The Amelia Project - Episode 66 - Billy Gritt (1871)

Episode Date: June 23, 2023

"Is it a Spaghetti Western?" It's time for a tale from the Wild West! So put on your cowboy boots, don your Stetson, and get ready to ride with Lord Darrell Arthur Duppa and Billy Gritt. Yeehaw! This episode features Alan Burgon, Josh Rubino, Julia C. Thorne, Hemi Yeroham, Torgny G. Aanderaa, Benjamin Noble. Written and directed by Oystein Ulsberg Brager with script consultancy by Pete Lutz. Sound design by Adam Raymonda, music by Fredrik Baden. Dedicated to Michael West. Content warning contains gunfire. Website: https://ameliapodcast.com  Transcripts: https://ameliapodcast.com/transcripts Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/ameliapodcast Donations: https://ameliapodcast.com/support Merch: https://www.teepublic.com/stores/the-amelia-project?ref_id=6148 Twitter: https://twitter.com/amelia_podcast Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ameliapodcast/ Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ameliapodcast Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Your teen requested a ride, but this time, not from you. It's through their Uber Teen account. It's an Uber account that allows your teen to request a ride under your supervision with live trip tracking and highly rated drivers. Add your teen to your Uber account today. Cold tapes. A gripping crime story that will chill you to the bone. You know, life on the base means, well, it's close to six months without light. That does things to people.

That study that he was doing to watch us and then set off us like mice around this special little experiment. How many people are on this base? Sixteen on this one. Someone amongst them is our killer. Experience Cold Tapes, the murder mystery podcast game. Start your investigation where you get your podcasts. The Amelia Project would not be possible without the generous support of our patrons. This episode is dedicated to super patron Michael West, who will disappear via alien abduction and reappear as a maker of artisanal goat cheese in the Pyrenees.

Happy listening. You were Watson. Yes. I would have imagined you'd be Sherlock. No, I played the part of Watson for several years. I'm not sure I believe it. Well, what are you doing? Just brushing some of this moss off.

Gravestone is completely overgrown. I can only barely work out your name. Yes, well, I suppose no one has been looking after it. Yes. How does it feel? What do you mean? The stone. How the stone feels? Mm-hmm.

Well, it's cold to the touch. The surface is rough. It feels like stone. Why? Oh, nothing. Well, come over and help me. You can feel for yourself. No, I'm fine here. Thank you. Fair enough. What on earth? It's changed.

What? The writing. On the stone. It's changed. What? The writing. On the stone. Lord Daryl Arthur Dupper. Died in Arizona, U.S.

January 30th, 1871. The valiant never taste of death but once. Ah, yes. What do you mean, ah, yes? Did you know this man? I did. Well, who was he? Did you know this man? I did. Well, who was he? And where has your gravestone gone? Oh, oh, oh, wait. Lord Darrell Arthur Dupper. Is this... Another one of my names, yes.

Oh, look, it is still there. Mane Moepert Arthur, son of Athromale, up at the top. But then, all the way down here, it says Lord Darrell Arthur Dupper. Why is there a second name on your gravestone? I guess that must be because I died in Arizona in 1871. You died? Yes, but briefly. Kozlovsky brought me back to life.

I was only gone for a few seconds. So he, what, resuscitated you he gave me patience it can revive you if you get it quickly enough after death but try digging up a half-rotted relative and that won't work no thank you can we just get back to you dying well you don't live for several millennia without having a few brushes with death. Well, what happened in Arizona? Well, do you remember what I said to Mr. Love? Um, that you would love to try Serendipity's hot chocolate ice cream with whipped cream swirl and chocolate shavings? No, not that. I said that the last time I travelled across the US,

it was in the back of a covered wagon. Oh, that. Are you ready for a story from the wild, wild west, Alvina? Is it a spaghetti western? You better believe it. Thank you. The Amelia Project by Philip Thorne and Øystein-Ulsbeck Braga with sound direction by Frederik Barden and sound design by Adam Raimonda. Episode 66, Billy Grit, 1871. Dang it, Buttercup! Faster! Faster! Oh, Billy, you're in trouble now. This might could be the day you end up in the bone orchard. Oh, they're coming, Billy. They sure are coming. They're coming round the You'll be comin' round the mountain. You'll be comin' round the mountain.

You'll be comin' round the mountain when he comes. It weren't me, I swear. You got the wrong hombre. Good day. Billy don't want to die today. But you might. Though not in the way you think. I ain't armed.

Back at the creek, you all who'd shot the iron right out of my hand, remember? Let's have a fist fight. A fist fight's fair. A fist fight's fair. Pull your horns in. I'm not here to fight you. Well, then arrest me. No.

Wait. You ain't Sheriff Jameson. I ain't Sheriff Jameson. And you ain't wearing a deputy's star, neither. No, I'm not with the Sheriff's Department. Then why in tarnation are you in my wagon? Can't you see Bill is busy? Yeah, you look like you're having a hog-killing time.

Be hanged! Oh, you better crouch, hombre. The floor is very dirty. Believe me, I spit-shined it just before. Oh, that better crouch, hombre. The floor is very dirty. What do you mean? I spit-shined it just before. Oh, that's disgusting. Very trap with you, my Stetson. Oh, that one sure came close. There's a hole in my hat now.

I better lie down. Oh, what is that? Anyway, just what are you doing here, pal? I'll tell you in a minute. The shooting business is annoying, isn't it? Tell me about it. I'd rather it stopped. You'll get no argument from me.

Would make it easier to talk. It is getting a mite breezy in here. Good, but I mean one more hole in this canvas and it's not a covered wagon anymore. What's that under that lamp? Nothing. Looks like dynamite. Could I have a couple of sticks? Well, I was saving them for a special occasion.

And light the fuse, please. But... I don't like loud noises. So then I can't recommend you fire up a stick of dynamite. I'd rather suffer one loud bang than this constant whistling of bullets. What? You're gonna blow us up? No, don't be daft. We're about to cross a bridge. Oh. Well, say, that's pretty smart.

Yes. Three sticks should do the trick. Here you go. Right. thanks. And... BOOP! Yeah! Rehearsal! Whoa!

Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!

Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! We'll get you yet, Billy! Hoo! There ain't no way to cross that there canyon without no bridge.

It'll take them hours to ride around. Quite. Doggies! I reckon I'm safe. Yes, sir, though not for long. I understand you're a wanted man. I'm safe. Yes, though not for long. I understand you're a wanted man. I ain't. You're not? No.

Well, then why are you being pursued by the sheriff? Just coincidence, I reckon. Oh, really? And why do you have sticks of dynamite in your wagon? I didn't. You just handed me some. I thought they was carrots. We blew up a bridge. They're spicy carrots.

Now you lit the fuse. Who are you gonna believe, me or your lying eyes? Oh, really? Really? This is how you want to play it, is it? Well, maybe I did have some, but that was cause some other polecat done planted them there. I had to get rid of some boulders on my farmland. You are Billy Grit, also known as Gritty Bill. How do you know? Well, what's this I'm holding?

Well, it might could be a wanted poster. Could be a wanted poster, yes. And who's on it? I don't know. I can't read. The man in the picture. Who's the man in the picture? Oh, I don't know, but he sure is handsome.

Never seen him before. It's you! Oh, you got no proof. Oh, come on, you're identical. I mean, look at your beard. It could fill the Grand Canyon. You couldn't get a scratching rake in there with a cannon. There is no one else in the Americas with a beard like that.

All right, you got me. I'm Billy Grit. Finally. Now, why deny it? My good man, you must have understood that... What's this good man stuff? You can call me Billy, or Gritty, or Bill, or Gritty Bill, or Billy Grit,

or Grit, or Mr. Grit, or Mr. Billy Grit, or... Oh, for God, my good man! I ain't good. Okay, but why not acknowledge the corn right away? Oh, I don't know. Habit? Billy's done been on trial so many times.

