Peter Rockwell's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Peter Rockwell wiped down the bar top, the same motion he'd made a thousand times since hanging up his explorer's gear. The saloon stayed quiet in the morning heat, which suited him fine. He'd promised his dying partner he'd build something good, something that helped people instead of getting them killed. The ranch and saloon gave travelers a safe place to rest, and that mattered more than any treasure he'd once chased through collapsing tombs. Through the window, he spotted two horses tied at the hitching post outside. A brown Breton stood next to a grey one, both animals looking patient in the shade. Their riders would need water soon. Everyone did in this heat. Peter stepped out onto the log cabin's porch and crossed to the old stone well. Vines crawled up its weathered sides, and tumbleweeds had gathered near its base. He cranked the handle, pulling up the bucket. Cool water sloshed inside. He filled a trough for the horses, then carried a pitcher back toward the cabin. This was the work now. Drawing water. Feeding animals. Keeping the place running so his partner's family could eat. No poison darts. No collapsing caves. Just honest labor that wouldn't get anyone killed. He couldn't bring back the good people he'd lost, but he could keep this promise. One day at a time.