Chapter 7

The next morning, as the sun painted the sky a fiery red, they set out for the outskirts of Stalescar. The town was still waking up, its denizens stumbling from their beds to start another day of greed and violence. They found what they were looking for in a ramshackle livery stable, the smell of horse manure and hay thick in the air. An old man with a craggy face and suspicious eyes eyed them warily as they approached.

“How much for the carriage?” Donald asked, his voice firm and even. The old man spat a wad of tobacco, eyeing the gold-laden donkey and the determined woman at his side. “A hundred gold pieces,” he said, his eyes gleaming with greed.

Matilda’s jaw tightened, but she knew they had little choice. The gold was their ticket to a better life, but it was also a beacon that could draw more danger. They needed a way to travel that wouldn’t attract unwanted attention. With a nod, she handed over the coins, feeling the weight of the transaction in more ways than one.

The old man’s eyes widened at the sight of the gold, but he didn’t protest, his greed outweighing any suspicion he might have had. He led them to a dusty carriage, its once-glossy paint chipped and faded. It was far from luxurious, but it was sturdy and would serve their purpose.

Matilda helped her children into the carriage, her eyes never leaving the town behind them. She knew that every moment they stayed in Stalescar was a risk, but she couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret for the life she had left behind. Her children, though, were filled with excitement for the adventure ahead, their faces alight with hope.

As they climbed aboard, Donald turned to the old man. “Where’s the nearest good town for building a place of our own?” His voice was casual, but his eyes were sharp and focused. The old man squinted, his gnarled fingers stroking his chin.

“Well,” he drawled, “there’s Crazecanyon. It’s a bit of a trek, but it’s booming with gold. Folks say it’s the richest place in the West.” His eyes took on a distant look. “But it’s also the loneliest. All those miners working day and night, they ain’t got much to do ‘cept drink and gamble. They’re crying out for some good, clean entertainment.”

Matilda and Donald shared a knowing glance. The idea of opening a saloon and brothel, a place of refuge and respite for the weary souls of the Wild West, grew more appealing with each passing moment. It was a chance to build something from the ashes of their past, a place where they could be their own bosses and write their own futures.

They set off towards Crazecanyon, the carriage’s wheels rattling over the rough terrain. Dork trotted alongside, his newfound loyalty to the family unshakeable. The journey was long and arduous, but the thought of the life they could build fueled their spirits. They talked of the saloon’s name, the games they would offer, and the warm beds they would provide for those who sought refuge from the harsh world outside.

As they approached Crazecanyon, the air grew thick with the scent of gold dust, the distant clangs of pickaxes and shouts of miners echoing through the canyon. The town was a sprawling mess of tents and wooden structures, a testament to the chaotic rush of fortune-seekers. The streets were crowded with men and the occasional woman, all looking for a way to escape the grind of the gold fields.

Matilda felt a thrill of excitement and fear. This was the start of their new life, a chance to leave behind the darkness of Stalescar. She clutched her children’s hands tightly, her gaze fixed on the horizon. They had come a long way, but the biggest challenge lay ahead: to claim their place in the world and keep it from the hands of those who would do them harm.

Their arrival in Crazecanyon was met with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. The sight of a well-dressed woman with two children and a donkey laden with gold was not a common one. Donald’s hand never strayed from his gun, his eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble. But the townspeople, hardened by their own struggles, gave them a wide berth, recognizing the steel in their gazes.

They found a suitable plot of land on the outskirts of town, a patch of dirt that could be transformed into an oasis of comfort and camaraderie. The children, wide-eyed and exhausted, clung to their mother as they surveyed their new home. Donald took charge, his mind racing with plans and calculations, his voice low and decisive as he outlined their next steps.

The days turned into weeks, the sun rising and setting with the rhythm of their labor. The saloon took shape, its wooden walls a testament to their determination. They painted it with bright colors, a beacon of warmth and light amidst the dust and despair. The children grew stronger, their laughter ringing through the canyon as they played with the miners’ offspring.

Matilda worked tirelessly alongside Donald, her hands calloused from building and her heart swelling with pride. The gold they had fought so hard to protect was now the foundation of their dreams. Yet, the shadows of their past never fully receded, a constant reminder of the price of their freedom.

One evening, as they sat around their campfire, Dork let out a series of peculiar brays and nudged Donald with his nose. The old man looked at the donkey quizzically before understanding dawned on him. “Beer stock,” he murmured. “And beautiful women.”