Whitefish River Drivin' through the night, tryna keep my eyes open

listening to this song while typing this up!

Calahan had good and bad days. There were some where he could keep his head straight, focusing intently on small tasks, doing what he could for himself. There were others when the outlaw felt consumed with his own thoughts. Most of them weren't constructive. On those days, he felt like he was drowning.

So "west" ended at the shore. It was more than a shame, or a dissapointment. He couldn't help but remember the justification provided every time his old gang did something risky.

It's all gonna go fine, an' y'know what? If it don't, we'll just shake em off an' head west. Think o' it, son. Untouched land out there, a fresh start. For all o' us.

He'd bought into it every damn time. Every time, right till the end. Right till he didn't. So this was yer plan, August? Calahan let out a dry, humorless chuckle, staring into the shallows of Whitefish River. He felt empty, knowing that even if they had made it out, they wouldn't have that "paradise" to flee to. 

Teekon had only meant to be a brief stopping point for him. Just a rest. Where were those fields of gold that seemed to never end? Trees that went till the sky and even higher? The rustler had seen some of it here, but not enough. It was never enough, was it? Untouched land? Untouched land, my ass! Here, he felt as though there was always someone in the way, and one had to really try, if they wanted lonesome. Nor was this land free of violence and pettiness. Different cast of characters, same old story.

There is no "bad country". Only the "wrong folks" who make it undesirable. Right now, Calahan guessed he was one of them.