The West


Well-Known Member
So a while ago I started writing a western story. Unfortunately, the original thread started on the Beta server was lost so I thought to start it again here.

The story is mostly in first person, following the adventures of a nameless adventurer in the Wild West. Following stories based on quests in the game as well as using game locations such as the Old Outpost and a few others [mixed with some imaginary locations and storytelling].

Note: I'm no expert, this is just for fun

Hope you enjoy :lovetw:
Last edited:


Well-Known Member
Chapter I: Henry Walker's Saloon
The town of Old Hamburg is located near the bank of Towhee Lake and although it was one of the smaller towns in the area, it has always benefited from the great attention it has received over the years. Every cowboy, hunter, trapper, fisherman, or even greenhorn had, at some point, set foot in this town – and because of this, the town was always full of life. I say town because this was the term used by the people living in it, though in reality, the ‘’town’’ was more of a settlement stretching close to the banks of the Forest River which eventually spilled its waters into the vast Towhee Lake. Old Hamburg consisted of very few public buildings. In the western corner of the town, you would find the ‘Old Hamburg Central Bank’ and, not far from it, a small church with white walls and a grey roof. On the opposite side of town stood a hotel whose walls looked as if they were going to collapse. The places I was most interested in were the tailor and the general store; it had been a long time since I had bought new clothes and after months of riding through the hot prairie, my clothes were work-out and torn.

It was a scorching day of Thursday when I finally set foot in the saloon. I had plans to get my shopping done, but I wanted to spend a few extra days in town and, besides that, I had heard rumors of the great beer old could have in this very same saloon. The saloon itself was very modest and large, the roof, although looking very old, was quite high, and here and there stood a couple of lamps ready to be lit. At the end of the saloon, behind the bar, stood a tall man with broad shoulders whom I immediately recognized to be the barkeeper. He wore a white shirt that looked like it had seen better days and, over the shirt, he wore a black vest. His face, covered in a thick beard which some people in the western side of the world may now refer to it as a ’Friendly Mutton Chops’, had rather welcoming features and, regardless of the man’s physical appearance, one couldn’t help but have absolute trust in him. He couldn’t have been older than 55. I barely had time to pull up a chair and sit down when the friendly barkeeper made his way to my table

- One hell of a day, I tell ya’. It is blazing hot out there but luckily there is plenty of drink in here to quench your thirst. What can I get ya?
- A pint of beer, if I may.
- You may, of course you may. There is no better drink to savor on a hot day like this one than a nice, cold pint of beer. Coming right up…oh, how rude of me! My name is Henry Walker, and I am the owner of this fine establishment.

As the barkeeper turned around to make his way to the bar, I took a quick look through the saloon and the people in it. I had heard many stories of how a true, experienced, man who had lived a fair share of his life in the western part of the world should always be aware of his surroundings and the people around him. Although it was almost lunch, the saloon was rather empty. Not far from the bar, I noticed a man whom I immediately took for the local sheriff. The big, golden star pinned to his chest betrayed this man’s position in Old Hamburg. His attire was rather simple: a brown shirt and a black vest along with a fancy, black tie was a clear sign to everyone that this man was a man of the law. On the table in front of him stood an almost empty whiskey bottle and his revolver, the latter being quite common among most of the people in the saloon. Across from the sheriff, alone at his table, stood a very interesting character. I say this because the man was a Native American and it was unusual to find an Indian in a saloon, but his presence did not seem out of place. Waupee, whose name I had later found out, wore brown leather pants and a brown leather shirt. His hair, long, dark, and straight went down to his shoulders. Around his waist, the handle of a knife could be seen along with other objects useful for everyday life in the prairie. Maya, the waitress in Henry's saloon, stood between the tables, serving drinks and plates of hot food. My close inspection of the saloon was interrupted by Henry who, after placing a full pint of beer on the table, said:

- Here it is! A pint of beer as requested. Now would be the time for me to rest, before all of the workers and cowboys in town start coming in. The saloon will be filled up…

Henry was suddenly interrupted by a group of men who had loudly entered the saloon. They were five in number and in the middle of the group stood a tall man with a great build. His attire, similar to that of his fellow friends, consisted of a dirty white shirt and plain torn pants. Each of them carried a revolver and knife around their waist and a gun over their shoulder.

- Ufff, here comes Gary and his fellow henchmen. Yesterday they spent hours drinking all of my good whiskey and smoking all of my tobacco. I better get ready for this!

The five troublemakers found their way to an empty table not far from me and immediately signaled Henry to come over to their table.

- What can I get you, fellas?
- Five glasses of your best whiskey, and be quick about it!

Henry was quick to grant Gary’s wish and returned to the table with five glasses of whiskey. Gary lifted his glass, held it for a second under his nose then emptied it in one big gulp. His fellow friends did the same, each drinking their glass.

