In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #19):

We're here to meet up with some old trail mates. Travis says.  Probably need a bed and bath as well, if you have any recommendations. 

Travis points down the main thoroughfare.  Haverty's is down this way?

"Yep. Turn left on fourth street."

Both Travis and Ayasha notice that most of the folks gathered in this intersection have their gazes fixed on the Cheyenne. It ain't exactly starin', but is curious.

Ayasha also notices that the building on the corner where a few folks have congregrated appears to be a bakery. The wind shifts a little, wafting the smell of baked goods for a moment and then the smell of iron the next.

Ayasha feels uncomfortable being stared at by all these white folk, but she does not show it. Instead, she keeps following Travis, always a step behind him. When she smells the baked goods, her stomach growls a little.

"Hmm, that smells good.", she hints.

As it happens, Ayasha also notices a few black folks here, too. And just as she speaks, she sees a short Indian woman among the crowd.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #17):

By the time Randy reaches the edge of town, he feels his dogs barking.  Traveling on wintery roads is difficult.  He recalls it hasn't been as bad as the days in Colorado and California.  It's not always safe to ride a horse on slushy roads.

He brings his beasts in close, so as to not bump a pedestrian or force another rider to the side.

Randy enters the town from the South.  From the lamplight, he reads as many signs as he can.  From shops and hotels to businesses and outfitters--the hodgepodge of establishments is what most towns are looking like these days.

"The Frontier House?" he asks of a passerby.

He's told up yonder is Second Street, the Frontier is to the right.

A few minutes later, Randy stands before this place he's heard of twice before, although in little detail.

As Randy Oldman approaches the intersection of Second Street and Parson, walking with blinders on much like his mule, he sees what looks like a large barn on the corner, partially lit and partially in shadows of the street corner lamp. If it weren't for the crowd of people gathered around the barn, he might have kept looking for the Frontier House.

Drawing close and joining the crowd, Randy hears a mellifluous sound--a voice he remembers from Fort Worth. He can't spy the source, but his ears welcome the sound, until he turns the corner and sees that the people have assembled in front of a porch leading to two 10-feet high ornate doors.

With a skill honed over many such orations, a raven-haired woman tempts and cajoles the crowd with a promising recitation of the night's fare. It seems as if everyone has coins at the ready.

In reply to Ayasha (msg #22):

That does smell good.  I could walk the horses down to the livery and meet you back here or we could go together and then get something to eat.

Pausing to converse, the two riders get a better look at the establishment on the corner.

http://www.doghouserules.net/d...in/StreetScene02.tif

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #27):

Travis begins leading Horse down the street.  The good smells of the bakery eliciting a measure of happiness reflected in a whistled tune from his lips.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #25):

That must be Soledad, because that lovely voice is unmistakable.  Randy looks to the speaker and if the lights play no tricks it must be the lady he encountered last year.

He positions himself for a better view.  I look like the road rode me.  I hope she pays me no mind.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg #28):

Travis Sunday continues down the main thoroughare. Ayasha follows. The crowd around the bakery disperses, folks going about their business.

Spying one-story saloons on both sides of the street, the two newcomers notice that soldiers are the predominant patrons this early afternoon. Actually, it seems most of the buildings along this stretch are small saloons dotted with blue uniforms, although an outfitter occupies one of the buildings on the left. And a strong building with a 20-foot long front porch sits on a lot to the right. The shuttered windows and reinforced door differentiate it from the other establishments. Travis sees the modest sign near the door. "Sheriff."

A more sizable saloon anchors the corner of an upcoming intersection. Travis recalls that the feller on the street told him to turn on Fourth Street. The man from the sixth Michigan scratches his head. Is this the third, or fourth intersection so far? Without a signpost to help guide him, he realizes he's only guessing. And he hadn't reasoned to start counting when they rode into town; nor did he know from which end to start the counting.

Fortunately, a simple glance to his left resolves the question. The side street widens just a ways beyond, leading up to a corral and barn.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:11, Sun 13 Nov 2011.

