Old West Group

Elijah "Eli" Colter sat on the edge of his campfire, his back against the worn saddle of his horse, staring into the embers as they flickered and crackled in the cold night air. The sky above was thick with stars, the silence of the wilderness pressing down like a weight. A faint breeze rustled the tall grasses of the plains; and he’d swear they were whispering secrets from his days in Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona… or was it just his demons he was trying to escape, trying to lure him back. He hadn’t spoken much since the last town he passed through… people, who would immediately judge him by his wanderer’s appearance, often gave him a wide berth, eyes full of either fear or disdain. It didn’t matter to Eli. He’d learned long ago not to expect much from people. What mattered now was the road ahead.

Poking the fire’s embers, he looked deep into the flames as they rose, and said one word… Montana. The word itself felt strange in his mouth, as if it were the first time he’d ever spoken it, even though it had been in his thoughts for months. The promise of land, the idea of a fresh start… it had called to him like nothing ever had before. He had walked away from his past, his gunslinger days, his nights spent running from memories and men with blood on their hands. His hands, the hands that had drawn too many times in anger, in fear, and in necessity, had remained idle for too long. He hadn’t fired a shot at anyone in over eight months.

It was time to leave all that behind.

He didn’t know much about Montana. The rumors told him it was untamed, dangerous, cold, full of new beginnings and forgotten dreams. A place where men could stake their claim and build something that mattered. That’s what Eli needed… a place where the ghosts of his past wouldn’t come knocking at his door every time the wind blew the wrong way.

Leaving Arizona

The hot desert sun bore down on Eli Colter as he trudged across the dusty plains of southern Arizona, the landscape stretching endlessly before him. He’d been riding for days, his horse plodding along at a steady pace, both of them accustomed to long hauls. The border with Mexico was behind him now, its memories fading with every mile. His past… his gunslinging days, his time with outlaw crews, the ghosts of old debts… were something he left behind with each step. Montana was calling to him, promising a life that didn’t smell like blood and whiskey. A chance to escape everything he’d become.

Eli had decided to start by traveling through Tucson, heading northward along the Southern Pacific Railroad, which ran through much of the region, though he’d keep off the beaten path to avoid detection. And the landscape around him changed slowly but surely as he left the arid deserts behind, riding north toward Tucson and beyond. He crossed through the Sonoran Desert, the heat rising in shimmering waves off the ground, but Eli kept moving, head down, eyes set on the horizon. At Tucson, he took a brief respite, gathering supplies and finding work wherever he could… mostly odd jobs on cattle ranches. The sun-worn cowboy didn’t linger long in any one place, always keeping his distance, letting the land pull him forward like an unseen hand. He worked for a few days, helped move some cattle, kept to himself, and then continued on his journey, forgoing the drudge of a cattle-drive north… he could make it faster by himself… besides he did not need the questions cowpokes would ask in the boredom of the trip.

It wasn’t the first time Eli had drifted through such desolate stretches though. As he made his way through Phoenix and up toward Flagstaff, the dry heat gave way to the higher altitude of the San Juan Mountains. The air was thin up here, but he pushed forward, grateful for the cooler temperatures. There were fewer ranchers on this stretch of the trail, fewer people altogether, and the quiet was a welcome companion. He passed through Gallup, New Mexico, picking up work on a few small cattle drives and making a few coins at the card tables in town. A quiet town, much like he was becoming, with nothing but his boots on the ground and the wind in his face.

The days stretched on, almost a week in the saddle already, and with every mile north, the land seemed to change. The flatlands of New Mexico gave way to the rolling plains and plateaus of Colorado, where the wide, open sky made everything feel like it was part of a bigger world. Eli had grown used to the isolation, the feeling of not quite belonging to any one place. The long stretches of grasslands, dotted with cattle and small homesteads, felt like a new kind of freedom… one that didn’t require running. But the ghosts of his past still lingered, and his mind often wandered back to the things he’d left behind, even though he knew he’d never return to them.

The landscape was changing, the brown, cracked earth of the desert slowly giving way to greener expanses that stretched out in all directions. The trail beneath his horse’s hooves grew softer, the air cooler as the high and rugged San Juan Mountains of northwestern New Mexico and southwestern Colorado, loomed in the distance, their snow-capped peaks visible even from miles away. It was a welcome sight. The dry heat of the Southwest had made the journey exhausting, and the chill in the air now felt like a reprieve. And when times got hard, he would think on Montana’s Musselshell River Valley as a potential place to settle, even though he had never been there, and unfortunately, not the type to stay anywhere long enough to make roots. But he felt he needed to… or wound-up dead.

