“October 6, 1863,” he says. “Me and my little brother, Henry, were teamstering, hauling the possessions of General James G. Blunt, who was transferring his command from Fort Scott to Fort Smith. We were being escorted by a unit of the 14th Kansas Cavalry and some men from the 3rd Wisconsin. Between the soldiers, us teamsters, and a few civilians, we were one hundred souls.

“Henry was eighteen. I was twenty. He looked so much like me, people thought we were twins. He was the best horseman I ever saw, even young as he was. All he had to do was think something, and a horse’d do it. He was Mama’s favorite. Mine too.”

Real Deal’s voice seizes. He takes a sip of beer.

“This ain’t worth it, baby,” Yuma says.

“We were on the Texas Road, the old Shawnee Trail, a quarter mile north of Fort Blair, where we were supposed to overnight,” Real Deal continues. “General Blunt called a halt. He had his regimental band with him, and he ordered them into their dress uniforms. He wanted to make an emperor’s entrance at the fort, put on a show.

“It was late in the afternoon. Me and Henry were laid up against a wagon, smoking and speculating how cold it was gonna get once the sun went down. All of a sudden a hundred Federal troops rode up on us. We first thought it was an escort from the fort, but something didn’t feel right, something about their hats, their beards, even the way they sat in their saddles.

“‘Those ain’t soldiers,’ Henry said. ‘They’re bushwhackers.’

“The general knew something was wrong too. He yelled for the troops to mount up, but it was too late. Quantrill and his cocksuckers charged, wearing stolen uniforms, howling like hellcats, and slinging shot. Behind that first wave came even more raiders. Some of the soldiers put up a fight, but most broke and ran, and Quantrill’s wolves set about chasing them down. Me and Henry, unarmed and scared shitless, ducked under the wagon.

“‘What’s our play?’ Henry said. ‘Stay or go?’

“Some of the teamsters were trying to get away, hauling ass across the prairie. The wagon we were hiding under joined the stampede, leaving me and Henry with no cover. There was nothing for it but to scatter with the rest of the chickens.

“I’ve been roaming this earth for 133 years. I’ve forgotten cities I once knew, the faces of women I’ve loved, the names of men I’ve despised. But I remember that day like a slap still stinging my cheek. Running through the tall grass and it trying to trip me. The puffs of smoke and the smell of powder. The gunshots and the screams. And I remember seeing a yellow butterfly and a sea of blue flowers and thinking, This is too pretty a place to die.”

Real Deal pauses again, again swamped by the past.