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That evening, Caleb sat by the scout fire, polishing his Schofields while the camp settled into nightti routines. Arthur dropped onto the log beside him, tossing him a bottle of beer. "Made quite the spectacle today, huh?" Arthur remarked, taking a swig from his own bottle.
Caleb shrugged. "Just telling a story I made up. Didn't expect it would beco such spectacle."
"Uh huh." Arthur wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Funny thing, Mary-Beth usually writes her own stories. Never seen her scribbling down soone else's like that."
The unspoken question hung between them. Caleb kept his tone light. "Guess she liked this one."
Arthur studied him for a long mont before grunting. "Just don't break her heart, Caleb. She's been through enough since following us."
The warning was clear. Caleb t Arthur's gaze squarely. "Wouldn't dream of it, Arthur."
After that Caleb goes to take a sleep on his bedroll beside Arthur's bed in Arthur's tent, The morning sunlight filtered through the canvas of Arthur's tent, soft and golden as it ward Caleb's face.
He blinked slowly, stirring from sleep, a faint ache pulsing through his shoulder where the bullet had pierced him days before. But it was faint, barely more than a dull throb. He stretched carefully, testing the limits of his movent, and let out a long breath.
"Damn," he thought, rubbing the side of his neck. "My two skills are really sothing."
He sat up, the blankets rustling softly beneath him, and glanced across the tent. Arthur's cot was empty, no doubt the older man was already up and about, probably tending to his horse or sipping coffee by the fire. Caleb then got up from his bedroom and stepped out into the cool morning air.
Horses nickered softly near the hitching posts. Pearson barked sothing about salted at as he stirred a massive pot over the fire. A few of the won were laughing near the wash tubs, scrubbing clothes with worn hands and practiced ease.
Caleb made his way to the clean water barrel beside Pearson's wagon, splashing cold water on his face, the cold shock washing away the last remnants of sleep. The sting of it was refreshing. He toweled off with a rag, wiping the water off his face.
He then glances toward the laundry lines, where he'd left his vaquero outfit folded and ready for washing, wide brimd hat, embroidered vest, and the dark pants he'd taken a liking to.
In its place, he slipped into a simpler outfit he'd kept at camp, a clean white shirt, rolled sleeves, suspenders, brown work pants, and a soft leather vest. The gunbelt was the final touch, and he holstered his two Schofields with care at their holsters.
Refreshed, Caleb made his way past the campfire and toward the familiar figure of Herr Strauss.
The man was sitting stiffly on his wooden chair, the ledger book open on his lap, thin frad glasses perched on his nose. His fingers moved like a spider's legs across the paper, pausing occasionally to mark sothing down with his fountain pen. As Caleb approached, he cleared his throat lightly.
"Morning, Herr Strauss."
Herr Strauss looked up, blinking once before offering a clipped nod. "Ah, Mr. Thorne. Punctual as promised. Good timing, I was just reviewing the ledger." He gestured at the open book with a bony finger. "There are a few debts needing imdiate collection."
Caleb hearing that nodded his head. "Got a list for ?"
Strauss adjusted his glasses. "A farr nad Butch Carson near Flatneck Station. He owed 100 dollars. 200 dollars after interest. Threatened to shoot when I last visited to collect his debt." His mouth twisted. "Perhaps you'll have better luck."
Caleb raised an eyebrow. "Charming."
"The second, Mr. Wrobel. An immigrant I believe. Lives west of camp, across the Dakota River. His farm is called Painted Sky. Owes 50 dollars. With interest, now 125 dollars. He is... a man of few words. But not hostile."
Caleb nodded slowly, mories tugging at him from his past life. "That's the guy with the Hungarian Half-Bred," he thought. "It's a ti horse, maybe I will take it from him, but I'll see how it goes."
"The third and fourth," Strauss continued, "reside around Erald Ranch. A woman nad Lilly Millets, who owes 45 dollars, 70 dollars after interest, and a man nad Chick Matthews, owes 35 dollars now 60 dollars with interest. The woman can be found within Erald Ranch itself. The man lives northwest at Guthrie Farm. Neither paid on ti."
