Somewhere in the middle of the Western frontier, 1878
The saloon wasn’t very crowded that evening. In the far corner of the room, lively piano music was being played by a skittish Yankee that was new to town while a small gang of rugged cattle rustlers were talking quietly over their mugs of stale beer. A lone girl sat on the other side of the room from them, poring over a tanned and weathered map laying flat on the wooden table top. Her expression was twisted with worry and hopelessness. The bartender was busying himself with cleaning out shot glasses, pondering over his own private thoughts.