The Oregon trail

Oh sunny days

Alex's P.O.V

Readjusting the scarf, tighter around my throat. I was suddenly glad I had the forethought to buy a pair of gloves from the general store, a week back.

To say it was cold was a understatement.

I could feel it in the air the moment I woke up this morning. A heavy frost hanging in the air like a shirt on a hanger.

Apparently this wasn't even that cold according to Steve.

The real test was yet to come.

It took everything in me to get out from beneath the sheets this morning.

Joey was already up, stoking the fire, refilling it with wood. A pot of coffee already on the burner.

Tugging on an extra pair of fluffy socks, before stuffing them into my boots. Opening the door intent to go feed the horses, I soon dove back into the bunk house. The cold hitting me like a slap to the face.

It took a bit for everyone to get going this morning. After a hot breakfast and a bellyful of coffee we were out the door.

Today was the day we were taking the cattle to the sale yards.

The ground was covered in a thick layer of white frost. Covering every blade of grass.

It crunched underfoot, a soothing, therapeutic sound. Created by the cattle as they walked.

They were slow in their pace, not wanting to rise this morning. Not that I didn't blame them. I'd rather be in bed too.

The sun was only just starting to peak over the horizon when we left Shiloh, now it was well above us. Causing the ground to glare up harshly at our eyes.

The hot breaths from the cattle, cooled down immediately as it hit the frigid air. Making large clouds of white breath rise above them as we walked.

I was glad the moment the town came into view. Flexing my toes in my boots. It felt like they were beginning to freeze together.

Medicine Bow was busier than usual.

The streets were lined with horses, tied up outside hitching posts. Dozens of people were walking outside of the buildings, quickly moving out of the way as the herd walked down the Main Street.

We walked them towards the sale yards which were out the back of the livery.

Massive wooden pens were in rows, either side of a wide race for the cattle to walk down. Some of the pens were already filled with cattle of all sizes and colours.

Herefords, Angus, longhorns, and even the odd milking cow. Everything was here they didn't discriminate.

A short man with glasses, a top hat and clipboard was quick to wave The Virginian down.

A cow poke from a different outfit was quick to ride down the race, opening one of the numbered gates to a pen.

We slowly pushed the cattle towards the race, giving the man and Trampus plenty of time to count the cattle as they were split off into groups.