The year is 1871, but the history is not our own. The Colonel sent the four of you into Confederate territory to lay low after the heist, but it looks like he ratted you out to the Rebs - after all, dead men tell no tales. 1876 - you claw your way out of a shallow grave, the noose still around your neck. No guns, no boots, no liquor. On the upside, seems the Colonel has set himself
up a little town up North, and he's hosting some kind of big poker tournament. Reckon the last thing he'll be expecting is for you fellas to enter. Always bet on dead.
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