- Well!? What are you waiting for? Bring us five more! said Gary looking up at Henry.
- Now now fellas, I really think you ought to take it slow. I don’t think it’s good for you to drink this much whiskey on a day this hot. I could bring you…

Henry was quickly interrupted by Gary who slammed his fist on the table and with a fast sweep of his hand pushed all of the empty glasses off. The noise of the glass breaking against the hardwood floor attracted the attention of all the people in the saloon…apart from Waupee who still stood silent at his table smoking his pipe, seemingly unaffected by the commotion caused by Gary. Everyone else, the sheriff included now held their eyes wide open waiting to see whether the commotion would escalate. Some of the more cowardly people in the saloon got up from their chairs and quickly stepped out of the saloon.

- Come on fellas, I don’t want any trouble, I…
- You don’t? Then you better find your way back to the bar and come back with more whiskey or else I and the fellas will trash this place. And who would stop us?

Gary looked around him for a few moments, got up from his chair, and lifted his arms above his head.

- Who would stop us? Do any of you feel brave enough?

No one in the saloon dared to say a word. Everyone stared at the glasses of alcohol in front of them. Gary shouted at Henry again and the poor barkeeper headed for the bar to get the whiskey requested.

- What about you? Do you think you’re brave enough to take me on? said Gary, looking my way.
- Oh, I wouldn’t think so, I said quietly sipping my beer.
- You don’t think so? Well, I would guess that is only normal, hahaha. I wouldn’t expect someone as little as you to have the courage to stand up to me.

The troublemaker evidently wanted to get me to react to cause some form of commotion but I had no wish and definitely no time to deal with such a situation.

- Well, I suppose you are right then, sir.
- You suppose? Well, I suppose you are not as dumb as you look. It does take some kind of intelligence to know when not to act bravely. You may actually be an improvement over all of the other lackeys in this place.

Saying that Gary picked up two new empty glasses and the bottle of whiskey Henry had just brought him and sat at my table. His fellow buddies followed him, dragging their chairs against the floor. He placed an empty glass in front of me and filled it to the brim with whiskey, and then did the same to the glasses sitting in front of his friends.

- You are an interesting fella. Here! Have this drink with me and my friends. We’ve just arrived in these parts and have only been in town for no more than a week and…

Leaning forward, Gary whispered, as if to try to hide it even from his friends:

- We are on our way to joining a group of many others who have a small…plan set up to get rich. All I know now is that there will be gold! Lots of gold, and silver! But here, let’s have a drink!
- Oh, I appreciate the offer, but I would have to kindly refuse. Besides, it would be a shame to waste this good pint of beer good ol’ Henry brought me.
- Refuse? You refuse to have a drink with me?! That is an insult! That is a clear insult.
- I mean no insult. It is much too early in the day for whiskey and…
- It is an insult! It is!

Gary’s face was now red and his jaw clenched. It was clear that he had already too much to drink and my refusal to drink with him made it worse. He got up from his chair and lifted his punch. Predicting his action, I quickly pushed my chair back, dodging his blow. Gary’s arm now landed in my half-full pint of beer, smashing it to pieces. He took two steps back yelling in pain from his now bleeding hand.

- I will kill you! You hear me? Kill you!

The tramp now pushed the table against the wall and lunged at me with his fist clenched. I only needed to take a step back for Gary to completely miss me and then hit him in his temple. He was now lying on the floor unconscious. His friends froze for a few seconds, after which they all reached out for their guns.

- Hands up! I yelled, pulling out my revolver. Hands up or I’ll shoot.

They all reached for the sky and dared not say a word. Meanwhile, Gary was coming back to his senses.

- You fellas had obviously had too much to drink already. You four! Pick him up and leave the saloon. And keep your hands where I can see them.

The four picked up Gary and quickly left the saloon. Among his friends, I saw Gary turn his head and look at me as his gang of tramps was carrying him out of the saloon.

- You’re a savior I tell ya, a savior! The savior of the saloon! Henry said shaking my hand
- I only did what I deemed to be necessary but unfortunately those tramps damaged your table, not to mention breaking your glasses.
- Oh, don’t be modest! Find yourself a new table and I will bring you a new pint of beer, on the house…oh, I think the sheriff wishes to talk to you.

Looking up, with a slow sweep of his palm, the man with the star pinned to his chest was signaling me to approach his table. Walking up I was greeted with a tight handshake.

