Post by Penfighter on Feb 24, 2020 0:28:19 GMT -6
"Whoa, Buck, hold." Thomas called out gently, tightening his grip on the leather straps of his horse's reigns, "There it is, right where he'd said it'd be."
Buck snorted a couple of times before coming a stop. Thomas gathered the reigns into one hand and climbed down, leading Buck down a mildly sloping hill toward a two-story farm house nestled comfortably between several pine trees. He noted the broken down fencing around the rather large yard as well as the damaged barn just past the house itself. A tool shed stood a little closer to the house between them and in the opposite direction was the outhouse. It was all there, but the whole place was in disrepair. Thomas smiled.
His grin grew wider as he neared the house. It had a beautifully constructed wrap-around porch, even if some of the banisters and rails needed some work, and almost all of the windows were completely intact. He hadn't expected that. Whistling softly, he tied Buck off to one of the pine trees in front of the house and reached into one of the saddlebags. He retrieved a small apple and presented it to Buck. The old brown mustang stared at him for a moment before taking it whole into his mouth. "Yeah, I know, you're thirsty. Lemme see if I can find the pump and we'll get ya sorted." He patted the the horse's flank before turning to walk toward the old house.
As was a habit of his, Thomas rested his right hand on his gun belt, fingers just grazing the handle of his Schofield revolver as he walked up the three squeaky stairs to the porch. He waited a tick and listened. There was no noise aside from the wind, which was bringing a crisp morning breeze down from the mountain peaks visible all around him. His boots made more noise than he was excited for as he continued across the porch to the front door. Well, what was left of the front door. It barely hung from its hinges and was not latched in any way. He leaned to his left to peer through the gap between the door and its frame.
Nothing. He reached for the door and carefully pressed his open palm on it. It fell straight back onto the floor with a loud crash. He jumped at the sound and almost ran through the doorway into a large room off to the right. There was no telltale follow-up sound of any kind. No animals, no squatters, nothing. Thomas chuckled until he looked down to see his revolver in his hand. He didn't remember drawing it.
Sighing, he holstered the piece and began exploring the house. Right away, he found the kitchen. Nothing save the counters, a few cabinets, and a sink remained, which was fine. They had all they needed on the wagons. Resting on one of the counters was Sheriff's star laying next to a small white envelope. He immediately went over to pick them both up. He inspected the badge for a moment, the weight of his decision to move his family here and take this job coming back to burden his mind once more. Was this the right thing to do? Uprooting his wife and kids from their comfortable home in Alabama and dragging them all the way out to Wyoming had been a difficult choice to make. Especially given lack of any opportunities for work.
We'll figure it out. He'd said to his wife.
It wasn't until he stopped into that Saloon in Cheyenne that a chance for employment had come his way. Completely by accident, too. The memory prompted him to pull the small note from the unsealed envelope. As expected, it was from the Mayor of Inheritance. All it said was, 'Welcome Home, Sheriff!'.
Thomas set both items down on the counter and left through the back kitchen door to find the pump to the well he'd been promised was here. He'd given the missus instructions, they were to continue on with the wagons to this location unless he rode up to tell them otherwise. It was early morning yet - he'd started riding in the night - but he expected them midday and there was a lot to do until then. He supposed there was a chance they were waylaid, but Thomas had left the rifles with his eldest son Stephen and his wife, bless her fiery soul, was perhaps an even better shot. They'd be fine crossing the valley to this place.
Thomas would not be fine, however, if she and the kids got here and he didn't even know where the damn well was.
Buck snorted a couple of times before coming a stop. Thomas gathered the reigns into one hand and climbed down, leading Buck down a mildly sloping hill toward a two-story farm house nestled comfortably between several pine trees. He noted the broken down fencing around the rather large yard as well as the damaged barn just past the house itself. A tool shed stood a little closer to the house between them and in the opposite direction was the outhouse. It was all there, but the whole place was in disrepair. Thomas smiled.
His grin grew wider as he neared the house. It had a beautifully constructed wrap-around porch, even if some of the banisters and rails needed some work, and almost all of the windows were completely intact. He hadn't expected that. Whistling softly, he tied Buck off to one of the pine trees in front of the house and reached into one of the saddlebags. He retrieved a small apple and presented it to Buck. The old brown mustang stared at him for a moment before taking it whole into his mouth. "Yeah, I know, you're thirsty. Lemme see if I can find the pump and we'll get ya sorted." He patted the the horse's flank before turning to walk toward the old house.
As was a habit of his, Thomas rested his right hand on his gun belt, fingers just grazing the handle of his Schofield revolver as he walked up the three squeaky stairs to the porch. He waited a tick and listened. There was no noise aside from the wind, which was bringing a crisp morning breeze down from the mountain peaks visible all around him. His boots made more noise than he was excited for as he continued across the porch to the front door. Well, what was left of the front door. It barely hung from its hinges and was not latched in any way. He leaned to his left to peer through the gap between the door and its frame.
Nothing. He reached for the door and carefully pressed his open palm on it. It fell straight back onto the floor with a loud crash. He jumped at the sound and almost ran through the doorway into a large room off to the right. There was no telltale follow-up sound of any kind. No animals, no squatters, nothing. Thomas chuckled until he looked down to see his revolver in his hand. He didn't remember drawing it.
Sighing, he holstered the piece and began exploring the house. Right away, he found the kitchen. Nothing save the counters, a few cabinets, and a sink remained, which was fine. They had all they needed on the wagons. Resting on one of the counters was Sheriff's star laying next to a small white envelope. He immediately went over to pick them both up. He inspected the badge for a moment, the weight of his decision to move his family here and take this job coming back to burden his mind once more. Was this the right thing to do? Uprooting his wife and kids from their comfortable home in Alabama and dragging them all the way out to Wyoming had been a difficult choice to make. Especially given lack of any opportunities for work.
We'll figure it out. He'd said to his wife.
It wasn't until he stopped into that Saloon in Cheyenne that a chance for employment had come his way. Completely by accident, too. The memory prompted him to pull the small note from the unsealed envelope. As expected, it was from the Mayor of Inheritance. All it said was, 'Welcome Home, Sheriff!'.
Thomas set both items down on the counter and left through the back kitchen door to find the pump to the well he'd been promised was here. He'd given the missus instructions, they were to continue on with the wagons to this location unless he rode up to tell them otherwise. It was early morning yet - he'd started riding in the night - but he expected them midday and there was a lot to do until then. He supposed there was a chance they were waylaid, but Thomas had left the rifles with his eldest son Stephen and his wife, bless her fiery soul, was perhaps an even better shot. They'd be fine crossing the valley to this place.
Thomas would not be fine, however, if she and the kids got here and he didn't even know where the damn well was.
