Melonie was up at the crack of dawn, beating me by an hour.
"I couldn't sleep worrying about what's going to happen," confessed Melonie, "It's not that important...Forget my things, I'll get by." I listened to her but shook my head,
"No ma'am, it's not all right, I've got to get this guy straightened out, I won't be long, wait here." She tried in vain to protest, but I told her I had experience with types like this and not to worry. Dressing in the dead thug's clothing, I made sure I had a few spare magazines for my .45 the headed out the door. I hadn't paid much attention before, but this Deadwood looked so much different than the one of 2014. For instance, I could look down the hill practically right into the main street, there weren't the trees obstructing the view. I also noticed a smoky pall hanging over the valley, the wood smoke thick in the air. As I walked down the hill I also picked up another odor absent from modern times. The combined smells of horse shit, garbage, and that unique smell of people living too close together, the cowboy flics never showed that. I reached the main street only to find it nothing but freaking mud. Teams of horses, people shouting at someone, riders, and the general crush of humanity were all around me. Asking where the Gem was I was told it was farther up the street. As I walked up the boardwalk I kept hearing of the Hickok shooting which I had deliberately avoided missing it by a week. Staring at the people was like looking at ghosts, in my mind they had all been dead for over one hundred and thirty odd years, but still they all looked so much different than seeing them in old period photographs. Finally I arrive at the Gem, the sound of a honkey tonk piano, and loud boisterous people.