- Have a seat, please. My name is John Fitzburn and as you may have guessed, I’m the sheriff in these parts. That was a brave thing you did there…I would have helped but unfortunately drinking all this whiskey affected my senses.
- There was no need, sheriff. Though I must warn you that Gary mentioned joining a group of people who were after gold. I do know not more details but I am sure no good can come out of it. You ought to have someone follow them and…
- You don’t need to worry about Gary. There are lots of tramps, vagabonds, and greenhorns coming from the North or all the way from the East in search of gold, silver, and other riches. Most often times they leave empty-handed.
- Fine but…
- I have a different task for you and after witnessing your acts of bravery, I think you are just the man for it. A week from now, I am needed up North at the Old Outpost. Unfortunately, I cannot find a good deputy to watch over Old Hamburg while I’m gone…hard to find capable men in these parts…

The sheriff stopped for a while as if trying to remember something from long ago. I had only now seen his facial features. The sheriff now seemed to be someone who had seen their fair share of adventures in the Wild West. I was staring at the sheriff trying to make out his age. His thick mustache made it difficult but he could not have been older than forty-five. He lifted his whiskey bottle, refilled his glass, and after taking a big sip followed by a loud gulp, he continued:

- We have heard news that a band of bandits is trying to take over the Old Outpost. To what purpose I do not know but the outpost has a strong strategic position and we cannot allow them to occupy it. The army is slow to act but sheriffs from neighboring towns have some deputies guarding it.

Reader, you should know that at this time the Old Outpost, so named by the people living in its neighboring towns, was a smaller fort of sorts. Years back, the outpost was owned and managed by the army and it was a strategic position to watch for any possible law-breakers coming into the area or greenhorns coming from over the ocean from the East in search of riches. As news of gold and silver in Southern parts reached all corners of the globe – gold seekers, tramps, vagabonds, and all other sorts of people came in from all areas and the managing of Old Hamburg was no longer deemed necessary by the army. The sheriff shifted in his wobbly chair, mumbling a few curse words under his breath, and said:

- I was tasked with bringing resources and more men to guard the fort but I cannot leave Old Hamburg. I need someone else to lead the men North from here to the Old Outpost. You will be paid, of course, quite handsomely and…
- You do not need to try and convince me any further, I said finally having the chance to speak. I will gladly lead your men North and bring the resources to the outpost.
- You will? Well, ha-ha, I say this is cause for celebration!

The sheriff lifted his glass and knocked it against my pint of beer and in one quick motion, emptied his glass and slammed it on the table. I was not one to act as an agent of the law but I had plans to travel up North and then West. The sheriff had plans for everyone to leave the day after tomorrow, so I decided to take the rest of the afternoon to do my necessary shopping. The tailor was my first stop and I was glad to replace my worn-out clothes. It was early summer but heavy rains were a normal occurrence in the area. Visiting the tailor, I was able to find what seemed to be a very fancy felt hat, a black coat, and a pair of brown leather pants. Among the various fancy and very expensive footwear, I was lucky to find a good pair of riding boots. There were various trinkets offered by the general store in Old Hamburg: buffalo head necklaces, arrowhead necklaces, stone chains, and many others. Trinkets that the general store owner would hope to fool more so the greenhorns in the area as an experienced adventurer living on the wild prairie would not waste their money on such belongings.

The evening I decided to spend at Henry’s saloon. The atmosphere was calmer and all tables were now occupied by the men of the town. Henry had lighted all of the lamps and the saloon now smelled of beer and hard liquor and, among the faces of all the men in the saloon, you could see thick clouds of tobacco smoke hovering in the air before disappearing in a grey mist reaching the wooden roof of the saloon. Amongst the chatter in the saloon, I was able to pick up some voices telling stories of Wild West legends, of acts of bravery of strong men, of Indian gold and silver hidden in the mountains and in lakes, and myths of fortunate groups of people finding gold deposits and retiring in the East, spending the rest of their lives drinking expensive drinks and eating expensive foods, watching operas and wearing the newest fashion in Paris or London. I ought to say, reader, that although I was born in Europe, I had fallen in love with the way of living in the New World, and many of the European habits I once had were quickly replaced with those needed to live and survive in the Wild West. Whilst many Europeans (and many of the people in the West dreamed of) preferred to sleep in their soft beds starring at an empty white ceiling surrounded by walls decorated with expensive paintings and fake trophies, I had grown to prefer resting my head on my saddle, laying on the green grass with a sky full of stars watching over me; with my feet in the stirrups and the mane of my horse brushing against my fingers. The feeling of the cold wind on your face and the smell of tobacco in the saloons. I will admit, reader, that I have a fear of such a way of living disappearing from the world.

Last edited:


Well-Known Member
Chapter II: At the Old Outpost
Part I
It was early in the morning of the departure day that I found myself sitting in front of the Sheriff building. The sun was just peeking its head from the East and at a glance, it looked ready to blaze over the wide prairie. Very few buildings had their lights on and from the end of the town, the noise of men getting ready for early work could have already been heard. I was a bit restless and it seemed my horse had the same feeling. I had little sleep the night before, trying to think over and predict what plans Gary and his crew had planned. I knew he was planning on joining a larger group and from there continuing on their journey to get rich. Could Gary and the group he was planning on joining have been related to the possible attack on the Old Outpost? There was no news, and even more so unlikely of any gold or riches hidden anywhere near the Old Outpost but if more tramps were planning on joining the larger group, the Old Outpost was a good strategic place for them to re-group and plan their doings. From the Eastern side of town, I spotted a group of what could have been ten to fifteen men. At the front of the group stood the sheriff leading a horse by his side. Each of the men behind him had their horses held by the reins and behind the group, there were two packhorses – the resources needed at the Old Outpost: food, water, ammunition, furs, and other necessities.

