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"Yeah, I heard," the other man replied. "Sheriff's got the doctor in custody, but he's saying he doesn't know anything about it. Says he was tending to some patrons at the saloon last night when it happened. His alibi checks out, though. Guess the investigation's still underway."
Caleb's stomach churned at the mention of the bodies, but he forced himself to stay calm. He had covered his tracks well, and there was no reason to believe anyone would connect him to the killings. Still, he knew he had to be careful. The O'Driscolls were a dangerous gang, and if they found out what he had done, they would come after him.
The bath was ready soon after, and Caleb stepped into the small, steamy room. He sank into the hot water, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles. As he washed away the grime and blood of the previous night, he tried to clear his mind. He couldn't afford to dwell on the past. He had to focus on the future.
When he emerged from the bath, he felt refreshed, both physically and mentally. The weight of his actions still lingered, but it was no longer crushing. He had made his peace with what he had done, and he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
Caleb stepped out into the morning sunlight through the front door, his satchel slung over his shoulder and the Schofield Revolver tucked into his belt. The town of Valentine was waking up, the streets bustling with activity. He had survived his first real test in this world, but he knew it was only the beginning.
He adjusted his hat, pulling it low over his eyes, and made his way down the wooden steps. The town was already alive with activity—horses clip-clopped along the dirt roads, townsfolk chatted outside the saloon, and the faint sound of a blacksmith's hammer rang out in the distance. Caleb kept to himself, his satchel slung over his shoulder and the Schofield Revolver tucked securely into his belt. He had a mission in mind, and he wasn't about to let anything distract him.
He crossed the street, his boots crunching against the dirt, and approached Worth's General Store, the only general store in Valentine's.
Caleb looked at the building in detail now that he was on his second day at Valentine, where it was modest, and its wooden facade weathered but sturdy, with a sign hanging above the door that read "Worth's General Store – Supplies for All Your Needs." Caleb pushed the door open, the bell above it jingling softly as he stepped inside.
The store was cozy, with shelves lined with canned goods, tools, and various supplies. The air smelled of wood polish and dried herbs, and the faint hum of conversation filled the room. Behind the counter stood who should be Mr. Worth, the middle aged man with a neatly trimmed mustache and a friendly demeanor he met yesterday.
He looked up from the ledger he was writing in and smiled as Caleb entered.
"Morning, young man," Mr. Worth said, his voice warm but businesslike. "What can I do for you today?"
Caleb nodded politely, stepping closer to the counter. "Morning, Mr. Worth. I'm looking to buy some new clothes, shirts, pants, boots, and a coat. Something practical and affordable, if you've got it."
Mr. Worth raised an eyebrow, clearly recognizing Caleb from the day before. "Ah, right. You were in here yesterday, weren't you? Looking for work, if I recall."
"That's right," Caleb said, keeping his tone neutral. "Thanks to you I found some work in the stable and the butcher stall, but my clothes are in rough shape. Need something that'll hold up."
"Understandable," Mr. Worth said, nodding. He reached under the counter and pulled out a thick catalog, flipping through the pages until he found the section on clothing. "Here we are. Let's see… shirts, pants, boots, and coats. I've got a few options under five dollars each. They're not the fanciest, mind you, but they'll get the job done."
Caleb leaned over the counter, scanning the catalog. The designs were simple and utilitarian, plain shirts in neutral colors, sturdy pants made of rough spun fabric, boots that looked durable but lacked any decorative flair, and coats that were more functional than fashionable.
It wasn't exactly stylish, but Caleb didn't care. Practicality was his priority, especially since he didn't have a steady source of income yet.
"These'll do," Caleb said, pointing to a few items in the catalog. "Can you check if you've got them in stock?"
"Of course," Mr. Worth said, setting the catalog aside and moving to the shelves. He began pulling items down, checking sizes and quality as he went. While Mr. Worth worked, Caleb took the opportunity to count his money.
He reached into his satchel and pulled out the stack of bills he had taken from the O'Driscolls. After paying for the hotel room, 5 dollars for five nights, and the hot bath 25 cents, he was left with 71 dollars and 25 cents.
It wasn't a fortune, but it was enough to keep him going for a while. Still, Caleb knew he had to be careful with his spending. Every dollar counted in this world, and he couldn't afford to waste any.
Mr. Worth returned to the counter with a pile of clothes, a plain black long sleeve shirt, a pair of dark trousers, a pair of sturdy worker boots, and a slightly worn out duster coat. "Here you go," he said, laying them out for Caleb to inspect. "All under 5 dollars each, just like you asked. Good quality, too. They'll last you a good while if you take care of them."
Caleb examined the items, running his hands over the fabric. The shirt and pants were simple but well-made, the boots were solid and comfortable, and the coat was thick enough to keep him warm during chilly nights. It wasn't glamorous, but it was exactly what he needed.
"I'll take them," Caleb said, nodding. "How much for everything?"
Mr. Worth did a quick calculation, scribbling numbers on a piece of paper. "Let's see… shirt's 3 dollars, pants are 4, boots are 5, and the coat's 5. That'll be 17 dollars total."
