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"Woo! Go, Caleb, go!" The horses surged forward, hooves pounding, wheels rattling over the dirt road as Caleb drove them hard, Arthur leaping onto his own horse and falling in beside the wagon. Bullets cracked through the air behind them, but Caleb kept his head down, focusing on the road, the thunder of hooves filling his ears.
They didn't stop until they were miles away, pulling up near the designated abandoned shack to the north of Dewberry Creek. Caleb hopped down, breathless but grinning, as Arthur swung off his horse and clapped him on the back, while Morgan, Caleb's horse, followed behind Arthur's horse and stopped there.
"Damn fine work, Caleb," Arthur said, shaking his head in amusement. "Damn fine work."
Caleb caught his breath, feeling a surge of satisfaction. "Thanks, Arthur. Woah, that was one hell of a run."
Arthur leaned against his saddle, glancing at the wagon. "We'll leave it here for John. He'll be along soon enough to put the supplies here. In the meantime…" He stretched his arms overhead, back cracking audibly. "I say we head back to camp, get ourselves some rest before the big job."
Caleb agreed, the two of them got on their horse, and together they began the slow ride back to camp.
The two of them reached back at camp in the afternoon, the golden sunlight slanting westward through the trees, casting long, sleepy shadows over the clearing.
The sounds of camp life drifted through the air, Bill and Lenny stood guard at the entrance of the camp, Mary-Beth giggled with Karen near the wash basin, Uncle snored against a tree, Miss Grimshaw was drinking a cup of coffee, and Charles sharpened his tomahawk by the fire.
Arthur and Caleb rode in at a relaxed trot, their horses trailing dust as they reached the hitching post. Caleb patted Morgan's neck, whispering a soft, "Good girl," before looping the reins over the post and giving his horse a brief rub between the ears. Morgan snorted and dipped her head in response, already nosing toward the trough.
Arthur did the same with his own mount and stretched his arms above his head, joints popping as he gave a satisfied grunt. "Alright," he said, casting a glance toward the center of camp, "let's see what Pearson's got brewing."
The two ambled over to the campfire where Pearson's pot hung above a low flame. The aroma of stew wafted through the air, meaty, earthy, but oddly flat. Caleb wrinkled his nose as they approached, though his stomach still growled in anticipation. Lunch was lunch, and they'd earned it.
Each of them took a full bowl of stew and a tin cup filled with warm coffee. With their meals in hand, they found a spot at the round wooden table near the pot.
Caleb plopped down on a wooden crate, its edges worn smooth from years of use, while Arthur settled onto a low stool, legs splayed, his hat pushed back on his head.
They dug into the stew with wooden spoons.
The taste hit them immediately.
Caleb paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, and furrowed his brow. "What the hell is that?" he mumbled under his breath, chewing slowly. It was edible, barely, but bland and gamey with a weird aftertaste that made his tongue curl.
Arthur grimaced, looking like he just swallowed a mouthful of mud. "Sweet Mary, that's worse than all of the stew he had cooked'." He forced down another spoonful with a shake of his head. "Damn near crime against nature, this stew."
The two men exchanged a glance, mutual pain shared without words, and then, without speaking, downed their coffee in long gulps to wash the taste away. The warmth of the brew wasn't enough to erase it completely, but at least it gave their tongues a break.
Sighing, they stood and walked over to Pearson, who stood behind his usual table of knives, tin pots, and hanging slabs of questionable meat. The rotund camp cook was polishing a pan, humming some sea shanty tune to himself, when he spotted them approaching.
"Ah! Mr. Morgan! Mr. Thorne!" Pearson called out, puffing his chest and straightening his stained apron. "How can I help you today, gentlemen?"
Caleb and Arthur looked at each other. There was a brief, silent standoff, an entire conversation played out in shared eye contact, head tilts, and smirks.
Finally, Arthur took the lead, stepping forward with his hands on his hips. "Pearson," he said, voice rising with exasperation, "that stew we just ate is the worst you've ever cooked! What shit did you put in it?"
Caleb couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing, quickly smothering it behind a cough as Pearson's face turned red with offense.
"Well, I never!" Pearson huffed, puffing out his chest like a sailor about to shout mutiny. "That's a very rude thing to say, Mr. Morgan!"
Arthur shrugged. "Ain't sayin' it wasn't true."
Pearson jabbed a thick finger toward the campfire. "The only reason that stew doesn't taste like your momma's Sunday roast is because I haven't had a damn moment to properly prepare it! I've been running myself ragged, forcing people to bring in meat, half of it's bad, and still expected to cook up miracles with squirrel guts and bones!"
"As for the bison meat, they weren't perfect for a stew and much better to be made steak, so I had store it for special occasion and sell much of the meat after receiving Dutch's permission, send in Lenny to Valentine to sell it."
He pointed his ladle accusingly at them. "If you gentlemen want the finest stew this side of the country, you can go out and hunt me some decent venison or rabbit! Let me handle the cooking once you bring back something worth cooking!"
Arthur groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Huntin's hard work, Pearson. Much rather rob a man with a full pantry than chase critters through the woods."
Caleb leaned against the table, arms crossed casually. "I'll go," he said. "Ain't got much else to do today anyway."
Pearson lit up, clearly pleased by the response. "See? That's the spirit! Mr. Thorne, always dependable and someone with sense!" Then he pointed at Arthur, "Unlike some folks who've been here longer but still act like layabouts."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "You gonna keep flappin' your gums, or you want us gone already?"
Pearson sniffed indignantly. "Just don't bring back any skunks this time."
Caleb gave Arthur a teasing nudge. "C'mon, partner. Let's bag us some deer. A little hunting won't kill you."
Arthur grumbled the whole walk back to the horses, but Caleb could tell he wasn't truly upset. More like grumpy in the way a man gets when he knows he's going to end up doing something anyway.