Deny everything. That's my motto. Yes, Billy Grit, wanted in seven states and counting. Charmed to make your acquaintance. Ah, that thing with the bridge back there seemed professional. Are you an outlaw too? Well, there's currently no price on my head, but if any sheriff knew what I did, I'd be on one of those wanted posters faster than you can say chuckwagon. What do you do? I make people die. Oh, me too.

Without ever killing anyone. Huh? Wait, what? Well, I fake people's deaths. And you're my next client. I'm what? Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come. What? Talk American, son. Who are you? My name is Lord Daryl Arthur Dupper. You haven't heard of me?

I can't say as I ever heard of you, no. What? Really? Really. What have you done? What have I... I'm famous for giving the town of Phoenix its name. You ain't funning me, are you? Why, no. Listen, when my friend Jack Swilling founded a town in Arizona three years ago, I was struck by how Jack built an irrigation system off the back of the ancient Hohokam Canal systems. The city grew from the ashes of a former city.

And it reminded me of the ancient mythical bird reborn from flames. Well, I heard of Jack Swilling. See? That there are fellers a drunkard and a morphine addict. Yes, well, he is. That's true, but no, you see, he's also a very hard worker. Well, yeah, morphine ain't cheap. Still,

I ain't never heard of you. Hmm. But I have heard of you. You have made quite a name for yourself. Highway holdups, bank heists, mail coach robberies. And? You've been arrested, tried, and imprisoned more than any man alive.

Yet here you are, free again. How do you do it? How do I do what? Belly through the brush! Get out of prison? Yes, you must be a genius! Oh, Billy ain't hardly no genius. You've escaped more times than anyone cares to count.

I just had my gang bust me out. Yes, but how do they do it? I mean, do they bake a file into a cake? Do they dig a tunnel under the wall? And how do you manage to plan it when you're on the inside and they're on the outside? Oh, well, that's my special technique, you see. I just shout out the window. Ah, yes, you just shout out the window.

Yeah, I holler, hey, I want to get out of here. Then they knock out the guards and blast the door open with some gunpowder and I'm out in the twinkling of a bedpost. No, no, no, no. It can't be that simple. It works every time. But I was hoping there would be more finesse to it. Billy don't do finesse. Billy can't even spell finesse. Billy reckons the quick and easy way is, well, it's quick and easy. Don't much like prison. It's boring. Well, I don't care for boredom either.

Prison is as tedious as a twice-told tale vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man, to paraphrase the bard. Which is why I'm a bit disappointed, Billy. By what? By you. I mean, I thought you were going to be a fascinating client. You? I mean, I thought you were going to be a fascinating client. Hearing all the tales about your prison breaks, I thought, Billy Grit, arrested, tried, and imprisoned more than any man alive. What a man! That old yarn again. That's all anyone ever says about me.

Arrested more times than any man alive. Blah, blah, blah. Wait, wait, wait. You're saying it's taradiddles? I told you to talk American. What I'm saying is there's more to Billy than that. Like what? Like all the times I'd done stuff without getting caught. Billy and his gang, they shot their way out of so many situations you just wouldn't believe. Yes, though when I entered this wagon you were running like you had the juice at your heels. I mean, where is your gang now? Now that you need them? Well, they, uh... Yes? Well, there was that time in Tempe when we lost Buster and Scraggy. Uh-huh. And there was that time in Milwaukee when Elmer and Butch was shot. Right. And Jesse died of gangrene.

Biggs was transported to Bermuda. Alice fell off a wagon. Little Jackie fell off the wagon. Reno was killed in Virginia. Virginia was shot in Reno. And Willie Bob left the gang and became the sheriff of Coffeyville. And then I just had to shoot him, you know. And Billy don't regret that.

