The Cursed Night
The chances of them being someone friendly galloping in the direction California is quite remote. The new Nevada territory has become a beacon of hope for wealth for caravans of settlers. But also a beacon for criminals such as yourself.
A group travelling light galloping at top speed, only mean problems and you are not willing to be near them when they appear. The ground near the river is slippery and muddy full of brambles and burrows. You try the best of you can walking at a good pace and not fall.
"Holly breaches of saint Mary!" You scream in pain, suddenly walking to the damp floor of the Truckee riverbed. A damn twisted root has trapped your foot. You unleash it and try to control your pine walking over one leg until. you could hide and rest behind an old bristlecone tree feeling how the needles bite your sore leg.
The mount's hooves sound increases until it doesn't let you hear the powerful river. You can finally see them among the lush pines. 5 men on horseback galloping with their faces covered and dirtier than a bucket of shit-riddled carbon; you don't have to be Newton to see that they are criminals.
Shit! What in hell I would do ... You think for yourself, desperately trying to find a solution that doesn't end with you dead now that you can't run.
And you don't like the only solution you get at all. But the men approach and force the rhythm they have possibly seen the wagon and want to jump on it like vultures.
They stop and as you expected they begin to loot and shake your dangerous components. Well, that may be useful to stop them.
The one that looks like the leader talks cheerfully to their company: "Look, Guys, it seems that the wagon is full of bottles!"
A man with more nose than face and girdle adds with a strong Hispanic accent: "Hopefully be a good Bourbon; that and the Virginia city's Wenches are all I need." The message is quickly chanted rudely by his peers.
You knock the hammer of your pistol, observing how your colt trigger goes down prepared to unleash hell on Earth.
Your nervous muttering between your teeth as soon as you press hard on the trigger: "I'll see you in hell!"
Your cart full of highly volatile explosive and toxic substances is like a barrel of TNT and your only chance to get out alive.
You know it's a risky bet, but as a swindler, you're used to gambling your life on Lady Luck.
A group travelling light galloping at top speed, only mean problems and you are not willing to be near them when they appear. The ground near the river is slippery and muddy full of brambles and burrows. You try the best of you can walking at a good pace and not fall.
"Holly breaches of saint Mary!" You scream in pain, suddenly walking to the damp floor of the Truckee riverbed. A damn twisted root has trapped your foot. You unleash it and try to control your pine walking over one leg until. you could hide and rest behind an old bristlecone tree feeling how the needles bite your sore leg.
The mount's hooves sound increases until it doesn't let you hear the powerful river. You can finally see them among the lush pines. 5 men on horseback galloping with their faces covered and dirtier than a bucket of shit-riddled carbon; you don't have to be Newton to see that they are criminals.
Shit! What in hell I would do ... You think for yourself, desperately trying to find a solution that doesn't end with you dead now that you can't run.
And you don't like the only solution you get at all. But the men approach and force the rhythm they have possibly seen the wagon and want to jump on it like vultures.
They stop and as you expected they begin to loot and shake your dangerous components. Well, that may be useful to stop them.
The one that looks like the leader talks cheerfully to their company: "Look, Guys, it seems that the wagon is full of bottles!"
A man with more nose than face and girdle adds with a strong Hispanic accent: "Hopefully be a good Bourbon; that and the Virginia city's Wenches are all I need." The message is quickly chanted rudely by his peers.
You knock the hammer of your pistol, observing how your colt trigger goes down prepared to unleash hell on Earth.
Your nervous muttering between your teeth as soon as you press hard on the trigger: "I'll see you in hell!"
Your cart full of highly volatile explosive and toxic substances is like a barrel of TNT and your only chance to get out alive.
You know it's a risky bet, but as a swindler, you're used to gambling your life on Lady Luck.