As they were preparing their horses, Caleb checked the chamber and loading lever on his Lancaster Repeater.
He wiped down the stock with a cloth, making sure the barrel was clean and oiled. Across from him, Arthur leaned against Morgan while rummaging through his saddlebag, pulling out a small pouch of arrows.
"Here," Arthur said, tossing the bundle to Caleb. "You still got that bow Charles gave you?"
"Wouldn't leave camp without it," Caleb replied, catching the arrows and tucking them into his satchel. "Got it strung and ready."
Just as Caleb was tightening the cinch on Morgan's saddle, a high pitched voice rang out.
"Uncle Caleb! Uncle Arthur! Wait for me!"
The two men turned toward the sound. Little Jack Marston was barreling toward them at full sprint, his small legs pumping, a determined look on his face.
Just a few yards behind him came Abigail, shouting after him, clearly exasperated, her hands on her hips as she called out, "Jack Marston, you stop running this instant!"
Caleb stood up from his crouch and smiled. He brushed the dust off his hands and crouched down again as Jack reached them, the boy panting but grinning wide.
"Hey there, Jack," Caleb said, ruffling the boy's hair affectionately. "What's wrong? You want me and Arthur to save you from your mother?" He shook his head in mock solemnity, "Fraid we can't do that, Jack."
Arthur chuckled, arms folded. "That's true, Jack. Your ma's scarier than a grizzly with a toothache when she's riled up, and we ain't brave enough to cross that front."
Abigail finally caught up, out of breath but glaring at both men. "You two," she said, hands on her hips, "stop makin' me out like some monster in front of my boy."
Arthur raised his hands in mock surrender. Caleb laughed, but both men sobered a bit when Abigail fixed them with her signature piercing stare. Even Arthur, who'd faced down Pinkertons and bounty hunters, knew better than to poke the bear too long.
Jack tugged at Caleb's shirt. "I didn't come here to ask for help. I wanna go huntin' with you two!"
Caleb blinked. "You do, huh?"
Arthur arched a brow. "Where'd you hear about us going out hunting?"
Jack shrugged. "Heard it when I was playing near Uncle Pearson's wagon. Heard you talkin' about huntin' deer and rabbits. I wanna come too!"
Arthur looked at Caleb. "Well, he's not wrong."
Caleb nodded slightly. "He's got ears sharper than a fox."
Arthur leaned forward. "I dunno, Jack. Huntin' ain't a game. Could be dangerous. You'd have to ask your ma first."
"I will listen to both of you!" Jack said quickly, turning to his mother. "Please, Ma? I went hunting before with Uncle Caleb. You said that was fine! Please let me go again, but this time with both of 'em."
Abigail hesitated, glancing at Caleb and Arthur. Caleb nodded, his expression calm and sincere. Arthur gave her a crooked, almost boyish smile.
"Yeah, sure," he added. "We'll keep an eye on him. Won't go far from camp. Just lookin' to stretch our legs and put Pearson in his place with some proper meat."
Abigail sighed. "Alright, fine. But only if you promise to listen to them, Jack. Not a word of backtalk. You do what they say, and you do it right away. Got it?"
"Yes, ma! I promise!"
"Good."
With her approval, Caleb lifted Jack up and settled him in front of the saddle on Morgan. Abigail helped adjust his coat, smoothing out the collar and making sure he was secure.
"Stay close to him," she told Caleb.
"Always," he assured her.
The trio rode out from camp at a steady pace, the afternoon sun climbing high over the trees. The leaves rustled with a gentle wind as the forest canopy shifted around them.
Caleb took the lead, Morgan's hooves thudding softly against the packed dirt trail. Arthur rode slightly behind on Boadicea, whistling a lazy tune, watching the treeline with an expert's eye.
Jack couldn't contain his excitement. "I'm gonna catch a rabbit! Maybe even two! Like before when we go out hunting!"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Caleb chuckled. "Rabbits are quick and hard to hit, we are lucky last time they were standing still. Just keep your eyes open."
They reached a glade just beyond a shallow creek, a familiar hunting ground they'd used before. Caleb dismounted, helping Jack down gently. Arthur tied up his horse to a nearby tree and began scanning the ground.
"Tracks here," he murmured. "Rabbit or possum maybe. Real fresh."
Caleb nodded and slung his bow from his back. "I'll take the north patch. You go south. Jack can come with me. We'll circle around and meet at the rock ridge."
Arthur nodded and moved off.
Jack walked beside Caleb, mimicking his every move, crouching when he crouched, stepping light when he stepped light. Caleb found himself smiling more often than he expected.
"How do you know where the animals are hiding, Uncle Caleb?"
Caleb tapped two fingers to his temple. "You look for signs. Tracks, broken twigs, fresh scat. Sometimes even the smell gives it away."
They walked quietly through a stretch of brush when Caleb spotted movement. He held a hand out to stop Jack.
"There," he whispered, pointing to a pair of deer grazing in a clearing ahead.
He slowly nocked an arrow, drew back, and took a breath. The bowstring creaked faintly before he let the arrow fly.
It struck true, hitting the deer just behind the shoulder. The animal bolted, stumbled, and collapsed a few feet away.
"Whoa! That was amazing!" Jack whispered loudly.
"Stay here," Caleb said.
He approached carefully, making sure the deer was dead before waving Jack over. The boy touched the hide reverently. "Is it always like this?" he asked. Caleb shook his head. "No. Sometimes they get away. Sometimes they bleed out and it ain't pretty. But this was clean."
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 5/10
- Luck: 6/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 2)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 1)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 2)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 2)
- Poker (Lvl 1)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 1)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 1)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lv1)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
Money: 731 dollars and 61 cents
Bank: 40 dollars, 2 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets