Chapter 21: The Coyote Cutthroats
The next day, Avery was up before dawn, ready to head back to the mines. Becky watched him go with a heavy heart, knowing that today would be the day he found out about the new miners. The air was thick with tension as she served him breakfast, her wings fluttering nervously. Baron looked up at his father with wide eyes, sensing the unspoken anxiety.
As Avery made his way to the mine, his thoughts were a whirlwind of anger and despair. He had always been the best worker, the strongest flyer, the most reliable. And now, to be replaced by those... things, those monstrous miners that Otto had brought in, it was a slap in the face. When he arrived, the foreman didn't even bother to look at him, just handed him a pink slip and pointed to the exit with only a minimum payment.
The world seemed to close in around him as he stepped out of the mine's shadow, the sun's glare a stark contrast to the darkness he felt inside. He wandered aimlessly down the dusty streets of High Wind Gulch, his eyes burning from the grit in the air. The Copper Star Saloon loomed ahead, its swinging doors beckoning like a mirage in the desert of his sorrow. Avery had never been much of a drinker, but today felt like the kind of day that called for it.
He pushed through the saloon doors, the smell of stale beer and sweat assaulting his nose. The usual patrons looked up, their eyes sliding over him before returning to their drinks, their conversations hushed whispers. Avery recognized a few faces from the town, but none from the mine. They had all lost their jobs to the new miners, too. The bartender, a stoic owl named Hoot, nodded in his direction, and Avery took that as an invitation to sit.
As he nursed a whiskey, the sound of shuffling cards and the clink of chips grew louder from the corner table. The game was intense, and the players were a mix of birds, felines, and canines, all with the same desperate look in their eyes. They played poker, the currency of the mesa, and Avery found his gaze drawn to them. The stakes were high, the tension palpable. He watched as a burly feline folded, his fur drooping, and a sleek hawk took the pot, his eyes gleaming with something more than greed.
Avery knew he couldn't stay there, couldn't let the whiskey and the desperation swallow him whole. He had a family to think about. But as he stood to leave, the hawk looked up, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Care for a hand, Buzzard?" he drawled, a smirk playing on his beak. "Might just be your lucky day."
"Who, me?" Avery asked, pointing to himself to make sure that the hawk was not talking to someone else.
"Yeah, you. You look like you could use a distraction," the hawk said, flipping a gold coin in the air. "Name's Falcon McGriff. You got the look of a man with a story."
Avery hesitated, but the whiskey had loosened his tongue, and the gold glinted in the candlelight. "Avery Buzzard," he murmured, sliding into the chair opposite Falcon. "But I ain't got much to play with. And I barely got the coin ever since the laws changed in this here town."
Falcon waved a dismissive wing. "Don't you worry 'bout that," he said, pushing a pile of chips towards Avery. "Consider it a... loan. You've got more to offer than you think." He gestured to the cards before them, and Avery felt a strange heat spread through his chest. It was as if the whiskey had not just clouded his judgment but had unlocked something hidden within him. A fierce determination that had been buried under layers of dust and despair.
He picked up the cards, feeling the smooth edges between his claws, and took a deep breath. The first hand was a blur, but the second, he found himself holding a straight flush. He played it cool, watching as the other players laid down their hands, their eyes widening at his luck. The chips piled up in front of him, and the whispers grew louder. It wasn't just luck; Avery could feel a strategy forming in his mind, a rhythm to the game that seemed to pulse with the very beat of his heart.
The night grew late, and the crowd grew restless. Falcon leaned in, his eyes glinting with something other than greed. "You've got a knack for this, Avery. I've seen a lot of players come and go, but I've never seen a buzzard with your kind of instincts." His words were a balm to Avery's bruised ego, and he felt his chest swell with a pride he hadn't felt in years.
The whispers grew to a murmur, and then a roar as Avery's pile of chips grew higher. The other players looked at him with a mix of awe and suspicion, but Avery didn't care. He had found something, a spark of hope that had been buried under the dust of the mines and the weight of the town's prejudice. With each card dealt, he felt more alive than he had in years. It was as if the game itself was whispering secrets to him, telling him that he was more than just a buzzard, that he had a purpose beyond the drudgery of his daily life.
Falcon McGriff watched him play, his own smirk slowly morphing into a look of genuine respect. "You've got the eye of an eagle, my friend," he said, tossing another coin into the pot. "Where'd you learn to play like that?"
Avery shrugged, his feathers ruffling slightly. "Just picked it up here and there," he said, his mind racing with the possibilities. If he could win enough, if he could get back on his feet, maybe he could help Becky with her secret rebellion and provide for his family again. Maybe they could fight back against the injustices that had stolen so much from them. He could almost feel the gold nuggets weighing him down, the promise of change they represented.
The game went on, the night growing darker outside as the candles inside the Copper Star burned lower. Avery's hands moved with a confidence he had never felt before, each card played with precision, each bet placed with a sense of purpose. The whispers grew to a crescendo, and Falcon leaned in closer. "You know, Avery," he said, his voice low and serious, "the mayor and the Nosedives... they ain't been seen around here at night. Not for weeks."
Falcon leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Avery's. "They say they're busy with 'important town matters,' but nobody's seen hide nor hair of 'em after sunset. It's like they've got a secret clubhouse or somethin'. And those miners they brought in? They're everywhere. It's like they own the place."
The revelation was like a dagger to Avery's heart. High Wind Gulch was slipping through their talons, and all he could do was sit here playing cards? But then again, maybe not. Maybe this was his way of fighting back, of contributing to Becky's cause without putting his family in more danger. And if he could win enough, maybe he could buy back their farm, their freedom. The whiskey had given him courage, the cards had given him a plan, and now, he had a newfound resolve.
As the night grew darker, the tension at the poker table grew tauter. Each player's eyes glinted with greed and desperation, and Avery's sharp gaze darted from one to the next, reading their tells as easily as he could read the weathered pages of Becky's treasured book of recipes. He played each hand with the precision of a master, his instincts honed by a lifetime of struggle and the need to survive. The pile of chips in front of him grew like a mountain, a stark contrast to the desert of despair that had been his reality for so long.
Avery's eyes narrowed, his interest piqued. "What kind of league?"
Falcon leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The kind that plays for more than just gold nuggets, my friend. We're talking about the fate of High Wind Gulch. We need funds to arm our cause, and your winnings could be just what we need to tip the scales."
