Chapter Text
The landscape lay patiently at the waiting of mortal toil. Standing bravely against the harsh winds that infected Southern America. The newly discovered lands were prepared for anything and everything, as they had experienced, as ancient Sioux tribes had wandered the plains with their abundance of horses and buffalo for many generations, healing the land with the buffalo's heart, and giving back as much as they took; but the winds changed with the influx of violence brought by those from other countries, and it was about to take an abrupt turn, with the arrival of one English privateer.
A man and his horse rode into Abilene, Kansas. Abilene was just about as interesting as the people, which wasn’t saying much. The town itself was fairly vast, the population being mainly those of cattle barons and cowboys, almost as if they were copied and pasted to their positions. There was never a frigid day there, always warm and breezy.
The marts, saloons, and stations stayed active throughout the days for those who lived there or were passing through. Many travellers took to the bars and streets during the night, drinking and spending their wealth in the many taverns the townlet included.
Despite the lack of vegetation downtown, the town being generally occupied by loose sands for miles, taking a few minutes to travel out of downtown would lead you to the many ranches and farms in Abilene. Venturing out just a smidge further would make people discover a small ranch on the outskirts of town, owned by a grandfather and his grandson.
The man had shady, brown-curled hair, a black-brown, worm in cattleman hat, a gun rig that sat to the left of his hip, and signature tapered leather boots with a star design hemmed into them. He clasped onto his hat, leaning gently into his horse as they rode into the familiar place he called home.
Dan felt the humidity around him; he’d grown up with this damp atmosphere. Since he was a small child, he’s despised the moisture and the way it always brought out his curls, but he’s adopted them over his adult years. Still, he hated the sweltering, awful feeling of the humidity. The burning air blows the curls out of his eyes and he looks ahead, seeing his dear abode in the distance.
As soon as he gained the opportunity, Dan moved out to the outskirts of his hometown. The occasional fond memories he has of Abilene are tainted by the many horrible experiences he lived through due to the town and its people. A simple thought of his past makes him jerk at best; yet he can’t bring himself to hate and leave this place. It’s a continuous and bittersweet feeling, not being able to leave while also needing to be as far away as possible. The feeling is the reason he settled for the outskirts of Abilene. His cabin is far enough to keep him secluded from the people and memories, but just close enough to walk into town for the errands he needs to run.
Dan brings his horse, Jessica, to a gradual stop towards the stable and bounds off. He pets her coat while leading her into her stall; he has been taking care of Jessica since she was a young filly and he was in his early 20s. He doesn’t necessarily enjoy interacting or connecting with the townsfolk he knows, so Jessica is the only one he gets along with (even if she is a horse.)
Ironically, his distaste for people clashes with his ‘job’. Dan isn’t sure whether he should consider it a job, he’s called an ‘energetic warrior’ by some, a ‘vigilante’ by most.
He learned to wield a firearm from a young age, like almost everyone did, primarily using it to shoot at glass bottles. He also feels the need to help and protect the innocent, which has led to many people who know him wondering, why doesn’t he just become a sheriff?
For one, that required him to be associated with the townsfolk, which was more work than he was willing to give. No one wants a sheriff who doesn’t interact with the community, and Dan doesn’t enjoy the restrictiveness and regulations that come with a sheriff’s duty.
So, he found a middle ground; he became the town’s gunslinger. To him, being a gunslinger is more than just the ability to whip out a gun and fire during a shootout. Being a gunslinger was to protect and fight for those not quick enough to get back on their feet. He’s been lucky enough to not be caught by the law just yet, but that hasn’t prevented them from breathing directly down his neck.
Dan pets Jessica’s coat once more before closing her stall door and steering towards the cabin. The ground was muddy and grassy from the rain in the day, the cicadas sang loudly and violently, and there was a slight breeze to accompany the humid air now. He took a deep breath of the air, enjoying the night. Nights like these calmed Dan down. Compared to his worst days, when he’s criticised constantly by those around him, or when he’s too exhausted to do the activities he’s passionate about. This night has the most relaxed he’s felt all week, the rest of the week being filled with worried rumours of cattle wars between the ranches nearby. This whole time, Dan had been hopeful that the other farmers would leave him, his grandfather and their land alone, and not initiate violence.
