The winter of 1889/90 was mild, allowing Herbert to stay in contact with New Midian. Usually, depending on the weather, I would be cut off for weeks or months. Not so this winter.

The snow quickly retreated in February. Usually, it would hold on until mid to late March, but this year, it was gone, leaving a lot of mud behind. This presented its issues and problems to travellers, as I watched them trying to navigate the road at the forest's edge.

It was the end of February when two riders approached the gates. They dismounted and tied their horses up. I shifted my attention from the top of the bubble down to the gates as they came to get a better look. Both were covered in mud, indicating they had been travelling for some time. One looked like a man who knew how to handle himself on the frontier, while the other was more civilised.

"Good heavens, this place is larger than I thought it would be!" His accent was northeastern, or what many would call a Yankee accent. He reminded me of McGregor when he arrived, but I didn't think this was an act. He was approximately 5'8" and of slight build in his mid-20s at most. He wore well-made clothing and carried a notebook with him.

"Indeed, it is. We should make this trip quickly, as we do not want to be caught out if the weather changes again." The other man was more rugged, and his clothes were more worn. He had a thick beard, and I expected he needed a good bath. He carried a repeating rifle with a Colt strapped to his waist—about 5'7 and of a stockier build, probably in his early 40s.

Both men were standing in the courtyard, looking out across the graveyard. They had stopped there to look at the plinth and then the view.

"This plinth has quite the strange inscription upon it." He opened up his notebook and began writing down what the inscription said.

"Where do you want to start, Mr Grayson?"

"Oh, of course. My apologies, Mr Benedict. Let's take a hike over to that church in the distance." They came from a man named Grayson, who indicated to them, and they set off on the southern path.

[Alert! Intruders are not recognised as Challengers.]

I contacted my Hunters and told them what was going on. It was early afternoon, so I did not expect to see the hateful spirit or Rigger. I had spoken to Rigger briefly over the winter and told him that I did not expect him to engage any challenges or intruders during the day unless it was an emergency.

I vaguely listened to their conversation, and it turned out that one was a writer looking to create a novel and was seeking inspiration. He had travelled from out east to see the world on the American frontier before it was gone. There seemed to be a growing understanding across the nation that the Great Western expanse would soon become no more as civilisation spread. He had heard vague rumours and stories about this place and its rumoured wealth and decided to visit and see for himself.

I noticed that, amongst the graves, McGregor was eyeing them up to attack. It had been some time since he had made a kill and was getting antsy. From his demeanour, I expected he would try to take the pair. He was angling to get behind them. From how he looked at them, I suspected I was planning to kill Benedict first and then move on to Grayson.

Rodriguez and Roberson were approaching but were still a few minutes out.

McGregor decided to take action. He moved in behind them, quietly aiming to take out who he saw as the threat first. The two men were oblivious to his approach. Grayson carried on talking, distracting the other man.

"I find it odd that such a place would exist in the West. Few cities on the East Coast could boast such a place as their local graveyard. What do you think about it, Mr Benedict?"

"I must agree with your observations, Mr Grayson. It is indeed quite odd."

"How soon do you think we'll reach the church?" Grayson asked, focusing on the church spire.

"Longer than I should have thought. The layout here is quite peculiar."

"How so, Mr Benedict?" Grayson turned to his companion with a look of confusion.

"I mean, Mr Grayson, that this graveyard is more like a maze. If it were a normal graveyard, there would be a straight route to the church." Benedict indicated the path they were walking.

"Why, that is a fine observation, Mr Benedict. One had not actually…"

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by McGregor slamming into Benedict. The older man was taken by complete surprise and could not attempt to defend himself. McGregor jumped onto his back, wrapping his free arm around his neck and using the other with a knife to stab him repeatedly. He concentrated his strikes on the lower back area.

Grayson cried out in alarm and surprise. I was sure he was about to bolt, but he did something unexpected. Quickly rallying, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a Colt revolver. He pulled back the hammer on the gun and aimed the best he could at the struggling hunter.

He fired his revolver, and the bullet slammed into the shoulder of McGregor, spinning him away with the force of the impact. The bullet hit his primary arm, and he lost his knife as his arms and hands spasmed from the effect of the bullet. He twisted around and ended up on his front with his back towards Grayson.

Grayson, still with his gun pointed at the back of my hunter, moved over and knelt next to Benedict, but even I could see from the nature of the injuries and the amount of blood pooling below him that it was only a matter of time before he died. The older man was coughing, trying to say something.