He reached into his coat and retrieved a folded piece of paper, handing it to Caleb.
"Just in case you forget," Strauss said.
Caleb took the paper, gave it a quick look over, and tucked it into his satchel. "Got it. Don't worry, I'll see what I can do."
"Good. I trust you'll be... persuasive."
"Hey there, Caleb lad! Already up in the morning, eh!" Sean's boisterous voice cut through the morning quiet. The Irishman bounded over and clapped Caleb's left shoulder.
Caleb winced sharply, gritting his teeth as pain flared through his shoulder. He nearly doubled forward, managing to stifle a curse.
"Ah, shite!" Sean recoiled, hands raised. "Sorry! I didn't an to, are ya alright?"
Strauss peered at Caleb with newfound interest. "You did not ntion an injury, Mr. Thorne."
"Bullet wound," Caleb ground out, waiting for the throbbing to subside. "Nothing serious, don't worry. Just... healing slower than I'd like."
Sean rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout that. Had no idea. Didn't expect you to jolt like a cat in a thunderstorm. You sure you're not bleeding again?"
"No, no. It's fine," Caleb replied. " Just don't go slapping like I'm a tavern whore, yeah?"
Sean chuckled. "Fair enough, lad. Fair enough."
He then sobered slightly. "You headin' out? Need backup? Been ages since I shot soone who deserved it."
Strauss cleared his throat pointedly. "This is a collection job, Mr. MacGuire, not a robbery."
"Even better! Debtors make the ugliest faces when they pay up." Sean mid a scowling expression that had even Strauss suppressing a smile.
Caleb considered the offer. Sean who was sowhat reckless could complicate things, but having backup wasn't a bad idea as he still had an injury. "Alright, but you follow my lead, Mr. Macguire. No shooting unless I say."
Sean mock saluted. "Aye aye, captain!"
They rode out within the hour, Caleb on Morgan, Sean on his brown maned Arican Standardbred nad Ennie. The morning mist clung to the Heartlands as they rode the road following the railway tracks toward Flatneck Station.
"You never said how you got shot," Sean remarked, rolling a cigarette one handed as he rode.
"Capturing a bounty on a man nad Drew Dallas and had to face him and his gang," Caleb said tersely.
Sean whistled. "Heard about Drew Dallas and his boys, an fellas. You took down him and the whole gang yourself?"
"Had the elent of surprise."
"Modest too!" Sean lit his cigarette with an exaggerated flourish. "No wonder Mary-Beth's sweet on you."
Caleb shot him a warning look. "Watch what you said, Sean."
"What? Whole camp saw how she looked at you during your wizard story yesterday." Sean blew a smoke ring. "Even Arthur noticed, and that man's about as observant as a post."
Caleb nudged Morgan into a trot, leaving Sean chuckling behind him. The less said about Mary-Beth, the better, especially where gossip prone outlaws like Sean, well especially him, were concerned.
After around 15 minutes, Flatneck Station ca into view, the ramshackle station beside the railroad. Strauss's directions led them to a weather beaten farmhouse half a mile east. A mule brayed in the untended field as they approached.
"Stay here," Caleb told Sean at the gate. "I'll handle this."
Sean leaned back in his saddle. "Your show, boss."
Caleb dismounted, hand resting near his Schofield as he knocked. The door flew open to reveal a hulking man in stained overalls, his beard flecked with tobacco.
"You Strauss's new boy?" Butch Carson's voice dripped contempt. He hefted a double barreled shotgun. "Told him what happens to debt collectors round here."
Caleb kept his posture relaxed. "That thing's only got two shots, mister. I've got twelve." He tilted his head toward Sean, who waved cheerfully with his repeater balanced across his lap. "And my friend's got even more."
Butch's grip tightened on the shotgun. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Now," Caleb continued calmly, "you can pay the 200 dollars hundred you owe to Mr. Strauss, or we can settle this another way. Your choice."
The standoff stretched for five heartbeats before Butch spat into the dirt. "Goddamn leeches." He stomped inside, returning with a rusted tin box. He counted out grimy bills with shaking hands. "Take it and get off my land."
