Scholar-!

Written by Ronan Kingsley for character development of Ronan Kingsley

It was a normal day for the ten trappers riding high on their Indian ponies. The sun beating down upon them with it’s gaze, the prairie grass waving in the wind, the pack mules being as stubborn as can be. In the lead was Ronan Shanagan, on his flanks were Douglas and David Shanagan, Douglas was his husband, married like Catholics, minus the fact that they were the same sex. The other 7 followed in the middle, the mules trailing behind. All of the men held rifles in their laps, with and without a buckskin bag covering them.

Ronan’s Ferguson rifle on the other hand, was in a scabbard of its own, on the right side of the saddle, two custom made horse pistols in holsters on either side of the pommel, they followed the basic 1738 design of horse pistol, but with far longer barrels with finer rifling than would be seen on a horse pistol. Ronan carried his dueling pistols tucked into his belt rather than wearing them in a holster.

After what felt like years of riding through the endless prairie, the men finally pulled up to a clearing in a patch of woods, the sun was settling as they tied the horses down and set up their bedrolls. Ronan left his rifle by his bedroll, set next to Douglas’, and With only his dueling pistols, sat down next to the fire with Ebitt, Davy, Douglas, Smith, and bill, the other four were hunting, getting water, and scouting, but not scouting well enough.

Only seconds after sitting down, the galloping of several horses was heard, and as if a shadow, the men quickly disappeared into the woods around the camp, soon, 4 Spanish soldiers on horseback, and 2 utes riding double with the 2 in the back ride into the camp site. The eldest of the bunch, presumably the leader, called out in Spanish, and after a minute of no response, in heavily accented English, called out. “Hello?! Who goes on Spanish land?!” Ronan emerged from the trees, as if he were walking through a doorway. “Hello captain! Why I tread on these lands! After all, who wouldn’t?” Ronan sounded cheery, and welcoming. Meanwhile, the other five were all pointing rifle and pistol at the men, well concealed in the woods as the captain spoke. “You trespass! These lands are owned by Spain!” Ronan only chuckled, “no, my friend, they are owned by no one, no man can own this land, especially not those another ocean away.” The captain was infuriated by this buckskin clad savage, after all, these lands were claimed by the Spanish, and this man in front of him, was certainly not Spanish. “Get off these lands! Or I shall arrest you!” The captain threatened, when suddenly, 5 flintlocks clicked to full cock in the woods, and a gruff Welshman spoke. “Ye just turn around, er your spine ‘ll be broken, at this range with a rifle, I wun’ miss.” The man who spoke was calm, and clearly willing to Fulfill his promise. The captain was upset now, his face red with anger. “I have forty men! They’ll kill you all!” He shouted, infuriated as he turned his horse, his men doing the same. Ronan chuckled, “sounds like we’ll g-“ the captain’s hand dipped down, and when it came up, it spat fire, and Ronan was caught in the chest by a ball, as he fell, he heard three rifles sing their song of death, and watched as the captain’s head left his spine as Douglas called out, “Scho-!” The ground met Ronan, and he fell unconscious.

After what he was told a week, Ronan woke up, crude stitching all over the lower part of his chest, and far more sense Regarding men who carry a pistol. Not even three days later, and he was back riding for the mountains, with brand new buckskins, a fine lad as his own, a rifle in his lap and a smile, he pushed on.