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"Okay, fine. Is that all?"

"Yes, now GIT! We've spent more than enough time talking. It's time we get to some god damn action!"
Jim then headed off to the stables with his things, making sure to grab his rifle and phone Jose to hold down the fort while they were gone.

Frank chuckled at the conversation, and proceeded to load up his horse. He stuck his pump-action shotgun in its holster on the right side of the horse and his sawed-off double barrel on the left. He then double-checked all of his belongings in his sacks on the back of the horse, jumped up into the saddle, and lit a cigarette in wait.

Jim took his usual things, not the least of which was his rifle, Old Sue. He'd had her since he was 16, brought her on his first raid, and was very intent on bringing her to his first raid as a leader. He got a pack from a carton of cigarettes in the supply cart the dentist would be driving, and got saddled up.

Joe paid the boss no mind as he growled up a storm. He talked a big game, making it seem as if action was only a hair's breadth away, but Salutation was a few days' ride. There would be plenty of time for very little to happen, and Joe was in no rush to wait - besides which, he knew these parts better than any of them, which, of course, the boss knew, just as he knew that Joe would be more than able to catch up with them, riding slow as they'd have to for the wagon to keep pace. More importantly, twenty minutes with these birds to properly prepare them would save two hours foraging tonight, meaning more time that could be spent in the saddle, and more chances to find a good campsite.
Of course, the boss would yell and moan like a stuck pig when he didn't get his way, but he would bleat with glee when he sank his teeth into hot, greasy bird that night, just like anybody else would. Joe couldn't fault him for that.
So he sat where he was, plucked the grouse clean, gutted them and cleaned them, the only sound from him little disjointed snatches of humming as he strung the birds back together, a deep, bassy rumble that you could almost feel in your bones.
The guts he would give Jose to give the guards dogs out back. The birds would go into the supply cart when he caught up. And then he would range out front to scout ahead, just as he always had on such shakedowns before Big Boss Luckett had Joe handed over to his nephew.

The spare horse already trotted silently alongside the rest of the caravan of wagon and horsemen, and it's owner was seemingly nowhere to be seen... Except half awake in the supply cart.

Now normally this sloppy behaviour would be frowned on, but the way the gunman saw it, he was early and was holding down the supplies.  It was going to be a long trip.  Nurse Bluenose who was in charge of driving the wagon would notice a shadow sitting up, then stretching before scanning the rear.

He saw Chief ride up fast carrying grouse in his hand, and silently tossed the grouse on over to the red haired man, who's green eyes squinted in the sudden sunlight.

"Much obliged." the Irisher smiled, packing the birds into the appropriate box on the supply cart and waved as the Injun rode further out into the prairie.  Double checking his guns, ammunition, and his clothes, the man donned his Montana creased campaign hat, and jumped out of the back.

Six feet four inches, 225 pounds, Seamus "Smiley" Burke carried himself with the grace of a dancer and the merriness of any Irishman worth his salt.  Whistling shrilly through a toothy grin, his horse galloped over to his side as he mounted it, and rode gently near the upper right of the supply cart.

They were making pretty good time, cycling out their horses.  Chief was out ahead ranging, while in clockwise formation was Seamus, Punchy, Dima and Bossman Jim to protect their supplies.  It was unlikely that a town of a hundred would start raiding, but it was good practice for when they get into Cherokee territory.

It was a long ride, but with the aid of his binoculars, he could take in the wonderfully droll scenery of the Great Plains.

(OOC: Dancy I would be mad at you for commandeering other characters when that's really entirely my responsibility and no one else's as the GM but we really do have to go so screw it. Just don't do it again.)
Travelling the plains could get boring, that was for damn sure. Jim had Chief scouting, of course. McOakley was in the cart while Seamus, the other mick and the newest addition, was looking bored out of his mind. Punchy was looking like Punchy always does, and Jim himself was looking for a suitable campsite. They had left the town at noon, so they didn't have a lot of daylight. They still had another day or two before they reached the spot, so there wasn't really any rush. Out a mile or so in the distance he could see a pretty nice little spot just to the side of the road where someone else had left their own camp. It was abandoned, and hurriedly too. There was a firepit and some torn up tents. While some more superstitious gang leaders steered clear of that sort of thing because of "ghosts" or some shit, Jim had no problem leeching off of the unknown.

Dima rode up to his superior , wearing a long yet stylish overcoat over his previous outfit, closed enough to not show the underneath yet ride comfortably. "Boss I would first like to explain that I am not Arab, I am Eastern European, and second I wear this gambeson vest for bulletproofing, steel lining goes throughout the vest., hence why I am wearing it under this overcoat, which is also lined. Anyway, How exactly are we planning on dealing with Salutation? Forcing them to pay or teach them a lesson the hard way?" He asked, then took a sip from his canteen flashing the words "Сильное дерьмо (Strong Shit)" written on the back.

