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His usual Vaquero outfit was out of commission, left with the hotel's working girls to be washed and dried, so he slipped into a mismatched set of clothes, a light cotton shirt, a dark vest, worn out worker pants, and his sturdy boots. Not the flashiest look, but it'd do just fine for a bounty hunt.
He holstered both of his Schofield revolvers into his main and off hand holsters, their weight familiar and comforting. Next, he slung the Lancaster Repeater across his shoulder and secured the Pump Action Shotgun across his body.
Reaching into his satchel, he packed extra cartridges for all three firearms, along with rifle rounds for his Springfield, which he grabbed with his left arm before heading out.
Descending the stairs, Caleb handed over 25 cents to the hotel clerk. "Get my outfit cleaned proper, would you?"
The clerk nodded. "We'll have it laundered and dried by afternoon, Mr. Thorne."
"Appreciate it," Caleb replied, stepping out into the crisp morning air.
Morgan waited patiently at the hitching post, snorting softly. Caleb approached her and carefully placed the Springfield in the saddle holster.
Then he checked the saddle bags, rifling through the contents to confirm he had everything he might need clean bandages, a flask of strong alcohol for disinfecting wounds, a couple of miracle tonics, and a few bottles of snake oil. He gave a satisfied nod.
Just as he was closing the saddle bag, a familiar voice called out, "Caleb!"
Caleb looked up from Morgan's side and turned toward the hotel entrance. There stood Jasper, dressed in a cleaner, more practical outfit than the threadbare sailor suit from before. Brown work shirt, suspenders, rough spun pants, and worn boots, nothing fancy, but it suited him.
Caleb smiled. "Well look at that. Woke up early, did ya? Headin' off to do some work?"
Jasper nodded, the beginnings of a grin on his face. "Yeah. First day at Old Bob's," Jasper said, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "He's got a big shipment coming in today. Deer carcasses and beef sides. When I said your name, I got the job immediately." He rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepishly. "Thanks for that."
"Don't mention it," Caleb said, closing Morgan's saddle bag and giving it a pat. "You put in the work, folks'll notice. Keep your head down, learn what you can. If Bob gives you grief, just tell him you know how to gut a fish better than he does."
That got a chuckle out of Jasper. "I'll try, Caleb," and after he said so He noticed Caleb's arsenal. "You're... going after someone dangerous?"
Caleb cinched Morgan's girth strap tighter. "Just doing some bounty hunting. Should be back by sundown."
Jasper shifted awkwardly. "Be careful out there."
"Thanks. Shouldn't be too hard if I catch 'em right," Caleb said, stepping up into Morgan's stirrups and mounting up. He adjusted the repeater across his shoulder and looked down at the boy. "I'll be back in late afternoon or in the evening. Keep yourself outta trouble."
"I will," Jasper said, then turned and jogged off down the street toward the butcher's stall.
Caleb clicked his tongue, and Morgan started into a trot, carrying him west down the road out of Valentine. Then he activated his Map Function. The route was clear, southwest from Valentine, across the Dakota River at Cumberland Falls, then north to Cattail Pond. 1 hour of hard riding if he ride Morgan at fast pace.
The mare's hooves clattered on the road as they left town, the first rays of sun painting the eastern sky pink. Caleb nudged her into a ground eating canter, the familiar rhythm of travel settling his nerves.
He then followed the road down west until he meet Dakita River, then head north to Cumberland Falls which roared in the distance long before it came into view, the mist from the cascading water visible above the treeline. Caleb guided Morgan to the shallow crossing, the icy water swirling around her knees.
"Easy girl," he murmured as she balked slightly. A firm nudge with his heels sent her forward, the current tugging at them but never threatening to sweep them away.
On the far bank, Caleb dismounted briefly to check Morgan's hooves for stones before remounting and turning north. The terrain grew rougher here, rocky outcroppings and dense stands of pine replacing the open plains of the Heartlands of New Haniver as he entered into Ambarino.
Caleb squinted toward the horizon, the wind stirring through the pines as he rode deeper into Ambarino. The sky had turned a brilliant shade of blue overhead, the chill in the air reminding him that Ambarino was much colder than New Hanover.
Cattail Pond lay just a few ridgelines north, nestled in a basin ringed by rocks and woods. He'd ridden through this area many times before when he plays the game, and the memory sparked a strategy in his mind.
If Drew Dallas and his men were planning an ambush, they'd choose a location that offered a narrow pass, something where a coach would be forced to slow down, ripe for the picking.
Caleb knew just the spot, a natural bottleneck near the north side of Cattail Pond, where a rocky outcrop overlooked the path and dense underbrush ran close to the trail. It was exactly where he would strike if he were an outlaw.
He slowed Morgan to a trot, letting her pace herself as they approached the pond. A thin mist curled off the surface of the water, the area silent save for birdsong and the rustle of wind. Caleb scanned the surroundings with sharp, practiced eyes.
There. On the northern side, about fifty feet above the path, a small cliff jutted out from the hillside. It wasn't tall, but it was enough to give him the elevation he needed.
Several medium trees were scattered along its crest, offering concealment. From there, he'd have a clean view of the trail leading around the pond. Anyone approaching from the southwest, Strawberry's direction, would walk straight into his sights.
Caleb nudged Morgan off the road and led her into a dense patch of evergreens about a hundred yards away from the cliff. He took a moment to tie her reins to a low branch and rubbed her neck. "Stay quiet now, girl," he whispered.
She snorted once in reply but remained still.
Caleb retrieved the Springfield rifle from her saddle holster, then double checked his gear, Lancaster repeater, pump shotgun, twin Schofields, ammo belts secure. Satisfied, he slung the rifle and began the climb to the ridge.
