From the Journal of Rev. Col. Elijah Q. Gridley

January 11, 1885 -

Well the events of the last 24 hours have made me quite skeptical as to my willingness to affiliate with this "Agency". After spending some time with the older copy of the Book I found, and showing Mr. Sanbel how to use it, we were flagged down by an Agency member who gave us a new assignment. It involved stealing 3 crates of the highly valued "Ghostrock" that was being shipped from a Mr. Hellstrom, out west, to a gentleman in Delaware. There was rumor of these crates being shipped, via the railway, through St. Louis to Indiana, then on to Delaware. So the task of train robbery was dispatched to the cowboy, the giant, and myself. We were also given the assistance of a Mr. Consumption Jackson, whom I do hope was named inaccurately.

Upon arriving at the train, we split up; Mr. Jackson and myself going to find food and drink, and Clay and Gus to do something that seemed like addressing the task given us. Obviously, I had no real interest in taking part in the robbery proper, but I wanted to lend what help I could for the purpose of partaking in the spoils. We decided on a plan to have Mr. Jackson disconnect the portion of the train with the storage cars from the passenger cars. Clay and Gus went off to do some scouting or something, leaving Mr. Jackson and myself alone with our repast.

It was at this point that two travelling "performers" decided to join our table and regale us with lackluster jokes and stories of theatrical vagabondery. Luckily, they were card players, and that seemed to shut them up. After Gus and Clay had been absent for what seemed an inordinate amount of time, I set off to find our companions. I step out of one car, and I see Gus climbing down the ladder, down from the roof of the car in front of me. After convincing the porter that our friend was being transferred to a psychiatric facility in Indiana, and that he could not be held accountable for his actions, we returned to the dining car for dinner, and more scotch.

After dinner, I was struck by the need to make a few dollars at a card table, went to find Clay, only to discover that someone had already detached the train, and now we were losing sight of the car that had our desired crates. Luckily for us, the caboose on this train was, in fact, a control car, and Mr. Jackson was trained in locomotive operation. So, we used the control car to race after the portion of the train with the shipment, and Clayton on board. As Mr. Jackson was driving, it fell to Gus and myself to shovel the coal. Well I was only able to tolerate manual labor for a matter of minutes, and shoveling coal is quite below my station, so I left the giant to do the grunt work, and I proceeded to the front of our section of train to gauge our progress.

Upon reaching the lounge car, I encountered the bad comic holding a gun and a dead porter lying on the floor. In the car ahead I can see a group of passengers fighting with the train crew. At this point, I have no idea what is going on. There now seems to be three armed factions on this train. The crew, Mr. Hellstrom's guards and us. The problem is, I have no idea why the crew and the guards are fighting, and no one is paying attention to the real thieves. The real thieves being us.

By this point I have reached the front of our train, and am met by the comic, whose name is Dan. After a brief discussion, I think he realized that we were here to abscond with the crates, and he violently and viciously attacked me. Now, it is no secret that fisticuffs are not my bailiwick, but I have to say, I held my own against this gentleman until, what must have been two or three of his scoundrel friends got the drop on me.

The next thing I remember is Clay waking me up, and pointing me in the direction of the comic. I pulled my rarely used Derringer out of it's holster and planted the barrel firmly in the back of his head. Now is as good a time as any to say that a Derringer to the back of the head is not nearly as effective as I anticipated. After my attempt at silencing the comic, he turns to me, and once again, must have had help in subduing me.

I am not sure how long I was out, but the next thing I remember is Clay waking me up again, and the Agency's steam wagon arriving to off load the crates and the four of us back to St. Louis. We arrived in town and were instructed report to the Agency tomorrow for payment, and a new assignment. I just checked in to the local hotel, and am going to try to use this bottle to nurse myself back to feeling whole again. As for tomorrow, I think it might be time to tender my resignation at the Agency. I am in now way cut out for this type of work, nor is it helping to further the plan. Politics may be a dirty game, but I can't imagine the President has to rob too many trains. Well, my wounds require attention, as does this bottle, so as I pour this shot I put down my pen and end the story of today's events.