By the time we had made our way to the next post we were all lifetime friends. I was of course more of a loner, but I had none-the-less made myself a good few friends.
At first some of them were a bit skeptical, I must have looked like a bandit with my mukluks and leathers. They were gifts – I had explained, which was only half true. I won them over with my experience, there were far too many bright eyes in this pioneer train.
Of course the ladies were intriguing to a young bachelor like myself, striking off to start a life of his own. They kept me at a distance knowing what they knew about the old land we had left behind.
Rick-John, called so because of his rickety like movement he pressed forth with, was a friendly chap who struck up conversation right from the start. He had been a bank teller in the old land on account of his ‘Rick’. It’s hard to do manual labour with a Rick. He liked my long barrel. He said he’d never seen a machine look as loved as mine did.
He told me of the various times his bank had been robbed by the notorious gangsters of the time back there in New York. He said he could handle any Indian raid after what he had been through. I knew he was probably bluffing, that he would most likely be the first one dead or pissing his knickers. All the same, I wanted to keep peace, to have no excuse to be raided. I knew better.
This was a reason for my own caution, my own hesitation for staying with the pioneers. They did make good company and made the lonely time in between not so lonely.
It was a long journey across my land.
[note: to read the full epic track my land]