In town

[snowy_river_man]

The first thing Jim notices is the noise. Carriages of all shapes and sizes -- from stagecoaches to little two-seaters pulled by a single horse -- rumble down the town's main dirt road. Laughing children race along the wooden walkways lining each side of the street, occasionally using two sticks to push a wooden hoop. It's a game, Jim heard one woman say in front of the general store, but it's the sound of all those shoes pounding the planks that truly captures his attention.

He misses the quiet of the mountains.

The night he arrived, Jim took a cheap room at the boarding house and slept fitfully. The next day yielded no work, and growing disheartened, he retrieved his horse from the stable and rode a fair distance from town to make camp. He may not be able to call himself a man yet, but he can choose to sleep under the stars if he so wishes.

Becoming a man isn't something he ever thought he would have to set out to do. He assumed it just happened, like the changing of the seasons or the way mountain storms will blow out of nothing and disappear just as quickly.

He slept better the second night, but he dreamed of his father and the stallion.

Today, the train is coming. Everything is in chaos, people rushing this way and that, and a large crowd forms before the platform in the center of town. Merchants await new goods, local citizens keep an eye out for relatives and children watch with impatient curiosity. One boy dares another to place a coin on the rail; they shake on it.

With each passing minute, Jim feels increasingly disconnected. The train whistles in the distance -- not long now, says a man rushing past -- and he turns away from the tracks, walking toward the store.

A familiar voice reaches Jim's ears. "I've got other things on my mind today," it says, insistently. It lacks a certain gruff humor, but the tone and inflection are the same.

Jim turns in time to see a tall, proud man with silvery white hair slap another on the shoulder and stride in the direction of the arriving train. Everything discernible about the man reflects quality.

"Damn yankee," the shorter man mutters, mustache twitching.

Jim asks, "who is that?"

"Harrison. Picking up his colt. They say it's worth a thousand pounds."

"A colt worth a thousand pounds?" Jim's eyes widen. It's unfathomable. The man shrugs, but Jim doesn't notice. This is something he has to see. Pushing through the crowd, he follows the yank who sounds so much like Spur.

The train steams into town with a loud whistle and flash of color as the red and gold railway cars grind to a halt. It's as if the crowd had been holding its collective breath, and once the train has stopped, everyone comes back to life. Individual compartment doors open, and the passengers disembark to the tune of loud salutations and the conductor's cry.

Jim watches Harrison greet a man with a thick black mustache and a small black hat that would be of no use in the mountains. He has a friendly face. Curious, Jim navigates the edges of the crowd to get a better view.

But the crowd's focus abruptly changes, and Jim finds himself similarly distracted. A large wooden plank thumps against the dirt, and anyone nearby instinctively draws back in self-preservation. Gaze lowered, a bloke leads out the most handsome colt Jim has ever seen. His ebony coat gleams, and his eyes are bright and alert.

If ever a horse was worth a thousand pounds, this would be it, Jim thinks.

A dog barks, lunging against its lead and baring its teeth at the colt. Spooking, the colt lifts his head high and snorts, turning in rapid circles that prove to be too much for his handler. The bloke falls on his backside. Jim acts quickly, stepping into the cleared area and attempting to jerk the lead rope out of the man's hands.

"Let go, mate," he demands irritably, finally giving the rope a firm yank. Some people know nothing about horses. It goes slack, and he turns his attention to calming the colt. Softly, he croons, "whoa, boy."

The wild look slowly leaves the colt's eyes. An observer had thoughtfully ushered the dog away, and Jim can't help his smug smile as the colt’s soft nose pushes against his hand. Still whispering soothing words, he turns to check on the handler, only to get his second surprise of the morning.

The handler's hat had fallen off in the fracas. Curly dark hair surrounds a pretty face and irate green eyes. Jim stares at the young woman and feels his heart skip a beat, while his stomach turns in that way it does after he's had some of Spur's wallaby stew. Someone takes the colt off his hands, but Jim doesn't notice.

"If I had needed your help, mate, I would've asked for it," the woman spits. If Jim is at all shocked when Harrison puts an arm around her shoulder and leads her away, he hides it well.

The tall man with the black mustache and impractical hat appears beside Jim's shoulder. "Ah, it seems we are all indebted to young Mr-"

Jim shakes himself, remembering his manners. He offers his hand. "Craig. Jim Craig."

"Andrew Patterson," the man introduces himself while shaking Jim's hand. "And that was Mr. Harrison and his charming daughter Jessica."

Dryly, Jim says, "charming." He spares the retreating father and daughter a glance, then looks back with renewed purpose. "You're a stock agent, Mr. Patterson?"

"No, in fact I'm a lawyer. How about you?"

I'm a mountain lad who needs to earn the right to call himself a man, Jim doesn't say. "I've just arrived in town."

"Well, thanks again, Jim." Patterson brushes the rim of his hat with his fingers and starts to walk away. "If ever we can return the favor, let us know."

"I'm looking for work, sir," Jim calls after him, almost desperately.

"These are hard times, Jim."

"I know that, but I've got a place to keep up." It seems like a manly thing to say.

Patterson doesn't look convinced. "Hmmm."

"I've lived on the land all my life, so I can turn my hand at just about anything," Jim tells him, eagerly. "And I've got a good stock horse."

"Have you now?" At that, Patterson smiles. Jim nods once, proudly, and seems to stand a little bit taller. "In that case, I suppose we'll have to try to find you work, then. I'll give you a letter."

Jim thanks him and makes the necessary arrangements; for the first time in days, his smile feels honest.