January 19th, 1885 -
It has been 8 days since my last entry, and they have been a whirlwind indeed. As I have been remiss in logging the events of the past week, what follows is at best the highlights.
I awoke on the morning of the 12th to find a note from the Agency telling us to "lay low" after the events of the train robbery. I went downstairs and had breakfast in the Sanbel's dining room while I perused the paper. I found an estate sale in St. Charles that looked promising. There was also some mention of the train robbery as well as a call for Rev. Strong's prayer meeting that night. I must say, I am not comfortable with another Rev. finding his way into the headlines. As I was on my way out of town, I stumbled across St. Louis' fine Mayor Francis giving a speech, and decided it was time to begin the cultivation of a relationship with this man. After the speech, I "negotiated" my way into his office for a little one on one conversation. After making a healthy contribution to Mr. Francis' re-election campaign, my colleagues and I headed off to the Agency for payment after last night's "job".
We find Mr. Rigby and he gives us our cash, as well as a small vial that he claims contains a healing potion of sorts. If I can figure out how this was brewed, there will be no end to my earning ability, and it won't be considered quackery. This poses to be a turning point for the good Rev. Col. I must begin examining this immediately. We also discover that our puritanical employer Mr. Bullock is none too pleased with our exploits last night, as, apparently, this was all of Mr. Rigby's design and was not completely sanctioned by the Agency. I had no problem with this, but the virtuous Mr. Kestrall took a good deal of umbrage for being forced to steal from innocent people. Hopefully his rose colored view of the world will soon wear off and he will come to realize that everyone is guilty. All of us.
After business was done for the day, I had a need to rid myself of my new found wealth, so Clayton and I decided it was time to start investing in our futures. We are now the proud owners of a prairie schooner. This should be a perfect vehicle for both of our endeavors. After that we went back to the Sanbell and found ourselves at a card table with a most interesting gentleman by the name of Samuel Clemens. He was one of the most engaging and well spoken men I have yet to encounter. We had a delightful time, and the next morning, he gave me a copy of a manuscript he was getting ready to send off. A heartwarming tale of a young boy fending for himself on the Mississippi River. The only critique I had was that this boy's travelling partner was a savage named Jim. I could have done without that. But I digress.
The next morning we departed for St. Charles, which is a wealthy little neighborhood outside of St. Louis. There, Mr. Sanbell and I hit a goldmine. Our wagon is now outfitted with a fully stocked bar, and a gaming table, as well as enough crates and trunks to house all of our contra ban. I also picked up a very nice brewing kit, so I should be able to start up the potion business again, very soon. Then Mr. Sanbell decided it was time for us to have a base of operations, and purchased a house in a nice quiet neighborhood. Indeed, when the ball gets rolling, it really gets rolling. I feel the need to step up my game.
After that we go to the West End to celebrate, and get word of a man named Lempe and some nonsense about a ghost. I figure this is the perfect time to run the Dr. Perth exorcism scam on him. However Mr. Kestrall had much better luck with the man and I went back to the poker table where "Dr. Perth" made quite a contribution to Rev. Col. Gridley's political future.
Gus went to inspect Mr. Lempe's house and comes back talking about a real ghost and something being under the Indian cave. It gets so, that you tend to just let him ramble on about his superstitions till it is all out of his system. Regardless, he believed it worth investigating, and as he is the best bodyguard a man like my self could ask for, I decided to indulge him.
To make a long story very short. Mr. Lempe was a brewer, and it seems Mr. Lempe was working with his man-servant, Edgar, to eliminate the competition in a less than legal way. They would then store the bodies in some alcove beneath his own brewery. We must have found 12-15 bodies down there, and we added a few more when Mr. Lempe's thugs tried to leave us in there to perish. Well, we made out way out and went back to Lempe's where we confronted Edgar, who took full responsibility for the crimes. Now, for the first, and maybe last time, Gus and I were in agreement that Lempe could not get off Scott free on this issue, so we restrained Edgar, and went to find Lempe. On our way the most unbelievable thing happened.