The incline was steep in places, but his boots found solid purchase. By the time he reached the top, he was breathing a little heavier, heart already steadying itself for the fight. He went prone behind a patch of undergrowth, the trunk of a thick pine to his left and a clear sightline of the trail below.
He lay in wait.
Minutes passed, then more. The wind rustled the branches. A pair of crows circled lazily above the pond. Caleb shifted slightly, testing the sight on his Springfield, running through the plan again in his mind.
With Dead Eye, he could drop five men at once, if he made the timer count. That would leave three, and Drew himself. The shotgun would come in handy when it got close. He'd have to descend quickly and finish the job.
Then movement.
He saw them, eight riders filtering through the woods, their horses slow, quiet. Drew Dallas rode in the middle, his thick beard and wide brimmed hat unmistakable like in the bounty poster.
They dismounted and began spreading out, setting their trap just off the road. A couple of them moved to cover, crouching behind logs and rocks. One set up a rope snare across the trail, rigged to collapse a wheel if it snagged.
Caleb's heartbeat slowed. Time stretched. His breath grew shallow.
Then he heard it, the rumble of wheels, the steady creak of harnesses. A stagecoach was approaching from the west, two horses pulling it at a relaxed pace. Inside were likely merchants or travelers, unaware of what lay ahead.
Drew Dallas raised his hand, signaling his men. They began to crouch, eyes locked on the road. Caleb exhaled through his nose and activated Dead Eye.
The world slowed. Time bled into molasses. His pupils dilated as the golden red haze of focus enveloped his vision. With practiced precision, he marked five targets, each a vital zone on the head, chest, or neck. The Springfield cracked once, twice, three times, four, five.
The moment Dead Eye ended, five of Drew's men dropped like sacks of meat, never knowing what hit them.
Chaos erupted below.
"Up there! On the ridge!" one of the survivors shouted.
Caleb ducked back, rolling aside as bullets peppered the treeline near his last position. A round clipped a branch inches from his face. He moved left, raised his rifle again, but the Dead Eye was still cooling down.
"Damn it," he muttered.
He squeezed off a shot at a sixth man crouching behind a rock. The shot caught him in the side of the neck. He fell, gasping.
The final two gang members and Drew Dallas began to retreat toward cover, returning fire with rifles. One slug tore through a nearby trunk, spraying Caleb with bark. Another bullet grazed his ribs, slicing his shirt and skin in a burning streak.
Then a huge pain exploded in his left shoulder.
Caleb cried out, dropping the Springfield as the round punched through the meat of his left shoulder. He rolled to the side, teeth clenched, blood spreading down his vest and shirt.
"Son of a—" he growled through gritted teeth.
No time to stay put. They'd flank him soon.
He slung the Springfield, grabbed the repeater, and began his descent, half sliding down the rocky slope. Adrenaline dulled the pain, but his left arm hung heavier now, sluggish. He could still shoot, but it would take effort.
As he reached the bottom, one of the two remaining henchmen rounded the side of the trail and raised a shotgun.
Caleb fired first. The Lancaster barked twice, slamming both shots into the man's chest. He crumpled backward with a grunt.
The last outlaw tried to make a break for it, dashing toward the woods. Caleb raised the repeater again, tracking him despite the pain. One, two, three shots, two missed, but the third hit the man in the back. He stumbled and fell into the underbrush, motionless.
Only Drew Dallas remained.
"Damned bounty hunter!" Dallas roared, raising his repeater and firing.
Caleb ducked behind a boulder, breathing hard, blood running down his arm and soaking into his glove. He waited for the pause in Drew's shots, then peeked out and fired twice in return. One bullet clipped Drew's thigh, making the outlaw stumble.
"Still breathing?" Caleb barked out. "Or do I gotta put another in ya?"
Drew snarled, tried to run, but he was limping badly now. Caleb switched to his Schofield and sprinted out from behind the boulder, ignoring the pain as he closed the distance.
Dallas raised his gun for a final shot. Caleb fired first.
The Schofield's bullet caught Drew in the shoulder, spinning him and sending him to the ground with a grunt. Caleb rushed forward and kicked his gun away.
Drew groaned, clutching his arm.
"Alive," Caleb panted, lowering his weapon. "You're worth more that way."
He holstered the revolver, then stumbled back to the boulder, gritting his teeth as he popped the cork on a bottle of miracle tonic from his satchel. He downed it, then poured some over his wounded shoulder. The sting was immediate, and the blood kept seeping, but it would do for now.
He staggered to Drew, pulled a length of rope from his satchel, and began binding the outlaw's hands and leg. "You and me," Caleb muttered, "we're takin' a ride back to Valentine."
He whistled sharply, and a minute later, Morgan came trotting from the trees, unscathed and alert. Caleb half lifted, half dragged Dallas to his feet and hauled him into the back of Morgan, then climbed up behind him with a wince.
"You so much as wiggle wrong," Caleb said to Drew, "I'll break your nose with the butt of my gun and say you tripped."
The outlaw groaned.
With the wounded man slumped against him, Caleb turned Morgan back toward the trail south. The sun was just past its peak, casting long shadows across the forest. He had miles to ride, and wounds to treat, but the bounty was his. And in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder what other devils this country might throw his way outside of what he sees in the game.
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Name:Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 6/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 6/10
- Charm: 5/10
- Luck: 5/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 1)
- Rifle (Lvl 1)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 1)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 1)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 1)
- Poker (Lvl 1)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 1)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 1)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
Money: 596 dollars and 14 cents
Bank: 40 dollars, 2 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets