Cowpokes claim to slay their own doubles near Tumbleweed
By Jose Chavez
Two cowpokes are being held in the Tumbleweed jail after confessing to the killing of what they insist were not men at all, but their own “doubles.” The pair, told deputies they awoke near dawn to find exact likenesses of themselves walking from the desert haze, smiling but silent. “They looked like us down to the scars and the dust on our boots,” said one. “Only, they weren’t us. And we couldn’t let these strange fellows commit criminal acts and ruin our reputation, you see.” The men claim the doubles turned away and strode calmly into the desert before they chased them down and strangled them.

Deputies who responded found two bodies lying face down in the sand, “each a near mirror to the accused.” The deputies, unconvinced by talk of desert phantoms, stated bluntly, “They clearly murdered their own twin brothers for some horrific reason.” Yet neither of the accused men acknowledge having kin of any kind. The bodies have since been interred behind the Tumbleweed chapel, pending a judge’s arrival to rule on the matter. Witnesses who viewed the remains described them as “eerily alike, right down to the callouses on their hands.”

Locals are divided between disbelief and superstition. Some whisper the desert plays tricks on weary minds; others mutter of shapeshifters or spirits drawn by the same unholy mischief that’s been stirring across the Five States in recent weeks. Travelers now report feeling watched as they cross the dunes, afraid that the next pair of boot prints beside their own may not belong to a friend at all.

Mysterious explosion rocks Ambarino
By Jane Duran
A thunderous blast echoed through the snowy mountains of Ambarino this week, shattering the usual stillness of the high country and drawing lawmen and surveyors alike to its source. At the center of the devastation lies a blackened crater, wide enough to swallow a wagon whole, ringed with splintered timber and scorched stone. The investigators who braved the wind and cold report that debris was flung deep into the woods, suggesting a force of rare violence. Blood traces and torn remains have been recovered, leading authorities to conclude there was at least one fatality, though no full body has yet been claimed from the scene.

Among the grim findings, one detail has stirred particular talk: a severed hand found half-buried in snow some twenty yards from the blast, still clutching what appears to be a fine cigar, its end burnt clean through. No name has yet been tied to the remains, nor has any explanation surfaced for what manner of powder or contraption could unleash such force at that altitude. With no signs of campfire, mining work, or dynamite storage nearby, the mountains of Ambarino now keep their silence—and their secret.

Crime falls as bounty hunters flood West Elizabeth — but for how long?
By Nick McCrary
For several days this past week, the streets of Blackwater bustled not with bandits or swindlers but with bounty hunters, dozens of them, riding in from across the territories to claim the posters plastered upon the sheriff’s board. Witnesses say lines formed outside the sheriff’s office at dawn, with hunters returning by dusk leading hogtied outlaws or dragging corpses behind their mounts. “Never seen so much law and order all at once,” remarked a Blackwater lawman, “felt like the whole state took a breath.” Authorities report a steep decline in robberies, assaults, and stagecoach raids across West Elizabeth, particularly in the Tall Trees region and along the Dakota River.

But by week’s end, the surge had ebbed. Many hunters, pockets heavy with coin, rode south and east again in search of richer quarry. Chief Dunbar of Blackwater cautioned that peace bought by such men is never permanent. “They chase the money, not the justice,” he said grimly, “once the bounties thin out, they’ll be gone, and the outlaws will smell it.” Already, a few sightings of known criminals have been whispered in Strawberry, a reminder that in West Elizabeth, law and lawlessness forever trade places like the tide.

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Daring vugitive vanishes into the Dakota
By Emery Cosberry
Panic and disbelief spread among the passengers gathered at Flatneck Station yesterday afternoon, when a half-dressed fugitive, clad only in a pair of tattered trousers and a gun belt, bolted from the nearby railway station with the law in hot pursuit. Witnesses say the man sprinted barefoot through the cinders and weeds like a hunted coyote, revolver glinting in hand, before darting across Bard’s Crossing and jumped into the Dakota River below. Deputies could not pursue due to an oncoming train.

“No man can survive such a fall,” declared Deputy Harold Moss, ending the urgency of the chase. The posse stood in stunned silence, watching the river foam where the man had vanished. It seemed the chase had ended in nature’s own gallows.

Yet as the locomotive thundered past, one sharp-eyed deputy spotted movement: what appeared to be a pale, trembling arm clinging to a rock far below. The train’s passage forced the lawmen to circle back along the bluff, taking the long way down to the river. By the time they reached the riverbank, the mysterious outlaw had vanished once more, leaving behind only footprints in the mud and a broken cartridge belt. Some claim he drowned, others whisper he crawled into the pines. Whatever the truth, the Dakota keeps her secrets well and New Hanover adds another ghost to her ledger.

Brawl in saloon leaves man in grave condition
By Mathilde Orry
What began as a raucous quarrel between two women in the Rhodes saloon this past afternoon turned swiftly into one of the most curious spectacles of the season. Witnesses report the pair, whose names were not readily supplied, exchanged harsh words over what was described as a “matter of deep insult” before falling upon one another in earnest. Chairs splintered, drinks were lost, and the crowd gave them wide berth, perhaps out of respect or fear.

Yet when a local man attempted to intervene, whether in gallantry or foolhardiness none can say, the tide turned. The women, momentarily united, ceased their dispute and laid into the would-be peacemaker with shocking precision, delivering a series of blows that left him sprawled senseless on the saloon floor. Once the man was down, the two combatants resumed their original hostilities as though nothing had occurred.

By the time the sheriff arrived, only one woman remained upright, her opponent nursing bruises but still breathing. Those who witnessed the affair described the scene with a mix of admiration and disbelief, remarking that in Rhodes, as ever, trouble has a way of finding its own peculiar rhythm before the law can catch its breath. The attending physician later reported signs of internal bleeding, likely from a strike to the kidney, and expressed grave concern for his chances of recovery.

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