Avery's heart raced as he picked up the card. It was like any other poker card he had seen, but something was off. He angled it just right, and the light caught the edge of the card, revealing a nearly invisible symbol. It was the mark of the rebellion.
Falcon's words confirmed it. "Cheat cards," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "They're the key to winning games and planting the seeds of doubt in the minds of our enemies. Play smart, and you can win not just games but the hearts and minds of those who've been fooled by Otto's lies."
Avery studied the card, the symbol of rebellion etched into the corner, his heart racing. He had never been one for deception, but desperate times called for desperate measures. His family's freedom was at stake, and the thought of Becky and Baron suffering any longer under Otto's and Hawkspur's tyranny was unbearable. He looked up at Falcon, his decision made. "I'm in," he said firmly.
Falcon's smirk widened, and he slammed a hand down on the table. "Welcome to the Coyote Cutthroats," he said, his voice booming over the saloon's din. The other players at the table leaned in, eager to hear the new development. "We play for more than gold here," Falcon continued, "we play for justice, for the soul of this town."
The piano's melody grew faster, more intense, as if it knew the weight of the words spoken. Avery felt a thrill run through him, a sense of purpose he hadn't felt in years. He had always been good with his hands, but he had never used his talents to fight back against the injustices that had plagued his family and friends. Now, it seemed, fate had handed him a new weapon.
Falcon leaned back in his chair, watching Avery with keen eyes. "The Coyote Cutthroats ain't just any group of cardsharps, Avery. We're the underdogs, the ones that have seen the darker side of Moo Mesa. We fight for what's right, and we do it from the shadows." He paused, letting the words hang in the smoke-filled air. "We use the very games that have been used to control us, to turn the tables on those who wield power unjustly."
The piano's tune grew faster, the notes a frantic dance that mirrored the excitement in Avery's heart. He knew this was his chance to make a difference, to stand up for what he believed in, and to save his family from the tyranny that had taken root in High Wind Gulch. Falcon slid another cheat card across the table, and Avery picked it up, studying the intricate design that was almost invisible to the untrained eye.
Avery's gaze remained fixed on the cheat card in his hand. The intricate design was clever, a subtle message of rebellion hidden in plain sight. It was a powerful tool, but one that could just as easily be used to deceive and manipulate. He looked up at Falcon, his heart pounding. "What do you expect of me?"
Falcon leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with a fiery determination. "We need funds, Avery," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Ain't no better spot to snag 'em than from the very beaks fillin' Otto's pockets. The Copper Star's been hostin' some high-falutin' folks lately, bigwigs and rich patrons lookin' to let loose. They waltz in here, thinkin' they're above it all, thinkin' we're just a bunch of simple critters playin' a game. But we can twist that to our favor." He pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment, the edges singed from countless hours under candlelight. Unfurling it with a flourish, he laid it out on the table between them. It was a list, names scribbled in hasty handwriting, each one a target for the Coyote Cutthroats' grand scheme. "These are the ones we want," Falcon said, his wing pointing to a line of names. "Mayor Dunruff's associates, Nosedive's minions, all of 'em. They're the ones keepin' the gold flowin' to the mayor's coffers, keepin' the likes of us down in the dirt."
Avery scanned the list, his feathers bristling with anger as he recognized the names of those who had looked down upon him and his kind for so long. These were the very individuals who had cheered when Otto Bulloney and Hawkspur had declared Becky's hat shop illegal, who had laughed when Avery had been relegated to the dusty mines. The cheat cards felt heavier in his hand now, not just a game but a weapon for change.
"You're sayin' I'm to take 'em for all they're worth?" Avery asked, his voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within.
Falcon nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Exactly. You play like you've got nothin' to lose, Avery. And trust me, when you're playin' against these varmints, you're gonna win more than just coins. You're gonna win back what's rightfully yours. What's rightfully ours."
The gravity of Falcon's words settled over Avery like a dust storm, thick and suffocating. He knew the risks. If he was caught, if Becky or Baron found out, it could mean the end of everything. But he also knew that if they didn't fight back, their lives would be forever trapped in this cycle of poverty and prejudice. The weight of the decision pressed down on him, but the fire of rebellion burned brighter than ever before. He knew what he had to do.
"What do I tell Becky?" Avery whispered, the question heavy in his chest. He saw that Falcon looked as if he didn't like the idea of what Avery asked.
Falcon's eyes grew serious, the light in them dimming slightly. "Not a word, Avery," he warned. "This is between us, the Coyote Cutthroats. For now, you tell her nothin'. The less she knows, the safer she'll be. And the same goes for your young'un. Harmony's got a good heart, but she can't be part of this. Not yet. We're dealin' with some sneaky critters here. If word gets out..."
"But Harmony ain't my child, she's the sheriff's," Avery had corrected Falcon. "Baron is my son."
Falcon nodded solemnly. "The same goes for Baron. The less he knows, the better. This is grown-up business, Avery. You've got to keep them in the dark for their own good. You know Becky; she's as stubborn as a mule with a mouthful of sour grapes. If she catches wind of what we're doin', she'll insist on helpin' and put herself in harm's way."
Avery's gaze drifted to the cheat cards, the symbol of his newfound allegiance to the Coyote Cutthroats. "But Becky... she's always been the smart one. She'll figure it out."
Falcon's expression grew stern. "Avery, you know how Becky is. Strong as a desert oak, that one. But she's got a heart as big as Moo Mesa. If she catches on, she'll want in, and that's the last thing we need. She's too reckless, too passionate. It's our job to keep her and Baron safe until the storm passes. We've had one too many incidents like that last year where it all ended terribly when the other would not take orders."
Avery nodded slowly, the weight of Falcon's words sinking in. He knew Becky's fiery spirit all too well, and the thought of her getting hurt was like a knife to his heart. "But Harmony... she's been like a daughter to Becky and me. How do I keep this from her?"
Falcon leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't you worry 'bout Harmony," he assured Avery. "Her pa, Clarence, he's one of us. He'll keep a watchful eye on her. And as for tomorrow, I've got three warthogs from the campgrounds comin' in. They're regulars here, love to throw their gold around. Just remember, we're not in this for personal gain, Avery. We're playin' the long game. We need to keep our cards close to our chests."
Avery nodded, the gravity of the situation settling in. "I understand," he murmured, his heart heavy with the weight of the secrets he now bore. "For Becky and Baron."
