scurlock | oom: wichita, kansas

With the money in his pocket from the sale of 'his' horse, plus a bit of cash taken from the Bar after his time spent there since New Year's - the real reason he'd been out busting his ass fixing the stables up was so that he could come back to Kansas with more than a few dollars in his pockets - gave him enough to feel comfortable as he walked the road to the train station in Wichita. He'd sold the horse, the tack, the guns, and the knife, while he kept the few day's worth of food and the other cowboy's personal effects. He'd gone through and gotten rid of anything he didn't need for himself, then gotten himself passage to Galveston on the A.T. & S.F. that was running south.

The plan was easy enough. The train would travel down through Kansas, the Oklahoma Territory, and then into Texas proper. Once he was in Galveston, he'd spend the night, then get himself a horse - somehow, be it hired from the livery or stolen like his last one - and ride for the southwest.

If he timed it right, which he knew he had, he'd hit Green Lake on the afternoon of July 4th, 1881. Just in time for the annual town picnic to be in full swing, which would allow him to slip in amongst the crowd of townsfolk and blend in the best he could.

Then it would be a matter of seeing if he could find her.

The dust crunched lightly, mixed with grit and a bit of sand, under his feet as he walked. He had two bags packed, one with his bedroll, oilskin slicker, and a change of clothes. The other, smaller satchel held his eyeglasses case, the notebook from Miss Warner, the cleaning kit and extra ammunition for his Colt - which was strapped to his hip, along with his Bowie knife - as well as flint, a first aid kit, and various other sundry items that he always carried with him.

He settled himself on a bench outside the station and peered down the tracks, then checked the board on the wall. The train was scheduled to arrive in just about an hour, which allowed him time to contemplate what Green Lake would be like until it did.

Once the train did show up, and he'd settled on a bench next to a window, he stowed one bag on the floor at his feet and placed the other between his hip and the wall, then settled in as they moved out of the station. It would be a long ride, south.

He might as well catch a nap.

It was the second of July when the train pulled into Galveston, Texas. Doc was grateful for the chance to actually be done with the travel. The same with getting off the train and finding himself a clean bed to sleep in.

The morning of the third broke early and he rose with the sun, taking breakfast downstairs and a bath afterward, where he used his straight razor to shave, cleaning up his neck and making the edges of his beard neater. He'd considered getting rid of it completely, but he remembered that he'd been somewhat cleanshaven when he'd made his way to Green Lake the first time. Young. He was still young, but the beard would help hide that.

Once he'd finished that, Doc knew he needed a horse. One that he could hang onto for awhile. So he counted his money, and then hefted his bag over his shoulder and carried both of them down the street to the stockyard. There were cattle, and a few horses in various pens.

He studied the animals awhile, until he made his way into the office and approached the desk with the foreman.

The older gentleman glanced up. "You bringin' stock in?"

"Ah, no sir. I was actually hopin' to inquire 'bout those horses you got penned up out there."

"The ones for sale," the man stood and nodded, then crossed the small office to another desk, to pull the papers, as he looked out the window.

"What's the price on that paint?"

"That paint's got a temper," he replied, shaking his head. "You'd be better off with the sorrel."

"The mare?" Doc shook his head. "I'm lookin' for something young."

The foreman looked back at him. "Squirrely sumbitch don't barely let anyone else in the pen with him, let alone someone on his back."

"So you must be lookin' to get rid of him, then."

He slipped between the bars of the corral and leaned against the fence, and didn't make a move for the gelding for a good long while. Half hour, or so. He didn't have anywhere to be. The foreman could have cared less what he did, or if he ended up on his ass in the dirt.

Eventually, the horse came over to investigate him.

And after several tries at getting a halter on him, Doc finally managed. Once he was saddled up, he hauled himself up into the seat and gathered the reins up, and double wrapped them around his hand.

The foreman called over to him. "Well, you're on him. Now y'gotta ride the bastard."

"He ain't a bastard," Doc commented. "Just a bit fiesty, that's all."

The gelding shook his head and stamped angrily, and then once they started around the pen, he gathered that the horse didn't have the problem with being ridden, but being stuck there in that little pen in some dirty seaport stockyard.

It reminded him of a conversation he'd had awhile back.

"He don't think he's gotta listen to you, 'cuz maybe you ain't listenin' to him. Some horses are just born to run. Pullin' 'em back is like clippin' their wings. It does something to their spirit."

"You'll cooperate once we git you outta this here shithole," Doc murmure. "Right, bud?"

The gelding sidestepped a bit before he was reined in and pulled to a stop. Doc leaned down and stroked the paint's neck a bit before he dismounted and tied the lead up to the rail of the pen, before he slipped under and headed back towards the office.

"I don't know," he commented, as he moved to walk inside. "He is awful ornery..."

Doc tucked the bill of sale into his pocket as he walked out of the stockyard office, and then repacked his bag, and bedroll, before he attached it to the saddle and then hauled himself up onto the paint's back once more. His hat was pulled down on his head and he nudged the gelding ever-so, before they set off.

As soon as they were out of town, he relaxed his hold on the reins and let the animal have his own head and run. They were headed southwest.

He'd find some town or farm about the time it got dark, and get himself a place to sleep, get up with the sun and ride hard until he hit Green Lake in the afternoon.

Then, he'd try and find her.

(He couldn't hide the grin on his face this time, either.)

oom: wichita, kansas - galveston, texas