Caleb pocketed the money inside his satchel without recounting. "Pleasure doing business with you."
As they rode away, Sean burst out laughing. "That was brilliant! Should've seen his face when you ntioned my gun!"
Caleb allowed himself a small smile. "Next stop, Painted Sky farm."
Mr. Wrobel's farm was picturesque compared to Butch's, with whitewashed fences, and a tidy barn where the Hungarian Half-Bred should be stored inside.
A man in his thirties with a weathered face and calloused hands erged from the barn, wiping sweat from his brow with a stained handkerchief. His thick Polish accent tangled his words as he called out, "You! Strauss n, da? Co take last coins from Wrobel, yes?"
Sean squinted. "The hell's he saying?"
Caleb dismounted, holding up the piece of paper in his hand that he took out from his satchel. "Mr. Wrobel? We're here about your debt. The 125 dollars you owe to Mr. Strauss."
Wrobel's face darkened. "Tak, tak. Always money. I sell horse, sell land, sell soul, still not enough!" He spat into the dirt, his accent thickening with anger. "Interest is… jak to mówić… thief in night!"
Sean scratched his head. "Fella, I caught about one word in three."
Caleb stepped closer, speaking slowly. "How much can you pay today?"
"Maybe… Pięćdziesiąt." Wrobel held up five fingers, then mid counting bills. "65 dollars. From eggs, from milk, from crops. All I have."
Sean whistled. "That ain't even a quarter of what you owe, mister."
Wrobel's hands balled into fists. "Nie rozumiesz! You not understand! Strauss promised small loan, now numbers grow like weeds! I work, I pay, but always more!" His broken English made the frustration harder to parse, but the desperation was clear.
Caleb took the money, weighing it in his palm. "This covers the vig, not the principal." He nodded toward the farmhouse. "We'll take the rest in trade."
"Co? Nie!" Wrobel moved to block the door, but Sean shoved past him, kicking open the unlocked cabin.
The interior slled of boiled cabbage and kerosene. Sean upended drawers while Caleb checked the mantel.
A lacquered jewelry box sat beside a tarnished crucifix. Inside was a woman's pearl ring, two silver cufflinks, and an antique pocket watch with Polish engraving.
"To pamiątka po ojcu!" Wrobel grabbed for the watch. "My father's—!"
Caleb snapped the watch shut and pocketed it. "Tell Strauss it's collateral." He tossed the cufflinks to Sean. "That's another 20 bucks' worth at least."
Wrobel's face flushed crimson. "Złodzieje! Thieves! You take mories, not debt!"
Ignoring him, Caleb strode toward the barn. The Hungarian Half-Bred, a muscular bay with grey and dots coat, pawed at its stall. Its coat glead even in the dusty light.
Sean whistled. "Now that settles the tab." He reached for the bridle.
Wrobel lunged, swinging a rusted horseshoe. Sean ducked, but the iron clipped his shoulder. "Goddamn—!"
Caleb drew his Schofield in one fluid motion. The hamr's click froze Wrobel mid swing.
"Proszę," the man whispered, the horseshoe slipping from his fingers. "On jest wszystkim, co mi zostało."
Sean rubbed his shoulder, scowling. "Should put a bullet in him for that."
Caleb kept the gun leveled. "Horse is enough." He tossed Sean the reins. "Load him up."
As they rode out with the Hungarian Half-Bred in tow, Caleb left 50 dollars of his own money beside Wrobel unbeknownst to Sean.
Wrobel had collapsed to his knees in the yard, shouting curses that needed no translation as they left. The pocket watch burned in Caleb's pocket like a live coal. Sean grinned, patting the stolen horse's neck. "Hell of a payday. Strauss'll owe us after this." Caleb didn't answer. So debts, he knew, couldn't be asured in dollars.
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Na:Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 6/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 6/10
- Charm: 5/10
- Luck: 5/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 2)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life mory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 1)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 1)
- 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)
Money: 650 dollars and 61 cents
Bank: 40 dollars, 2 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets
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