Sundown Sinners

Chapter Eight: The House of Fate

"And you're sure they were railroad men?" Caleb asked, his face pensive as he stared down at the fire. It was well into the early morning, the air heavy with dew as the first rays of light began to peek over the mountain. Time still seemed to move very sporadically based on where we were in the story. I shivered involuntarily, despite the thick wool coat now draped over my shoulders and the crackling fire in front of me.

"Positive." Silas answered, his voice strangely serious. "One was a surveyor, the other an engineer. They were camping just outside of res-land."

I glanced between the two of them, confused. Sure, I knew that they wanted to take down the railroad, but they were cowboys. More often than not, native people were seen as "in the way of progress," especially when it came to cows, land, and homesteads. That excuse was used by any white person with a pulse to do unspeakable horrors to anyone they wanted. Why was it so different here?

"You didn't engage?" Caleb's tone was deadly calm. He hadn't even tried to glance at the two of us. "No one saw you?"

"No one." Silas confirmed with a brief nod. "But they're planning on doing something big. I can feel it." A pensive silence rose between the two brothers.

"Would they truly take the reservation land by force?" I asked when the conversation seemed to lull. "Can't the railroad just sue for an easement or something? There's legal ways to get what they want, even if they are unfair."

"There's legal," Caleb mumbled. "And then there's quick. When it comes to reservation land, there's no easement. It's not a private landowner, it's a matter of foreign relations." I frowned at Caleb, wondering if he acknowledged that in this land, we were the foreigners. He gave me a slight nod.

"So?" I glanced between the two men. "What do they do instead?"

"Burn the fields. Kill all of the game. Flood rivers, stage fake raids. You name it." Silas grumbled, looking as if someone had pissed in his coffee.

"Legally, they will probably lobby Congress and get the government involved. With opinions of the Indians being what they are, it's likely that Congress will hear them out and grant them a right-of-way to build whatever the hell they want." Caleb supplied. "But, that takes time, as I said. It's more likely that they'll be doing what Silas described."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out what we could possibly do for the Washoe. Going up against a railroad mogul was no joke, especially back in the 1800s. They owned entire towns, nearly entire populations.

"Why do you guys care about what happens to the natives?" I asked after a moment of thought. "I would think that you wouldn't have much in common."

"We didn't used to." Caleb admitted. "But a lot can change in a few years. Now, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, Elliot. If the railroad is trying to get rid of these people, we'll get rid of the railroad."

"Plus," A tired voice yawned as Walter sat up. "Indians are a perfect scapegoat. They can say they acted in self-defense. We can't."

Everyone except for the doctor slept around the fire in bedrolls made of wool and animal furs. It was only a matter of time before we woke someone up, our conversation not being exactly subtle.

"So, what exactly are we planning on doing?" I asked nervously. The cold feeling didn't seem to be going away, and I was starting to realize it might be inside of me instead of the chilly December morning air.

"We're going to tell them." Caleb answered after a moment of deliberation. "We'll let them decide if they want our help. If not, we'll sit back and let them fight their own battle. We don't want to step on any toes."

"But what if they have guns?" I asked incredulously.

"The Washoe have as many guns as anyone else." Caleb's voice had softened slightly, as if he were trying to placate a small child. "They'll be fine. If they aren't, and they refuse extra manpower, it's their own damn fault." Caleb walked over to me and clamped a hand on my shoulder. "Anyway, I don't need you for negotiations. You're too new at this as it is, and the Washoe distinctly knew Doc more than most. Your presence will just confuse them."

I glanced at his hand before casting a weary look in his direction. His warmth seemed to flood into me from just this little touch. I was grateful, my insides had appeared to be turning into ice.

"So, what do you want me to do?" I asked cautiously.

"I want you to head with Jacks into town. It will be a few hours' ride to the South." Caleb sensed his brother's protestation and immediately held up a hand to silence him before he could speak. "This has already been decided, Silas, I don't need any resistance."

"But--"

"What would we be doing there?" I asked, cutting Silas off before he could ignore his brother's warning. I wasn't keen on getting into another fight before I got a chance to rest. I blinked, realizing that I didn't feel tired at all. Was this another aspect of the video game logic? I guess it made sense. If you weren't a real person, why would you need to sleep? Then again, how was my real body faring right now? Was it tired? Did it need sleep?

