Damn! Whoever the hell bought that damned dynamite off me just tried to use it to kill my nephew. Didn't work, but did a number on Will's house and put both the boy and his boy out for a while.
Dammit. This is bad. There's at least one person who knows where the bastard got the bombs, and as much as I like Church, I don't know how far I can trust him. Even if he's smart, it's gonna be bad for my pocketbook, and if he ain't... hellfire. The sheriff or that militia woman figure out where the explosives came from, I'm humped, and I'm willing to bet there are enough of my brother's loyalists still around to make sure that the penalty for selling bombs is death by public lynching.
I don't even know if anyone else knows, though I'd be a fool to assume otherwise. There's no way in hell I'm gonna keep my name off this, I reckon. Only thing to do is make sure it goes on the right way.
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