June 24, 1869

Amiville, Colorado. 

The local saloon was buzzing with activity as I rode into Amiville that warm, summer morning. It had been a long journey from Presidio, Texas and I was in need of a drink and a warm bed to sleep in later that night. My journey was not one to be made often; it had been weeks since I’d left that small town in Texas. It was time to settle down somewhere and start a new life. It was time to leave the past behind me and start over in a town where no one knew my name or the tragedy I’d suffered only a couple of years ago. 

Dismounting my horse, I looked around the little town. The saloon was directly in the centre of everything, with a balcony that wrapped around the building, both upstairs and downstairs. Across the street stood the hotel and restaurant. Its windows were decorated with pink curtains and the white panelling and flowers by the main door made the place look warm and inviting. I made a note to check in and reserve myself a room later in the day. 

A woman was leaning against the railing of the balcony near the saloon door and I went over to talk to her. She wore dark pants and a white shirt with a collar and her hair was done up in a braid. She wore a badge that read “deputy” and I was grateful to know there was law around. She had a sad look on her face and I wondered what could be wrong. As we talked about the weather and what jobs were available around town, I could sense that this woman was experiencing deep and emotional pain. 

“My name is Peep,” she said, her voice shaky. 

“I’m Trin,” I smiled. “What on earth is wrong?” 

“A man that I loved has been murdered,” she said with emotion. “His name was Dutch Solo. He had two brothers, Josh and Gaide. They were all U.S. Marshals here in Amiville.” 

“Tell me about Dutch,” I encouraged, knowing that talking about one’s pain sometimes helped one overcome it. 

“Dutch was quite the lady’s man,” Peep told me. “He was the nicest man you ever met, a real charmer he was. He could always make you laugh. I had just seen him the night before he was killed. It was a very special night,” she told me as the tears started to fall. “One that is difficult to talk about now. We’d spent the night talking until the sun rose,” she grew quiet, looking out at the street. 

I waited, not wanting to push her. I knew what it was like to have someone you loved be taken away from you. I looked out onto the street with her, thinking about the reason I had moved to Texas in the first place.

As I started to think of what prompted my move to Colorado Peep cried out, “It’s all my fault!” She ran into the saloon crying and I stood there in shock. Had this woman just confessed to murder? 

Instead of going into the saloon after her, I decided to leave the woman be and toured around the town. The church caught my eye immediately. It was just down the road from the saloon, across from the courthouse and theatre. I walked into the sanctuary and looked around, feeling anxiousness in my spirit. I hadn’t stepped foot in a church since that cold December day two years ago when we’d stood around the grave of the man I loved. I didn’t know what drew me to the church now, but somehow just knowing it was here brought me some sense of comfort. I had grown up in the church playing piano every Sunday morning and there was a familiarity in this environment. I walked out of the building and passed the cemetery with barely a glance as I walked back toward the hotel. 

Down the street to the left I could see the clinic and the sheriff’s office, along with some small businesses. I saved this part of the town for a later tour and went to the hotel where I rented a room for the night and went upstairs to set my bag down. I didn’t have much in the way of belongings; just a pair of slacks, a jacket, a shirt, and a dress. I had a photo album and my grandmother’s old Bible and my wallet with identification. I also carried with me a small revolver, in case my journey was tainted with violence as it sometimes had been. 

After taking a bath and changing back into my clothes, I did my hair up in a braid and headed back to the saloon. This man Peep had told me about intrigued me. What intrigued me even more was that she was a deputy and days after the event still seemed to have no idea who was responsible, unless her outburst had really been an admission to guilt. 

Walking back into the saloon I saw that Peep had left. The room was crowded enough and I started speaking with a couple of ladies there who appeared to know everything going on around town. 

“The only thing I know is he’s dead,” the one called Rosa said at length. She was a mid-set woman with brown hair down her back. She wore a fancy long dress giving the appearance that she was wealthy. “He wanted me to warn his brother,” she added with a determined look. 

