Durn near six years ago, an ornery bunch of fellers put aside their differences and fought together to liberate the Osterfeld homestead from a band of no-account squatters. A few of them fellers stuck around Marshfield and made a new life there. Other pards went west to seek their fortunes or just to live life to the fullest. Each cowpoke has a story to tell 'bout those times, stories fit to take the rag off the bush. But those stories are for another time.

Now is the time for a tale startin' in the wild and wooly state of Texas in 1871. Comanche and Kiowa warrin' with the Texas Rangers; buffalo hunters coverin' the plains like a plague o'locusts; and rancheros and other settlers stakin' claims from the Colorado to the Red River. Not to mention the Indian Nations forced together in the land between the Red and the cow towns of Kansas, creating a strange enclave between the Lone Star State and other parts.

Meanwhile, a relatively new enterprise figures to change the landscape for years to come -- the cattle drive. Just a passin' venture? Or a new way west? That remains to be seen, but there's no question it's a job for fellers born to the saddle, ornery fellers who can put aside their differences and work together to move the herd come hell or high water.

Travis unfolds the letter as he walks toward the telgraph office.

That was awful kind of Chance to copy this and forward it to me.

He reads it again...

To: Osterfeld Homestead, Marshfield, Missouri

Chance, Jeb

It has been a long time, hasn't it?! Boy do I have an offer for you and the fellers! I'm hopin', you know how to reach Jeb, Silas, Meri, Art and Travis? I bet all of 'em could use some time on the range. The whole lot were an awfully soft bunch! If you have trouble locating Travis, I seem to recollect him saying something about the telegraph and the San Francisco office, just before he left Marshfield? Silas just up and disappeared one day, so I don't rightly know how to find him.

I'm down here in San Antonio running cattle with some good men. We call ourselves the No Buffalo Outfit. The trail boss told me that he is looking for some ol' boys to hire on for the next cattle next run to Abilene. Pay is 'bout $75. Maybe more, depending... When I heard that, I thought who better than my old trail 'pards? Y'all gotta be here by mid-June, though! So, get your asses movin' and come on down! Hell, it has been a LONG while. I think it's 'bout time we all hit the trail, again!  I just hope you broke-ass cowboys have horses, this time! Me, Buck and Bart got damn tired of walking everywhere with you sorry excuses for cowboys! Ha!

If you're interested, come on down and ask for me or Randy Oldman. Randy is in the Outfit and is a good man on the trail. You can't miss 'im, he's a biggun'.

Cole
No Buffalo Outfit
San Antonio

Travis steps into the office and sends the following.

WESTERN UNION SAN ANTONIO STATION

TO: MR C TRAYNE, NBO

I ACCEPT OFFER <STOP>

WILL ARRIVE 2ND WEEK IN JUNE <STOP>

EMBRACED SOBRIETY? <STOP>

GIVEN UP GAMBLING? <STOP>

CONSIDERING MARRAIGE? <STOP>

T SUNDAY <END OF MESSAGE>

He pays the man and exits the office.

To no one in particular he says.  Next stop San Antonio.

He climbs up on a beautiful paint, nudges its flanks and rides hard out of town.

Travis rides into San Antonio.  He checks the location of the sun and his pocket watch.

Seems late enough, he may be there

and heads to the loudest saloon that advertises gambling.

As the sun creeps through the sky to the west, a haggard and unshaven man rides into San Antonio on the back of a tired mount.

Damn, reckon I'm here...don't rightly know what to expect...it'll be good to see Travis agin...we'll see about the rest.

He directs his horse to saunter down the middle of the well used street, weaving in and out of the crowds and activities. Hearing a piano playing he zeroes in on its sound, scanning the buildings he locates its source...fatigued and weary, he dismounts, ties up his horse and moseys into the saloon.

Long assed road...reckon some whiskey will help wash down the dust.

Silas takes out a rumpled sheet of paper, a telegram, from his pocket, glances at it, walks over and leans against the bar.

"My damned head is poundin'," he says to nobody in particular, then raps his fist on the bar top and says, "gimme a whiskey barkeep...I'm fuckin' thirsty."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:19, Thu 17 Sept 2009.

From down the bar...

In your walks of life you will come upon piles of horse droppings. You can walk around them or jump in the middle of them.  That man there,

Travis points.

Silas Walker is about to jump in the mddle of one, so pour him a drink from my bottle.

Silas looks up at the familiar voice.

"Well I'll be," he exclaims, "they'll let just anybody walk into this here saloon and drink."

Silas tilts up the shot when it arrives, throws it down his throat and slams the glass onto the bar. Wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve, he walks down towards Travis.

"Good to see you old friend," he says while extending his hand, "you see any of them other varmints?"

Travis can see in Silas' eyes that he looks weary and beaten down, more than just road weary.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:48, Thu 17 Sept 2009.

Hello Silas.

Travis grips his hand and slaps him on the shoulder.

 I haven't seen anyone.  Just got into town a few minutes ago. I figure this is the sort of place Cole would frequent. 

He sits and motions Silas to do the same.

How are you amigo?  ...You've looked better.

While Travis is talking Silas helps himself to the bottle and pours another whiskey. Taking about half in one swallow he pauses and responds.

"Seen better days than recent ones, that's fer sure...hopin' this here will get me out of that funk. Can't thank ye enough for sendin' that telegram to Denver for me. I sure was in a awful way and needin' sumtin' to do."

Silas finishes off the shot.

"So you know where to find this No Buffalo Outfit? Reckon it wouldn't be too wise to show up drunk as a skunk."

Let's go find 'em.  I need to get my horse brushed down and fed anyway.

After settling up, Travis heads out.

"Alrighty," Silas replies...right after having one more belt!

Before leaving Silas asks the barkeep.

"Hey feller, you know where we can find the No Buffalo Outfit?"

The bartender, a man named Sam, nods as he puts back the bottle Silas and Travis were pouring.

"Sure. The Major has an office just down West Commerce." He points. "And the No Buffalo ranch can't be more'n 4 er 5 miles south. Just look for the cleared patch in the mesquite. "

Cole enters the bar just in time to hear the bartender giving his old friends directions to the outfit.

Still standing in the entrance, with his arms folded across his chest, a large smile comes over his face...

Well, as I live and breath! Look at the what the cat has done drug in! Silas! Travis! Damn, I gotta say it is good to see you both!