Of course, with his luck, this had just been extremely hopeful thinking.
Dan has heard about what goes on during cattle wars, cattle barons getting murderous and starting friction over grazing rights, and cattle and sheep being swiped by competing ranches. He hasn’t been working with his grandfather long, a little over a year now, so he hasn’t lived through the tales of these violent contests; though the tales weren’t a lot. His grandfather has only experienced one range war against their land, and two while he was a cowboy. They’ve been lucky. Lucky enough to stay out of harm's way, despite both him and his grandfather not being particularly likeable by most.
His grandfather is reserved and introverted which causes the townspeople to view him as the token, ‘strange, old man’, while Dan’s reputation as a gunslinger makes him quite controversial in the town. The town didn’t engage with him unless required; luckily for them, Dan and his grandfather didn’t enjoy interacting with the town either.
It’s been a while since the first and only cattle war on their land has occurred; 7 years to be exact. His grandfather had hired a different cowboy, which led to that cowboy betraying him. The cowboy went off to another ranch, tried to start a conflict about cattle ownership, got threatened, and then ran off. The cowboy was a huge pushover, from his grandfather, Dan heard his history of being fired from other ranches was a lengthy one. How could the cowboy just leave after causing trouble and a ranch war, of all things? How foolish of a cowhand did you have to be to risk not only your job but the whole ranch just for cattle ownership?
Sighing deeply, Dan sits on the porch, arranging his hat aside. He sits for a moment, enjoying the breeze brushing his face. Today has been stressful, having to go out to town for the first time in a month. Dan could feel the stares from the townsfolk burning into him; he hated it. It’s the reason he avoids downtown in the first place.
He rubs a hand across his face and pinches his temples. It’s been a long week in general for him. His grandfather has been making Dan run the town errands while he does work around the ranch (even though, to Dan, it makes sense for him to be doing the ranch work while his grandfather is out.)
The memory reminds Dan to yell for his grandfather to leave the rest of today’s work for tomorrow, knowing the old man would work himself to death if he could.
Dan gets up and begins to walk back to where his grandfather is, cutting through the stables to make the already short journey quicker. As he enters the stables, he hears the voice of his grandfather, hollering but not quite loud enough for Dan to piece phrases together. He stops in his tracks when he hears two other foreign voices.
He gradually nears towards the stable doors, and peaks outside; two men, who Dan shortly recognises, stand in front of him alongside his grandfather. Dan looks closer, and his stomach churns, seeing one of them armed with a switchblade.
The man without the blade took a step closer to Dan’s grandfather.
“Listen, old man, we wanna know where yer cowboy grandson is, alright? One of my cowboys coulda sworn he saw him near our caddle, tryna take them. Coward ran off before we got the chance to teach ‘m t’not touch what’s ours.”
The man took a step closer. Dan’s heart drops; he hasn’t even stepped a foot out of his and his granddad’s ranch besides downtown. He’s being wrongfully blamed by these haphazard fellows.
His grandfather’s voice was as stern as ever.
“Now, I know my grandson, ‘n I know he ain’t stupid enough to go around messin’ with other folks’ farm animals. Hell, he don’t even like goin’ downtown. You’ve got the wrong boy.”
Dan knows he should intervene before these men do anything senseless.
But. He also knows how these range wars start.
“And I know my cowboy ain’t blind. He saw what he saw, and what he saw was yer grandson.” The man poked his grandfather's chest, emphasizing his underlying threat of violence
“What’s goin’ on?” Dan’s voice breaks a bit, dread slightly peaking through his mouthpiece.
All three pairs of eyes turn to stare at him as he takes a step out of the stable.
“Who’re you?” The older man, who Dan assumes is the cattle baron of his respective ranch, narrows his eyes at Dan.
“That’s my grandson. The one yer wrongfully accusin’ about cattle stealing’.”
“It ain’t wrongfully if I saw him do it!” The younger of the two men finally spoke up.
“I saw him with my own two eyes, sir!”
Dan's grandfather was showing clear signs of agitation by now as he practically growled,“We haven’t done anything wrong, and I know full and well I haven’t stepped a foot on yer land.”
Dan is silent, mouth clamped shut; he knows better than to say or do something dangerous and irrational.
