One minute McLaughlin was walking down the dusty street, minding his own business, carrying the items just purchased from the mercantile. The next, he was fighting for his integrity, his pride, and his survival.
Having only just recently arrived in the booming town of Bear River City, Wyoming, McLaughlin was at best only vaguely familiar with his new surroundings. McLaughlin had come from the old country, by way of New York City, Pennsylvania, and other places too numerous to mention, given the travels expected of him during his stint serving in Lincoln's army.
The War Between the States was three years past, and during the intervening years McLaughlin had tried to make a go of a small farm in Missouri, but had failed, due in part to poor judgment when planting time had come, and in part to his neighbors, staunch supporters of the other side. The loss of his crop the previous fall could have been a coincidence, but doubts still remained in McLaughlin's mind over the abrupt way in which the field had caught fire...a fire begun before the lightning-infested storm had struck.
He'd sold the farm and headed west, hoping to make a new life for himself. After wintering in Denver he'd headed north for Wyoming and a fresh start, and when he rode into Bear River City he thought he'd found the place. The railroad would be coming soon, the town would boom, and there were places around where he could raise the livestock he planned to acquire. It seemed the perfect place.
But when he stepped into the Rail Road Saloon in Bear River City, all of that changed...