Falcon clapped him on the shoulder, his grin returning. "That's the spirit, partner. Now, let's get down to business. Tomorrow night, we've got ourselves a trio of warthogs comin' in from the mining campgrounds. They're called the Three Digits, and they're notorious for their love of poker and their deep pockets. They're the perfect marks for our cause."
Avery felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. It had been ages since he had felt this kind of purpose, the thrill of the game coupled with the promise of justice. As he left the saloon, the dusty streets of High Wind Gulch seemed to stretch out before him like a new horizon, filled with danger and opportunity. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking a tightrope, balancing the need for secrecy with the burning desire to share the burden with Becky and Baron. He didn't want to lie to his wife and child, knowing they deserved to know the truth and not keep them in the dark, despite what Falcon warned about it being for their own safety.
He looked up at the stars above, twinkling like distant campfires of the rebellion's hope. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of the desert and the distant howl of a coyote. It was a sound that had always comforted him, a reminder of the wildness and freedom of Moo Mesa, but now it felt like a siren's call, urging him to act. The decision to keep his involvement with the Coyote Cutthroats hidden was a heavy one, but he knew that the time to come clean would come. For now, he had to bide his time, playing the part of the downtrodden miner by day and the cunning cardsharp by night.
Later back in Dog-Town, or the Wishford farm, the young Brandon would sit down with his father and recall the early rumors that they heard. And of course, Austin's trusty steed, Macintosh, who was a brown draft horse with a mellow, calm personality, had stood by the two collies. "Pa...?"
"Hmm? Yes, son?" Austin looked down at his son.
"What's... "prejudice"?" Brandon asked.
"Oh, Brandon. That word means, well... A term for something or someone that is uncomfortable about. Like I said with those strange rumors about buzzards and vultures receivin' unfair treatment, that's mainly what it's about." Austin had answered as honestly as he could.
"But why? What did they do wrong?" The poor collie boy couldn't stop his curiosity.
"Sheesh... I ain't sure myself. They might've been the scapegoat for most things, but we haven't really seen it." Even Austin hated the thought of what could be happening in High Wind Gulch as he spoke with his son.
"I wish we still helped them... ... But I understand why we can't." Brandon seemed to be a little sad thinking about what the oppressed could be going through.
"Until the day you're old enough, maybe you could make a difference, Brandon. Heck, you could also be a hero..." Austin still wanted to give Brandon hope that someday he will become something better.
"A hero? Just like Sheriff Barkson?" Brandon loved the sound of it.
"Yup, just like him. I can't wait to see you grow into that brave and strong collie someday, Brandon. In a time where injustice runs wild, you might be there to stop it. As for now, you're a farmboy..." He patted his son's head playfully.
"I still wanna be a rodeo cowboy like you, Pa! Can I ride Macintosh later? Can I? Can I?" Brandon could hardly contain himself when he jumped up and down in excitement.
"Ahahahaha..." Austin chuckles at Brandon's enthusiastic nature. "Sure thing. A boy's gotta dream, somehow. I'll take his reins, and you just sit on the saddle... And no matter how many times you fall off, you get back on it again. Now, let's start by..." Austin would pick up the young Brandon and place him on Macintosh's bareback, leading him to a corral nearby so he could help train the boy for a friendly riding experience. The older collie knew that kids would have high hopes of other things than just what usually happens in the world, but Austin knew very well that his son had a special affinity for riding horses. Not only would his son be a great rodeo riding star, but a hero to rise up in the Mesa. But, that would be for another time and another story...
Meanwhile, Avery couldn't help but feel a tug of guilt as he donned his old miner's outfit, complete with a dusty hat and a pair of dark glasses to obscure his identity. He had told Becky and Baron that he had gotten a rare overtime shift at the mines, a fib that sat uneasy in his gut as he approached the Copper Star Saloon under the scorching sun. The once-bustling establishment was now a shadow of its former self, the windows shuttered and the air thick with secrecy. He knew Becky would be worried about him working so late, but he had to push those thoughts aside. The fate of their town was at stake. But if he were to end up coming home a little earlier at night than expected, he'd have to tell them that the boss had given everyone a chance to go home an hour early.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the dusty streets of High Wind Gulch, Avery slipped into the alleyway beside the saloon. He knew Darla Dove, a sharp-eyed dove with a heart of gold who worked at the restaurant, was watching him from her perch above the saloon's back door. Falcon had explained that she was a trusted ally, her family's history with the Coyote Cutthroats going back generations. She had agreed to help them hide and keep their meetings a secret from the prying eyes of Otto Bulloney and Hawkspur's spies.
Avery adjusted his miner's hat, ensuring that the brim cast a shadow over his face, and knocked three times on the wooden plank, the signal they had agreed upon. After a moment's pause, the door creaked open, and Darla's gentle voice whispered, "You're early, Avery. They're not all here yet."
He stepped into the cool, dimly lit space, the aroma of stale beer and dust mingling with the faint scent of fear and determination. The saloon's basement had been transformed into a secret headquarters, with crates and barrels arranged to form makeshift walls and a sturdy table at the center, laden with maps and various weapons. A few of the Coyote Cutthroats were already there, their faces a mix of anticipation and weariness. Falcon looked up from his cards, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Welcome back, Avery," he said, gesturing to an empty chair at the table. "Glad to see you're stickin' to the plan. Darla, get our man here something to drink."
Avery nodded his thanks as Darla fluttered over to him, a bottle of whiskey in one wing and a glass in the other. The warm liquid burned a comforting trail down his throat, easing the tension that had been building all day. Falcon began to lay out the strategy for the night's poker game, pointing to the crudely drawn map of the saloon's layout and the locations of their targets.
"Now, remember," Falcon said, his voice low and intense, "We ain't just playing for gold tonight. We're playing for their loyalty. Make 'em think they've got you beat, then swoop in and show 'em who's boss."
