Monday, June the Twenty-Eighth
This morning Sir Hammerhorn returned from the hunt for the Skinwalker. They found the corpse of a boy, withered and dried, nestled inside the rotting corpse of a bison. He was holding onto the burnt daguerreotype of a railroad worker. It was a portrait of Mr. Frew, his father.
Percy has been much celebrated by the townswomen since word got round that he threw the wolf pelt on the fire. He did what he was hired to do, noble fellow. The women of the town have named their one street after him, " Longville." There ' s talk of changing the town ' s name as well.
Perhaps the old woman wanted to lead us to her boy to stop his rampage. Thunderboy told me that she truly believed that all life was precious, and her son ' s plot for revenge must have caused her much distress. All told, he killed over thirty people.
The last I saw her, I wept. She was buried at her small home, where we had met Thunderboy. But I spoke the words that killed her son, and now my legacy is forever connected to this horrible slaughter and that waste of millions of lives— human and buffalo— across the plains of America. I understand why the beast had to be stopped, but I was sorry.
Wednesday, June the Thirtieth
The train has been fixed. Thunderboy has joined our journey. I would not have thought him suited to travel— he did not look like he could afford it, if I may speak plainly. But there is something mysterious about him that I ' m certain I must discover!
Percy joined me in the dining car and was insistent on showing me all of the little pictures,