- Good morning, you showed up nice and early and by the looks of it ready for a five-day ride to the outpost. Behind me are the men you will lead to the outpost and the provisions that need to be taken there.

At a first glance, all of the men in the group looked normal. Each of them wearing regular plain pants or fur pants, white shirts, and coats and hats over their heads. Each man had a rifle over their shoulder, revolvers in holsters around their belts, and quite a few knife handles were visible. The man sitting at the front next to the sheriff seemed to stand out from the group as their leader. He wore leather pants that were covered up to his knees by leather cowboy boots. Two shinny revolver handles were visible around his waist and, what seemed to be a shiny new rifle that was never shot before, was hanging from his horse’s saddle. The man wore a brown waistcoat and on his head a trapper hat of beaver skin.

- Decker, the man said in an irritated voice as if not wanting to be there, stretching his arm forward. James Decker is my name and I hear you will be our guide to the outpost.
- Yes, I am. I have not been to the Old Outpost before however, I know the area quite well so I trust this will be a pleasant journey.
- Pleasant? There is nothing pleasant about being on horseback for five days or however long it will take to get there. I will make one thing clear though, these are my men and you are here simply as a guide. Should anything…unexpected happen on this journey, everyone will do as I say. Now let’s get going! You will be at the front of the group leading the way.

I said nothing. I glanced towards the sheriff yet he seemed busy making sure the men in the group knew the importance of the journey and getting the resources to the outpost, shouting orders at each man that dared look him in the eyes. I jumped in my saddle and rode to the front of the group and North out of town. The morning and early afternoon were uneventful. The group was quick to leave town and in the late hours of the morning, we crossed the Forest River. Crossing the river had taken us a good hour due to the more inexperienced riders in the group not being able to control their horses in the deep water. We were now facing an empty plain of what seemed to be a great ocean of green stretching to ends that mortal eyes could not see. To make up for the time lost crossing the river and to take advantage of the terrain, the group was now galloping and although five days was more than enough time to reach the outpost, Decker seemed to be in a bigger rush…urging his men to ride faster.

In front of us, rising like a tall, green hill stood a thick forest. I raised my hand above my head and stopped my horse.

- What is it? Why have we stopped? asked Decker in his regular, irritated voice.
- We have a decision to make, I said calmly. As we are riding into more unknown territory, I would recommend riding through the forest. The forest is thick so we will not be able to gallop and travel as fast but it will be safer and we will have cover from any kind of danger.
- Nonsense! Nonsense! said Decker. There is no danger in these parts and I will not waste any more time riding through that damn forest. We will go around it; it will be faster.
- I wouldn’t recommend it, I…
- I’ve already told you; I am the leader of this group and if both ways lead to the outpost, then we will take the faster one. Let’s go!

Saying that, Decker turned his horse Northwest and started galloping, the group following him slowly behind. I stirred my horse and, looking West, saw the sun ready to set leaving the wide prairie in a crimson red. As the sun was setting, the group soon had to stop for the night and light a fire, and doing so in the open plain was the perfect signal for any strangers or unwanted visitors to find our camp. I rode back to the front and lead the group around the forest, making sure to glance behind me and to the sides to see whether we were the only souls riding through on the plains. The giant burning ball in the sky was close to setting and a wide shadow started stretching from the west covering the green and making it harder for the younger members of the group to keep up the pace. I had the wish of riding ahead for a bit longer to avoid camping in the wide open but Decker had already stopped the rest of the groups and was getting ready to make camp.

Fetch some wood and start a fire and get a meal going. Aaron and Billy find a place for the horses and you are first on watch. Bring the packhorses to each side of the camp and…

Decker stopped and looked in the same direction as me. On the horizon from the East, a black dot moved in our direction and, like me, Decker pulled his monocular and pointed it in the direction of the mysterious dot.

- A single rider it seems, and by his speed and direction, I would say he has spotted us and is heading our way.
- Let him come, said Decker in a much calmer and more collected voice than usual, putting his monocular away. We are over fifteen armed men; I have no worries of what a single man could do.

A good half hour had passed before the rider reached us, riding slowly towards Decker and me who were waiting for him at the front of our camp. From afar, the rider seemed normal but I had learned, reader, to always be careful of strangers when you live in the Wild West. Bandits, thieves, and vagabonds are common and always looking to make a quick dollar by robbing, stealing and murdering. It was in this way that I learned to be careful of the people I meet in the wild west, especially mysterious ones.