"My God, Benedict! You are mightily wounded!" Grayson looked over the blood and multiple stab wounds in the back of his companion. I had expected him to be an absolute dandy and collapse at the sight of blood, but he proved somewhat competent.

The other man gurgled something and then died.

[A Hunter has made a Kill]

Grayson realised that his companion was now dead. He pulled the hammer once more back on his revolver and stood up. It had never left the back of my hunter, and he slowly moved over to it. I knew McGregor was not dead, but he was wounded. How bad, I did not know.

McGregor did not move, and I could see the hole in his shoulder that he was leaning on would be causing significant pain. Colt revolvers of this time were .45 calibre and were more than capable of blowing holes through men. Blood was coming from the wound, but Grayson did not realise that it was not normal blood.

Grayson inched over to the fallen hunter, his guard up and ready to shoot at a moment's provocation. He knelt again and placed his hand on McGregor's shoulder. McGregor made no reaction.

Grayson pulled the prone figure onto his back.

As I suspected, McGregor was playing possum. As soon as he started to turn, he rolled, revealing that he had another blade in his other hand. He stabbed at his next target, catching the other man in the lower stomach with the blade, causing him to fall back with a cry of pain and surprise.

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McGregor scrambled to his knees to press the advantage and kill this last intruder. Grayson fired his gun off again, catching McGregor in the side diagonally opposite from the first bullet, just below the ribs.

The bullet knocked him back again, causing him to cry out in pain now. Grayson was now trying to crawl backwards to distance himself from his attacker. McGregor was getting back to his knees. I was bleeding quite badly from the wound in his side.

Grayson gripped his revolver with both hands, pulled back the hammer and aimed at my hunter. McGregor was not facing him, with his back to him, making him an easy target.

Grayson was about to fire, and I expected McGregor to die… again.

Before Grayson could pull the trigger, a tomahawk collided with his head. The bullet buried itself deep into his skull, knocking off his aim but causing a spasm that fired the revolver off. The bullet went wide and did not hit McGregor, but he flinched from the sound of the gunshot.

Rodriguez had arrived to save the day.

[A Hunter has made a Kill]

Rodriguez went over and placed his foot on the body of the now-dead Grayson. He gripped the tomahawk handle and pulled it free of the skull with a grunt of effort. It came free with a sound of a crack and a squelch. He cleaned the blade off on the dead man's coat.

Roberson was soon behind in arriving. He was unhappy to have missed the opportunity to kill. McGregor, in great pain, got back to his feet.

"That whoreson of a disease-ridden bitch almost got me!" He snarled as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

"Lucky I got here in time," Rodriguez replied, the tone of amusement matching his smile.

"Fucking lucky bastard!" I was not sure who he was addressing with that as he spoke.

I summoned my avatar and picked up the blade that had fallen. I passed him and handed it to him. I continued to Grayson's body, and like Rodriguez, I put my foot on his body and reached down to pull out the other blade. It resisted at first, but eventually came free. I then returned the second blade to its owner.

"McGregor, go and get healed. Rodriguez and Roberson take care of these bodies. You will find our horses outside, tied up. Take everything as usual to the church, and we will sort it out later."

The Hunters obeyed my instructions. Roberson was eyeing up Grayson's body.

"Take care if you want it."

As I already knew, I did not bother to ask what he would do with it. Roberson smiled and quickly searched the body. Once he had retrieved everything of value from it, including the weapon and gun belt, he slung the body over his shoulder and departed the area.

Rodriguez was digging a grave nearby and had done the same to the other body. He looked up briefly as Roberson absconded with the different body. Benedict was soon buried. Rodriguez took their possessions back to the church. He headed to the gates but found Roberson had already searched the two men's saddlebags.

"I'll take them down to the Drivers." He offered, and Rodriguez nodded in agreement. Horses were not so calm around him these days. They acted like a predator was nearby.

Rodriguez picked up what was left over and returned it to the church. McGregor had returned to his lair, and the count above fit, so I knew he would not be available for the 24 hours.

"Rodriguez, head back to your lair. It will be over a day before we can split this loot."

"Entiendo," he answered in Spanish. I understood roughly what he was saying, but I thought it best to remind him that I couldn't speak Spanish.

"Rodriguez, you know I only understand very little Spanish?"

"Oh! Apologies Keeper. I forget these things." His reply was genuine, and he looked surprised that he regularly addressed me in Spanish.

"I don't mind Rodriguez. Just remember that I'm not fluent."

He nodded his head in understanding and went off. When Roberson returned from dropping off the horses, I told him I would meet them the next day to separate the loot when McGregor was healed.

