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On the far side lay the Great Plains. Vast, wild, and untad, where Blackwater was build on the east side of he plain, beside the Flat Iron Lake. Caleb slowed Stark's pace, letting her breathe as his eyes drank in the endless golden waves of grass. Herds of wild horses ran in the distance, their manes whipping in the wind. Deer bounded across a rise, vanishing into a cluster of trees.
Caleb's fingers tightened briefly on the reins. This land was beautiful, but it was also dangerous. Every step south brought him closer to Blackwater, closer to Pinkertons, closer to a secret worth dying for.
He pulled up the map interface in his mind, tracing hidden roads, shortcuts, ways to avoid patrols. His plan was simple, slip into Blackwater from the south, disguised as a drifter from Armadillo. With the cholera outbreak worsening there, it wasn't hard to imagine soone fleeing north in search of safer ground. He'd have his cover story ready if questioned.
By the ti the sun dipped lower in the sky, Caleb had crossed into the southern plains. He followed the main road east, Stark's pace steady and strong beneath him. At last, the silhouette of Blackwater rose ahead, its buildings dark against the glow of evening.
He entered from the southwest road. To his left, a long building stood, and just beyond it, the town's stable. He passed a three way intersection, noting every landmark with sharp precision. At the second intersection, he turned left, guiding Stark toward the central avenue. The dirt road gave way to cobblestone beneath her hooves, the sound crisp in the cooling air.
Caleb sat straighter in the saddle, every sense sharpened. Blackwater. He was here. The heart of the storm. And beneath its soil, if Dutch's words were true, lay the fortune that could change everything.
Caleb guided Stark along the central avenue slowly, letting his eyes roam as though he were simply a tired traveler surveying the town. Blackwater bustled, but not with the raucous energy of Valentine. Here it's more sophisticated.
Here, there was an air of restraint, of tension just under the surface. rchants watched strangers closely. Lawn strolled the sidewalk with a sharpness in their gaze. He even saw a Pinkerton agent who might as well be behind any pair of eyes as he blend himself with a group of people.
He tipped his hat low, playing the part of a man with nowhere better to be, a drifter seeking work. Inside, though, his mind churned.
He thought it best to hold off from looking for Dutch's mother's grave, at least for today. Tomorrow would be soon enough. From the looks of things, Blackwater was still under a kind of lockdown. Life carried on, rchants sold, townsfolk chatted, wagons rolled, but beneath the surface everything was tense.
The law moved with purpose, rifles slung over shoulders, eyes sweeping the streets. Pinkerton agents too, walking among the crowd in plain clothes, disguising themselves as ordinary n but watching all the sa.
Caleb's gut told him now was not the ti. To go digging around the cetery today, when strangers were eyed with suspicion and any unusual movent could draw the wrong kind of attention, would be suicide. Tomorrow, after he'd softened his presence, after he'd made himself a familiar sight, then he could move.
His mind drifted briefly back to the ga he'd played in his first life. Blackwater had been barred to Arthur, the lawn swarming it endlessly. Only as John, after Arthur's death and the collapse of the gang, had players been allowed to set foot freely in the town and into New Austin beyond.
Caleb rembered the reason well, the world itself had reflected the manhunt, the Pinkertons' grip ironclad until there was nothing left to hunt.
But Caleb couldn't wait for that future. If he held off until the gang splintered, he would lose his chance. At so point, Dutch would return. Dutch would take the money for himself, and Caleb would have lost everything.
No, he had to move while the gang was still together. Before Dutch's paranoia turned the camp into a warzone, before Arthur's cough beca a death sentence, before everything began to collapse.
Tonight, though, patience. Tonight, he would blend into Blackwater, carve out a place for himself as just another drifter. A face in the crowd.
The saloon was the best place to start. Cards, liquor, and chatter, everything a man needed to gather information, make a little money on the side, and get his na circulating without raising eyebrows.
He'd rent a room, sleep under a proper roof, and tomorrow morning he'd rise with purpose and slip to the cetery when the light was fresh and the law was still shaking the sleep from their eyes.
With his plan settled, Caleb urged Stark onward until he reached the heart of Blackwater. The four way intersection lay ahead, the town's pulse. He spotted the saloon to his left, wide, double doored, lanterns glowing warm against the early dusk. He guided Stark to the hitching post and dismounted with practiced ease.
"Good girl," he murmured, reaching into his satchel. He withdrew a sugar cube and held it out. Stark nickered happily, her lips plucking the treat from his palm before crunching it down with delight. Her tail swished in satisfaction, and Caleb chuckled quietly. "You earned it."
He patted her neck once, checked her reins on the post, then turned for the saloon.
The double doors creaked as he pushed through. Warmth, smoke, and the mingled sound of piano and laughter washed over him. A dozen heads turned briefly, asuring him up, then turned back to their gas and drinks. The bartender, a stout man with a heavy mustache and sleeves rolled to his elbows, called out in a booming voice.
"Welco to the Blackwater Saloon, stranger!"
Caleb gave him a small smile and a polite nod, making his way to the counter. He placed a pair of quarters down with a soft clink. "A bottle of beer."
"Comin' right up." The bartender scooped the coins and reached beneath the counter, producing a bottle that he popped open with practiced speed. He slid it across the wood. "Na's Burt Mackay. Bartender of this fine establishnt." His eyes narrowed slightly, appraising Caleb. "Don't recall seein' your face before. You're new to town ain't ya."
