Maybe I’d lost something. Maybe I’d lost a lot—more, even, than I could suffer—but I still had my own self. And lonesome as I might be, wasn’t no force on Earth or from above what could make me less.

Was still between Martha and Jane, then, I was. Between the girl I was and who I wanted to be.

I was the luckiest girl. Don’t you think because I didn’t have no proper man or husband I was anything else. Wasn’t no place I’d rather be than right there. Even now, I pine for that uncomfortable rock. Because he was watching over me and loneliness was some far off thing, echoing off the Rock from other folks. Wasn’t nothing could ruin it for me.

Don’t matter none how bad it gets sometimes. You can always turn this shit around.

Seems a lot of men never saw one such as me. A girl what could keep up and fight and ride and curse with the best of them. A girl what ain’t trapped in some dress or some house or some bed. A girl what ain’t waiting on some man to do what she ought to her own damn self.

Can’t count on no miracles. Sometimes, you just got to have a plan.

I appreciate your thinking on me, marshal, but ain’t no trouble of his what ain’t trouble of mine, too.