The river has been open to trade, and the River boats are rolling in. Bring trouble in spades. Gamblers, Mistresses, bad guys galore and so much more, BG has in store.
A collaborative western story written in poetry, that continues as the character...
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Paint You're Wagon
I've been stuck in this darn barn for over a year and just when I think I'm done for; the doors fly open and the sun's rays penetrate the musty atmosphere,
There's a lot of squealing and squeaking as the barn's permanent residents, several families of rodents are taken by surprise, panicking they run into hiding.
The world is instantly transformed from a place of peace and silence into chaos, everyone seems to be in a panic.
In no time at all, I'm being dragged and pushed by a group of men, taking orders from the Doc and a young woman I ain't seen before.
I've been stuck here so long my wheels are sunk in the ground and my axle grease has dried near solid.
With extreme effort, they finally get me on the move, out of the barn and onto the track.
Another woman arrives with a couple of horses and hitches them up to my gear and takes the driver's seat.
The Doc and the young woman climb up with a crack of her whip, we are away.
I hear one of the horse's say, if she touches me with that whip, I'll tip her in the nearest ditch.
Fearing for my life I asked them not to do that, assuring them that she only did it to get their attention.
There was a lot of neighing and lip flapping, before they agreed, but warned they could only take so much pain.
I was sympathetic, having no suspension every hump and bump caused my ancient arthritic frame to creak and complain and my dry axles screamed as if in pain.
Amongst all the confusion I caught the name of the woman holding the reins when the Doc shouted Gyn, take it steady, you weren't asked to get us there dead or alive.
I didn't think it could get worse, but we had to leave the rough track and travel across some even rougher country to reach our destination.
The horses twisted left and right to avoid rocks and the odd cacti before we finally pulled up alongside the rails.
The raspy-voiced Sheriff who is knelt by the side of a battered and bruised body, calls to the Doc, get over here quick, this dude is barely alive.
In response, he and Gyn disembark and race to the fallen man, without a word of thanks.
No doubt they'll expect me to carry them back, before locking me up in the barn, oh well, what a yarn I'll have to share with the rodents.
