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On the way, the two of you discussed agendas.
"I really do need to get to Sacramento. Have you any clue where we could find transport?" Such a question was repeated so many times to so many people that, by noon, half the shopkeepers in town could recite it verbatim.
Unfortunately for Steele, most of the carriages were delivering supplies to towns that needed it. Small places, like the Gulch, with no connections to anywhere and no sources of food or basic supplies.
Further still, the town itself was noticeably emptier than it had been just the morning before. More and more people were leaving, with maybe half of the town's population now consisting of soldiers. The sound of children playing had become quieter still, with all their parents busy rushing for supplies in the same way you and Steele now leisurely strolled.
It was a good thing, you told yourself. More and more people getting out of a place where you couldn't trust that the water was safe anymore. Yet... you couldn't help but wonder if you were making a mistake. Calling a false alarm?
...you snapped out of that kind of thinking and got back to tracing your map on the way to the post office. "We need t' keep followin' the river. There's no place t' stop until Red Bluff, 'n I don't know what the situation is there... maybe we'd have t' skip it?"
Steele nodded and waited outside while you asked about your letter. No response, yet, but it had supposedly been sent off last evening.
Back outside. Your small group continued wandering about town, gathering things, talking to people.
You returned to the inn, briefly rummaging in your trunk. Of the ten nutberries you had... three would do. One for each soldier and a failsafe if one of them somehow screwed up.
Deja vu flew by as you knocked at their headquaters, received no response. A door was opened by someone else and nutberries were exchanged for gracious compliments and some brief recognition.
Mary would get the occasional pat, Steele's mole the occasional dirty look. The sun soared higher and higher as your trunks became more and more stuffed, your rucksack-- now exchanged for a spare haversack-- renewed with plentiful amounts of food, your waist now the proud owner of a proper bullet pouch and holster for your still-empty revolver...
Steele slapped one of his bowler hats on you while you'd begun cloudgazing, its rim covering your eyes and stifling some of the bright light, your eyes soon turning back to him. "You don't look half bad." He chuckled and slapped your back. "Keep it! I have a few spare."
He secured a top hat for himself, as always, and fastened his own bullet pouch along the waistline of his spiffing new jeans. His usual blazer and undershirt was gone, replaced with a comically unfitting red lumberjack's shirt-- one that was noticeably absent from any Redding storefront. He cleared his throat and grinned at you. "How do I look?"