Avery nodded, his mind racing with the information Falcon had shared. The Coyote Cutthroats were more than just a group of rebels; they were a network of skilled individuals, each with their own role to play in this game of shadows. There was Darla Dove, with her uncanny ability to remember faces and her sharp instincts for when trouble was afoot. Then there was Miles Pronghorn, the general store owner with a knack for distraction, and Wally Weasel-ton, whose sleight of hand was so smooth it was like watching a desert mirage. Each member had a unique set of skills that would be invaluable in their fight against the corrupt regime. Falcon introduced Avery to the others, one by one. They were a motley crew, sure, but they were also fiercely loyal to the cause of equality in High Wind Gulch. There was a tension in the air, a sense of urgency that seemed to pulse with every beat of the saloon's hidden heart. These rebels had been waiting for a moment like this, a chance to stand up to the tyranny that had taken hold of their town. And now, with Avery's poker prowess, they had a new weapon in their arsenal.
Their plan was simple yet ingenious. By infiltrating the gambling circles that Otto Bulloney and Edward Nosedive's allies frequented, they could win over their trust and then their gold. The Cutthroats were not just players; they were spies, saboteurs, and, when needed, a swift hand of justice. Each member had a role to play, from Miles's knack for distraction with his tall tales to Wally's unrivaled ability to swipe a gold coin without so much as a whisper of a feather. And then there was Darla, the unsung hero of the group, whose sharp eyes and even sharper mind had saved their skins more times than they could count.
Falcon McGriff continued to lay out the evening's objectives, pointing to the map of the saloon's layout. "Tonight, we're gonna' hit 'em where it hurts," he said with a wink. "Right in their pockets. The Three Digits are comin' in, and they're known to have deep ties to Otto. Win their gold, and we cut off one of the snakes' heads."
The rebels nodded in agreement, their faces a mask of stoic determination. Each had their role to play in this high-stakes game of poker and politics. Wally, the nimble weasel, would be the distraction, slipping in and out of the shadows, ensuring the deck was always in their favor. Darla would be the lookout, her sharp eyes and ears alert to any signs of trouble and let them know if any of the enemies were onto them. And Miles, with his tall tales and boisterous laugh, would keep the mood light, keeping the warthogs off-balance and their guard down.
As the sun disappeared behind the distant mesas, casting the saloon in an eerie glow, the rebels took their places, their hearts racing with anticipation and fear. Falcon gave Avery a firm pat on the back, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and seriousness. "Remember, Avery," he whispered, "We're playing for the soul of High Wind Gulch, not just for fun."
The first of the Three Digits, an obese warthog named Winston, waddled through the swinging saloon doors, his two burly companions, Wilbur and Walt, close behind. Falcon had briefed Avery extensively on their tactics: Winston was the brains of the operation, a cunning player who didn't miss a beat, while Wilbur and Walt were the muscle, ready to back up their leader with brute force if needed.
Falcon nodded to Darla, who slipped away to take her position at the lookout point. Miles leaned against the bar, playing the role of the drunk ranch hand with a loose tongue, while Wally mingled with the crowd, a deck of cards up his sleeve. Falcon sauntered over to the bar, casually ordering a whiskey and glancing over at the Three Digits' table. He knew their type; they were the kind that liked to feel noticed, to think they were the most important players in the room.
As Falcon took a sip of his drink, he leaned closer to Avery and murmured, "Now, listen up. Winston, the one in the middle, he's the ringleader. He's got a tell—twitches his snout when he's bluffin'. Watch for it. Wilbur and Walt, they're his muscle, but they ain't the sharpest tools in the shed. Play 'em right, and they'll fold faster than a house of cards in a tornado." Avery nodded, his nerves tightening like a bowstring. Falcon slapped a hand on Avery's back, feigned a laugh, and called out to the Three Digits. "Look who it is, the Buzzard from the gulch! What brings you fine gents in tonight?"
Winston's beady eyes narrowed as he took in Avery's disguise. "Don't reckon we've had the pleasure," he said, his voice a gruff rumble.
Falcon took the bait, turning the conversation to poker. "Ah, but you've heard of Avery, haven't you?" he said with a wink. "This vulture's got a knack for the cards. He's looking for a friendly game, ain't that right, Avery?" He nudged Avery, who stepped forward, trying to play it cool despite his racing heart.
Winston's snout quivered slightly, and Avery knew Falcon's intel was spot on. He'd have to keep an eye on that tell. "Just passin' through, fellas," Avery drawled, affecting a casual tone. "Thought I'd try my luck in the big leagues."
The warthog leaned back in his chair, eyeing Avery with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "Well, if you think you've got what it takes, have a seat." He waved a stubby hand at the empty chair at their table. "But remember, we don't take kindly to no cheating buzzards in these parts."
Avery took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he approached the table. He knew he had to play the part, to win their trust before he could turn the tables on them. He sat down, his hat still low over his eyes, and reached for the cards. Falcon took his place opposite Winston, a knowing smile playing across his face as he shuffled the deck.
The first hand was tense, the air thick with the scent of sweat and greed. Winston's snout twitched, and Avery knew he was bluffing. He raised the stakes, watching as the warthog's beady eyes flicked from his cards to his chips. The bets grew higher, the room quieter, until finally, with a dramatic flourish, Avery laid down his hand. The Three Digits stared in shock as he revealed a royal flush, the most powerful hand in poker. Falcon let out a whoop of laughter, slapping Avery on the back. "Welcome to the big leagues, my friend!"
Winston's face grew red with anger, his snout quivering more than ever. His companions, Wilbur and Walt, exchanged nervous glances. The tension in the saloon was palpable, a coiled rattlesnake ready to strike. But Avery kept his cool, playing it off as if he had been born to this life of high stakes and low cunning. He took his winnings with a gracious nod, and the next hand began.
The night stretched on, a tapestry of bluffs and raises, whispers and nods. The Coyote Cutthroats worked in perfect harmony, their roles intertwining like a well-oiled machine. Each time Avery won a hand, the gold coins grew heavier on the table, glinting in the candlelight. Falcon watched with a keen eye, his grin growing wider with every victory. The Three Digits were getting desperate, their once-boastful attitudes now laced with a hint of fear.
Avery leaned back in his chair, his disguise all but forgotten in the heat of the game. He regaled the warthogs with tales of his travels, spinning yarns of gold mines and outlaw showdowns that had them leaning in, captivated by his words. He talked of the open skies, the rush of wind beneath his wings, and the thrill of freedom that came with the life of a buzzard on the run. His stories were tall, but they were delivered with such earnestness that even Winston's snout stopped twitching for a moment, lost in the tales of adventure and danger.
"And that was how I knew when to never go into that town again," Avery laughed, taking a card.