As he neared Denver, the landscape grew more rugged. The San Juan Mountains gave way to the foothills of the Rockies, and the air grew colder, the wind sharper. His horse snorted and stamped its hooves as they entered the Denver Basin, the sight of the city’s growing outskirts in the distance. The cattle industry was booming here too, and Eli knew the ranches would be plentiful as he rode further north toward the Wyoming border. It was strange, being so close to what felt like civilization, but still out here in the wilds of the plains, where the land could take a man’s life as easily as it could offer him a living. And the city being so crowded, he decided to stay overnight… he deserved it after almost two weeks in the saddle.

He paused for a moment, adjusting his hat and watching the clouds drift across the sky. The wind was picking up, and he could feel the tension in his bones—the feeling of being close to something, but still unsure if it was the right thing. He knew there would be work for him in Twin Forks, whether it was cattle drives, ranching, or something else entirely. But the past was never far behind, and every mile he traveled seemed to bring it closer. It didn’t matter how far Eli ran; the weight of the things he’d left behind was always there, pressing down on him like the weight of the world.
With a sigh, Eli kicked his horse into motion again, heading north, the horizon stretching out before him like a promise. It was a long road ahead, but the journey was familiar. The quiet of the open plains, the occasional stops for work, and the steady rhythm of travel—it was all he knew. And maybe, just maybe, this time, this road would take him where he needed to go.

Eli’s Stay in Denver
The sun was beginning to set over the Denver Basin, casting long shadows across the rough landscape as Eli rode into the bustling town of Denver. The noise of the town reached him long before he entered it—wagon wheels creaking, horses whinnying, and the murmur of voices blending with the sound of hammering from nearby construction sites. Denver was growing quickly, a rapidly expanding frontier town in the midst of a gold rush, its streets crowded with settlers, miners, and cowhands.

Eli tethered his horse to a post outside a modest saloon… the first stop on his list. He’d been on the trail for weeks, and his body ached from the constant strain of riding. He was well past the point of caring what others thought of him; he needed a rest, a good bath, and supplies for the coming months. The harsh mountain weather wouldn’t take kindly to an unprepared traveler, and he knew he couldn’t afford the winter most old timers warned him about.

Inside, the warmth hit him first, followed by the sharp scent of whiskey and tobacco smoke. The bartender behind the counter gave him a cursory glance before returning to his work. A few grizzled men sat at tables, their voices low and filled with the weariness of men who had spent too long on the road. Eli walked past them, not paying them much mind, and approached the counter.

“Got a room for the night?” he asked, his voice rough from days of travel.
The bartender nodded, barely looking up. “Back upstairs. Ten dollars for the night. You’ll find a tub in your room if you’re lookin’ to wash off the trail.”

Frowning at the cost, Eli begrudgingly handed over the money and made his way back to the bar until his bath would be ready. And when he did arrive at the room, it was small but functional… a bed with worn sheets, a simple wooden chair, and a stove that was probably more for show than warmth. The window was open just a crack, and Eli could hear the hum of activity below in the street. He didn’t mind the noise. It was a part of the frontier, and the hustle and bustle of a growing town felt good, like the pulse of life itself.

After stowing his gear in the corner, Eli stripped off his weathered clothes and sank into the steaming tub that had been prepared for him. The warmth of the water felt like a godsend, loosening the knots in his muscles, washing away the dirt and sweat of the road. He sat there for a long time, letting the heat sink into his bones, his mind wandering as it always did when he had a moment to himself.

He thought about the road ahead, about Montana, and about what it might mean to finally settle down. But those thoughts didn’t last long. Eli had learned to keep moving forward, even if he wasn’t sure where he was headed.

After the bath, he dressed in the clean clothes he’d bought from the local shop, a simple set of denim pants and a rugged shirt, his boots freshly polished. The cold of the evening air hit him as he stepped out of the saloon, but he didn’t mind… it was familiar, and he'd been through worse. Winter would come soon enough, and he needed to prepare for it. So, after a quick bite to eat, Eli made his way to a nearby general store to stock up on supplies.

The shopkeeper, a stout man with a friendly but wary smile, helped him pick out a woolen coat, gloves, and a sturdy hat to shield him from the biting cold of the northern plains. Eli also bought extra ammunition, some canned food, and a few other essentials to get him through the next stretch of his journey.

With his supplies in hand, Eli felt a brief sense of relief. He had what he needed to make it through the winter, and for the first time in a long while, he had a plan… something to move toward. Montana was still a long way off, but the journey was beginning to feel less like running and more like steps forward. That night, he slept hard, the exhaustion of the road pulling him into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, Eli was ready to go. He saddled up his horse and headed north, the streets of Denver fading behind him. There was still much to do, much to see. But now, for the first time in a long time, the road didn’t feel like an escape. It felt like the beginning of something new.