“Josh or Gaide?” I clarified, remembering that Peep had mentioned two brothers. 

“Gaide it seemed in particular,” Rosa replied with solemn remembrance. “But them both. He said that they were in danger. They were next.” 

“Did he tell ya why?” I asked. 

“No, he didn’t,” she shook her head.

“Quite a message to give before you’re dead,” I mused. 

“Oh, he was already dead.” 

She said it so simply I blinked at the statement. “He was a ghost?!” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“Well now I’m hooked... A ghost, right here in Amiville.” 

“Seems so.” 

“Though if he’s a sight for sore eyes,” I remembered Peep’s description of him, “I’d assume he’s not a scary ghost.” 

“Oh no,” Rosa laughed then. “He looked rather well.” 

“Was it daylight or evenin’ when he appeared to you?” I asked, thinking to myself I wouldn’t be wandering around the town at dawn or in the evening now.

“It was early mornin’,” Rosa responded. 

“Were you alone?” 

“Well some folks were here but they thought I was crazy. But he was here!” she insisted. 

“Must have scared you senseless,” I guessed, not really sure I believed her myself. She seemed sincere but the whole thing seemed a bit far fetched. “What can you tell me about the actual murder?” I ventured. 

“Oh, I dunno. I wasn’t around. I jes’ know it’s being said that Peep was the last to see him, and she wanted him and that she was angry. Motive it sounds like,” Rosa guessed. 

Intrigued by the mention of the deputy I’d met earlier I said, “She was here earlier today; seemed distraught when I tried to ask about it. Actually, she was the one who drew my attention to it. 

Anyway...” I continued, “I suppose I’d have to ask Peep more about her relationship with Dutch... Though I don’t want to make it harder for the poor girl.” 

“Well if she killed him then I can see why it would make her uncomfortable.” 

“How much do ya believe that theory, Miss Rosa?” I asked before heading on with my quest for information. I sensed that I’d gotten all I would get from her. 

“I don’t rest a lot on hearsay,” she smiled and I left it at that. 

During the day I continued to talk to more of the local townsmen about Dutch. Many folks mentioned that I should talk to U.S. Marshal Stacie Rage, but I didn’t quite want to take that road just yet. The more I brought up Dutch’s ghost, the more people started wondering if he still had a score to settle. 

Later that evening I talked with a man named Baron, who showed me where Dutch’s body had been found. Baron showed me the spot in the bushes by the mines, which were also by the church and the cemetery. Baron didn’t know anything about ghosts hangin’ around. He explained how it was believed that Dutch had been shot in the back. He also suggested that maybe Dutch had been shot up at his cabin and then fell, or he could have been shot from someone coming out of the mines. He also suggested that Dutch was murdered over a lover. 

Deciding to follow this angle more, I went to ask some more men about this deputy that was becoming the topic of discussion. I found a very attractive man practicing shooting at beer bottles and went over to introduce myself. He introduced himself as Tristan and I asked him what he knew about Dutch’s murder. 

“I do know Peep was very sweet on ol’ Dutchie,” he said with a very smooth, southern accent. “I’ve seen ‘em fightin’ off in the corner of the saloon more than a few times.” 

“Fightin’ in public ain’t good,” I thought of how distraught Peep had seemed when I had first met her and the images didn’t really add up. 

“No ma’am,” Tristan agreed. Between the accent and his intense gaze in my direction I started to find myself having a hard time concentrating on the interview at hand. 

“Didn’t happen to catch the topic of discussion perhaps?” I hoped. 

“See, Dutchie was a ladies man,” Tristan explained, “always trying to get up with some girl in the saloon... I do believe it was his drinkin’.” I nodded for him to continue. “Now Peep’s seen that and it drove her mad. I could tell by the look in her eyes and how she beat him in his chest.” 

The sun was beginning to set so I thanked him for his help and headed for the hotel to call it a night. It seemed that my sense for mystery had followed me to this new little town. I knew this would be the perfect place to settle down and investigate this man whose life seemed as much a mystery as his death.