The Three Digits chuckled along with him, their tusks glinting in the saloon's dim light. Winston leaned in, his snout no longer quivering with suspicion but with the delight of a good story. Avery had them in the palm of his hand, just as Falcon had taught him. The art of poker wasn't just about the cards you held but the tales you spun. And Avery had a lifetime of them, stories picked up from his travels with Becky, tales of Buzzard's Chapel and beyond.
He spoke of distant lands with rivers of gold and valleys filled with the sweetest berries they'd ever tasted, of vultures and buzzards that could soar higher than the highest mesas, and of battles with creatures so fierce they'd make their fur stand on end. His words painted a picture of a world where anything was possible, a world where even the lowliest of creatures could rise to greatness. The warthogs were hooked, their greed momentarily forgotten as they listened to his tales of adventure and glory.
But Falcon McGriff didn't miss a beat. He knew the game was far from over. He leaned in closer to Avery, whispering, "Keep 'em enthralled, but don't let your guard down." The stakes were higher than ever, and one slip-up could mean disaster for their mission. Avery nodded imperceptibly, his eyes never leaving the cards in his hand.
Across the saloon, the wolf bartender's hushed conversation with a hog player grew more intense. Falcon and Avery exchanged a look, the unspoken message clear: they had to stay focused on the game. The name "Hawkspur" was tossed around with a mix of fear and reverence, but they couldn't let it distract them. The Great War was a dark memory for many in Moo Mesa, a time when vultures and buzzards had been vilified for the comet's fall that had ravaged the land. The scars of that war still ran deep, fueling the prejudice that High Wind Gulch had not yet managed to shake off.
The hog player's eyes widened as he heard the whispers, glancing over at Avery. Falcon noticed the shift in his gaze and leaned in closer, playing a card with a casual flick of his wrist. "Keep playing, Avery," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "Their fear is our ally."
Avery nodded, his hand steady despite the turmoil inside him. He knew that the war was a falsehood, a narrative spun by the powerful to justify their cruelty. His own family had suffered under the shadow of that comet, and he was determined to rewrite that story.
The wolf bartender slid over to them, wiping the counter with a grimy cloth. His voice was low, his eyes flicking towards the swinging saloon doors. "You've got quite the reputation, Mr. Buzzard," he said, a hint of a sneer in his tone. "But I reckon you've made some enemies here tonight."
Falcon's smile didn't waver. "We're just here for a friendly game," he said, his voice as smooth as the whiskey in his glass. "Ain't nobody got nothin' to worry about."
The wolf nodded, his eyes sliding back to the Three Digits' table. "Keep it that way," he warned before moving to serve another customer.
Falcon's gaze never left the wolf's retreating back. "Remember, Avery," he murmured, "stick to the plan."
Avery nodded, his eyes flicking back to the cards in his hand. He had a good read on the Three Digits now; he knew their tells, their tics, and their weaknesses. The game continued, the tension in the air as thick as the cigar smoke that hung in the saloon. Each round played out like a dance, the rebels leading their adversaries through a series of moves that would leave them financially weakened and ripe for the taking. Falcon played the perfect host, keeping the whiskey flowing and the conversation light, while Wally and Miles kept the saloon's patrons entertained with their antics. The night grew later, and the saloon grew more crowded. The clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversation provided the perfect cover for the tension building around the poker table. The wolf bartender moved efficiently through the throng of customers, his eyes always straying back to the game. His curiosity was palpable, but he knew better than to interrupt the flow of gold into the Cutthroats' coffers. The town was changing, and the winds of rebellion were blowing stronger than ever before.
Avery's hand remained steady as he played, his eyes never leaving the cards laid out before him. With each victory, the gold pile grew, a silent testament to the power of wit and skill over brute force and fear. The Three Digits, once so smug and self-assured, were now sweating bullets, their pockets growing lighter with each hand. Winston's snout quivered more than ever, his tell now as clear as day. Wilbur and Walt were visibly nervous, casting glances at the door as if expecting their boss, Otto Bulloney, to storm in at any moment.
The wolf bartender had returned to his usual business, serving drinks and listening to the banter of the patrons. He cast the occasional glance at the poker game, but his interest had waned as the night wore on. The whispers of "Hawkspur" had faded into the background, the saloon's regulars too engrossed in their own conversations and games to pay much heed. Falcon kept the atmosphere light, spinning tales of the old west and sharing laughs with the townsfolk, all the while keeping a sharp eye on the warthogs. The Coyote Cutthroats had become a spectacle, a beacon of hope in the otherwise oppressive town.
The final hand of the night was dealt, and the tension was as palpable as the dust that hovered in the air, waiting to be stirred. Avery felt the weight of the moment, his eyes never leaving the cards laid out before him. He could see the desperation in the Three Digits' eyes, the realization that their golden goose was about to fly away. With a calm that belied his racing thoughts, he placed his last bet, watching as the warthogs squirmed in their seats.
Falcon's hand hovered over the whiskey bottle, his smile never faltering. "Call," Winston grunted, slapping his cards down with a tremor. The room held its breath as Avery revealed his hand: a full house, kings over aces. The saloon erupted in cheers, the clatter of coins hitting the table like a celebratory rain.
Falcon slapped Avery on the back, his grin wide as the Moo Mesa sky. "You did it, old buddy," he exclaimed, pride resonating in his voice.
The Three Digits' jaws hung slack; their eyes wide with shock. Winston's snout quivered as he took in the loss, the gold coins scattered across the table. They had underestimated the buzzard, thinking him a simple rancher with a penchant for tall tales. But Avery had outfoxed them all, playing each hand with the precision of a seasoned gambler and the poise of a skilled tactician.
"Looks like I win the final round," Avery said with a smug smile, his voice carrying over the din of the saloon. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, slapping their hands on the tables and stomping their hooves. The Coyote Cutthroats had become the evening's entertainment, a rare bright spot in the town's otherwise bleak existence. The sound of coins clinking together as the Three Digits grudgingly paid out filled the air, a sweet symphony of justice served cold.
Winston's snout quivered in defeat, his beady eyes never leaving Avery's face. The buzzard had not only bested them at their own game but had done so with a grace and charm that left them looking like the fools they were. The other patrons, once intimidated by the warthog trio's bullying tactics, now laughed and jeered at their misfortune. It was clear that the tide of public opinion was turning, and the Cutthroats had planted a seed of doubt in the minds of High Wind Gulch's citizens about the regime they served.
