“This is a mistake, this is a mistake.” She kept chanting to herself for the past hour as the scorching sun sent another sweat rivulet down her back, her Sunday best providing no ventilation to her skin.

She softly grazed her inner skirt pocket, feeling safe at the slight weight of her small derringer.

From across the street, a man who has been looking at her from beneath his hat smiled at his mail-order bride’s discomfort and the fact that she has a gun hidden on her person.