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Sunrise the next morning. I find Brett inspecting the wagon. As the sun rises, the weather is clear for the moment. Everyone prepares their mount. Brett confirms, “I’ll handle the wagon.” Brett seems a tad older. On the tall side, confident, armed with a shoulder holster, on the wagon seat, I see a high power sniper rifle with a scope resting on a black drag bag. I understand he was an investigator working for anyone willing to hire him, the militia, private individuals, a hunter of people.
“What brought you here?” I inquire.
“Karma.”
“Wagon master it is.”
Breakfast prepared, delivered, but no one with much of an appetite. Frank ask, “so what’s the first assignment?”
“Don’t know. I’ve not opened the assignment.” In silence, I open, read and then tear it into small pieces. The return rate of the scout teams always struck me as piss poor. Not that information was being shared outside the Company, but kinda feel putting my life in the hands of others, not a gamble I would accept. Also, the whole beg, borrow, or steal policy, not the wisest plan.
“Why did you tear it up?” Frank asked.
“Simple, should I choose not to comply, you have deniability.” I answered.
“Here is a plan. Look north. See that area beyond what we might consider our territory? The area lacking buildings, rocks, or objects that might hide trouble?”
“So Brett, wagon master, do you think you might find a route between here and there, along trails now over grown and/or along the washes? Riverlets. A way to move there and back, quickly?”
Brett considers the question. “Well, the overgrowth is prickly, but let me find a high perch and scout out a potential route.”
My goal was simple: exit our position and return fully intact. Empty wagon, six team members.
Eating what was eatable see Brett returning, announces, “doable.”
“So today we build a pathway, collect any dead woody materials, drive the wagon to that clearing and drive the wagon back.”
“That’ll take days to clear,” Frank moans.
“Possible, so for now we get some exercise, exercise our horses, get some ‘fresh’ air, get to know each other, and avoid confrontations. A week where no one shoots at us.”
A plan proposed, grudgingly accepted. Clearly, Frank was not a fan. Small steps. And I suspect it irritated the Company members. Tomorrow, manual labor.
Brett and I walked along a potential route. Checked out the pathway, getting a feel for troublesome areas, obstructions to work around, meanwhile getting to know each other, and shoot a couple of critters for Mrs. Bishop. Apparently, Brett was very good at finding people eventually grew tired of being put in questionable/uncomfortable situations. A man with a conscience. A job left undone and his previous employer was unhappy, wanted his contingency fees back, and now hunting him down.
“Folks are watching us,” Brett noted.
“I’m sure we’ll met them.”
Later that afternoon, met the team at the table, diner, more tedious conversations. Finally…
“Get some rest, wear gloves.”
Hozzászólások