The Oregon trail

Rainy day

Alex's P.O.V

The next few days after my employment just seemed to drag on, never ending. We had prepared as best we could for the oncoming storm which was late, never a good sign. We had stockpiled almost a months worth of wood in the corner, and we had enough rations in here to feed a army.

It had rained consistently after my cowboy and Indians moment. The weather was too rough to go outside, if it wasn't the rain it was the howling wind that just seemed to bite through you no matter how many clothes you had on. Sprinting to the outhouse was a horrible experience, if the wind caught you at the wrong moment it would pick you off your feet. Perks of being a little fella.

And today was like the others. When I awoke it was to the familiar heavy patter of rain against the tin roof, any other day I'd find the rhythmic sound soothing and relaxing but cabin fever had set in and I was pretty close to blowing a fuse.

I wasn't the only one feeling it, every one was in a foul mood. In any other circumstance being stuck in a room full of Cowboys would have been a dream come true, but the smell of sweaty males and the prickling over-hot heat from the fire was recking havoc on my nerves.

"Watch'a doing?" Steve asked popping up beside me, "Just drawing," I replied, my pencil continuing to caress the soft features of the pure white page. "Well your mighty fine at it," he complemented, standing on the bunk bed below me. "What are you drawing?"

"That Hereford bull," I answered, as he peered over my shoulder.

"Thought you wouldn't be willing to see his face again," he admitted, I shrugged my shoulders in reply, "Maybe I'm just waiting to put him on a plate with a little bit of gravy,".

Steve grinned at my words, "Only if I can get a plateful too,".

"I need a couple of hands to go out to the north pasture while I go out and check for flooding down on the eastern plain," the Virginian said, gaining our attention.

"Last time I saw the river it was pretty swollen. Won't you need a few more hands down there to push any strays to higher pasture?" Trampus asked him. The Virginian shook his head, "The cattle have better sense then to stick around there, Stacey and I will only be checking out the damage caused by those logs the wood cutters left behind," the Virginian replied, "I told ya' those wood chucks were gonn' be a nuisance," Larry one of the other hands piped up. A few other men murmured in agreement.

"Alex, you come with us. Trampus you take Steve, Joey and Larry with you," the Virginian told us.

I slid off the top bunk. My feet hitting the ground with a thud. Grabbing my water proof coat from where it hung, I glanced down at my brother who was looking at me expectantly.

When I met Clay Grainger the owner of Shiloh ranch, he was grateful for my heroics that saved a herd of cattle from falling to their graves. The cost of their deaths would be ungodly.

He was more than willing to give me a job. His wife Holly was very sympathetic about our plight. I soon spun a story about how our parents had died in a house fire, with nowhere to go we had found ourselves in Wyoming.

They didn't need to know the truth, there were eyes everywhere. The Wilhelm gang had people in every state from Oklahoma to the northern territory's.