Onward to Montana Territory

After a good rest and a bath, Eli passed through Denver, a city bustling with life, yet his restlessness pushed him onward, leaving the noise and crowded streets behind. The frontier had always called to him, and it was to the open plains he ventured, riding through the Cheyenne area of Wyoming, the land stretching out before him like an endless sea of high plains and prairie grass. The wind whipped through the tall grasses, carrying the scent of earth and dust. This stretch of the journey was unfamiliar, but beautiful… promising… a transition between the ruggedness of the Southern Rockies and the wide-open Montana plains. The distant horizon seemed endless, but Eli didn’t mind the solitude; it was in these vast spaces that he felt most at ease.

His horse’s hooves beat a steady rhythm on the earth as he pushed northward, passing through Wyoming… This leg of his journey had taken 15 days, because of the slower pace and the opportunities he took along the way… all the while, nearing the border of Montana. The landscape shifted slightly… becoming flatter, more expansive, dotted with the occasional creek or waterhole. The air grew cooler as the days wore on, a sign of the approaching change in seasons.

As Eli moved further north across the Wyoming Territory, open plains would eventually give way to rugged terrain… they had told him the terrain would let him know when he entered what was called the Montana Territory, he was told he’d be passing through a city called Billings, but it wasn’t the town that drew him; it was the promise of a fresh start, somewhere farther along the river, in Musselshell River Valley. Every mile he rode brought him closer to the place that could be home, if he let it. He wondered if he’d ever be able to let go of his past, if he could shed the blood-stained shadow that followed him everywhere. But for now, the road was the only companion he needed.

The morning sky stretched wide and clear as Eli rode into the Montana Territory, his journey from the south having taken him almost 35 days in the saddle, travelling across dry deserts, rugged mountains, and endless plains. The wind in his face carried the familiar scents of the frontier… dust, sagebrush, and the promise of something new. The Musselshell River Valley lay ahead, a vast expanse of open land that felt both endless and inviting.

As Eli guided his horse forward, he didn’t have a specific destination in mind… not yet. He’d been drifting for too long to get caught up in plans or expectations. His past had taught him the value of taking things one day at a time, and today, that meant simply moving north. His path led him through Hayfield, a small junction town where the Northern Pacific Railroad met the main cattle trail. It was a place full of life, though not a destination Eli felt tied to.

The bustle of ranchers, cattle drivers, and newcomers only made him more aware of his solitude. He’d paused here to stock up on supplies, to catch his breath, and to hear the occasional gossip about the land further north, but it was just another stop on the road for him… a brief respite before pushing onward.

As he left Hayfield behind, the land began to change. The rolling plains gave way to a richer, more fertile land along the Musselshell River. The gentle flow of water, the swaying grasses, and the wide skies above felt like a fresh canvas. Eli drew information from willing participants about the scarcity of towns along the river… except one small place… one called Twin Forks… but he didn’t feel the need to rush toward it.

In the distance, a small campfire flickered faintly from a wagon train heading west, likely another group of settlers like himself. Eli didn't care much for company, but there was something comforting about knowing there were others making the same journey. Maybe it was the sense that, even in the wild, they weren’t truly alone.

For now, the land was enough. The cattle ranches and scattered settlements along the way could wait. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for, only that the Montana Territory, and now the Musselshell River Valley held a promise he hadn’t yet figured out. With no particular destination in mind, Eli rode deeper into the valley, his horse’s hooves pounding the earth in rhythm with the quiet hum of the land. The future was wide open here, and for the first time in a long while, the road ahead didn’t feel like an escape. It felt like the beginning of something new… something that, in time, he might just find. Or not. Either way, he would keep riding.

Welcome to Twin Forks

He leaned forward, pulling the map from his pack, tracing the route with a finger across Montana Territory, into the Musselshell River Valley, toward a dot marked Twin Forks. It was said to be a small town, situated along the Musselshell River, near the Little Belt Mountains. Word was, there was work for men like him there… cattle ranching, a good place for a man to settle in if he had the skills. And Eli did. He was a man who knew the value of hard work, a man who had lived in the dust and the dirt of the frontier long enough to understand it. The only thing that was left for him to figure out was how to let go of his past.

The first morning light broke through the sky like a broken promise, casting long shadows over the flat plains. Eli packed his camp quickly, his horse pawing at the ground, eager to continue the journey. He stood for a moment, staring at the horizon… at the life that awaited him and the life he was leaving behind. He didn’t know what awaited him in Twin Forks… but he didn’t care.

The road was the only certainty now.

