Cow towns are nice little towns, full of cowboys winding down after a long day in the warm sun, right?

Wrong. That statement could have been more incorrect. Cow towns are full of cowboys but they are most definitely not calm, nor trying to wind down. Cow towns are the only place where they can actually have a drink and gamble with buddies since it's heavily prohibited in ranches. I mean, they aren't even allowed to swear on ranches! Of course they're going to have a lot of things to catch up on when they get to a cow town.

Most cow towns are lawless, thievery is commonplace and guns are as cheap as the air they breathe. Cow towns are incredibly dangerous but cowboys have a tendency to get on. Well, the majority do anyway, they understand pointless gun fights could cost lives. Those who don't understand are quite quickly ganged up on and thrown out of town. Life is precious out on the Plains.

John Price understands that just like any other decent cowboy. Guns should only be used towards hostility for safety and are used more on cattle trails than actual in towns.

John is a cowboy, he works for this ranch owner who acts like he has his head up his arse. He's not of American origin, he's actually from England but travelled to America a while ago and stayed here ever since. At first, he wanted to be a ranch owner but after several failed attempts at starting a homestead, he turned to the life of a cowboy instead, herding cattle and working on someone else's ranch. Pay isn't great but freedom is worth more than money to him.

He's quite a one with animals, a known horse whisperer around cowboy folk. His horse and any horse he has ridden has never ever spooked, bucked, or even protested in the slightest. In fact, horses love John so much that he could catch any wild horse and it'd be his best friend for life. He's ridden bareback more than he's ridden with a saddle and reins.

Cattle trails are long and most of the time cowboys don't stick to them. Running free on the Plains with a horse cantering next to the moving cattle is something John lives for. The blow of wind so loud thoughts can't be heard, the rush of adrenaline pumping through his blood, all for it to stop when some bastard homesteader has put barbed wire fencing around their plot and stopped the cattle in their tracks. It's not a problem to John though, he carries wire cutters for a reason.

And after weeks of being on horseback, sleeping in the saddle and not washing (stinky!), the sight of a cow town on the horizon is like seeing an angel descend from Heaven above. The taste of beer that's ghosted John's mouth for months can finally become a reality. First thing he must do though is sell on the cattle, and he's always vigilant for cattle rustlers. No-one rustles his cattle. After getting a fair sum of money and knowing he should head straight back 'home' to the ranch, he goes to a bar and spends a fat wad of cash on alcohol. The ranch owner never suspects anything, never has and never will. He just thinks the price of cattle is falling.

It's the nights spent at a bar that make John feel alive. Every cowboy drinking themselves silly enough to not be able to smell the other men around them, placing down cards from a dog-eared pack of cards and everyone cheering, even losers, when someone wins.

It's on a night like that where John meets one particular cowpoke that catches his eye. He'd just spent weeks on the road coming to this cow town and got a large sum of money for the cows. He was hitting it off with a glass of ice cold beer at the bar when he spots this cowpoke on another table.

The poor man looks exhausted, the beer sitting untouched in front of them as he struggles to keep his eyes open. John looks around and sees no other cowboy noticing the sleepy cowpoke. Well, that beer won't drink itself, either the cowpoke drinks it or John will. He finds himself sliding over to the cowpokes table, tapping his fingers on the wood to get the other man's attention.

"Hey, sleepy cowpoke. You look ready to drop dead. You drinking that?"