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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Bobitron" data-source="post: 2047483" data-attributes="member: 25479">Buckley breaths a long whistle of relief, and cracks a gap toothed smile. Leaping up onto his still saddled horse, he starts off to the north.D'Artois sits back down on a blanket, tilting his hat forward to block out the beams of the setting sun.Reeling your horses about, you tear off up the road after Buckley. Hollering above the hoof beats, he calls out “We’ve got about one mile and a half to go. Careful of holes, this area is awful full of ‘em. Twist a horse’s leg like no one’s business. Clementine Crossing is a bridge built just a few years back! I can’t imagine what fool thing happened.”Recalling what you know of the area, you remember the Clementine is a narrow river that threads down from Lakeport, a small town in the mountains to the west. It’s not a wide river, but has a reputation as a wicked one, with fast running waters. Clementine Crossing is the only bridge over the waters within about 15 miles.As you rush through the brush and rough terrain approaching the river, you meet up with the wide, open space that looks trampled flat by south-ward drives. Looking north, you spot the glistening sheen of a river in the distance, lit by the red light of the setting sun. A cloud of choking dust rises from both shores, and soon enough, you hear the braying of panicked cattle. Approaching the river, you make out the broad forms of strange looking cattle heaving up and down in the river, with most already rolling hoof up, drowned in the fracas of those deep waters. A few cowpokes ride close to the shore, using long lassos to grab struggling beef from the Clementine. However, Buckley noted that they were driving 300 cattle, and you don’t note more than six or seven dozen in sight. Some of those aren’t even wet.Buckley shouts out to one of his men. “Jack, what’s goin’ on here?”“Thank God yer here. We’re doin’ what we can to wrangle up these ones, but most of the others have gone downstream.” the cowboy replies.“What in the hell happened on the bridge?” Buckley shouts back over the din.Jack’s eyes, already narrowed to slits to keep out the dust, nearly shut as he sneers. “We crossed without trouble, at first. Then I heard a loud crack, and a blast like I done never heard afore. That damn Dooley must have set up ahead of us! I found scraps of dynamite over by the bridge, and one of the ‘pokes said he thought he saw Callahan on the other shore. The damn wood's splintered into toothpicks!” Buckley’s face stiffens into a marble-hard mask of rage. Drawing his rifle, he turns to you as Jack rides off towards shore. “Dammit, I never thought that mad Irishman would go this far. Looks like your help might be a little more important than I expected, Marshal.” He turns his horse east, calling out, “You men stay here and get these beefes outta the wet. Cal, yer with me. Dooley’s men probably set up east of here to catch the cattle as they went downstream. I’m gonna take the Marshal and his amigos and show them what happens to rustlers who mess with the Bent J!”Turns out, Cal is the young wrangler that collected Buckley from your camp. His eyes betray his fear, but he grabs his reins tight and moves off with the rest of you.He begins a quick pace east. Once away from the hullabaloo of the wrangling, he hollers out the particulars. “Dooley is another rancher who fancies our herd. When Mr. Brahms of the Bent J sold to that easterner, Dooley put up a huge fuss, saying he was gonna hire up some guns to steal the herd if he had to. Aww, hell, they never got along much anyhow, so we didn’t think much of it. We set out the next mornin’. I figured we was well ahead of trouble, but looks like Old Dooley was serious. Callahan is one of his best shooters, and right good with a stick a’ dynamite as well.”About a quarter mile up, you pass along the river bank towards two small hills. Suddenly, you hear a shot ring out from what sounds like a high-powered rifle. Glancing back over your shoulder, you see Cal’s eyes opened wide with shock, and a rapidly growing spot of dark red on his chest. His horse slows, and he drops from the saddle into a lump on the ground.“Now that’s quite far ‘nuff, Buckley! We’ll shoot some more of y’all, if ya move any closer!”OOC: Spot and Listen checks from everyone.I hope the map below is clear enough for everyone, squares A-H down the left, numbers 1-13 across the top. The horse with no name (hehe) is Cal, now on the ground.</blockquote>

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