- Good day friends, or should I say good evening! I’ve seen you from all the way back there and was very glad to spot other souls here on this wide plain. My name is Bartholomew, or Bart if you prefer.
- What brings you this way, Bart? I asked. Where are you from and where are you headed?
- Where am I from? Well, that is a long story but I come from one of the farms in the East and I am headed to Roy’s farm, which is northwest of here. The owner’s daughter of the farm I work on got sick and there is a very capable doctor at the farm I am headed to.
- What is the name of the farm you come from? I know of no farms East of here and there are also capable doctors in Old Hamburg and some of the other…
- Why are you bothering the man with stupid questions? Decker interrupted. Bart here has clearly been riding for a long time and I am sure he would appreciate sitting down and resting. Come, you can camp with us.

I was of course opposed to the suggestion of the stranger camping with us but Decker paid no attention to my protests. Needing to be sure of the safety of the group, I offered to take Aaron and Billy’s place as the first man on watch. You should know, reader, that camping in the wild west is a dangerous thing, especially having a large fire built as Decker and his group had just done. Bart and Decker were talking and the rest of the group was either talking among themselves or finding a comfortable spot to rest for the night. It was surprising to me the quick change in mood that Decker had shown when meeting the stranger. It was not long until everyone fell asleep and I started wandering around the camp – everything looked quiet and calm. I had finally stopped wandering around the camp and stopped near the horses. It was a warm and clear night, the moon was lighting the plains and warm yet cooling air was filling the night and almost soothing you to sleep, forcing your eyelids to cover your eyes and letting dreams that would be forgotten by morning take over your mind. I was next to my horse, brushing his mane and thinking of how great a creature a horse is…carrying his rider restlessly over miles and miles and ready to do so again at his master’s call. It has been known, reader, for horses to grow very attached to their riders and even protect them in battle. I have been very fortunate in my many adventures to see these beautiful creatures in the wild, leading herds behind them as their mane are blown back by the wind crossing the wild prairie from East to West and from North to South. It was past midnight when I woke up Aaron and Billy to take over the watch. I was quite tired and glad to finally have a chance to lie down and rest.

It was early in the morning when I was woken up by the noise in the camp. Most of our group was already up and preparing for the day’s journey, putting away their sleeping bags and saddling their horses. I was glad to have finally had a good night’s sleep and was well-rested for what seemed to be a long day ahead of us. There was a cold breeze in the air and was blowing the longer spikes of grass on the plain to the West as if an invisible spirit was flying above them, touching the tip of the grass as it was wandering aimlessly on the eternal plains in search for something only it would know. The sun was slowly taking over the sky and different spots in our camp were now embellished in gold as if chosen to stand out by powers unknown to man, slowly stretching themselves over the whole prairie and covering it all in gleaming light. The group had started the day’s journey slowly, letting their horses get ready before galloping ahead crushing the grass beneath their powerful hoofs. We had made good progress and in the late morning, we had covered miles and miles of ground and were now once again, met with an open plain ahead of us and a forest to the East and West. As the guide, I was glad with the progress we were making, and with the only obstacle in our path being the Redstart River, it seemed we would reach the Old Outpost a day earlier, a thought that pleased me as the company of the group was not something to be missed. Before long, we reached the banks of the river and after scouting for a good spot to cross, I had found a place shallow enough to allow even the more inexperienced riders in the group to easily cross - the water was clear and calm and on horseback, it would only reach the top of my riding boots which was just under my knee. I had reached the bank on the other side of the river when a scream came from the river.

- Help! Help me!

Bart had fallen from his horse and was now struggling and splashing the water of the river like a fish stuck on land; he would only need to stand up for the water to only reach the top of his chest. I kicked back my boots and directed my horse back into the river, reaching down, grabbing Bart by the collar of his coat, and dragging him out of the water while the rest of the group tried to control Bart’s horse who was now scared of the noise made. Decker, who had previously crossed the river and rode ahead, rode back and said:

- What happened?
- That damn animal threw me off its back! I think my leg is broken! said Bart, groaning like a hurt dog.
You must have some medical experience, said Decker looking at me. Can you not help him?

I jumped out of my saddle and kneeled down next to Bart who was crying out in pain and smashing his fists into the ground. Inspecting his leg, I found no breaking, no bruise, and no swelling. After telling this to Bart and asking him to stand up and put pressure on the leg, he cried out ‘I can’t, I can’t ‘.

- We have no choice. If he cannot ride, we are forced to stop and camp out early. We could try to reach the forest ahead of us – it will give us shelter and I could treat his leg there.
- Damn it! said Decker turning his horse towards the rest of the group. Get him back up on his horse. We will make for the trees ahead and camp there for the night. Get some water from the river…and shut that damn horse.

Bart was helped back in his saddle and the group slowly started riding North towards the forest. Being forced to camp out early now put us behind schedule and my hopes of reaching the Old Outpost were lost. We were soon greeted by the trees of the forest and in front of them, two mighty pine trees stood tall with the forest behind them, as if guarding the way in with thick branches ready to keep all unwanted visitors away. We rode into the forest and into an open space covered on all sides by thick trees. Decker, who now was ahead of everyone else, took a quick look around and said:

We will camp here. Bring the packhorses to the back of the camp and find a place for the rest of the horses to rest. I will need you to take first watch and treat Bart…what misfortune has fallen upon him, and us. Jeremiah will take the second watch, followed by Billy, Corey, and me.

I was surprised to see Decker this calm. Not long ago he was rushing to arrive at the outpost, and now he did not seem affected by the obvious delay in the slightest. A few hours had passed and the forest was now dark; whilst the sun was still setting, the thick trees blocked its rays of light from getting in and bothering its melancholic darkness. I placed more wood on the fire and stirred it, though careful enough to not make the fire large enough to be seen or have thick mists of smoke reach and attract the attention of unknown dangers. I had another look at Bart’s leg which still seemed to have no bruising nor swelling – it was peculiar to me to see this man cry out in agony earlier in the day when his body still showed no sign of pain or discomfort. I walked over to Jeremiah who now had the responsibility of relieving me as the watch and tapped him on his shoulder. After finding a good spot to lie down near my horse, which I tethered to a tree away from the other horses, I pulled my hat over my forehead and let the smell of the smoke and the leaves rustling in the wind swing me to sleep. A slow sleep had taken over me and my mind was ready to be taken into the imaginary lands of dreams when I heard my horse snort…a snort more so depicting fear rather than the snorting a horse will make when greeting his owner. I pulled my hat back and saw Jeremiah fall to the ground as if hit in the head by an imaginary sledgehammer. I quickly jumped up, and with my hand on the handle of my revolver, looked around the camp. Leaves and branches were rustling around camp broken under the boots of invisible figures wandering in the dark. In front of me, at only a few steps, I saw a silhouette of a man hidden behind a tree…I was ready to jump on and attack the enigmatic man when two hands grabbed me by the neck, dragging me down to the ground whilst another hit me in the back of the head with the handle of a gun.

Journey Map.png


Well-Known Member
Chapter II: At the Old Outpost

Part II​

I saw stars and lights unknown to the sight of man. My head felt like an empty barrel forgotten by the crew on a rocking ship in the middle of a storm, tilting from side to side and dragged down by an imaginary weight. Although being in a state where distinguishing reality from the imaginary was impossible, I had heard distant voices and mumbles and lights of red and orange dancing somewhere in front of me. I opened my eyes and in the staggering blurriness, I saw a large fire and the figures of men gathered in a circle around it [not twenty feet in front of me] talking loudly and laughing. To the left of the first fire stood another, smaller in size but still burning loudly as if trying to escape the encompassing tree crowns, surrounded by three men; two of whom faced me and another with his back turned. I tried to move my hand to feel my head which was now feeling like a hot anvil but to no avail. My hands were tied around the tree I was resting against and my legs were even more so tightly tied around my ankles and stuck underneath my body. I moved my head left and right and saw the rest of my group sharing the same punishment as me. I tried to count each man a few times but kept being short; two men were missing, more specifically, Decker and Bart were nowhere to be seen. Had they escaped? Or worse?

Some time had passed – how long it was impossible to tell but the full moon was still shinning and had claimed full dominion of the now pitch-dark sky – from the second fire, the man who had previously had his back turned to me got up, stirred the fire and started walking towards me. Decker, seemingly looking like a giant, stood in front of me and laughed:

- It seems our guide has finally come to his sense. Had a good sleep?

I remained silent and looked down at the ground. Decker, who was clearly insulted by this, scoffed and kicked me in the stomach.

- Have you forgotten how to speak? Or are you that surprised that you are tied down and here I am standing before you, free and unharmed?
- Not at all, I answered. I just have nothing to say to a dirty thief. Words are wasted on you.

Decker once again lifted his foot wanting to kick me, but instead took a deep breath and chuckled.

- You will not get under my skin, but I will indulge your curiosity and explain the situation you find yourself in. You see the men around you are…
- The soon-to-be attackers of the Old Outpost, I interrupted. You somehow gained the trust of the sheriff in Old Hamburg and so planned, together with your gang of tramps, to steal the resources heading to the outpost. Am I not right?
- Hahaha, you are a smart one, chuckled Decker. You are mostly right, but we are not planning on stealing the resources, at least not yet. No, we will walk into the outpost and deliver them ourselves.
- That is foolish, the men at the Old Outpost will never allow a gang of thieves to walk into the courtyard of the fort.
- They won’t, haha, they won’t indeed. The people walking into the outpost will be the very same group that left Old Hamburg, but not the same people. You will walk us in as our guide. I’m sure John the sheriff has already sent a telegram to the fort explaining your arrival.
- That is a foolish plan, I answered. I would never help you take over the outpost.
- I thought you might say that. We are scheduled to arrive at the outpost tomorrow at noon. For every hour that passes that you refuse to help us, my fellow friends here will shoot one prisoner. I’m sure you wouldn’t like the blood of innocent men on your hands, ey?