So, yeah, ain't a dang one of them left. Hmm. So, no one to bust you out? Nope. So I sure am glad you came to help. Tip my Stetson to you. Ah, now Billy can breathe easy again. Close call there for a second.

Phew. I'm mighty curious about what you want in return, though. I ain't got nothing. All I got is what I got on me. This here leather coat, which might not be an apple pie order. Got a few holes and some bloodstains. And then there's me old boots. We'll get to what I want soon enough,

and don't worry, it'll be a fair shake. But first things first, you're speaking as if you're safe. Well, yeah. We blew up the bridge, after all, with them carrots. Billy, you are not safe. But, uh... It's only a matter of time before they catch up.

Nah. By the time they get around the canyon, Buttercup's taking me home. I got me a niche in the hall and nobody knows where it is but good old Buttercup. Perfect place to stash your loot, it's so remote. Good girl, Buttercup, good girl. Let's go to the Dice House now! Nobody will ever find Billy at his secret lair. In fact, you gotta get off pretty soon, because if you don't make yourself scarce,

I reckon I'll have to kill you. Imagine that. Me taking some stranger to where all the gold from Sacramento's stashed. I'd be an idiot to do that. So I can't take nobody to secret lair, sir. No siree. Right. Bill, Bill, Bill. First of all, no, before that, Buttercup? Yeah, my mount. Yes, but Buttercup. Good name for a mare, ain't it? Oh, yes, absolutely. I just expected a man like you to have a horse named Thunder or Trigger or Diablo. Or Buttercup.

Or Buttercup. Now, secondly, back to my first point. Billy, I have bad medicine for you. You're all down but nine. Remember this? My warning poster. Up on the trunk of every tree seven states wide. God dang it. What did

you do this time? Train robbery. Yes, but what did you steal? I just said. No, you just said train robbery. Yeah. I stole a train. Crim Yeah, I stole a train. Criminy? You stole a train? They're fine, ain't they? And pricey too, dang it.

A steam train's worth a plum fortune. Okay, all right, but how did you manage to steal a train? First you gotta lift with the knees. Just kidding. Had to build a railroad. You built a railroad? Some folks say robbing is a coffee boilers game, but I tell you, it's hard work. It's hard, honest work laying tracks. Well, maybe not so honest in my case, but the thing is, railroads ain't that well guarded, you know?

No? They run through deserts and plains, see? Areas where there ain't nary a soul. So what we done was lay a second set of tracks out there in the wilderness, and our tracks ran right onto a remote ranch that my gang had, uh, moved into. Uh-huh. We diverted the railroad onto our tracks, and then we could just watch the train chew-chew itself right into our backyard.

Huh. Then we dug up them tracks again, and ain't nobody none the wiser. All anybody knows is the train left Little Rock on schedule, but no train ever arrived in Fort Smith. Nobody knowed where it ended up. Right um, so you were going to what? Sell the train on the black market? Yeah.

Is there a black market for trains? Uh, ain't found one yet, still looking. You interested? No, um, it would be quite something to own a train, but I don't have anywhere to keep it, or drive it, for that matter. I got some tracks to go with it. Uh, very kind, but no thank you. Oh. But the plan must have failed, though. Yeah, turns out a train is kinda hard to hide. I looked for some trees to cover it, but the ranch was in the middle of the desert. I put some canvas over the most train-looking bits of the train, but turns out a train just

sitting there in your backyard is bound to get noticed after a while. Had to leave the ranch. Was going back to the lair but dang if I wasn't recognized at the saloon in Lost Creek. Anyhow I got a wiggle on crisscrossing the country trying to shake him. Did you know that I got no friends and friendship and that they don't play fair at all down in Fair Play and now here I am flat on my belly in a covered wagon, not a dime to my name, unless I dig up that gold from the raid back in Sacramento.

Yes, and you need a way out. Boy, do I. Which is why I'm here. Yeah, about that. How'd you find me? Oh, the smoke signals. Oh, you saw them. H-U-P-L. Yes, I did see those.

