A year ago Wyatt had been drinking in a saloon in West Virginia, where he was born and raised, when a man in a white top hat and matching white boots came up to him and sat down.
"You look like a smart young man," the man said with a smile. "Let me buy you a drink and tell you about a great opportunity," he continued and gestured to the barkeep who quickly brought over two tall glasses of yellow foamy liquid.
"Well, I'm not about to turn down a free drink," Wyatt said with the enthusiasm of someone who had never seen someone with such brilliant clothes. "Where'd ya get them clothes," he asked.
The man looked down at himself and said, "I got these fine linens and fabrics from the finest clothing maker in all of New York City. They fit me perfect and one day you can have clothes as fine as these, young man. I'm sure of it."
"I doubt that," Wyatt said thinking about the five cents in his pocket, which was the sum of his savings.
"Well, that's why I'm here. My name is Phillip Russell and I'm here to help young up and comers, such as yourself, make a better tomorrow for you and yours. Have you heard about what's happening to west of us young man," the white hatted man asked as he took a swig of beer.
"No sire. I keeps to my self mostly, when I'm not working on the farm," Wyatt said feeling stupid for not knowing. He took a drink anyway.
"Well. That's fine. In fact that's perfect seeing as there's land out west. And it's dirt cheap if you know the right man," Phillip said. "And it just so happens that I'm the right man."
"Whatcha mean," Wyatt said with a confused turn of the head.
"Let me explain," Phillip said excited to get to the good part. "I have hundreds of acres of land in Utah. That don't do me no good seeing as I'm here and it's just sittin there waitin for some hard working fellow to make use of it. That's where you come in. You see?"
"Utah," Wyatt asked indicating that he may not have understood much more than that.
"Yes, son. Utah. It's a beautiful land. Has fertile soil like none other. I swear you'll make your fortune there and soon enough you'll be livin the American Dream," Phillip said leaning back in his chair.
"Well that sounds amazin. But I aint got no money for land," Wyatt said assuming he was defeated at the start.
"Not a problem. You see. I can sell you a small portion of what I got. Let's say ten acres. And I'll sell it to you for," Phillip said and stopped to think about how much that might cost a man like Wyatt, "fifty dollars."
"That's more than a year's work mister. Thanks for the beer but you're barkin up the wrong tree," Wyatt said.
The man in the white hat leaned over the table to tell Wyatt a secret, "For you. Twenty dollars."
Wyatt's eyes went wide with excitement and he said, "I can't pass up a deal like that. Shit. But I don't have it now."
"That's fine, son. Just pay me five dollars a month until it's paid," Phillip said with a grin on his pale face and the two shook hands.
For the next five months Wyatt worked harder than ever on the farm and helping people whenever he could. He saved every bit he could until he finally paid for his plot of land all the while doing his best to learn everything there was to know about farming from his grand father and others in town. On his final day in his home town only his mother and Phillip Russell wished him well and he set out to claim his new land with little more than a map and a paper deed. The next few months were arduous but he made it to Utah and started building his new life.
He had managed to cobble together a meager wooden hut with enough room for a wood stove and a bed but he loved it. With just enough saved to purchase food and a few supplies he made himself a breakfast of bacon and eggs every morning before getting to work. The summer was hot in Utah and he wasn't quite sure how he was going to get the land tilled properly without a horse and as he thought about how he might accomplish more with less he noticed riders coming up over the hill toward him. Wyatt grabbed a shotgun, the one his father owned before he had died, and walked out to greet the riders.
Five men in black round hats, black vests and white shirts galloped up with their rifles trained on Wyatt. They circled Wyatt until he put his shotgun down and then the leader dismounted and walked up to him.
"Who are ye and why are ye making camp on this land," the man in a black vest asked.
Wyatt was stunned and furious and tried to explain,"I bought this land fair an square from Phillip Russell not six months ago. I have to deed an everythin." He turned to get the deed but was struck down by the butt of a rifle.
"That be a lie. This land is owned by God and the Mormon church," the leader said standing over a very confused Wyatt.
"No, no. That can't be," Wyatt pleaded and added, "I have the deed. I paid fair and square."
The leader of the riders turned to the other men and said, "Burn it down," and then began kicking Wyatt repeatedly in the stomach. All of his seeds, tools and wood burned up in a few minutes and he was left there to die in the dirt. After a few hours Wyatt managed to get to his feet and he walked the few miles to the nearest village. It was the same village he had purchased supplies from and it was the same village that had informed the Mormons that "a new one" had came in looking to take their land.
Wyatt had thought it strange that there had been no saloon but now that he had no money and could barely walk it didn't seem to matter so he just sat against a building and waited. After an hour of unsuccessful begging a man with a tall black top hat and matching black boots came walking up and stood in front of Wyatt and said, "Well, you seem down on your luck, young man."
"I've had it worse than ever sir, spare a coin," Wyatt said wincing from the pain in his side.
The man in the fancy black hat and boots took a cigar out of his mouth and said, "I've something better than a coin, son. I have a once in a lifetime opportunity for ya. Have ya heard of what's happening in California?"
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