I stood there silent, bowing my head down. Decker, understanding my silence, laughed and said:

- There we go, you made the right choice, haha. I will see you in the morning. You better be well and rested.

Decker turned and walked back to his previous spot. With my head still bowed, I tried thinking of my situation, and how a quick stop in Old Hamburg turned into a life-threatening event, not just mine and the life of the fellow prisoners. A few hours had passed and the majority of the bandits dozed off with only one bandit wandering the camp watching the prisoners and another, further away, watching the horses. It was a silent night and the moon was nowhere to be seen, leaving the whole prairie in a complete, hushed darkness with the only light burning luminously being the fire in the middle of the camp. The bandit on watch wandered heavily from one end of the camp to the other, adding more wood to the fire as he was passing it before finally resting his back against a tree. I couldn’t sleep and my eyes were restlessly moving around the camp, looking for anything to help save the life of the group…and my own. As my eyes were moving, here and there and everywhere, I caught the movement of a shadow, crawling on its elbows near the bandit on watch. The mysterious figure moved like a shadow, silently finding its way among the bushes and branches, without making a sound. I shivered; I felt the blade of a knife between my wrists and a soft touch on the palm of my hand.

- My brother must be quiet. We have followed you for a whole day; I am glad to see my brother is not harmed.
- Who are you?
- There are two bandits on watch, said the mysterious man ignoring my question. One here watches the prisoners, and another on watch at the horses. What does my brother want to do?
- Both bandits need to be taken care of. Unfortunately, my hands and legs were tied so we had little chance of escape.
- The watches will be taken care of. Here, said the man putting the handle of a knife in my hand, my brother will need this to free his friends when I will give the signal. I trust my brother will know what to do.

I heard the man silently crawl away. Who was he? From his speech and him calling me ‘’his brother’’, I could tell he was a Native, but who? Why had he followed me? Answers to all of these questions I knew I would find out soon. The camp felt silent again and nothing moved for the next fifteen minutes. The bandit on watch now looked tired and was trying his best to keep his eyes open. From behind him, I saw two hands come out of the darkness and grab him by the neck, dragging his body down to the ground. Out of the darkness near the horses, two loud hoots came – that had to be the signal. I quietly jumped up and started quickly untying the captives, using the knife to cut through any bonds that I could not untie. In less than ten minutes, the people in the group were now free and we were now waiting silently. Out of the trees, near to where the bandit was taken out, came a man, and reaching the light of the fire he said:

- My brother did well. You must now help me tie up the hands and legs of the rest bandits, he said handing me a bunch of belts. My father has dealt with the bandit keeping watch over the horses and will come back soon.

The mysterious man stood silent in front of us. My previous guess was proven to be right and it seemed that it was indeed an Indian who had helped us. He could not have been any older than twenty-five and although being small in stature, his facial traits and body language were those of a giant. The mysterious Indian was wearing moccasins, brown Indian pants, and a brown poncho. Around his waist, a revolver and a knife handle could be seen. In addition to these, a small leather bag was hanging from his belt, which I had later found to contain sacred medicine and tobacco. Around his neck, a calumet was hanging painted in various colors, as well as two bear ears hanging around as a necklace. His facial traits were proof once again that this mysterious character was very young and looking at him, I had the feeling that I had seen this unknown character before. I took the belts from him and tied up the rest of the bandits – they were now all clustered together near the bigger fire. Their weapons and possessions were taken from them and left in a pile – the bandits had now lost ownership of all of their belongings and the people in my group had already started going through them, each man picking up the shinier revolvers and rifles for themselves.

A good half an hour had passed with no serious developments. The bandits were very quiet, muttering among themselves, and shooting looks full of anger and spite at the men in my group who were now all around the fire eating and talking to each other. The mysterious Indian was resting behind a tree further from camp, his head bowed and eyes clothes as if taking a nap but I couldn’t help but feel that he was still aware of everything happening around him.

- I know my brother must be curious, or rather confused, he said in clear English looking at me, about what had just happened. But I promise all will be clear once my father returns.
- The bandits had taken us by surprise, I had not expected one of them to infiltrate the Sheriff’s group of men. I should have…
- My brother must not blame himself. You have done well to keep yourself and the rest of the people in your group safe…ah, but here comes my father.