In reply to Randy Oldman (msg #29):

The raven-haired woman's speech draws to a close. It is her, Randy has no doubt. So captivating is her voice that Randy almost misses her actual words. She extols the talents of Muriel and Jules Hervey, on hand for an exclusive engagement. She finishes by singing a brief verse and invites everyone to secure a seat before they're all taken.

Randy has noticed that several of the men in the crowd are soldiers. A tall feller on the porch organizes a line, with the soldiers falling in like they're expecting grub and the rest of the folks following suit.

Soledad ducks behind the tall man, pausing for a moment to look in Randy's direction before disappearing into the Frontier House.

Ayasha sighs as her subtle hint was missed, but she keeps following Travis. All the blue-coats in town make her quite nervous. Who knows what they might do.

When Travis stops to look around, she spies the corral and barn. "I think that there is where we are headed, right?", she says.

In reply to Ayasha (msg #32):

I reckon.  Travis leads Horse to the corral looking for a hired hand or proprietor.

As Travis advances to the square split-rail corral he sees two horses there. Rather than a hired hand or proprietor, a black and white dog greets the two riders. It comes to the gate, wagging a hearty hello, without barking.

The barn itself forms the fourth wall of the corral, which is big enough for a few ponies to mill about, but not big enough to exercise even one.

ENS steps out of the Planter's Hotel, takes a deep breath of the crisp air, and straightens his tie and suit coat. Winter, eh? More like a late spring day in the Alps!

He's either kept to himself, resting up after the road, or been talking to Mr. Keenan, the druggist, during the two days he's been in town. But today he's decided to see what entertainments the town offers. If I winter here, I should ask for work from Mr. Keenan... but not just yet!

He turns and walks briskly towards Griffin Avenue.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:53, Tue 15 Nov 2011.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #34):

Travis lowers himself and allows the dog to smell him through the split rail..

Good boy. He says and scratches behind the ear.

He stands, looks to Ayasha for any indication that she sees anything he may have missed.  Seeing none he raises his voice slightly.

Hello in the livery.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg #35):

The young professor walks between the stable on north side of the street and the squat bank on the south, soon finding himself at the corner of Griffin and Fourth. Across the intersection he sees two prominent saloons. One of them belongs to a man named Meyer, ENS recalls, while the other bears the name of an ex-prizefighter, John Shanssey. Although Mr. Keenan told him that much, ENS simply can't recall which saloon is which.

Moving a little closer, the professor sees a sign on hanging over the front porch of the saloon to the north. Shannsey's. Barely noon, but already a handful of men had gathered on the porch. Double doors, propped open, provide ingress from the porch. As ENS approaches to read the sign, one of the men spit over the edge of the porch. The brown paste lands within a meter of the professor's boot.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg #36):

The dog, a male, wags its tail again, seemingly looking Travis Sunday directly in the eye. When the man from the sixth Michigan calls out, the dog turns and runs into the barn.

Moments later, a black-haired boy on the verge of adolescence bursts through the barn door, only a step behind the returning stable dog. He slows down and takes in the sight of the two travelers, holding a stiff bristled brush in his right hand.

"Howdy," he says.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #37):

Ignoring the small insult, ENS addresses the men.

Good day gentlemen, would you recommend this place for a good meal?

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #38):

Howdy.

Travis loops Horse's reins over the fence.

We'll need our Horses fed, groomed and looked after.  What's the charge for your services, should you be available young squire?

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg #39):

The man who spit answers. "Nope."

The professor catches a glimpse of activity beyond the double doors. Looks like the place is just opening. He sees an ornate bar and what appear to be a few gaming tables.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg #40):

"It's 30 cents a night, sir. Fifty if you want 'em groomed." The kid pauses. "But we're near full-up. Do them two . . . get along?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, suggestively.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #41):

To bad, well the whiskey must be good then, right?

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #42):

Travis, decidedly unexpert in animal husbandry, looks to Ayasha then back to the boy.

What are you suggesting?  Sharing a stall?

Travis looks back to Ayasha gross indecision on his face.