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In the realm of scorching earthen dominion, nestled within the sprawling Utah desert, an unfathomable expanse stretched as far as the eye could see. A tapestry of arid vastness, where creatures great and small found solace amidst the unforgiving embrace of an unyielding land. Time seemed to stand still in this eternal realm, shaped by the tireless dance of wind and water, giving rise to rugged, undulating contours that beckoned only the audacious souls willing to brave the lawless disparities it held. Ancient and unwavering, the red soil bore witness to the long-forgotten inhabitants that had once roamed its surface, their ephemeral existence imprinted in the very fabric of its dust. Amongst the hardened cacti and stunted bushes that defiantly punctuated the landscape, weathered sentinels of time stood resolute, their forms twisted and contorted by centuries of existence. This ocean of high desert scrub, adorned with the defiant beauty of ocotillo and cholla, stretched infinitely, while above it all, a vast canopy arched overhead—an immense and empty sky, bleached by the relentless passage of time. It was a forgotten land, exiled to the periphery of civilization, forsaken by those who had long turned their backs on its enigmatic allure. Here, a man could vanish, consumed by the currents of an uncharted world, where peculiar creatures stirred from within the very earth, rising as ephemeral motes, adrift in the unsheltered embrace of the boundless sky.
Unlike a critter evading the gnashing maw of death itself, none could match the audacity of one Tanner Graves—the embodiment of a daredevil relentless in his pursuit of recklessness with unwavering resolve.
"Git goin' Sally-girl!" A rough and tumble Texan, who would brush and kiss a sharp-toothed saurian before spanking the flank, hollered and spurred his gargantuan mare into a breakneck gallop, sending plumes of dust as they thundered across the arid desert in chase for a hapless Utahraptor.
Through the haze of distance, Tanner's keen eyes locked onto his coveted quarry—a raptor engaged in a fierce struggle, its gait marred by a wound yet propelled by a desperate swiftness. Determination coursed through his veins as he raised his trusted Winchester, aiming to claim the prize that awaited him.
Bang!
His shot went awry and claimed a clumsy pot-shot, the bullet missing its mark by a wide margin. He cursed, urging Sally to go faster.
The earth sped by before them, a wild swirl of vibrant reds and sun-kissed yellows, blurring into a mesmerising canvas as Tanner and his Equus Giganteus closed the gap. With steady resolve, Tanner steadied his aim once more.
Bang!
Alas, the shot soared high into the sky, missing once more. But Tanner, undeterred by his own misstep, erupted into hearty laughter that echoed across the dusty expanse. With a gleam in his eyes and a whoop of exhilaration, he urged Sally to plunge into an even more madder gallop, her hoofbeats like thunderous drums across the barren plains.
Up ahead, Tanner's discerning gaze caught outlines of a modest frontier town nestled snugly against the foothills. There, an aged barn standing just on the outskirts caught his focused attention. Lining his sight, he realised soon the raptor was making an unsteady sprint toward this wooden sanctuary.
"Ya reckon ya can claim that den as yer refuge, ya oversized chicken? Think again!" He drove his spurs into Sally's flanks, igniting a fiery spirit within her.
As the barn loomed closer, the Utahraptor, driven by desperation, sought solace within its timeworn confines. Tanner drew Sally, bringing her to a sliding halt, dismounting swiftly after. Rifle gripped firmly in his grasp, he approached the open maw of the barn with calculated caution, his senses attuned to the slightest flicker of movement. With a steady hand, he extended the barrel of his rifle into the wooden cavern.
Peering into the dimly lit interior, he could just make out the dinosaur nestled in a corner. Its once mighty frame now reduced to a weary figure, panting with the strain of the relentless chase. The air crackled with tension as the raptor lifted its head, fixing its piercing gaze upon the hunter. In a defiant display of dominance, it unleashed a primal shriek.
Tanner's aim locked onto his target, poised to pull the trigger and deliver swift justice. However, fate intervened with a jolt of unexpected chaos.
In one last desperate bit for escape, the Utahraptor burst forth from the barn, hurtling towards the unsuspecting town.
Tanner' sighed. "Oh, hell..."
With every ounce of strength and resolve, he sprinted after the raptor as it barreled into town, scattering the townsfolk in every direction. Like a dispersing flock of startled birds in the face of a rock inbound.
