Tramps of the range

In the pale light of dawn, a lone rider steps off an Overland train and drifts into the quiet streets of Moon Flats, a dusty cow town that clings to the Mission River ranges. The town awakens around him—shuttered storefronts, a clattering clock in the Cattlemen’s Hotel, and the low murmur of cowboys and laborers starting their day. The stranger’s features are a blend of youth and wear, his face lined by an illness he barely masks with a half‑smile and a hand‑rolled cigarette that smells of lint. He settles on a sidewalk, watching the town come alive as if cataloguing a place he once knew.

Around him, the locals trade sleepy curses, argue over a broken clock, and go about their chores, unaware of the newcomer’s keen, almost clinical gaze. When he is recognized by a familiar name, a thin thread of recognition pulls at the surface, hinting at past connections and unspoken motives. The scene sets a tone of rugged routine interrupted by the quiet arrival of a man who may change the rhythm of Moon Flats.