A Rambling Tale · 4-part entry

You have a nice apartment in the city that's good for visits, but you spend most of the year on your ranch. Your reputation as an adventurer keeps most of the rustlers out of your hair and nets you a few free drinks when you make it into town. You don't care much for town, though you

do look forward to when you get to talk to the new apothecary that moved in last spring.

One fall night your ranch hands return from a drive with extra bruises, no horses, and only a handful of cattle. By their word they were accosted on the trail by Wild Gordo's gang. What few cattle they didn't take were given new brands; a mischievous child urinating on your brand.

Your ranch hands ask you to take care of the bandits, show them what an adventurer does to ne'er-do-wells, but you tend to their wounds instead.

You lost a hefty sum of cattle, that's true, but your savings can sustain the ranch for years to come. No reason to bring more trouble by dusting off your old gear. You just tell them to keep an eye out for any more suspicious doings and don't get ambushed again.

You head to the apothecary the next day. In part you're looking for a salve to ease some of your more roughed up ranch hands, but mostly you want to see the apothecary's smile and maybe share a nice little chat.

The conversation goes well, you talk and laugh for far longer than you'd originally intended, but you must head out lest it get dark before you can get to the ranch. You walk outside with a curse on your lips for not telling the apothecary just how you feel. You put the remedies in your saddle bag and prepare to head home when you hear a rambunctious shout from the tavern. You look over and see one of your horses that were stolen the night before.

Wild Gordo's gang must be having a time of it with all the racket you can make out. You tell yourself that you should just hit the road but you can't just leave your horse to those thieves.

You walk quietly into the tavern, hoping no one will recognize you. You aren't here to start trouble, per se. You're mostly just want to get a measure of the low-down rapscallions what did you wrong. You take a seat at the bar where you can keep an eye on the table that the gang have taken. They're playing cards but you can't tell what game. The only rule seems to be whoever shouts the loudest wins the hand. You pay your tab and head out.

You untie the stolen horse from out front, hoping the drink and game will keep them distracted long enough to not notice.

"We ain't got us a horse thief out here, do we?" yelled one of the bandits from the tavern's doorway. "Cause I'd hate to have to spill their belly when mine's so full of steak," he says winking at you.