Falcon leaned in, his voice a low growl. "Remember, Avery, play the part. We ain't outta the woods yet."
Avery nodded, the gravity of their mission weighing heavily on him. He pushed back his chair and stood, his legs shaky from the adrenaline rush. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said, his smile never wavering as he gathered his winnings. "It's been a pleasure doing business with ya."
The Three Digits watched in stunned silence as Avery's bag grew heavier with their gold, each coin a victory against the tyranny that had gripped High Wind Gulch. Falcon's plan had worked like a charm, the poker game a clever ruse to win their trust and their funds. The room had grown quiet, the only sounds the clinking of the coins and the occasional murmur of amazement from the onlookers.
Avery nodded, the weight of the evening's triumph and the secrets they now held pressing down on him. He slung the bag over his shoulder and tipped his hat to the warthogs, who were now staring at him with a mix of anger and begrudging respect.
The two of them stepped out into the cool Moo Mesa night, the sounds of the saloon fading behind them as the saloon doors swung shut. The moon cast long shadows across the dusty street, and the stars twinkled above like distant jewels scattered across a velvet cloak. Falcon's horse, a sleek stallion named Nightshade, was tied up outside, its coat gleaming in the moonlight. Falcon tossed Avery the reins to Becky's trusty steed, Sagebrush.
"Ride safe, my friend," Falcon said, his eyes serious. "Keep that gold hidden and tell no one of our little escapade tonight."
Avery nodded solemnly as he climbed onto Sagebrush. The horse's eyes met his, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I won't let you down," he whispered, patting the horse's neck. Falcon swung up onto Nightshade, the two of them a stark contrast under the moon's silver glow: the buzzard with his newfound gold and the hawk with his sharp, calculating gaze.
They rode through the quiet streets of High Wind Gulch, the only sound the clack of horse hooves against the wooden boardwalks. Falcon's words echoed in Avery's mind: keep the secret, hide the gold, don't let Becky or Baron know, not yet. The weight of their mission settled heavily on his shoulders, and he knew that one misstep could mean disaster for their family.
As he approached the Buzzard Ranch, he scanned the area, his eyes sharp and alert. The night was still, the air thick with the scent of sagebrush and the faint whispers of the desert wind. The lights in the house were on, a sign that Becky and Baron were likely still awake but getting ready for bed. He slid off Sagebrush's back, his hand lingering on the gold in his saddlebag. The bag was heavier than he had ever felt it before, the coins clinking together like a silent chorus of victory.
With a final glance over his shoulder, Avery led Sagebrush into the barn where Checkers had been, the soft whinnies of their cattle a comforting backdrop to the tension that had become a part of their lives. The horse whickered softly, as if understanding the gravity of the situation. Avery took a deep breath, the smell of hay and leather grounding him as he tended to the animal, brushing its coat and feeding it a treat. He knew he had to act quickly; the gold was a beacon that could draw the wrong kind of attention, especially with the Nosedives and Bulloneys lurking in the shadows.
Once Sagebrush was comfortable, Avery took the heavy bag of gold and surveyed the barn. His eyes fell on an old, dusty trunk pushed against the wall, forgotten and untouched for years. It was perfect. With a quiet creak, he lifted the lid, revealing a space filled with nothing but a few worn blankets and some old letters from Becky's mother. Carefully, he placed the bag inside, nestling it among the fabric before closing the trunk and pushing it back into its place. He draped the blankets over it once more, the letters fluttering slightly in the breeze from the open barn door.
Looking around again, he made sure no prying eyes had witnessed his actions. The night was still, the only sounds the occasional snort from the horses and the distant howl of a coyote. Satisfied that he was alone, Avery stepped out of the barn and into the moonlit night, his thoughts racing. He had to keep the gold hidden from Becky and Baron; the less they knew, the safer they would be. But he also knew he couldn't hide it indefinitely. The Cutthroats needed the funds to keep the rebellion alive, and every coin counted. Even then, he still needed money to feed his family.
With a sigh, he headed toward the house, the porch creaking under his boots. The warm glow of the windows beckoned him home, and he pushed open the door to find Becky and Baron sitting at the kitchen table. The smell of fish soup filled the room, a simple meal that had become their staple in recent days. The sight of their hopeful expressions as they looked up at him was almost too much to bear. He forced a smile, trying to shake off the heaviness that clung to him like the dust of the trail.
"Is that soup still hot enough for one more?" Avery asked, trying to keep his voice light as he stepped into the warm embrace of their home.
Becky looked up from her mending, her eyes shining with relief. "Of course, dear," she said, her voice thick with love and concern, going to hug him. She knew he had been out later than usual, and she could tell by the look on his face that something was amiss. "We did not think you'd be home till much later. What happened?"
Baron's eyes grew wide with excitement as he saw his pa walk in. He bolted from his chair, knocking it over in his haste. "You're home!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with joy. In his excitement, he had completely forgotten about the simmering fish soup and his growling stomach.
Avery chuckled, his heart swelling with love as he knelt down to catch his son in a tight embrace. "I sure am, little buzzard," he murmured, holding him close. He could feel the boy's heart racing against his chest, a testament to the fear and anxiety he had felt during his father's absence. "Everything's gonna be alright."
Baron's eyes searched Avery's, looking for the truth in his words. He could feel the tension radiating from his pa, something he wasn't used to seeing. But he trusted him, so he nodded, trying to believe that somehow, everything would indeed be okay. Becky watched from the stove; her own concerns written plainly on her face. She knew her husband was keeping something from them, something important and possibly dangerous. But she also knew that when the time was right, he would tell them everything.
"So, tell us about your day, Pa," Baron said eagerly, changing the subject. He picked up his spoon and slurped a mouthful of soup, hoping that his enthusiasm would be contagious.
Avery took a deep breath and sat down at the table, his hand resting on the cool wood. "Well son, I...
Becky interrupted with a gentle smile, "Why don't you tell us about your day, Avery?"
He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Well, Becky," Avery began, his voice carrying a tinge of weariness, "the boss let us all go home early. They've decided to cut the evenin' hours down to 5pm. It's a blessin' in disguise, really. It means I get to have dinner with my family again."
Baron's grip tightened around Avery's neck, his eyes shining with excitement. "That's fantastic, Pa! Can we go fishing together again soon?"