Caleb handed over the money, trying not to wince at the dent it put in his savings. But he knew it was a necessary expense. He couldn't afford to walk around in bloodstained clothes, and he needed gear that would hold up in the harsh conditions of the frontier.
"Pleasure doing business with you," Mr. Worth said, handing Caleb the clothes and his change. "You need anything else? Ammo, supplies, maybe a new hat?"
Caleb wanted to refuse Mr. Worth's offer at first, but then he remembered that he was low on ammo for the Schofield Revolver. He had six rounds already loaded in the revolver, but he didn't have any spare cartridges. That was a problem. In a world as dangerous as this, running out of bullets could mean the difference between life and death.
"Actually," Caleb said, hesitating for a moment before nodding, "I'll take some revolver cartridges. How much for a box?"
Mr. Worth's eyes lit up at the prospect of another sale. "Revolver cartridges, you say? The standard price is a dollar for sixty rounds. Good quality, too. Made by Smith & Wesson."
Caleb did the math in his head. He had just spent seventeen dollars on clothes, leaving him with 54 dollars and 25 cents. Spending 3 dollars on ammo would still leave him with a decent amount of money around 51 dollars and 25 cents, having extra bullets was a necessity he couldn't ignore.
"I'll take three boxes," Caleb said, pulling out 3 dollars and handing them to Mr. Worth. "That should give me enough to last a while."
Mr. Worth nodded, clearly pleased with the sale. He reached under the counter and pulled out three small boxes of revolver cartridges, each neatly labeled with the manufacturer's name. "Here you go," he said, sliding them across the counter. "Three boxes, sixty rounds each. That's one hundred and eighty rounds total. Should keep you well stocked for a good while."
Caleb picked up the boxes, tucking them carefully into his satchel. The weight of the ammo was reassuring, and he felt a small sense of security knowing he wouldn't run out of bullets anytime soon. "Thanks," he said, nodding to Mr. Worth. "I appreciate it."
"Anytime," Mr. Worth replied with a smile. "You take care now, and come back if you need anything else."
Caleb left the store, the bell jingling softly behind him. The morning sun was warm on his face as he stepped back onto the street, his new clothes tucked under his arm and his satchel now heavier with the added weight of the ammo. He made his way back to the hotel, his stomach growling as he realized he hadn't eaten since the previous night.
Once inside his room, Caleb quickly changed into his new clothes. The plain black long-sleeve shirt fit snugly, the dark trousers were comfortable and practical, and the sturdy worker boots felt solid on his feet.
The slightly worn out duster coat was a bit heavy, but it would keep him warm during chilly nights. He adjusted the collar, looking at himself in the cracked mirror on the wall. The outfit wasn't stylish, but it was functional, exactly what he needed.
With his new clothes on and his satchel slung over his shoulder, Caleb felt ready to face the day. But first, he needed food. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten a proper meal in hours. He grabbed his hat and headed out the door, making his way to Smithfield's Saloon, the only saloon in Valentine's.
As he approached the saloon, Caleb's memory skill kicked in, pulling up details from the game. Smithfield's Saloon was a rough and tumble place, frequented by cowboys, gamblers, and drifters. It was the heart of Valentine's social life, but it was also where trouble tended to brew. Caleb knew he'd have to be careful, but he was too hungry to care.
He pushed open the saloon doors, the sound of laughter and piano music spilling out into the street. The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of tobacco, alcohol, and sweat. A few patrons glanced his way as he entered, their eyes lingering on him for a moment before they returned to their drinks and conversations. Caleb ignored them, keeping his head down as he made his way to the bar.
The bartender, a burly man with a thick mustache and a stained apron, looked up as Caleb approached. "What'll it be, stranger?" he asked, his tone neutral but not unfriendly.
"Beef stew and a bottle of beer," Caleb said, sliding onto a stool. He remembered from his past life that the saloon served hearty meals, and beef stew was one of the cheaper options. It would fill him up without breaking the bank.
The bartender nodded, scribbling the order on a piece of paper. "That'll be 3 dollars and 50 cents," he said, setting a bottle of beer in front of Caleb. "Stew'll be out in a minute."
Caleb handed over the money, trying not to wince at the cost which leaves him with 47 dollars and 75 cents. 3 dollars and 50 cents was a lot for a meal, but he was too hungry to argue. He popped the cap off the beer and took a long swig, the cold liquid soothing his dry throat. It wasn't the best beer he'd ever had, but it hit the spot.
A few minutes later, the bartender returned with a steaming bowl of beef stew. The aroma was rich and savory, and Caleb's stomach growled in anticipation. He dug in, savoring the tender chunks of beef, the hearty vegetables, and the thick, flavorful broth. It was the best meal he'd had since arriving in this world, and he ate every last bite.
As he finished his meal, Caleb leaned back in his chair, feeling satisfied and refreshed. The saloon was lively around him, the sound of laughter and music filling the air. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax, enjoying the simple pleasure of a good meal.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 6/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 5/10
- Charm: 4/10
- Luck: 5/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 1)
- Rifle (Lvl 1)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 0)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 0)
- Sneaking (Lvl 0)