I was hoping some old member of the gang would see them, but, uh, well. Then I find you instead. You said you're faking death? That's right. What the heck does that even mean? Do you roll around on the ground pretending to have a fit? Is it kind of like in the theater? No, no, no, no, no.

I don't fake my death. I fake your death. I'm all higgledy-piggledy, son. I can see that, yes. No, listen, I can make it look like you have died. Why? You see, if they think you're dead, they'll stop looking for you. Right.

Right. Oh, heck, that's a plumb, smart idea. Why didn't Bella think of that? Well, because you're not one for finesse. And I am. Guess that's true. So how does it work? I suggest we do it now.

Now? No time like the present. Do you have more dynamite? No, that was all of it. Damn. Well, in that case, why don't we utilize the geographical peculiarities of the area? Pardon? We'll dump you in the canyon.

Dump me? Dump you, yes. Buttercup's baked. She rides a bit too close to the edge, you topple in, horse cart and all, and gets smashed beyond recognition once you hit the bottom. Ugh, nasty. But it's fake somehow? Yes, of course. I already have a replacement corpse in my saddlebags. It's not identical to you, but my friend is a master of prosthetics.

And he's made a magnificent beard. Plus, the corpse was already half-eaten by vultures when we found it. So I think we're good. It even comes with real bullet holes. Uh, I don't have any bullet holes. But you could have. Which would explain why you didn't steer your horse away from the canyon. About that.

Yes? You're using this wagon. Oh, yes. How do you figure to get the replacement corpse for Buttercup into your saddlebags? Must be an awful big pair of them. Well, no, you see, Buttercup will actually have to fall into the canyon. You ain't killing Buttercup. No one kills

my friend. Billy! Say you won't kill her. Say it. Say it, you bastard. I won't kill Buttercup, I promise. Good. You better not. Boy, you really are a brute.

No one misses the Billy's family without Billy coming after him. Yes, all right. The horse's family, of course. Well, new plan. I guess the cart could have come loose from the horse and fallen in without it. That's better. Okay, now that's figured, I gotta say. Billy likes it. Good. Now, next on the agenda is your identity.

What do you mean? Well, you can't be Billy Grit anymore. Oh, your plan is terrible. People are going to recognize me. Well, not necessarily. Oh, for sure. You keep saying everyone knows what I look like. Me absquatulating. Now, that dog won't hunt. I see how you think so, but I have some more cards up my sleeve.

Listen, remember I mentioned my friend who made the replacement corpse? Oh, he is a master surgeon. I've made a song about him. Want to hear it? Um, I reckon... He'll be coming with a scalpel when he comes. He'll be coming with a scalpel when he comes. He'll be coming with a scalpel. He'll be coming with a scalpel. He'll be coming with a scalpel when he comes. Right. He'll be riding six white horses when he comes. He'll be riding six white horses when he comes.

He'll be riding six white horses and his cart is full of corpses. He'll be riding six white horses when he comes. Ha! Yeah, I'm a bit skittish about some sawbones cutting me open. Well, okay. Maybe we don't need to operate. When did you start growing that beard? My twelfth birthday. Top up my trough and call me a barn sour. Twelve? Ain't cut it since. Eleven-year-old me was plum tired of shaving. Already been doing it for years, so figured I'd just up and quit.

Well, that makes our lives a whole lot easier. All you need to do is shave. I just gotta lose a beard? My friend Jack is going to give you the most luxurious shave you can imagine. Then I'll dress you up in your best Bib and Tucker. And I'll train you in speech and grammar till you sound like a truebred flannelmouth. There'll be no more thunderation, mind you. You've got to sound like a tenderfoot, and act it too. Listen, friend, you're uncorking a bronc, you know that? Well, I'll take my chances, if you're willing to trust me. I'll look like a

barber's cat, and I reckon I'll come off as a barber's clerk. No. You don't think you're barking at a knot? Oh, Billy, quit beating the devil around the stump. Well, I'm hardly in a position to higgle anyhow. What'll I do for a living, though? Well, what do you want to do? Saloon keep, maybe? Or, oh, you want to do? Saloon keep, maybe?

