They rode into camp just as the sun dipped beneath the tree line, casting long shadows across the clearing. The horses were tired. Jake looked like he'd just walked out of a Tarantino movie soaked in fake blood… except none of it was fake.
Dutch was waiting near the fire, arms folded like a disappointed father whose kids just stole a train.
"Well?" he called out. "Where the hell have y'all been?"
Arthur dismounted first. "Took the kid out. Got him some damn clothes, figured we'd stop by Saint Denis."
Jake hopped off behind him, still clutching a blood-stained sleeve like it was a war trophy. "Got ambushed. Almost turned into forest mulch. Good times."
Dutch eyed him, eyes narrowing. "Uh-huh. And this is the guy you said dropped out of the sky?"
"More like my couch," Jake corrected. "But yes, I time-traveled via refrigerator and Rockstar-induced rage blackout."
Dutch turned to John, who shrugged. "He's weird. But useful."
"Still smells like trouble," Dutch muttered, lighting a cigar. "But you two vouch for him, I'll let it be. For now."
Jake mock-bowed. "Your royal Dutch-ness. May your hat always stay slightly tilted and your plans never go off the rails."
Dutch ignored him.
Just as they were about to disperse, Hosea strolled up holding something.
"Well, look what fell outta your little satchel, Jake."
He held it up.
A black rectangular slate... glowing faintly. Its screen flickered on with a bloop sound, displaying the lock screen—Jake's wallpaper was a cursed meme of a cowboy Shrek riding a unicorn.
Jake gasped.
"MY PHONE!" he snatched it from Hosea like a starving man finding a steak. "Oh my beautiful, sexy, overpowered OLED demon brick. I thought I lost you forever!"
Arthur leaned in. "What the hell is that?"
"It's... a communication device," Jake replied with an over-the-top dramatic tone. "A magical slab forged in the depths of the digital hellscape. Also, it has Snake and Spotify."
John raised an eyebrow. "You mean you can talk to people with that thing?"
"Talk, text, game, jerk off—this thing's my soul companion," Jake said, kissing the screen. "See that? 2025 time. Real date. Also, full battery, thank God."
Hosea chuckled. "I ain't never seen anything like it. You sure you ain't one of them rich boys dressing up to play cowboy?"
Jake slipped it into his pocket with pride. "Nope. Just your average traumatized, time-displaced lunatic who now officially qualifies as The First Cowboy With Wi-Fi."
Karen, walking by, muttered, "He looks like a nobleman's bastard child who got lost in the saloon and never found the way out."
Bill snorted. "Or one of them city folk actors doin' some kinda weird play."
Sean, polishing a bottle, chimed in, "He's either mad… or a genius. Or both."
Jake grinned. "Correct on all three counts."
Dutch exhaled, a long puff of smoke curling around his head. "I still don't trust it. Or him."
Arthur shrugged. "I've seen him shoot. He ain't useless."
John nodded. "And he knows things."
Dutch raised an eyebrow. "Knows things?"
Arthur gave a small nod. "Things that ain't happened yet."
Jake wiggled his eyebrows. "And I know Dutch has a thing for mirrors."
Dutch gave him a side-eye. "One more word outta you—"
"Noted," Jake smirked, then whispered under his breath, "But also true."
Arthur sighed and started walking away.
Jake pulled out his phone again, looking over the cracked glass and dirt smudges. His heart sank just a little—no signal. No data. No escape hatch.
But it was here.
Proof of home.
Proof that he wasn't entirely crazy.
He slid it back into his coat and exhaled. "Guess it's cowboy mode, Jake. Time to yee my last haw."