Caleb lead the small group down a long and little used dirt trail that cut outside the north side of the town off of the main road, following it out to a stand of trees where he hitched his mount, suggesting the others do the same so they could approach with at least a modicum of stealth. From there, they went on foot till they came to a large fenced-in enclosure. Off in the distance, a house and a barn can be seen. Near where they are, there's a gate in the fence, outside of which are a series of footprints in the dirt, as of people going away from the gate.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:06, Thu 08 May 2014.

"Thirteen white men, or maybe with the dark Americans," Sky Dog agreed, crouching near Morgan to follow the edges of the mud-baked prints with his fingers. He tilted his head to regard the impressions in his shadow through the lenses of his goggles, though even without the searing glare of noontide his vision was too poor to pick out fine detail. "-or eleven, and two women with boots."

A bright flash of grasshopper pinged from the tall grass; a sooty hop-flail of raven followed it and re-vanished among the stalks, at least until the alarmed insect jumped again.

"Thirteen," she muttered.  "A bit more than we could take on all by ourselves.  I wouldn't recommend a gunfight."  Coraline threw a glance about before focusing on the house and barn in the distance.  "Shall we go see if anyone is home?"

Darling is careful to keep out of the way of those who might actually learn something from the tracks. He hitches his Gatling pistol on its sling to set more comfortably on his shoulder.

"How long ago would you say those tracks were made, Sky Dog?" he asks quietly, "And is there any sign that they returned this way?"

"Nur-nur three days, probably before the sunrise then," Sky Dog reported, then cast around for any sign of anyone returning. "Then no-one has come this way before Morgan and Bassett." He gestured at some nearby grass, apparently pointing out the earlier trail.

Korpi appeared in bounces, stark against the summer grass.

"It is well to ask the people in the building," the shaman agreed, still crouching. He didn't seem fazed by the thirteen walkers, though uncomfortable in the heat.

"Yes, thirteen is quite a formidable number. We are only seven," said the Welshman. "That's a little less than two apiece. I would favor our chances at emerging victorious, but not unscathed."

Daniel frowned at mention of the number. Not because of fear. Well, at least not simply because it was a larger number than theirs. "Thirteen ya say? That's omnous." A chill ran down his spine and he moved his shoulders about to eliminate his discomfort. Or to at least make the attempt.

Caleb made his way over to the barbed-wire fence, and without much difficulty pushed open the gate. "After y'all," he said.

Having lost the wonderful grasshopper to the shelter of some small animal tunnel in the grass, Korpi took to the air and went to sit on Morgan's hat.

"Omnus?" the shaman queried, rising to pad up through the gate and into the long grass beyond.

Cora's fan tapped gently against her leg as she moved through the gate and headed up the path toward the house.  One gloved hand lifted the hem of her dress as she walked, keeping it out of the dust.  While she hadn't ever complained about getting dirty along the trail, she preferred to remain tidy whenever possible.  Her eyes wandered over the property as she walked, searching for signs of life -- or unlife.

"Reckon we faced almost that many when Radcliffe's walkers tried to hijack the train. We didn't lose nobody then." Gabby opines as he follows behind Cora, his shotgun at the ready.

The grass they walked over was patchy in some places, leaving bare ground, and long and overgrown in others. Overall, the property seemed not well cared for and clearly there were not recently any animals grazing upon this land.

"Ominous. It means...it is as if there is a sign that something bad or unpleasant is to come. In some cultures, the number thirteen is perceived to be unlucky, so when you counted thirteen walkers it might be a sign of poor luck or something else bad," he explained to the Siberian.

The doctor seemed suitably impressed with Gabby's claim. "Is that so? Strong work, my good man," he said, sounding relieved. "When it comes to fighting in the town, I have usually had to carry much of the load on my own, so that is quite splendid to hear."

Whateley recieved interested attention from the shaman somewhere under his layers of skin and cloth. "Ah, omen-us, yes? It is strange - in Siberia, thirteen is lucky! It is how the Buryat divide their first-colours of horses and the branches of Heaven."

Sky Dog glanced over the long grass, then squinted at the horizon. "I was not with these Americans, when they fought the man Radcliffe's made things," he put in. "-though I have hunted Russians, sixteen of their soldiers, when it was myself as a boy and two others."

"Three of you took on sixteen Russian soldiers?" he asked, clearly incredulous.

"That must've been a thumb in the good Tsar's eye."

The house was at the edge of the property, an old building, and cared for equally poorly as the rest of it. It was only one story in height, and of modest size, big enough for a small family to live in comfortably.

"How do you think we play this?" he asked the others.

Randolph settles his hat firmly on his head and takes a good grip on his Gatling pistol. He walks a couple of steps behind Cora and several yards to her right, watching for any threat from that quadrant.

At the same time he scans the property for a barn or stable or other outbuilding.