Winter in north-central Texas tests a man's resilience.

Travelers find the stagecoach trail half-frozen, cracked with ruts and ditches, on the journey south toward Shackleford County. Finally, in the distance, the army fort atop the hill shines like a beacon for the respite of weary legs, two and four alike.

At the same time, travelers heading north feel the temperature drop steadily over the miles, a reminder of the size of Texas. When men from near the Mexican border--and beyond--reach the northern plains they're glad for their overcoats and dusters.

Most men breathe easier when they're passing through Shackelford County and see the fort on the hill; others choose to give it a wide berth, rather than attract the attention of the cavalry. In either case, the lure of the bustling frontier town, nestled on the flat piece of land adjacent to the fort, can't be denied.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:57, Wed 02 Nov 2011.

Ayasha was packed in warmly with her buffalo robe on her trusty horse. She had been travelling with Travis Sunday for quite a while now, and she trusted him completely - even though she wanted to suggest to go further south for the winter. But she knew the men they were looking for, men she wanted to see again after these many years, would probably be in this part of the land, or they would arrive shortly.

Looking at the fort on the hill, she slowed her horse a little, falling back about one horse-length. "It is probably best I pose as your Indian wife.", she said to Travis with a sad smile. "I doubt I would get a good response if I introduced myself as one of the warriors who defeated yellow-hair."

In reply to Ayasha (msg #3):

Travis smiles a bit.  It's always nice to come in off of the trail.

I don't think you need to pretend to be my wife.  Just tell them you're with me.  That ought to be enough.

He looks about and contemplates the Texans whose company he is about to join.  You're right about Custer though.  Best to keep those stories to yourself.

Best to find a livery, I guess.

Before long, the burg on the flat plain below the Fort comes into view. The Cheyenne and the man from the sixth Michigan take in the landscape as they slow down their mounts over the last mile.

The town is nestled on the south side of the Clear Fork of the Brazos River, with a stream providing a natural border to the west. Two long streets run north/south with buildings dotting the side streets along the grid. From this approach, one can see only the north end of town. Farms and fields flank the stagecoach trail on both sides.

A number of small shacks, tents and lean-tos populate the banks of the river, on both sides of the water but more so to the south. A few fisherman work parts of the river and the stream, even in the January chill. A ford allows crossing and not far past it one can see a cross-street with a large two-story structure painted a striking vermilion, opposite a large lot enclosed by a split-rail fence. The main thoroughfare continues south.

Beyond, the rest of the town's buildings line up in an orderly fashion, at least from a distance. They appear to come in all shapes and states of repair.

"And why do you have a squaw with you?", Ayasha asked, "I would bet with the recent activities in the black hills, people will not be very trusting. I would prefer we had a story straight before we reach the town."

She then grinned playfully at Travis, suggesting: "Maybe you want to tell the story how this squaw saved your butt back in the black hills?"

Suddenly more serious, she asked: "I should probably not appear to be armed, should I?"

In reply to Ayasha (msg #6):

Just tell them we're friends and that we're travelling together.  I'll tell folks how you saved my rump on the trail.

Travis looks over Ayasha.  He inventories her weaponry in his head.

We're not coming to Fort Griffin for the medicinal springs. So I'd stay armed and if you do stay close to me until folks get used to seeing you.

Approaching the river and traversing the ford, the two riders attract some attention of the fisherman and residents among the shacks. No one seems alarmed; stands to reason they've seen visitors before.

Both riders hear a common comment as they pass through the shacks and tents. Something like "Ain't that a squaw?" No one seems in the least bothered, but the question persists.

Clearly, the split-railed property is a wagon yard. Two men work in the yard, repairing a wheel for a wagon parked inside the fence. A hoary draft horse grazes nearby, in front of a small building. A long rail gate swings partially open.

Unless one has a wagon in need of repair, the yard proves worth no more than a glance, because the red building on the left calls out to the two riders now reaching the first notable intersection in town. Well, to be more precise, some women on a balcony call out.