"You two will be visiting Madame Justice and Madame Destiny at the House of Fate." The words falling out of Caleb's mouth sounded more like fiction that anything else had in the game so far.

I blinked at him. "The what?"

"The House of Fate." Caleb repeated. "It's a brothel serving the residents of Hangtown. The matrons there are some of the most informed women in California. If anyone knows anything about the railroad men or Doc, they will."

"Is it really smart to send me into a township after I almost just got hung?" I asked, glancing at the three awake men. From the irregular way Jacks' chest rose and fell, I realized he must have been awake too. "Won't they recognize me?"

"Did they take your picture?" Walter's voice was as gruff as usual. He dug around in the dirt with one hand, looking for the coffee pot.

"Not that I remember." I mumbled.

"Then the best they have of you is a shitty sketch and a vague description. You'll be fine." His eyes lit up when he found the dented kettle. He opened it and frowned. Cookie must have cleaned out the remnants when she finished up dinner last night. Now they would have to wait for her to wake up before they could get their daily dose of bean juice.

I nudged Jacks' shoulder with my toe. "How do you feel about this?"

Knowing that he was caught, Jacks' face erupted into his usual wide smile. "An assignment to go to a brothel and get information by any means necessary?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "What's our budget?"

"A dollar." Caleb reached into a bag and pulled out a very well-worn bill. "And whatever you can turn it into."

I stared at the money, momentarily shocked. How much was that, in this day and age? It was hard to do a conversion like that in your head, but I assumed it could be anywhere for thirty to forty dollars in modern day money. At a bar with drinks for a nickel, it could stretch pretty far. In a brothel, however, I imagined it wasn't even enough to get you in the door.

Jacks didn't seem to mind. "A whole dollar? That's a big spend." He sat up and grabbed the bill, glancing down at it. "I'll be taking bets, if any of you pendejos have any."

"Bets?" I asked.

"I'll bet you lose it all on your first round." Walter grouched, staring over at his sleeping wife mournfully.

"You could easily double it." Silas pitched in.

"I'll triple it, then." Jacks teased, folding the bill and neatly placing it in his back pocket.

"Make it a five." I suggested. "If you're so confident."

The entire camp seemed to go silent, before Jacks laughed loudly, standing to clap me on the back.

"That's a deal, gabacho."

It didn't take long for Jacks to be ready to leave. One moment, he was eating a plate of beans in front of the fire, dressed only in his long cotton underwear without an ounce of self-consciousness or shame. The next, he had his horse saddled and ready to go. I approached him wearily, wearing a fresh set of borrowed clothes and a black, wide-brimmed hat that seemed to fit my head pretty well. Per Caleb's instruction, my revolver sat at my waist in a leather holster, weighing me down significantly.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked, glancing up at his horse. It was a muscular, tall beast with wheat colored hair and a dark mane, its coloring turning darker as it neared the hooves. The behemoth looked mean, but it leaned forward when I caught its eye and nuzzled my arm with its nose. Cautiously, I reached forward and petted its snout, all too aware of Jacks' gaze.

"The plan is just as the boss said." Jacks had a way of speaking as if he were telling an inside joke meant just for you. There was a smile in his tone that was almost contagious.

"Show up at a whorehouse, gamble, and get information about the railroad or Doctor Mallory?" I asked carefully.

"Pretty much. Why don't you grab Samuel and we can get out of here." His words said one thing, but his body language communicated a very different story. Jacks stood behind me, so close that I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. His hands had found their way to my hips, where they rested gently.

"I don't know how to saddle a horse." I admitted sheepishly, trying not to show how much I was focusing on the placement of his skin on mine.

"Were you some rich kid or something?" Jacks asked, bewildered.

"Or some very, very poor kid." I answered with a light shrug. Unsurprisingly, Jacks laughed. His touch was slightly firmer as he turned me to face him.

"You're very funny, you know that?" His tone had turned flirtier than before, though that could have just been his natural state.

"I'm aware." I teased, half-smiling up at him.

"Well, funny man," Jacks leaned in as if he was about to kiss me. Closer and closer he came, until his lips were hovering just above mine. "I think it's time you learned to saddle a horse."

