company

“I’m a ghost. A specter, some would say. A spirit. A shade, the hallucination of a compromised mind. Whatever moniker you prefer, that’s me. Excepting that last one.” ~Uncle Morton

I ran freight and wagon trains for years from Missouri to Santa Fe. Courted death from arrows to snake bites, drowning to dysentery, each and every trip. Came through all that only to be dealt a bad hand in Deadwood. Got myself killed.

Now the Grim Reaper is swinging for my boys, too. They’re men, actually, and I won’t let them end up dead like me. Same goes for their friends, Clementine the Amazon and Hank Varney.

First thing, we need to reckon with that smokey Egyptian devil. His no-good henchmen are searching for something underneath the streets of Deadwood. One thing’s for sure—it’s not gold.

Second, the Pinkertons tracked my boys all the way to the Black Hills. I figured they would, but hoped they wouldn’t. My boys will end up in jail yet.

Not so long ago, Deadwood seemed like a good place to set up a freight office, but now the Hills are hip deep in bad company. Sooner or later, the devils around here are going to kill us all. Well, not all, unless you can kill a fella twice.