Billy Rock (
assassinwithahairpin) wrote2016-11-12 03:11 am
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Texas was blistering hot, in a way that Park Bokyung had never known in Korea or in western Washington. He'd been traveling for four days, exhaustion starting to set in. The horse he had was a skinny thing--bought from an Arapaho tradesmen when he'd crossed through Colorado for more than Bokyung had really been able to spare, but it was a resilient thing. He could commiserate with that.
He came into a small town, unsure what it was called or where he was on the map. It didn't really matter. He wasn't near enough the Rio Grande to really orient himself. Just passing through scrub and sand and a hundred miles of blue skies in every direction.
People were staring. Bokyung was used to that, and so he paid it no real mind. He approached the boarding house and left his little Arapaho mustang at the post as he went in and inquired for room. The matron at the front said there was none but to try and saloon, as it might be more to his style. He highly doubted that, but unhitched his horse and went over to the saloon instead.
It was an effort to ignore the stares. Hadn't any of these men ever seen an Oriental before? There were rail tracks laid not too far from here--he knew from crossing them--which meant they must have seen some variety at some point. Unless it was a rare track laid by Irish and Germans. But Bokyung doubted that.
The music in the saloon did not stop when he stepped in. Nothing did. That was certainly preferable.
He came into a small town, unsure what it was called or where he was on the map. It didn't really matter. He wasn't near enough the Rio Grande to really orient himself. Just passing through scrub and sand and a hundred miles of blue skies in every direction.
People were staring. Bokyung was used to that, and so he paid it no real mind. He approached the boarding house and left his little Arapaho mustang at the post as he went in and inquired for room. The matron at the front said there was none but to try and saloon, as it might be more to his style. He highly doubted that, but unhitched his horse and went over to the saloon instead.
It was an effort to ignore the stares. Hadn't any of these men ever seen an Oriental before? There were rail tracks laid not too far from here--he knew from crossing them--which meant they must have seen some variety at some point. Unless it was a rare track laid by Irish and Germans. But Bokyung doubted that.
The music in the saloon did not stop when he stepped in. Nothing did. That was certainly preferable.
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Granted, that tended to depend on the night, but Bokyung didn't need to worry about that. Goodnight was less worried about being eaten and more worried about being robbed.
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At least it was a quiet night for him, relatively still and silent. It was the early hours of the morning when he stirred again, woken up by the chill.
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That done, he worked on building the fire back up. Maybe coffee and breakfast would help. And maybe he kept looking at Bokyung... just to make sure the shivering subsided.
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He was also starting to work through what exactly he needed to do to pull this off without a hitch. He might need to call in a favor or two, but it'd be worth it. He didn't want to kill this man, nor did he want to actually turn him in. So they'd have to get creative.
Goodnight was startled out his thoughts when his horse lifted her head and promptly dropped water all down his neck, which prompted a shove and a string of cussing in Cajun French. The mare did not seem remotely perturbed.
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There was no putting off getting up now. He slid off the blanket and folded it, and then headed for the trees to take a piss while Goodnight kept swearing at his horse.
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"There's coffee, and breakfast is probably done," he said to Billy.
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"I should warn you I'm not much of a morning person."
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His aim was west, to California; but he was hoping they would hit a town before the end of this day. Tacking up the horses was a quiet affair for him, as much of the morning had been.
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He was much swifter about it than Goodnight, likely due to having much less complicated tack and no extra accessories--bedroll, camp gear, and that sort of thing. He sat astride his horse, staring at the horn of his saddle.
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They passed other riders at some point in the day - not close, and Goodnight was fine with keeping his distance. But it was a good sign, like seagulls.
"We might actually get beds tonight."
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"I'd ride until we did," Billy said, nodding a little.
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Still, he pulled his mare up after a mile or so - Goodnight would rather not walk to town if she got tired before then.
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