With that, he left me behind, walking through the heavy foliage to a clearing where each of the horses had been tied up. He explained that normally horses would be kept in stables or a run, but that wasn't always possible given the circumstances.

As he showed me how to properly hitch and unhitch my horse from the roughly fashioned post, Jacks explained that how easy your life was as an outlaw directly relied on your connection or bond with your horse. If a man was without a horse in the frontier, he was a dead man. Horses were transportation, companionship, and in the worst but most necessary of cases, they were food. Therefore, a good man with good Stockmanship was considered a very capable man.

"So what exactly is Stockmanship?" I asked. "It sounds like someone who stocks shelves with food."

"I wish!" Jacks chuckled. "But it's very different. Honestly, the best way I can describe it is if you just look in your skill menu." He shrugged. The words caused me to pause slightly. I wasn't sure if I was a fan of the fourth wall breaking that the NPCs did when it came to skills. Yeah, it was nice that they could teach me things I didn't know, but there was something about it that destroyed immersion.

Hesitantly, I opened my menu, the world pausing around me as my vision flooded with the same gnarled tree covered in plaques. I mentally clicked on the Stockmanship skill. A text box appeared with the sound of a braying horse.

Stockmanship!

Horses, cattle, goats, whatever the hell that thing is; they all got opinions, and most of 'em ain't fond of you. Learn how to read their moods before you get bit, kicked, or embarrassed in front of the real cowboys.

Stockmanship Level: 2

I blinked at the description, a bit lost for words. I don't know when I became level two of this skill, but it was better than nothing. Honestly, I was a bit surprised I missed this skill description, even if it didn't realistically tell me much information at all. Stockmanship, it seemed, was the skill of calming down animals and reading their moods.

If the level went up, I probably could form bonds quicker or with a larger variety of animals. It seemed useful-ish. Unable to help myself, I clicked on a few more skills, just to see what they said.

Riding!

If you can stay in the saddle without cryin', pukin', or fallin' on your ass, congratulations; you're better than half the cowpokes out here. Ride long enough and maybe your horse'll stop lookin' at you like you're a mistake. Though, that won't save your ass from bein' sore.

Riding Level: 2

Medicine!

Dig out the bullet, pour whiskey on that sumbitch and call it a day. If that don't work, grab your needle and thread. If that don't work, pray to god or something. That's the best you'll get out here, the frontier don't have any time for fancy doctors. Speaking of, have you tried cocaine? Opium? Might want to carry some of that around, unless you want to break your teeth on a bullet.

Medicine Level: 3

Seduction!

Your smile can get you into trouble, outta trouble, or into someone's bed; sometimes all three in under an hour. Works best on lonely ranch hands, drunk outlaws, and anyone who ain't had a warm conversation since the last solstice. Surprisingly, most effective on Sheriffs and other lawmen. That is, if you're pretty enough.

Seduction Level: 4

If these skills didn't determine how easy my life was, and consequently whether I lived or died, then their descriptions might have appeared funnier to me. As it was, they felt a bit sarcastic, as if Bertie was egging me on. None of the skill descriptions seemed to be that helpful, they certainly didn't tell me how to level them, but I guessed there were some key nuggets of information the game was trying to feed me.

Stockmanship seemed to be more about forming a bond with animals than anything else. It would make my life easier once I rode more horses or if I got into a dangerous situation with a bear or something. Riding was obviously a valuable skill. The better I could sit a horse, the faster I could go and the more things I would be able to do. It seemed to go hand-in-hand with Stockmanship. Medicine seemed to be important too, even if I hadn't yet dealt with any injuries. However, there was the message at the end that I should try to carry drugs around. Judging from the medical texts and Caleb's advice, keeping people calm was most of the battle. Finally, there was Seduction. This skill's description actually gave me some helpful notes, mostly around who was susceptible to Seduction. However, if it worked best on Sheriffs and other lawmen, then the game really didn't want me to win at the beginning and escape the jail. I wondered if that was even possible.

I closed my menu and Jacks blinked back to life in front of me.

"Did you look?" He asked, swatting at a fly that had materialized out of nowhere and was now encircling our heads.

