She was weary of her trip and had scarcely ever been more uncomfortable. The hard seats in the carriage car that she sat upon forced her into either an upright position or slumping down with a curve in her backbone. The windows were open most of the time, for it was hot. They admitted mostly hot desert air and cinders from the locomotive that chugged along toward its destination. She had brought few clothes with her, and the garments that she wore were rather prim and severe, at least for Sabrina’s taste. Her dress was a chocolate brown velvet, and she wore only a pair of earrings for decoration. Three black feathers were arranged in her hair, but they were now drooping and looking as if they were ready for the garbage heap. Relief came when the conductor, a small, scrawny, ill-looking man in a crumpled black suit and a stiff-billed cap, came through shouting, “All out for Fort Smith! Everyone out for Fort Smith!” Quickly Sabrina rose and straightened her back with a grunt. She had expected a rough ride, but nothing as uncomfortable as this relic from the Civil War days that made the daily run from Fort Smith.
