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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
It was a little past midnight in the little mountain village of Snowy Point, high in the Medicine Bow Mountains of the Wyoming Territory. It was September of 1877, and there had already been heavy snows in the passes. Folks were busy preparing for the long winter that was about to fall on them. Gardens were harvested and hay and grain from the valleys put in for the winter. Most of the menfolk were back from hunting buffalo on the plains and had been busy putting in a store of elk, deer, and antelope meat, as well as dried fish. At this time of year, the smokehouses were going day and night throughout the village, and folks worked together to put in their winter stores of food. Up here in the mountains of the Wyoming Territory, winter was hard, and people pulled together to survive. Although the fight for survival was hard work, the families were happy and enjoyed the closeness of friends and family without the interference experienced by other towns located on main roads or stage routes. They enjoyed the friendship of many clans of Indians in the area and traded with them freely. The menfolk frequently took an Indian squaw as their wife.