The cattle baron had gotten in Dan's grandfather's face by this point, spit vacating his mouth as he spoke, “Well, our cattle don’t know howta hop a fence an’ run off by themselves. We’ve got 2 missing, and you were seen by ‘em. So what now?”
Dan swallows, still silent. He hates confrontation, especially of this kind. He knows he doesn’t have many options here; he either tries to settle this peacefully (which neither of these men wants to do) or runs. Ranch wars are historically never settled sweetly and simply. Many result in injured men, or worse. Dead.
Unfortunately for him, his nerves choose him.
“Perhaps yer cowboy is blind and stupid? I know I ain’t dumb enough to go to some dope’s land and not bring anything back. I don’t have anything you own, so y’all can go back yonder.”
His body convulsed, his heart racing. Dan knew these men heard the shake in his voice, and by the looks on their faces, he could tell he was in deeper shit now. They began approaching him, one of them waving their switchblade towards him.
Shit.
Dan tried to back up but struck the fence gating around the land. He could hear his grandfather yelling at him but the sound fell onto panic deafened ears. He tried to think, but they didn’t give him much time.
One moment, Dan is standing almost a foot away from the violent men. The next, Dan can feel the arm-twisting of a fist thrown against his abdomen.
Dan’s breath was ragged as he ran through the night, his vision having a hard time focusing on the ground in front of him. The past 10 minutes were a blur; his bloodied, bruised fist burned. He couldn’t think correctly, just knowing he had to run as fast as he could. He at least had the moon, almost being a guide, as a friend from another life, and finally, someone who didn't pray on his collapse.
Dan knew that some places had to be open, even this late at night; before the confrontation with those men, the sunset was still present in the sky, although quickly disappearing by the second. He could find an inn to stay the night and sort out his plans for this situation. His cheek throbbed and swelled at the memories, he could feel the heat from the blood rushing to the forming bruise. He was not in any mental, or physical, state to make any rash decisions.
Dan looked up, and when he saw a grungy and dimly lit saloon up ahead, he let out a sigh of ease. He could finally have a rest from running for who knows how long. Sweat trickled down his brows, nearing his wide eyes.
He reached the saloon, opening the doors. Lucky for him, it was one of the less occupied nights; only 4 other men sat inside including the bartender. Not taking any time to get a look at any of them, he approached the bartender eagerly.
“Hey, y’all got a near-by inn I can rest at?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dan could see a blonde head perk up. He paid no mind to it.
“Yup, down ‘bout two miles you can find Yellowbarrell inn. Think they’re open til the hush of night. You look like you could use some rest yerself.”
Dan scoffed but nodded and was about to thank the bartender when a third voice rattled Dan's attention.
“Hey, I was also looking for a place to spend the night. Mind if I follow you there? I could probably fix up those injuries you’ve got there.”
Dan turned, and made eye contact with the man; He was pale, and Dan wondered if he had ever actually seen the sun before, tall, even when seated at the bar on a worn down stool, and blonde, his hair almost white in the murky glow of the candlelight coming from the bar top counter, and his dishevelled fringe still glittering as if it was still wet from some spurt of moisture. Very clearly an outsider, with a British accent thick as he spoke, and outfit dressed in a way Dan hadn't seen in this town.
Almost pirate-like.
The man was attired loosely, his shirt unbuttoned down to his chest, clearly not used to the sweltering air of the south yet.
“Yeah, s’okay with me, I guess. You got a horse with you or anything?”
Don’t get him wrong, Dan was suspicious of this man; he was suspicious of everyone. But the ache that coursed through his body laboriously outweighed the suspicion. That was a problem for future-him to deal with.
The man shook his head, water droplets coming from his snow-coloured hair as he did so, “Nothing but the clothes on my back and the revolver on my side with me.”
Dan raised an eyebrow but smiled hesitantly nevertheless, “Alright, let’s mosey off then.”
The blonde shot him a leisurely smirk and nodded, hopping off his bar stool, and exiting the bar. Dan, after holding the door open for this endearing stranger, turned back to the bartender, giving him a wave and a nod as a silent ‘thank you’.
“Good luck.” The bartender shrugged half-heartedly and went back to cleaning glasses.
Dan sighed deeply and followed the bizarre man out of the saloon. This evening had been one of the lengthiest in his life, but he could already tell it was just the beginning.