Caleb chuckled softly, lifting the bottle for a swig. The cold, bitter liquid slid down his throat, grounding him. He set it back down with a faint smirk. "What gave away, other than the obvious?"
Mr. Burt leaned one thick arm against the bar, grinning knowingly. "The way you ca in, lookin' around like you were tryin' to morize every corner. Tension in your shoulders. You're cautious. Locals don't carry themselves like that. We stroll in here easy as you please. You? You're still thinkin' like a man ridin' through strange country."
Caleb smiled at the accuracy, appreciating the man's sharpness. He leaned forward slightly. "Na's Jonathan Granger. Ca here lookin' for work… and to see Blackwater for myself."
Mr. Burt let out a hearty laugh. "Well, Mr. Granger, you picked yourself a hell of a town to visit." He leaned closer, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "So, tell , now that you've seen it with your own eyes, what d'you think?"
Caleb took another swig, letting his lips curl into a smile. "Truth? It's a fair sight more advanced and civilized than where I hail from. Cleaner, too. Folks here walk like they've sowhere important to be. The buildings are much more sturdier and beautiful to."
Mr. Burt slapped the counter, guffawing. "Ha! That's Blackwater, all right. Jewel of the frontier, they call it. Progress on the edge of the wild. You won't find muck and blood caked on the boardwalks here like you do in Valentine or Strawberry. We've got pride."
"Where you from, if you don't mind asking, Mr. Granger?"
Caleb let the pause hang just long enough before answering as he'd planned before. "Little settlent outside of Armadillo."
The effect was imdiate. Mr. Burt's jovial expression dimd, the laughter gone from his eyes. He leaned back, arms crossing, tone guarded. "Armadillo? You sick?"
Caleb arched a brow, playing up confusion. "Sick?"
"Cholera." Mr. Burt's voice was low, serious. "Spread through that place like a plague. Folks dyin' in the street, from what I hear. You didn't bring that here, did you?"
Caleb shook his head firmly. "No, sir. I ain't carryin' that cursed thing. That's why I left. Didn't want to wait 'til it ca for , too. Figured Blackwater's as good a place as any to start over. Safe. Workin'. Maybe find so steadiness."
Mr. Burt studied him for a mont longer, then nodded slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Smart man. You'll find Blackwater welcos folks willin' to work, provided they're clean of that filth. You'll want to keep to the truth of where you're from quiet, though. So folks round here hear 'Armadillo' and they'll cross the street to avoid you."
"Appreciate the advice." Caleb tipped his bottle slightly.
"Well, you'll find no shortage of work here in Blackwater, if you're willin' to sweat. Plenty of docks need loadin', shops need stockin'. The law's always lookin' for able bodied n to deputize, given… recent events." He said the last part aningfully, watching for Caleb's reaction.
Caleb kept his face a mask of neutral interest. "Recent events?"
Burt leaned in closer, his voice conspiratorial. "Oh, you must've been on the road. We had a hell of a ss here a while back. Ferry robbery. Shootout in the streets. Bunch of outlaws, called themselves the Van der Linde gangs, tried to make off with a fortune. The law and Pinkertons are still crawlin' all over the place like ants on a dropped pie. So, if you see fellas in fancy suits who ain't from around here… mind your business."
"Noted," Caleb said, taking another drink of his beer. "I'm just here for honest work. Don't need any trouble."
"Wise," Mr. Burt said, nodding approvingly. He gestured with his chin toward the poker tables. "You a gamblin' man, Mr. Granger? We got a ga goin'. Good way to pass the ti. And if you need a room for the night, I got one upstairs. A dollar for a good night rest."
Caleb finished his beer. "A ga sounds good. And I'll take that room." He slid three dollars across the counter. "Might be in town for a couple days, depending on what I find."
"Excellent." Mr. Burt pocketed the money and handed him a key. "it's the only room, top of the stairs, last door on the left. Good luck at the tables."
Caleb nodded his thanks and moved away from the bar, lting into the crowd around the poker tables. He found a seat at a five card draw ga with two ranchers, a well dressed businessman, and a dour looking fellow who barely spoke. He played conservatively at first, losing a few small hands, his primary focus on listening.
The conversations around him were a goldmine. He heard snippets about dock schedules, shipnts coming in on Flat Iron Lake, complaints about Pinkerton agents asking too many questions. One man grumbled about his cousin who'd been questioned for an hour just for having a "suspicious looking beard."
After an hour of playing easily, he finally utilized his Poker Skill to turned the odds slight to him. He started winning. A few modest pots at first, then a larger one that drew so looks. He was careful not to be too flashy, to lose a hand every now and then. He was Jonathan Granger, a lucky drifter, not a card shark.
...
Na: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 6/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 3)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 3)
- Past Life mory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 2)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 2)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
- ntal Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 3)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 5x5x5)
- Acting (Lvl 2)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
Money: 1,897 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 5,407 dollars and 43 cents, 7 gold nuggets, 8 gold bars, 7 silver rings, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 large bags of jewelry, 4 gold rings, 2 silver rings, 4 silver pocket watches, 3 gold buckles, 1 gold pocket compass, 2 platinum pocket watches, 2 Colm's Schofields, and land deed (Parcel)
Bank: -
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