Becky's gaze softened as she took in the sight of her husband and son. Despite the troubles they faced, it was moments like these that made her heart swell with joy. "Yes, darling," she said, ruffling Baron's feathers. "As soon as the work on the ranch allows it, we'll all go fishing together. Maybe even have a little picnic by the stream."
Baron's eyes lit up at the prospect of a family outing. "Can Harmony come too?" he asked, not willing to let go of Avery quite yet.
Avery nodded, his smile genuine this time. "Of course, son. Harmony's always welcome."
The next few days passed in a blur of hard work and stolen moments of joy. Falcon called for Avery frequently, and each time he left, Becky's eyes would follow him with a mix of worry and hope. She had noticed the changes in her husband, the way he would come home late with bags under his eyes and the newfound tension in his shoulders. But she also saw the light that had returned to his eyes, the spark that had been missing since they had first arrived in High Wind Gulch. Baron had noticed too. He had overheard the whispers in the schoolyard, the rumors of his pa's midnight escapades. The other kids talked about it with wide eyes and hushed voices, speaking of Avery as if he were a legend come to life. But when he asked Harmony about it, she just shrugged and said that her pa had always been a great poker player himself and thought Avery had another hobby similar to her father's.
Falcon knew the importance of keeping the children out of their clandestine operations. But as the nights grew longer and the stakes higher, he could see the toll it was taking on Avery. The buzzard was torn between his duty to the Cutthroats and his love for Becky and Baron. Falcon, a father himself, understood the struggle all too well.
"Look, Avery," Falcon said, leaning against the saloon's bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand. "You've got to keep your family safe. They can't know about our nightly poker games, not yet. We're playing with fire here, and if it gets out, it could burn us all."
Avery nodded solemnly, his eyes never leaving Falcon's. "I understand, but I can't just keep disappearing like this. Becky's worried, and Baron...he's counting on me to keep that promise." His voice cracked a little at the mention of his son, and he cleared his throat. "He's just a child, Falcon. He's seen enough hardship as it is."
Falcon's expression softened, his own memories of his youth and the promises he had made to his own family before the wars of the Old West weighing heavily on his heart. "Alright, Avery," he said, placing a firm hand on the buzzard's shoulder. "We'll find a way to balance this. You're right; your family comes first. We'll work around it. But we can't let our guard down. We're fighting for something much bigger than just us."
Avery nodded, his eyes filled with a newfound determination. "I know," he said, his voice firm. "And I won't let you down. I'll be there for the Cutthroats, but I'll also be there for Becky and Baron."
"That's all I ask," Falcon replied, raising his glass in a silent toast before downing the whiskey in one smooth motion. He knew that family was everything in this harsh world, and he respected Avery's resolve to protect his own while fighting for a better future for all.
True to his word, Avery managed to carve out time for Becky and Baron, working tirelessly during the day and slipping away for Cutthroat missions once the sun had set. The anticipated day of the picnic and fishing trip arrived, and the Buzzards woke early to the smell of Becky's famous biscuits and gravy. The excitement was palpable as they packed their basket with food and supplies, Harmony joining them with her usual bright smile, seemingly oblivious to the tension that had been weaving its way through their lives. The four of them set off towards the stream, the cool morning air carrying the promise of a beautiful day. The horses Sagebrush and Checkers clip-clopped along the well-trodden path, their hooves sending puffs of dust into the air. Baron chattered away, eagerly sharing his plans for the day with Harmony, who listened attentively, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Becky and Avery rode in silence, sharing a knowing look that spoke volumes about the weight of the world on their shoulders. The stream was exactly as Baron had remembered it: a ribbon of blue-green water that danced over the rocks, surrounded by a lush carpet of grass that whispered secrets to the swaying trees. They dismounted, tying the horses to a sturdy branch, and Becky spread out the picnic blanket she had brought from home. The smell of fresh biscuits filled the air as Becky unpacked the basket, her hands moving with the grace of a woman who knew that food was love made edible.
Baron and Harmony's eyes grew wide as Becky revealed her culinary masterpiece: a platter of crispy fried fish, golden brown and smelling like heaven itself, a bowl of cool, creamy potato salad, a jug of sweet lemonade, and, of course, the biscuits. Their mouths watered in unison, the sight and smell of the food temporarily driving out the shadows of the troubles that had been plaguing High Wind Gulch.
They sat cross-legged on the picnic blanket, the warmth of the sun seeping into their feathers as they dug into their meal. Becky watched her son and daughter-of-her-heart with a gentle smile, her heart swelling with love and pride. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine a world where the only battles they had to fight were those of sticky fingers and who could catch the biggest fish.
Baron and Harmony laughed as they threw breadcrumbs to the eager minnows darting in the water's edge. Their laughter echoed through the trees, a sweet sound that seemed to banish the dark clouds that had been gathering on the horizon of their lives. The adults couldn't help but chuckle at their antics, the sound a balm to the worries that had been wearing on them.
"You know," Harmony said between bites of her sandwich, "I've always wondered what it would be like to fly."
Baron looked at her, his mouth full of biscuit. "Why?" he asked after swallowing.
Harmony shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "It just seems so free. To soar through the sky without a care in the world, to see everything from up there."
Avery looked at Becky, his eyes filled with a warmth that seemed to chase away the shadows of the past. "Remember when we used to talk about that?" he said softly. "How we'd sit under that old oak tree and plan our future?"
Becky nodded, her eyes misting over with happy memories. "We had such big dreams," she said, her voice a little wistful. "But somehow, we ended up here."
Avery reached over and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "But look at us now," he said, smiling. "We've got a beautiful family, a good life, and we're fighting for what's right."
Harmony looked at them, her heart swelling with admiration for the buzzard couple. They had faced so much adversity and had never once let it break them. "Y'all are mighty strong," she said, her voice filled with awe.
Becky blushed, her gaze dropping to the picnic basket. "We just do what we have to," she murmured.
"But you do it with grace and courage," Harmony added, looking up at them with a newfound respect. "My pa says that's what makes you both heroes."
Avery chuckled, the sound warm and comforting. "Your pa's got a way with words," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "But he's right about one thing; we've been through a lot since we first came to High Wind Gulch. Back then, it was just Becky, me, and the promise of a new life."
Becky nodded, her gaze drifting to the horizon where the sun was just beginning to set. "We had nothing but hope and each other," she said, her voice a little softer than usual. "We built this place with our bare hands, Avery."