From the tree on the left side of camp, a tall figure stepped out of the shadows, dragging what seemed to be a bandit behind him. Looking at this man, I understood why the young Indian looked very familiar. In front of us stood what seemed to be a clone of the Indian who had saved us, yet much older. The man dropped the rope with which he had tied the bandit’s legs, and walked towards me, stretching his arm forward. I shook his hand and with a wide smile, he said:

- I am happy to see my brother is well, the man said in as clear of English as his younger duplicate. My name is Waupee and you had probably seen me in Henry’s saloon.
- Yes, I have! I am happy to see you!

Waupee had seen me looking at him and his younger version with confusion – he smiled and guessing my thoughts he said:

You have met my son, I see. He is Ch’osk’idny*, or Young Wolf in your tongue. We have been tracking a smaller group of tramps who have stolen horses from our village. They later joined a larger group in the town known as Old Hamburg and became too many for myself and Ch’osk’idny to handle alone. I first saw you in Henry’s saloon and overheard your conversation with the sheriff – in the morning when you left, we recognized the men that joined you and….

Waupee was interrupted by the grunting of the bandit at his feet, that he had dragged from where the horses were. This was the first time I paid attention to the man and saw to be none other than Bart, injured Bart who had fallen off his horse.

  • What is this? Bart yelled, trying to move noticed his tied-up legs and arms. Why am I tied up?
  • This group you see behind me are tramps….bandits who were planning an attack on the Old Outpost, I said with some surprise that Bart was amongst the prisoners. They were planning on using me and the rest of the honest men here to get free entry into the Outpost and then take it by force….
  • So what does that have to do with me? I have only just joined you people…I know nothing about no attack and no damn outpost!
I stood silent and surprised, Bart was telling the truth, at least seemingly. He had only just joined the group and was not in Old Hamburg when we had set off. I looked up at Waupee whose stare was fixated on Bart.

- The white man named Bart is a liar. Not one hour ago I was hidden behind the trees and I heard you laughing with the rest of the tramps, saying how happy you were with your plan. Waupee turned towards me and said, this bandit here has always been with the rest of the tramps. He was sent away like a stray dog and later told to re-join the group as a stranger. His leg is not injured, it was all a dirty plan to make camp early and ambush the men of Old Hamburg.

Bart stood silent and I did too. I was amazed at Waupee’s intelligence and his planning. We had walked away from Bart and the bandits and joined everyone else by the fire. Waupee and Young Wolf had left to bring their horses to our camp and I was now left with the thought of what will happen next. Were there more bandits ready to join the attack on the Old Outpost? The men defending it had to be warned but what of the bandits we had already caught? Leave them where they are? They would get away and cause us more trouble later. Shooting them was out of the question. I had spent an hour or two pondering what the right course of action might be. I had my head in my hands and felt it over-fuelling when I saw Waupee and Grey Wolf return – they had been gone to long to just bring their horses but I was not keen on questioning their actions. They had stopped near a tree further from the camp. I knew Natives enjoyed solitude, especially when no other Natives were part of the group. Waupee saw me looking at him and with a swift move of his hand, invited me to join him.

- I know my brother just be thinking of the plan ahead, and about making the right choices, Waupee said in a calm voice. You must not worry and must take time to rest. Tomorrow we will reach the place you call the Old Outpost and you will enter it as the sheriff had planned. Waupee knows that there must be more bandits somewhere near the outpost, as their number here is too low to take the outpost by themselves. We will use the bandits we have as prisoners as bait, and lure the rest.

I stood in amazement at Waupee’s methodical planning, he had everything planned and the whole trip was now feeling much safer. I walked away and found a good spot to close my eyes for the night – I was tired and felt sleep taking over me rapidly. The morning came fast and after over an hour of breaking camp, we were now all ready to continue our journey. Waupee and Young Wolf rode ahead to ensure our route was safe and each of the bandits was placed on their horses, their hands tied to the reins and one man keeping watch over two bandits, their revolvers at the ready.

The wide-open prairie was laying in front of us like a vast sea of grass, the wind was rushing through the sky like a wild spirit, and the sound of the horses’ hooves thundering echoes against the prairie’s floor. I hope you’ll get to know, reader, that riding the wild prairie for the first times is something tranquil, you become aware of everything around you, from the rustling grasses to the chirping insects and the cry of birds soaring high overhead. As you ride deeper into the heart of the prairie, the land changes into a living thing, with hills of green rising high in front of you to greet you and welcome you to the vast valleys behind them. Many riders rode before you in the same direction, yet not many returned. It was passed midday when the Old Outpost was within our sights. The old fortress, first just a dot on the horizon, transformed into, seemingly from a distance, a tall tower keeping watch over the valley and, as you rode closer and closer, its four towers and buildings inside became visible. We stopped at its gates. A guard looked over the wall, and shouted orders back at the people inside the outpost. The tall gates opened, inviting us inside.


* - Ch’osk’idny means ''Young Wolf'' in Apache [Note: I'm not too familiar with the language and translations are done via the few internet sources I found]

Chapter III - Plans within Plans
Coming soon