The world continued outside my domain, and I received a backlog of newspapers a few days later.

I dug through what was now available for information on the outside world. January had little that stood out, either locally or internationally. The one thing that did was that the Portuguese accepted the British ultimatum to hand over some of their territory to them. To sweeten the deal, the British offered a trade agreement that drew Portugal into the British imperial market.

February's papers were essentially the same, with nothing of note happening, which caught my attention. One thing I did note was actually from the editor and reporters. I use those terms very lightly, as unbiased journalism was not something that was presented in the Crossway Chronicle. After reading the publication, I can say that the level of bias was severe for several years and was worsening.

What was pointed out to me this time, and made blatantly clear, was that the Native American leader Sitting Bull had been granted Canadian citizenship. In response, the US government protested this over his long involvement in the Indian wars. The publication I read went on for a full-page rant, decrying the Canadians and the native population. I found this, at best, ironic, as the US military had done its best over the last 20 years of my observations to force out or place what was left of the native population into reservations.

And that did not come close to covering what they also did to the Chinese population on the West Coast. That also meant I had no idea what the black population in the South were going through. Did the Klan exist in this timeline?

You see, my perspective was different, as I was initially a man from over a century in the future. Of course, my views and attitudes would differ from those of men and women of this time. Civil rights movements, world wars, and cultural shifts all played a part in the history of the society that ultimately produced me.

Here was a much rawer and, dare I say, uncivilised precursor to the civilisation I was from. The values of what we call the Western world are much different now than when I was this.

What can I do about it?

Well, nothing is the answer.

I had an entertaining idea about sending a letter, but that would be ignored or cause more problems. I would have to endure it and try to find the truth as best I could.

March arrived, and the days were getting longer; the land was returning to a shade of green.

I spotted riders wandering the outside of my lands. Several travelled deeper; I guessed they were members of the Way of Athamos. I knew it was only a matter of time before they made another attempt to take control of access to the dungeon, so I was gaming out possible ways and counters to what they might do.

They made their move in the middle of the month. I spotted five riders coming up the path to the gates, so I shifted down to examine them.

Senior Ahmed led them, which forced me to quickly review all the possible things I had predicted they might do to try to work out their play here. They entered the clearing in front of the gates and dismounted. Before, men stayed behind, and Senior Ahmed approached the gates.

He stopped a short distance in front of them and then spoke.

"I call to the keeper of this place. I wish to parley."

I could ignore him, but that might be worse in the long run. So, I decided to humour him, but I kept an equal distance from the threshold of the gates. We were a short distance apart when I summoned my avatar, far enough for me to dismiss my avatar if I must.

"Thank you for heeding my request, Keeper."

"Why have you returned here, Senior Ahmed?"

"We parted last time with unpleasant words. I communicated your stance to the Elders. They have decided in their wisdom to honour your terms and conditions. Know that the Way of Athamos does not hinder anyone from entering your domain.

" I was still on guard. His words were open and supportive of my decision, but as I listened, I heard several things that concerned me. They decided to honour my terms and conditions. That was a red flag for me; something else could be happening here, but I couldn't see what it was.

"As long as the Way of Athamos does not interfere with what I claim, they may challenge this place for the reward.

" I caught a slight frown in my words, but he quickly hid it behind the face of an experienced negotiator. They had said they were not interfering with people's access to this place, but I reiterated that they were not interfering with anything I had claimed.

I had thought that they might take such a route. I did not initially interfere with access, but I somehow secured the land around me. That means removing Herbert and claiming the lands he held in my name. I had at least started to implement a plan to prevent that. If the Driver family were to die mysteriously or not so mysteriously, then the land would be put into trust as a nature reserve. Such a concept was still not widely known in the world, but there were some examples of it in certain parts of the United States being held as such reserves. Idaho had not yet brought such legislation into existence within its borders, but I hoped there would not be any serious challenges to it if disaster did occur. One of the most essential stipulations in creating the reserve would be that there can be no land development outside of what already exists on the property.

That meant if the reserve was created, only the homestead could be developed into something else within the boundaries of the initial land purchase. Everything outside of it could not be touched. If I were discovered, I would be considered part of the reserve and untouchable.

That was the plan. It was still unknown if it would work.

"As you will," Senior Ahmed said, nodding his head and spreading his arms in a gesture of openness.

I knew this was not over, but I had to play the game for now.

"With that resolved, Senior Ahmed. As the Keeper of the Dungeon of New Midian, I welcome any of your number to come and face the challenge."

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