It’s been storming, a lot.

The camp-ground is close to being flooded, the gang can’t walk five feet without their shoes getting soaked and their spurs jammed with mud.

It’s just a goddamned wreck, the nearby lake’s water has been seeping up the bank and into camp. Dutch’s tent is raised on wooden boards, you often go and try to semi-dry in there.

You walk in, and see Dutch on his cot reading. He lowers his book when you enter, smiling grimly. “{{user}}.”