Dima rode up to his superior , wearing a long yet stylish overcoat over his previous outfit, closed enough to not show the underneath yet ride comfortably. "Boss I would first like to explain that I am not Arab, I am Eastern European, and second I wear this gambeson vest for bulletproofing, steel lining goes throughout the vest., hence why I am wearing it under this overcoat, which is also lined. Anyway, How exactly are we planning on dealing with Salutation? Forcing them to pay or teach them a lesson the hard way?" He asked, then took a sip from his canteen flashing the words "Сильное дерьмо (Strong Shit)" written on the back.

"So if you're some kind of polack why do you dress like an arab? I mean, you say that thing will keep bullets out of your chest, but there's a fuckin reason we ain't all cuirassiers. That thing will take one, maybe two shots from a handgun and it's ruined forever and completely useless. I know, because I've seen some people try that shit before, and it never works. You're going to get yourself killed thinking you're invincible, if you don't die of heat stroke first the minute spring is in full swing. As for the yokels, they shouldn't give us any trouble once we show up in force but I'm not taking any chances. Their leaders will meet us outside of town. If they don't pay we kill them right there and move into town to burn, pillage, rape, etc. Because they're the first leg and we're stretching for time we're taking no slaves or captives. If the town gives us trouble we kill every fighting age man, understand? No prisoners, nothing. The women you can do whatever with, and a kid that ain't old enough to hold a gun isn't any trouble, so don't be wasting any bullets on em. It might sound fucked up beyond all reason, but that's the reality. If we don't keep these people in line, they'll mess up the whole operation and some other bunch will take our place. To keep that from happenin every once in a while you just need to send a message. But like I said, it shouldn't come to that."

Dima chuckled, "Sir I served with pirates before I came here, we committed some hell of atrocities out at sea, not ,uch more that can surprise me. Plus us Russians are fairly know for our bloody history. If we're needing to take care of the little cykий, I have just the thing." pulling his blade from it's sheath. He let loose a grin showing sharpened and serrated canines, a sign from his time at sea. Dima ripped a bite of jerky from his personal snack bag and looked up at the sky. "I know it might be wrong to say this boss, but I'm actually hoping they give us a hard time, I haven't had fun like that kind since our ship ran aground." Dima chuckled again and pulled his rifle from his back to scan the horizon with his scope.

"We gonna hole up in that campsite up ahead for the night, Jim?" asked Frank. "Don't know if we'll find a better place before dark."

"Да" agreed Dima, "There doesn't seem to be any visible traps as far as I can see with my scope, and who knows, looks like they left quickly whoever left their stuff there, and we might be able to salvage some things." Dima pointed out.

Dima chuckled, "Sir I served with pirates before I came here, we committed some hell of atrocities out at sea, not ,uch more that can surprise me. Plus us Russians are fairly know for our bloody history. If we're needing to take care of the little cykий, I have just the thing." pulling his blade from it's sheath. He let loose a grin showing sharpened and serrated canines, a sign from his time at sea. Dima ripped a bite of jerky from his personal snack bag and looked up at the sky. "I know it might be wrong to say this boss, but I'm actually hoping they give us a hard time, I haven't had fun like that kind since our ship ran aground." Dima chuckled again and pulled his rifle from his back to scan the horizon with his scope.

"Hey, Captain Billy the Kid, don't be spoilin for a fight. All that does is leave one dead idiot and a punch of hicks puffin out their chests cuz they 'done diddly just beat them there luckett boys', you understand? And don't be eating your jerky yet. We're gonna be makin dinner pretty soon after we get to a campsite. I think I'm seein one up ahead that'll do just fine..."

"We gonna hole up in that campsite up ahead for the night, Jim?" asked Frank. "Don't know if we'll find a better place before dark."

"Yeah, I think so. We'd better get things set up before it gets too dark. Have the mick girl bring the cart up. Our dinner is in there." after dismounting and walking up to the campsite, Jim waited for the cart to arrive before retrieving the camp supplies and helping set things up while he had Punchy and Cary get the food ready.

Dima helped unload and then looked over the tears in the tents, "Hm, wonder what made these" he contemplated aloud, "Hey, you think we could just patch up some of these tents? Might save some time rather than setting up our own." He asked continuing to inspect the damage.

Dima helped unload and then looked over the tears in the tents, "Hm, wonder what made these" he contemplated aloud, "Hey, you think we could just patch up some of these tents? Might save some time rather than setting up our own." He asked continuing to inspect the damage.

"If you feel like sewing get to it. Me? I like my own tent, thank you very much."

Elijah had been following along silently, focused solely on making sure his collection of fragile homemade bombs didn't accidentally detonate during the cart ride and cover everyone and everything with toxic fire. Luckily, thanks to his efforts, the journey didn't combust and they made it to their destination safely.

As soon as the car stopped, he quickly unloaded the heavy satchel and set it next to the wheels. Eli stepped out and looked around, inspecting the abandoned campsite. Torn up tents, scattered and broken camp supplies. It didn't look good, but they were armed and the gang wasn't really in a spot to negotiate too much, unless...

A metal glint on the ground caught Elijah's eye. He knelt down to inspect it closely. It was a bullet casing, shiny and still smelling of gunpowder. It must have been fired recently. Eli picked it up and turned around.
"Boss? You might want to take a look at this..."