December 26, 1915

“That’s the third five for a 15 - two, then three in a row for six and the last card for nine big points!” du Bois hollered while picking up his cards.

“You’re killing me with your pegging,“ I moaned.

“Skill, just plain skill.”

“Nonsense, you’re lucky. I’m still winning this game of cribbage.”

“Not for long.”

I absent-mindlessly tossed the board and playing cards in my rucksack as we frantically packed two days ago. We probably played twenty games today. It was a stroke of luck to have something to do while we waited out the snowstorm. It continued snowing hard all day. We only left the shelter to relieve ourselves, at a short distance, at the same place. Then packed more snow, from a different spot, in pots to melt for drinking water and cooking. The last time I checked, it looked like about fourteen inches of new, fluffy snow which swirled and flowed around my moving boot tops. The gray jays, I think called Clark’s Nutcrackers, found us during the first day. They became bolder, looked for handouts and were a welcome distraction. We counted our cards and I tossed mine to my smirking adversary.

He picked them up and stated, “I don’t think the sheriff is following us.”

“We’re impossible to track now,” I replied and, “It’s your crib, deal.”

Tonight, du Bois curled up in his wool blankets and said, “I’m going to dream of Hawaii now.” I write and watch the candle flicker, thinking we are on our own. No one will find us up here except perhaps our bones in the summer, which will be gleefully picked, clean by crows and magpies.

Your Editor, Corina

(That was a disturbing visual, don’t you agree reader? As I, your editor typed, it seemed important to tell what happened in Steamboat at the same time. Maggie, Angela, the baby, and I attended the Christmas dance at the Cabin Hotel. We hardly danced to the Milner Orchestra. We talked and planned.

Life was so predictable in my parents’ parlors and salons. Not so much in England where I was impeded by my socially born position, but in New York I was British and ruled. I prized my reputation, curbed my impulses, and controlled my caprices with moderate audacities. There was never a hint of scandal. Now I am up to my waist in humiliation and the telephone party line promotes gossip. Our calls were brief to only arrange many meetings.

JJ said we lied, but he could not remember details. The detective heard Maggie’s suggestion for body disposal, but the Christmas tree blocked his view. Sheriff Chivington did not show his hand. He thought it was a very suspicious accident and doubted we are telling the truth. He continued the out-of-his- jurisdiction investigation on Anthony, the deserter. Did he send a telegram or call? I do not know. I hoped the sheriff realized with Julius and du Bois gone, he had fewer problems to deal with.

On the Monday morning after Christmas, we ladies meet for coffee early at the Cabin Hotel. The sheriff came in for breakfast. He walked directly to our table and handed me a copy of JJ’s restraining order and stated, “I’m traveling to Denver tomorrow morning for enforcement training pertaining to the new Prohibition Law.” He continued, “I don’t want to hear of any shenanigans by you ladies on my return.”  I thought it was very possible he would be on the same train to Denver with Julius and Anthony. I considered sending a telegram to Hot Sulphur to Julius’s Uncle Thomas but decided against it. People could read it. I sent a letter by daily carrier to Thomas and Julius, with the dreadful news, later the same day. CE)