The day the sun rose from the west: a western

The night was dark and a haze settled over the small mining town of Bridgemark. The town was made up of a central bar with an adjoining church surrounded by a shanty town that housed 136 of the hardest working California miners the gold rush had ever seen. This night was moonless as the haze strangled the sky for every once of light. Families on this night found themselves wrapped up tight with stories and playthings, while the lonely single jobmen congregated at the bar; telling stories and looking for playthings. The dark bar was brimming tonight with scantily clad dames that must have heard word of a gold find and were looking to hustle their way into their fair share. The miners were a precarious group that wanted nothing but their money, whisky, and pussy; and when something or someone got in the way of that they often found themselves buried alongside the treasure of the mountains. As tales of folklore were exchanged, the criminalistic miners gave accounts of past lives and run ins with the law. Overtime the stories became so robust and layered that no patron could deny the validity of the tales. One such tale solidifies Bridgemark’s place in the history books, as the home town of Cane DeMarcus…