Avery's eyes followed hers, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. "And we'll do it again," he said firmly. "We'll make sure that High Wind Gulch is a place where everyone can live in peace."
Baron looked up at his pa, his eyes wide. "Y'all had t'raise this here joint?"
"We sure did, son," Becky said with a proud smile. "High Wind Gulch ain't always been like this. When we rode in, it was nothin' but a patch o' dirt and a handful o' tumbleweeds."
Harmony leaned closer, her curiosity piqued. "What was it like before the laws changed?"
Becky sighed, her gaze drifting to the distant hills. "Way back, we had to hit the books in hush-hush. Folks 'round here didn't see much use in buzzards and vultures learnin'. They just didn't want us sittin' at the same table."
Harmony's eyes grew wide as Becky spoke, her own school days filled with the freedom of flight and knowledge. "But you learned," she said, filled with wonder.
"We did," Avery said, his voice thick with pride. "We had a secret school, tucked away in the canyon. A good teacher taught us everything she knew. Reading, writing, horseback riding—everything."
Harmony's eyes were as round as the full moon that sometimes graced the night sky. "Really?" she gasped, her imagination running wild. "How did you keep it a secret?"
Baron nodded eagerly, his curiosity piqued. "Yeah, Pa, tell us more about the secret school!"
Avery's eyes twinkled as he remembered the old days. "Well, it was hidden in a canyon, just outside of town. Only those who knew the password could get in, and we had to be really careful not to let anyone know where we were goin'. The teacher, Miss Magpie, was a clever one. Taught us everything from math to manners, and she did it all with a song and a dance."
Becky chuckled at the memory. "And she could outride and outshoot any of the local boys. She was a tough cookie, that one."
The conversation grew livelier as the adults shared tales of their youth, painting a picture of a world that seemed so far removed from the one Baron and Harmony knew. The children listened in rapt attention; their eyes wide with wonder as they realized the depth of the struggle their elders had faced.
"But why did you have to leave the secret school?" Harmony asked, her voice tinged with sadness. "It sounds so amazing."
Becky looked at Avery, and for a moment, the joy on her face was replaced with a look of solemn remembrance. "We had to go back to our kin," she said. "Buzzard's Spring was callin' my name, and Avery had to go back to Buzzard's Chapel to help his folks with the ranch."
The light breeze picked up, playing with Becky's feathers as she continued. "But when we came back to High Wind Gulch, we knew we had to keep fighting for our place here. And when you were born, Baron, it gave us even more reason to stand our ground."
Baron felt a warmth in his chest as he listened to his parents' story. It was like he had been handed a treasure map to the past, each word revealing a piece of the puzzle that had shaped his life. He looked over at Harmony, who was listening just as intently, and felt a sense of camaraderie with her. They had both grown up in the shadow of High Wind Gulch's prejudices, but they had never let it define them.
The day grew warm, and the adults leaned back against the picnic basket, the sun casting long shadows across the blanket. Becky pulled out a fiddle that had seen better days but still sang sweetly when she played it. Avery took up a harmonica, and the two of them began to play a lively tune that had the children jumping up and dancing around the picnic spot. Harmony's laughter was like the sound of silver bells, and Baron couldn't help but grin as he watched her twirl and leap through the air.
As the music played on, the tension of the last few weeks seemed to melt away. For a brief moment, there were no worries about the town or the future, only the sound of laughter and the warmth of the sun. They played until the sun dipped low in the sky, painting the horizon with fiery streaks of orange and pink. Then, with a contented sigh, Becky laid her fiddle aside and began packing up the picnic basket.
The journey home was quieter than the ride to the stream, the weight of the day's revelations settling on their shoulders. Baron felt a mix of pride and anger bubbling within him, his feathers ruffling in the cool evening air. His pa had always been a hero in his eyes, but now he saw him in a new light—as a fighter for justice and equality. Harmony, too, seemed lost in thought, her eyes fixed on the horizon as she rode alongside them.
As they approached the outskirts of High Wind Gulch, the music of the town's evening activities drifted to meet them—the laughter of children playing tag in the street, the clang of the blacksmith's hammer, the distant whine of a fiddle from the saloon. The normalcy of it all seemed almost foreign after the tales of secret schools and hidden struggles.
Once they reached Buzzard Ranch, Harmony said her goodbyes and rode off into the twilight, the promise of tomorrow's adventures already shimmering in her eyes. Becky watched her go with a mixture of pride and anxiety, her mind racing with the secrets she'd been carrying for so long.
As Becky lay in bed that night, the soft rustle of the curtains whispered the secrets she had yet to share with Avery. The moon cast a silvery light through the window, painting patterns on the floorboards. Her thoughts swirled around Clarence's promise—a vow to keep her true intentions hidden from her husband, even as they worked side by side in the rebellion. It was a burden that grew heavier with each passing day, each poker game won. Her heart ached with the knowledge of the dangerous path they were all walking. Yet, she knew the truth could shatter the fragile balance they had found if she spoke too soon. The town was a tinderbox, and the fuse was growing shorter by the minute. The Nosedives' influence spread like a dark cloud, and Becky could feel the tension coiling tighter with each dawn. Her friendship with Ruby and Clarence had become a lifeline in the storm of prejudice and deceit.
Becky closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to the Spirit of the West, a force that she had always felt watching over them. She begged for the strength to keep her secrets a little longer and the courage to face whatever trials lay ahead. Harmony's sweet face swam before her eyes, a reminder of the innocence that she and Avery had sworn to protect. The town needed heroes, and she knew that together, they could be those heroes. But as the night grew quiet, Becky's thoughts grew darker. What if their rebellion failed? What if the price of freedom was too high? She pushed the fears aside and focused on the warmth of the gold coin under her pillow—a symbol of their hope and determination. The town had to know the truth, had to see that the Nosedives and Otto Bulloney were not the saviors they claimed to be. But the only problem was trying to figure out why nobody else knew who they were enough to force them out of town. Whatever the source was, they had to know soon enough.
AN: And it looks like this is the start of where Avery picks up on gambling to not only provide for his family after losing his job at the mining camp, but to help fund for the rebellion against the Nosedive family, reluctantly keep this a secret from his wife and son, even for their own safety with the need to watch out. And the thing is knowing that the Nosedives and their supporters have not been seen during the nights which puzzles the civilians on where they could be.