A strange, silent type wanders the Weird West, bringin’ nothin’ but trouble. No one knows why she wears this thick getup, nor why she refuses to speak outside of the occasional grunts or growls. Best anyone can guess is she’s either lookin’ for the Cackler or workin’ for him, since her appearances always coincide with his. Whatever she is, bullets don’t hurt her, and anyone who tries to take a swing gets hurt themselves, like they’re punching a steel wall. If she comes wanderin’ into your saloon at the dead of night, best skedaddle out of her way, lest you get yerself dragged off into the shadows and never seen again.