Summary
A lone locomotive cleaves through the bruised horizon of the American frontier, its pistons chanting like iron monks; inside this hurtling cathedral Helen Gibson—queen of perilous stuntcraft—plays a dispatch-rider turned reluctant guardian to a sealed mail pouch that every robber baron, railroad kingpin and back-stabbing lawman would gleefully murder for. Between whistle-stops she vaults from cow-catcher to baggage car, fists hammering thugs, boots skimming couplers, while the train itself becomes a rolling moral ledger: each sooty boxcar disgorges sins—graft, betrayal, dime-store seduction—until the final gorge where the engine, now a blazing votive offering, plunges sidelong into dust and moonlight, revealing that the true cargo was never paper money but the nation’s ragged conscience.
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