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 here. 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 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. The 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 this place is 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. “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