Frank is noticeably quiet, but when talked to, he can tell you every detail about anything he's ever experienced. He has endless war stories and not enough time to tell them, or maybe just not enough people to tell them to. He enjoys a good bottle of whiskey with or without a steak, and this sometimes leaves him prone to fights. He has been a gunsmith since 1863, when the company gunsmith was shot down at the battle of Honey Springs in Indian Territory and needed to be replaced, and thus, his hands are rough and calloused from working with machinery and oil for years on end. He tries to enjoy simple things as much as he can, but keeps God closer than anything he might treasure in His fragile world.

His day-to-day equipment is very scarce; since he set out on the trail to Texas, he is currently resorting back to wartime necessities. He has a horse, named Tornado, that his sons found during a cattle drive and decided to give to him as a birthday present; Tornado is 7 years old and is black as a night sky in wintertime, and the old boy allows Frank's aging muscles to go far without being destroyed by his ratty boots and 100 lbs of gear. There is a quantity of Union army surplus gear loaded onto Tornado's back to help allow Frank to reacclimate to trail life, including a groundcloth and wool blanket, a small skillet and larger frying pan, three large canteens made of tin, a haversack, an older knapsack with a wooden frame and front flaps, and another large saddlebag filled with foodstuffs. Of course, weaponry is a necessity on the frontier; his gunbelt holds an Arkansas Toothpick and three cartridge boxes, filled to the brim with modern brass casings for an 1856 LeMat revolver taken from a dead Rebel dismounted cavalryman at Petersburg. He has since smithied a cartridge conversion from blackpowder to the more popular and very abundant .45 Long Colt, as well as 16 gauge shotgun shells. He is also in possession of a Colt 1878 revolver, a somewhat new double action gun that has scared off more than one coyote. When on the trail, he keeps a Winchester 1876 musket-repeater with a long-range peep sight installed in a saddle holster, with an optional bayonet on his saddlebag.

Frank Gregory was born and raised in Jackal Flats, Colorado, spending most of his life there except for the few years he spent in the field with the Union army. He volunteered for military service at the outbreak of the Civil War and served with the 2nd Colorado Volunteer Infantry, and subsequently saw action across the midwest (New Mexico, Indian Territory, Arkansas, and Missouri) with Confederate regulars and Indian irregulars. He fought with distinction in minor engagements through the Trans-Mississippi campaign until his unit was ordered to join a larger force, designated the 'Frontier Brigade', to march and ride (mostly march) across the country into the south-east theater of the war for reassignment to units pressing through Georgia. Their purpose was to crush the Confederate reach into the western territories until they linked up with the main body of the Army of the Potomac. After 4 long years, the simple men from Colorado found themselves digging trenches outside of a town called Petersburg, wearing the green uniforms of the Berdan Rifles, or the 2nd US Volunteer Sharpshooters; 9 months later, they beat back the Rebels and were told they could go home.

Frank attempted to settle down after the war; after discovering his parents and some siblings were killed by bushwhackers sometime in 1863, he got busy rebuilding it with his Army pay, and eventually met a nice woman from the nearby town of Reddick. After spending a few years going in and out of her father's lumber store, he got to know her quite well, and she developed a girlish crush on his resolve to fix his home. As soon as it was finished, they began courting, and eventually she asked him to marry her, to which he said he would. She bore him 7 children, 3 of which died in infancy, before she herself succumbed to tuberculosis and was buried on the farm. Frank spent most of his days teaching his children the little education he has, attempting to earn enough money to buy them books on educational subjects, which they gobbled up endlessly. Around Christmastime in 1880, his farm was once again attacked by a roaming band of Arapaho Indian raiders. What exactly happened has been kept a secret by Frank since then; he has since prepared to venture forth to Texas with Army colleague Preston Anthony Rizzo in search of a Gregory brother that possibly escaped the family's deadly wartime encounter.