And after two days of riding into the valley, he had seen signs of small farms and large ranches intertwined in the valley along the river… but now the first signs of Twin Forks appeared on the horizon… nothing but a handful of wooden buildings at the foot of what he had found out was the Little Belt Mountains, nestled along the Musselshell River. It was small, still raw, like the land around it, but it was a place where a man could make his mark.

As he rode into town, the hooves of his tired mount stirring up the dust on the main street, Eli felt a strange mix of hope and unease settle in his chest… this town was nothing but a collection of wooden buildings, hard men, and a few women who made it a place to live, more than just survive. He wasn’t sure what he expected from this place, but it wasn’t the same chaos and violence he had known. This was a place where he could find peace… or at least the closest thing to it. But as he passed by the general store and the saloon, Eli knew one thing for certain… he couldn’t outrun his past forever.

Passing the railroad station, he smiled as it buzzed with activity, having witnessed the train arriving and departing, bringing goods, cattle, and newcomers to this raw frontier town. It was bustling, alive with the promise of a new beginning, but for Eli, it felt like a momentary respite before the next challenge. He had no plan. He never did. He only knew that this Twin Forks was his next stop, a place where maybe, just maybe, he could leave behind the ghosts that haunted him. His past, always just behind him, would eventually catch up. But for now, it was the future he was chasing.

Deeper into the town square, where the main street was lined with saloons, general stores, and ranch offices. The railroad had brought in the promise of progress, and people were beginning to settle. He could already hear the laughter and music coming from one of the larger saloons… the sign said, color=tan]Silver Spur Saloon[/color], apparently where the richer folk gathered for their pleasures. He didn’t plan to stay long in that world. That wasn’t the kind of life he wanted.

Instead, he made his way to a quieter part of town, a little off the beaten path, where he spotted a few ranching buildings and a simple general store. The smell of fresh bread lingered in the air. Eli had no particular destination in mind, just a hunch that the right job would find him if he kept his eyes open and his feet moving.

Eli tethered his horse outside the general store, his boots hitting the dirt with a heavy thud. The town didn’t know him, didn’t care who he was or what he’d done before. He could start fresh here, or he could drift again. But for the first time in a long while, he felt the pull of something deeper, something that called him to stay. He pushed open the door to the store, the bell above it chiming softly as he stepped inside, ready to face whatever this town had to offer.

Inside, a man was stocking shelves while an older woman worked behind the counter. She looked up at Eli with a sharp, calculating gaze. He didn’t blame her. A man like him, with his unkempt hair sticking from under the hat, and weathered face, likely had the air of trouble about him.

“What can I do for you, stranger?” the woman asked, her voice polite but not welcoming.

Eli gave her a simple nod. “I’m looking for a place for a few days, and maybe some work,” he said, his voice rough from days of riding.

She paused for a moment, studying him before answering. “Let’s see… a place ta stay would be the Hotel… or the Silver Spur has rooms… and I think Ms Hamilton may have rooms in her house for room and board.”

Then the woman paused, her finger tracing her chin… “As for work, you don’t look like the miner type… besides the Garrisons own most of the mines… so I figger a cowhand…?”

Eli just huffed and smiled… “Yessum; Oh, I saw the Spur and the hotel… I will find something.” Pausing. “No ma’am, not a miner… I wanna stay on top of the ground…” and he broke a smile.

The woman returned the smile… “Well, there are a few farmers… but ‘round here, mostly ranchers… a bunch of small ranches, but doubt they are hirin’…” she paused and inhaled, taking a glance to her husband who looked down from the ladder…

Then she looked back to Eli and spoke softly… “Then there is the Johnsons… they own the Red Rock Ranch, a bit to the north… but most likely there’s work on the Whittaker Ranch, but that’s about ten miles south of here. Then there is the Montgomery’s, Esbardee Ranch (S—D)… they could always use a hand too, though they’re particular about who they hire.”

She paused again, adding, “Might want to talk to Sheriff Calloway, too. He’s got an ear for trouble.”

Eli didn’t need to ask what kind of trouble. There was always trouble… always had been. But the Montgomery Ranch seemed like a good start. The man had built something solid, just like Eli wanted to do. “Thank ya Ma’am… I’ll head to the Montgomery Ranch then,” Eli said, tipping his hat, then looking up to the man and nodded silently.

As he turned to leave, the woman’s voice stopped him. “You’re here to stay?” she asked, not unkindly.

Eli paused at the door and glanced back at her. “Maybe,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words. “Maybe not.”

He stepped out into the sun, letting the silence settle between him and the town. Twin Forks was just the beginning. And for the first time in years, Eli felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the place where the road stopped, and his past finally faded into the distance. The winds of the frontier were calling him forward, but for the first time, he didn’t feel like he was running.

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