Or, oh, you like trains. How about a train driver? Billy could be a train driver. Oh, sure thing. Just say the word. A real, for real, real-life train driver. A for real, for real, real-life train driver. Billy wants to be a train driver.

Done! Oh, man. I'll be beating the road every day. This may be the best day of my life. It's the last day of your life. And the first day of your new one. Wait! Before I say yes, I want to know who I'm dealing with. I'm putting my life and death in your hands. But whose hands are they?

Well, I told you my credentials. Oh, yeah. You named Phoenix. Bully for you. But what does a limey with a choke strap doing in Phoenix in the first place, huh? I want your story. Are you sure? I've been known to yarn the hours away, and some say my tales have too much mustard. And no taradiddling. Did I use that word right?

Quite. Um, I promise it will be the truth, nothing but the truth, and maybe a white lie or two. What was that? Oh, nothing. Um, I was born in Marseille. Marseille, England? No, that would be Marseille, France. You're French? I'm English. But born in France. Yes. I'm the son of a diplomat. I grew up in France, then I studied at Cambridge. Cambridge, France. That would be Cambridge, England. Dang. Well, I'm a bit buffaloed so far.

Yes, quite. Well, buck up. It gets worse. I went sailing, got shipwrecked in South America, spent ten years walking across the continent, and enjoyed the luxury of being completely off the grid. Met a soiled dove who wanted to be a Lady Pinkerton, helped her fake her death, discovered I was good at it, kept doing it, honed my skills, reappeared in Arizona, and here I am.

I speak five languages, and I know all there is to know about classical literature. Oh, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast. What's a grid? Why do you keep speaking like that, all old-timey like? I can recite any Shakespeare play or sonnet off by heart. In fact, I make a point of doing so at least once an hour. Why? Because an hour without Shakespeare is not an hour worth living. Well, I sure know how you feel, partner. If I go too long without a robbing or killing somebody, I go plum loco. Well, I suppose. Cowards die many

times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once. You know what? I trust you. You do? Yeah. Based on my abbreviated life story? Nah, cause you ain't got the look. The look? In your eyes. Whenever I'm recruiting, I just look people in the eye and start talking about killing and robbing.

Then I know right away if you're the one for the gang or not. And I'm one for the gang? I murdered my grandma in cold blood. Why? See? You ain't got to look. I didn't, by the way. I'm glad to know. It was self-defense.

Right. Well, I kind of wish I knew your grandmother now. Well, we're all set then. Let's do this. One moment. We haven't discussed payment, remember? Oh, yeah. You didn't want to train and you didn't want my coat, so I'm a bit stumped as to what to offer you. Your horse. Buttercup? That's right. You can't keep anything from your former life.

That's part of the deal. Not even the only friend I have left? I promised to take good care of her. I mean, she's a good horse. She's gotten me out of more sticky situations than any other member of my gang. Is that the bedrock price? I'm afraid so.

All righty. Guess my new trusty steed will be a steel horse. Good. Want to snort? We should seal the deal before we topple this wagon down the canyon. You got a slug or something? Yes, well, I mean, not whiskey, I'm afraid, but I do have somewhere in here... What is that doing in there?

Gin? Ginger and beer? What do you got in that pocket? Champagne. Champagne? Yes, I always carry a bottle. Well, I'll be hornswoggled. It's been a bumpy ride. Curious how this has held up.

Oh! There goes the canvas! It's raining balloons! Yes, quick, drink, drink! Now this is some... Yes it is. So, what are we toast to? How about... Oh! Duh! What the... Arrows? Ah, yes it is. So, um, what are we toast to? Um, how about, uh... Oh! What? Arrows?

