[i]“Fine to see dark skinned man here. Good medicine.”[/i] The Cree spoke him his unpronounceable name, [i]"Mistihkoman, Big Knife, my name. What is your name dark skinned one?"[/i] Even Miss Mary found it difficult to repeat.

“Nice to be making your acquaintance, Misty-Ko-Man and Miss Mary,” Billy responded to the Cree man and the woman. He looked at his hand and agreed his skin was a darker color than most.

[i]“What do the rest of you do for a living?”[/i] The gentleman who dealt the lousy hand and was supporting the pot quite nicely asked.

“My name is William Kingsley, but most folks call me, Billy. I ain’t got no job at the moment. I was a soldia with the 10th cavalry for more than a few years. I been rambling from job to job just ta git by. Ah grew up in Illy-noy.” Billy looked up at Mr. Logan. “Are you a hirin’ man, mistah?” Billy looked at the cards he was dealt; the ace of clubs and the two of hearts. [i]‘Here’s hoping the community cards present somethin' worthwhile,’[/i] Billy thought to himself. [i]‘Maybe four clubs or a few more aces would be nice.’[/i]

Billy did not mind the tobacco smell from Miss Mary. It was an odor he had grown accustomed to over the years. He tried smoking tobacco with Commanches, but never picked up the habit.

The other dandy claimed to be a bounty hunter. Billy doubted that lie, but took the man at his word. Most bounty hunters he met, looked more like the Johnny Reb across the table.

Phineas found the conversation fascinating. He listened to the others and breathed in Mary Johnson’s cigar smoke. He tried cigars back at Amherst, but never liked the taste. It was not  something he would do again. “Miss Johnson,” Finney looked around the table. “Gentlemen, my name is Phineas Eugene O’Connell from Gloucester, Massachusetts. One of the finest fishing communities in the United States of America,” Finney spoke with an eastern Boston accent. “Most people call me Finney. It is my nickname. I am here for an investigative reason and I find you people quite fascinating. For me it is a calling, you could say.” Finney had a youthful grin or smile plastered on his face. He was excited to be here. The setting was perfect for his purpose. The people sitting at the table were perfect. He was in the moment and loved it. “To be honest, I am a writer.  I graduated from Amherst not long ago and have journeyed out to Texas in order to see the West first hand. I want to learn what you know and experience it myself.” As a sidebar, Finny felt compelled to share a little history with his companions. “Did you all know that roughly thirty years ago, Texas was an independent country?” Finny looked at his cards; the five of clubs and the seven of diamonds. He threw them on the table, “Fold.”