"Yeah." I answered gingerly. "Except I feel like it didn't have that much useful information. I mean, all I got from that description was that we use Stockmanship to calm animals and form bonds with them."

Jacks snapped his fingers. "That's the idea."

"But how do you level it? What happens when you do? Do animals just naturally like you more? Can you talk to them? Do they talk back?"

Jacks blinked at my questions before slowly holding up his hands. His smile was vaguer than it had been. Confused, maybe?

"You're just going to have to find out for yourself. It's useful though, seriously. But no, for the record, leveling a skill won't turn you into a brujo."

"Brujo?" I asked.

"A witch, kind of." Jacks wrinkled his nose. Anyway, gabacho, be careful of how you say things, or people will start praying in your direction. You make me want to clutch my rosary enough already."

I sighed and brushed my hand along the large black horse's neck. I wondered if I could rename Samuel. I wondered if I even wanted to.

"Sorry, I guess I'm just used to a different kind of game." I mumbled under my breath.

"The game of life is a strange one." Jacks replied cryptically. "But I have no idea what you're talking about. Let me know if you start flying or shitting gold, though. As ungodly as a witch is, they may be useful for some things."

"I'm not a witch." I grumbled irritably.

"So says all witches." Jacks teased, his smile returning. "Until you set them on fire."

We left camp shortly after I learned how to properly saddle a horse, which actually had taken at least an hour. I learned that you had to brush the horse before anything was set on him or else it would rub and create a wound, and to go slow the entire time, watching his body language for anything else that made him uncomfortable. If he twitched or his ears went back, something was hurting.

Under Jacks' guidance, I placed the pad on my horse's back and lowered the heavy saddle onto him. He didn't even stir. Carefully, I walked around his hulking body, making sure to let him know I was behind him with a gentle hand along his back so he didn't kick the shit out of me. As I tightened the cinches of the saddle under Jacks' watchful eye, I let out a shaky breath I hadn't even realized I had been holding. Finally, we placed the bridle in Samuel's mouth, letting him take it from me gingerly.

I stepped back, admiring my labors as Jacks expertly performed his final safety check. He stepped back, his arms crossed as he gave me a satisfied nod.

"It's not bad. Once you can do this on your own, it'll get faster and faster."

I nodded wordlessly. My fingers ached from pulling on the leather straps in the cold morning air. I felt more awake than I had in days, my heart crashing in my chest as I stared at my horse. Jacks punched my shoulder harder than he had to, but it cut through the adrenaline, startling me back to myself.

"What?" I asked quickly.

"I said it's time to go, gabacho. Get on your horse. We have to leave or we won't make it to Hangtown before nightfall."

I nodded slowly, following him back to my horse. We led Samuel away from the hitching post and to where Jacks' mustang stood. His name, as Jacks informed me, was Garbanzo. Even in the Wild West, it seemed that pets were still named after food items.

The two of us slung ourselves into our saddles and checked our supplies. We both had the basics, which included: knives, guns, ammunition, a box of matches, a canteen, jerky, biscuits, a small first aid kit, an extra blanket, a few hook things to scoop gunk out of our horse's hooves, and the singular, folded dollar that sat in Jacks' breast pocket of his vest. With our final check done, we finally set out into the wilderness.

Our journey from camp to Hangtown, California would take at least ten hours, if not twelve, depending on the snow of the mountain pass. The path was usually already snowed in by now according to Jacks, but we were experiencing a dry spell that the men of the Reeves Boys hoped would last forever.

"What if we get stuck in Hangtown?" I asked, suddenly nervous.

"If we do, we'll have plenty of women to keep us company." Jacks answered cheerfully. "Or men. I could go for either."

"We only have a dollar." I reminded him.

"We only have a dollar right now." Jacks wiggled his eyebrows, slowing down to ride beside me. "But you told me to turn it into five. And, if we moved around a bit, five could turn into ten just as easily."

"Ten dollars is a lot of money to carry around a town full of prospectors and vigilantes."

"You're not wrong." Jacks looked suddenly sober, his smile only a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth. "But we have guns and a well-known name behind us. As long as we aren't stupid and don't flash cash around the wrong places, we'll be just fine." He nodded. "Anyway, enough about that. I'm surprised you're still riding as well as you are. Doesn't your ass hurt by now?"