Bullock approaches us on the street and says he has a fourth member for our little cadre - a "man" know as Justice Murphy. This man is black. I am at a loss of words to accurately describe how I feel. All I will say is that so far, he seems to know his place and does not mind posing as property. It is just unfortunate that he is posing.
Back at the West End as we were about to approach Lempe, Edgar, who somehow got free of his constraints, comes running in. We grab Lampe, Edgar and head out into the alley. After that it all gets a little blurry. By the end of the night, Lempe and Edgar are dead, the ghost is gone, and I am up $300 at the Sanbell's gambling table.
On the morning of the 14th, I am awoken with a telegram that says my mother has passed in El Paso and I am named the sole inheritor of the estate. I will not begin to mention the problems I had with this news. Needless to say, I thought it might bring me closer to discovering the identity of my parents. I gather my things and book passage for Texas immediately. After a fairly uneventful train ride through the dunce belt, I arrived in El Paso, which I suppose is Mexican for "Can pass for Mexico". We decided to hit up a "cantina" for a drink, and some cards. It was there where I was introduced to the strongest liquid I have ever imbibed. Something called tequila. I have faint memories of them making fun of my clothing, something about a locals cousin, and then I think I was carried to bed. I am not really sure. But on the matter of clothing, I have noticed that no one is dressed the way I am. I am starting to wonder where all of these "cowboys" are.
The morning of the 16th, began very similarly to the 14th. I am pulled out of a drunken slumber by my colleagues, and then we go off to deal with the issue of my estate. The lawyer informs me that my mother died poor and in debt and that I am responsible for this debt or a local cattleman will seem to take it as a personal affront. After a little deliberation and some help from my friends, he confesses that it is all a scam and that there is no debt, nor is the woman in question my mother. To be honest, the plan is pure genius. It is an easy way for someone to make a couple hundred dollars off a poor unsuspecting orphan. I was impressed and as I watched his office burn, I thumbed through his contacts to see if I might be able to use them for my own financial gain.
Needless to say, it was time to leave Texas. We left on the next train headed west, and then we were going to go up to the Dakotas for some Agency job. This should be a wonderful opportunity for me to spend some time selling to the uneducated masses. On our way to Denver, our train breaks down in a small town called North Valley. Clay heads back to check in in St. Louis, with plans to meet us in the Dakotas, and Murphy and Gus head off to a church. I went to worship as well. After some time with a woman and a couple of stiff drinks it was off to see the town. I found a very interesting bookseller, and got my hands on three pages of a copy of Hoyle's from 1815. I cannot wait to begin working on these pages.
After some time spent as tourists, we went off to have a drink or two, and wait for our train to depart. That is when the trouble began. It seemed the graves of the town had coughed up their contents and they were making good time to head down to the pub for a drink. Well, rather than Gus just laying low and hoping they pass on, he decides we need to do something about this. We, and a couple of the townspeople get ready to take on the dead. That is when I see a couple of gents that were on the train with us fleeing the scene. I turned myself invisible, and took off to see where they were going. It seems they were heading to another graveyard with the intention of raising those folks as well. Now, I am not one for a fight, but the thought of more of those folks walking around didn't seem like a good idea, so I did what I could while sharpshooter Murphy picked them off. After watching Gus' treatment of those things back at HQ, I decided I would need to take their heads - that is all I will say about that.
After the dust-up, we spoke with the Sheriff about who would do this and he seemed to think a man from New Orleans was behind it. A Fellow by the name of Simon Lacroix. We told him we would keep an eye out. Then I regaled the bar with the story of our bravery (so as they would remember the name Gridley), and we headed back to the train. Oh, we also picked up a hired hand named Everett Temple. Another bodyguard can't hurt.
Well, the train has just pulled out of the depot, and I am exhausted. I have a lot to process from the last few days, as well as potions to start brewing. That's right, I figured out how to start the process. I also have to start working with those pages from Hoyle's. But first I must sleep, so I put down my pen and end the story of this weeks events.
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