The fine upstanding ladies of this here town have come out to parade through the hot dry prairie. What are they doing here? There is nothing but wasteland. The mangey dog scrounges along beside the wagon hoping against hope for some sudden good fortune. And the men seem to be bit friendly with each other. They enjoy some discrete understanding or joke, or had a bit too much to drink, as they size up the wagon’s occupants in the desert plains just north of the middle of no where.
It could be the oldest profession, but even if you are well established, you’ve still got to get out and beat the bushes. And, if you don’t have a babysitter you might as well bring along the kids. Yes, the West was rude and brutish and often short, so one had better get to the point and make it brief. Marriage then was more like buying a car today. A test drive, two bits on the dresser for the trouble, or you got hitched, and in the most immediate way. Simpler times. Perhaps better?