Engines! Why are we being attacked by the natives? Well, uh, I may have sold them some counterfeit totem poles. Oh, Billy! Stay tuned for the epilogue, but first the credits. This episode was dedicated to Michael West and featured Alan Bergen as the interviewer, Josh Rabino as Billy Grit, Julia C. Thorne as Alvina, Torgny G. Ondero as the sheriff and Benjamin Noble as his deputy.

The episode was written and directed by Einstein Ulzberg Braga, with script consultancy by Pete Lutz, story and audio editing by Philip Thorne, with sound design by Adam Raimonda, music by Frederik Barden, production assistance by Marti Partival, and graphic design by Anders Pedersen. The Amelia Project is produced by Imploding Fictions. Thank you to all our patrons, and a shout out to our super patrons. That's Celeste, Joe's Heat 312, Rodney, Dulligy, Jem Fiddick, Aubin, Asant, Amelie and Alison, Stephanie Weidenhiller,

Raphael, Eduardo, Vifas Verrastaki, Ashlyn Brand, Alison Thro, Patricia Bornwagner, Bryce Godmer, Cliff Heisinger, Michael West, Tom Putnam, Diana Birkenbritter, Tim McMacken, Blythe Varney, Parker Percy, Sophie H, Nitalkenbritter, Tim McMacken, Blythe Varney, Parker Percy, Sophie H, Nitali, Aurora, Emre Chibi, Posh Baby Rentals, Florida, Lee and V. Huardine, Mr. Squiggles, David Livingston, Tony Fisher, Tibby, Florian Byers, Kirtney Mays-Renson, Sonny D. Anomaly, Jackie B, and Boo. I wasn't trying to scare you, that's their name, Boo.

Welcome, Boo. If you enjoy the show and would like others to find it, we would be really grateful if you could spread the word. You can do that by rating and leaving a review on your podcast app or sharing the show on social media. You can find us on social media on Tumblr, Twitter and Instagram, and you can find out more about the show and how to become a patron at ameliapodcast.com. And now, the epilogue. Champagne! Oh, don't give me that look. Fine, I'll have whiskey.

Thanks. This bug juice is real bumblebee whiskey. You can top me up. And top up my friend as well. Thank you. So, Jack. How would you like to give him a clean shave? Since I saw that wanted poster, I have been dying too. I thought as much.

Well, he's on board. He told you where it is? Where what is? Oh, how are those burns healing? My burns are healing fine now. Did he tell you where it is? Where what is? Oh, how are those burns healing? My burns are healing fine now. Did he tell you where it is? Where what is? You're not in too much pain?

Arthur, I can live with the pain, but if you ever try to brand me again, you might not. How could I know you would spontaneously combust? It was a prank gone wrong. Nothing to get worked up about. Yes, yes, yes. Did Billy Grit tell you where the gold is? Hmm? What gold? You are not funny.

The gold from the Bonanza in Sacramento. Oh, that gold. No, he didn't. But that was the whole point. Well, you weren't there. We have to get the information out of him. No need. I have already agreed payment with him.

So what is he paying? We said the next disappearance had to be sufficiently gainful, since the stocks and bonds were lost in the fire. Oh, don't worry about that. We got... What? We got what? His horse. His horse? What? By got what? His horse. His horse? Oh, oh. What?

By the way, would you mind removing some of these arrows? Oh, why? You have a dozen arrows. In you. They hurt something awful. Oh, Oh. Oh, God. Oh. One foot after another. That's all I can do. That's all any of us can do.

I was remote ops in the war. Neural implants let me control trucks, drones, whatever you got. Now I'm back and all these government-issued prosthetics are falling apart. What the hell are you doing in my barn? I'm just looking for a little power, and then I'll be on my way. That'll be Arlen Frey. He must have seen you on the drone feeds. Who is he? The meanest son of a bitch with

a badge. Broken Road, a dystopian audio drama coming Monday, July 25th, 2022 on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and everywhere else you like to listen. Follow us on Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok at BrokenRoadPod. Learn more at www.recursor.tv forward slash Broken Road.