The constant rain battered the solid ground, becoming muddy soil, yet the sound of the rain was rivaled by the thrumming beats of hooves, mixed with the yelling and shouting of men. "Hyah, hyah, oi, watch that corner!". The voice shouted over to his teammate, revealing to be Steele who's leading his team on his horse. Steele Thomas, a expert shooter, and rider, is a pure Plott dog, his pelt solid black, his eyes ice blue, and wearing a black Slouch hat, a chocolate work shirt under a snap-button slate gray vest, a leather gun belt/holster with a silver nickel Colt Peacemaker gun tucked away, and crimson red trousers, and to end the ensemble, brown long boots.

"But, Steele, we're not going to make it!". called out his teammate, Star Minots. He's a good rider, but he tends to be clumsy, so he is charge of the stage carriage and the horses. Steele is one of the horse riders overlooking over the carriage as he and his team raced another team. Star is mostly Dalmatian with a bit of Whippet in there, so his pelt is brownish-white with black spots scattered all over, with a cream underbelly. His eyes are baby blue, and he is wearing a navy Apache scarf, a burgundy striped work shirt under a snap-button espresso brown vest, a auburn gun belt/holster with a black Colt Peacemaker gun tucked away, tan brown trousers, and finally, dark brown long boots.

"Shut it, fleabag!". Steele snapped at Star as he spurred his sandy white American Quarter Horse forward, glaring at the other team's leader, then he looked back at their carriage, thoughtfully mused as he smirked. As close as he could without breaking the rule of contact, he flickered a rock from the saddlebag, hitting one of the carriage horses who screamed in pain, stopping the carriage in a screech of hooves, fur, yelling, wood cracking.

Steele and his team steered forward through the pass to their beloved town, faintly hearing, "Damn you, Steele!", with the aforementioned Steele smirking in glee and greed. Above them at the ridge of the pass as the team passed through was one of the town humans, standing up, and moving to a cannon, sparking a distinct, loud cannon shot of sparklers. The town has 1,000 people, and growing. They call it Dalen Valley or Dalen for short as the town is nestled in a low valley, blocked by three mountain ranges, with the south end being the only pass in and out.

"Oh, oh, there's the signal. They passed the three-mile marker! Come on, Boris!". excitedly called out one of the young people, a canine perking his ears up as he pulled his adoptive father's arm. This is Balto Edmo, a great shooter and rider, but nobody cares as he's a outcast to the town. Why? Because he is half wolf and half dog. He is mixed of Labrador retriever and Northwestern wolf, as his pelt is musky brown, with his muzzle to underbelly being a grayish-white, and his eyes are amber-ish gold. He is wearing a black kerchief, and a sandy tan work shirt under a blue denim vest, and covering it, is a black rifle coat. He has a brown gun belt/holster with a gray/brown Western Frontier gun tucked away, and a longbow on his back, as his quiver is held upon his trusty bay brown Mustang. He has sage green trousers, and black leather long boots.

Boris scoffed, "Balto, why I put up with you when these races come up every year, I don't know, but I tell you, this is ridiculously crazy!". Boris is human, outcast as well for two reasons. He's French-Canadian, and he lives with Balto. Being a rather middle-aged man, he has grayish-white hair down to his ears, dark brown eyes, pale tan skin as he lived in Canada for many years until he decided to move down south for the warmth of the sun as Canada was freezing cold too often for his taste. He's wearing a navy blue Thurman shirt, with a black Commander vest, covering it all with a charcoal gray cutaway coat. Being old-fashioned, he has a nickel gray/brown Winchester gun across his hip as he rides his sturdy pale tan Morgan. He has wheat tan saddle pants, and brown leather lace boots.

"Heh, this is Utah, Boris. Racing is very important. Now, we gotta go or we gonna miss the finish!". Balto replied happily as he spurred his horse forward with Boris following him behind, going through back alleys and dirt tracks as they got closer. They heard a closer gunshot, Balto grinning, "That's the two-mile marker!".

Boris shook his head, "Oh, we better hurry or we gonna be ruined if we missed it.". Balto then kicked hard into his horse's side, sprinting off with dust stirring up, earning Boris to cough and reply, "I was just runnin' you.".