"Welcome to town. Come on in, fellers," says a thin, young woman wearing a coat cut too narrow for a winter's afternoon.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:08, Sat 05 Nov 2011.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #8):

Travis tips his hat, nodding slightly.

Maam.

Horse comes to a stop, allowing his rider to dismount.

We'll need our horses cared for and fed.

Ayasha stayed close to Travis while they were riding into town. She heard the comment, but it did not seem to be as hostile as she expected. She kept her eyes open and took everything in. When they reached the Saloon, she stopped her horse and lifted the buffalo robe from her head, exposing her long black hair. She then sent a disapproving look up to the woman on the balcony.

"I'm not a feller.", she muttered as she dismounted. A little startled by Travis' question, she asked: "Do you want me to do that?"

In reply to Ayasha (msg #10):

Travis stretches a bit shaking the trail out of his body.  He looks to the balcony.

Can you direct us to the livery?

A second woman appears on the balcony. She wears a dress of heavy fabric, with a low cut bodice. She leans over the balcony, showing a notable expanse of cleavage.

Meanwhile, the first woman takes notice of Ayasha, then responds. "I can fetch a boy to take them horses to the livery. Come on in and join us."

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #12):

Travis chuckles.

Thank you for the offer, but we'll find it ourselves.

Travis leads Horse into town.

Ayasha shrugs and follows, leading her horse. She was missing the warmth the horse radiated already, and she sent a longing look to the saloon. It surely was warm inside.

A stiff breeze crosses the thoroughfare as Travis and Ayasha lead their horses past the red building. It carries with it a mixture of stale cigar smoke and cheap perfume.

Glancing back at the two-story red building, Ayasha gets a better look at the street entrance under the balcony. Double-doors fill the frame--one of them is closed, the other propped open with what looks like a stack of horseshoes. A sign hangs over the door frame and under the balcony. The Cheyenne recognizes the word "Saloon" but the other writing she cannot understand, even if she were close enough to read it. Indeed, through the door she glimpses the glow of candles and lamps flickering among the saloon's patrons. It is surely warmer inside.

Ahead, Travis Sunday sees more buildings on each side of the thoroughfare, as well as more intersections with side streets. He is passing by a boot maker's shop on the left and he sees Hatfield's restaurant just a little further. Looks like the restaurant is closed. Ahead lies another intersection, with some townsfolk stopping to take stock of the two strangers. Another shifting breeze fills Mr. Sunday's nostrils for just one moment, this time with a strange marriage of baked bread, varnish and smelted iron. Horse snorts.

Moving in the direction of the wind seems right for Randy Oldman.  Aged a little, and sporting a full faceshelf, life looks like it agrees with him.

He thinks it a capital idea to travel to Fort Griffin; seems he's almost called there.

The January northern Texas road is annoying, at best, to traverse.  The workman trudges on with his familiar friend, Fanny, and his new mule, Johnny.  The mule is laden moderately with Randy's additional belongings, work kit and feed for the animals.


OOC: The portrait I submitted isn't available yet.  I'll change to it soon.

When he sees the army fort ahead, Randy Oldman gauges the remaining daylight this winter afternoon. He figures he can reach the fort before sunset; probably make it into town before dark iffin it ain't too far beyond.

Closing the distance to the fort on the hill, Randy spies the buildings--and lamp lights--beyond. Looks like won't have to force Johnny go to any faster to make it there by sundown.

A mounted patrol takes notice of the solitary man and his two beasts, but the soldiers make no movements to intercept or follow.

Soon, Randy sees that the road he follows will take him directly into town; in fact, it looks like the road becomes the main thoroughfare, with a couple of street lamps marking the edge of the town.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg #15):

Travis notes a local citizen eyeing him.

Excuse me is there a livery in town which you could recommend?

"Pete Haverty's place," answers the man. "What brings you to The Flat?"