Jack Marston is at a low point in his life. His family is dead, Beecher's Hope is in ruins, and he has nothing left to live for. Most days he spends so drunk he can barely remember anything, he kills and robs people at will, and there isn't an ounce...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Morning, Viv," said Jack, yawning as he padded into the kitchen for some coffee. Vivian stood at the small, wood-burning stove, tending a pot of what looked like sausage gravy. "Whatcha cookin'?" he asked, peering over the edge with a long, deep sniff through his nose. It did indeed smell peppery like sausage gravy, and it set his stomach to growling.
"This is gravy," said Vivian, "And there's biscuits outside in the dutch oven."
"Karen and Mary-Beth?" he inquired, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the percolator near the gravy pot.
"Barn," was Vivian's answer. "Mary-Beth is feeding chickens and sheep and Karen is milking cows." She smiled widely. "Archie is out there, too. I put him to work grooming horses so I could get breakfast fixed for us all. There are so many of us now that it takes a lot of food to feed us all."
"That it does," Jack agreed. "When'll breakfast be ready?"
"Soon," she said, stirring her pot. "Why?"
Jack looked out the window. The dawn was bright and orange, but there was frost on the glass panes, and the land had a crispy, crystalline look that meant it was plenty cold out there. Perfect weather for game to be moving, and with so many people to feed, they needed meat.
"I'm going hunting," he said simply.
After that, it was just a matter of readying everything for the trip. He didn't want to stop by the barn, since he knew there were so many people there, but he needed Buell. If he shot something big like a deer or an antelope, he wouldn't be able to carry it all back by himself, and they needed something big so they would have enough meat to eat some, dry some, smoke some, can some, and put some in the ice house. That meant at least a dozen rabbits or game birds, or one or two larger animals.
As it was, when he opened the thick, wooden doors of the barn, he had to grit his teeth and grin at Fordham and the women. He wanted to be alone right now, and forcing himself to be social was exhausting. The only person he never got tired of talking to was Eva, it seemed, and she was still asleep inside.
"You look like a man on a mission," said Fordham, after they had exchanged pleasantries.
"I'm going hunting," said Jack. "We need meat."
"Do you mind if I come?" Fordham asked. "Hunting sounds quite fun right about now." He'd been brushing Amarillo the mule, and he put his brush down with a wide smile.
Jack groaned internally. He didn't want Fordham to come; he'd been dead set on some time to himself. But, he needed to remain in Fordham's good graces for Eva's sake and so he swallowed in annoyance and said, "Sure. Saddle your horse."
They rode out into the cold, clear dawn, sticking to the plains, and being careful to ride in the bottoms of rocky arroyos so as to avoid spooking game by silhouetting themselves against the sky. As they rode, Jack looked only at the ground, searching for animal sign. "Stop," he said after a while. He'd seen something he wanted to take a closer look at.