In the heart of the bustling town, the saurian frenzy erupted, engulfing the scene in a tempestuous whirlwind of feathery chaos. Like an untamed force of nature, the panicked dinosaur surged through the quaint market stalls, its feathery tail sweeping through the air with a wild grace, disrupting the delicate equilibrium of trinkets and treasures. Startled vendors instinctively ducked, their wares abandoned like fallen leaves in the wake of an approaching storm.
Bang!
Tanner's shot rang out through the air, but missed by a yard. Like a wayward comet, the bullet ricocheted off the weathered facade of a nearby building.
Undeterred, the creature veered, propelling down a narrow side street, upended a water trough and crashed through the fragile windows of a general store.
With frustration, Tanner unleashed another shot that found its mark, striking the Utahraptor square in its flank.
The resounding impact reverberated through the air, mingling with the creature's anguished cry. Tanner fired twice more, revealing a swift succession as he closed in on his prey.
The beast spun around, its blazing eyes locking onto Tanner with a menacing glare, as if to proclaim its intent to take him as its final victim through a final resort. The Utahraptor charged straight towards him, its jaws gaping wide and its clawed hands poised to seize him in a deadly embrace.
At the last possible moment, Tanner propelled himself out of harm's way, evading the clutches of the raptor as it streaked past him in a blur of unbridled fury. Landing on the ground with a thud, he sat up and regained a proper aim when he fished out a revolver from his holster. He locked his sights on the back of the raptor's head and fired the final shot. The blast echoed through the air as the point-blank shot struck home.
Tanner let out a resounding whoop of triumph as the Utahraptor crumpled to the ground and hollered with pride, "Now that's how y'all bag a raptor!"
A crowd, a medley of awe-struck spectators, had gathered in the aftermath of the climactic encounter. A symphony of cheers erupted from those who marvelled at Tanner's feat, their admiration spilling forth like cascading waves. Yet, among the jubilation, a discordant chorus of boos emanated from a faction that held an opposing perspective in the divergence of a common spectacle.
"Hooligan!"
"Reckless cowboy!"
"Shoulda struck true and never let that beast into town!"
Tanner grinned unapologetically as he lazily rose to his feet. "No harm done, folks! Jest doin' my job, keepin' y'all safe from man-eating chickens."
An angry store owner came out, surveying the damage to his window and displays. "Somebody needs to pay for this!"
"My apologies, friend. How's about I skin this here raptor and use the hide to fix yer window, free of charge?"
The store owner considered for a moment before nodding gruffly. "Better than nothing I suppose."
"There now. Ain't nobody get hurt and y'all get a new window outta the bargain. I'd call that a fair trade."
Tanner couldn't help but emit a satisfied chuckle as he knelt beside the lifeless raptor, a gleam of triumph dancing in his eyes.
Retrieving his knife concealed within his boot, he began the meticulous task of skinning the beast. Feathers parted under the steady stroke of his blade, revealing the intricate interplay of primitive avian traits and ancient reptilian lineage.
In this curious amalgamation of modernity and primaeval essence, the act of stripping away the creature's hide was akin to the familiar ritual of preparing a freshly hunted turkey: The air became infused with a melange of scents, the ambient earthy musk of raw lizard meat wafted through the surroundings with a taste undoubtedly like poultry, intermingling with the acrid tang of gunpowder and lead. And beneath it all, the metallic notes of freshly spilled blood hung in the air.
To Tanner, this pungent medley was not a discordant cacophony, but a harmonious whisper of a well-earned feast.
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After minutes of laborious cutting and amateur skinning, the Utahraptor's hide began to yield, gradually peeling away from its flesh. Tanner gave a firm tug, but the resistance proved futile.
Frustration mounting, he yanked with all his might, only to be met with a grotesque surprise. In a sickening moment, the taut skin ripped free, accompanied by a nauseating torrent of the raptor's intestinal organs. A repulsive pile spilled, creating a ghastly tableau that elicited visceral reactions from the townsfolk who had been drawn to the macabre spectacle. Gaping mouths turned into retching grimaces, groans of revulsion echoed, and instinctive cringing propelled them away from the abhorrent sight. Even Sally whinnied in distress.
"Ah hell," Tanner sighed and turned to the store owner. "On second thought friend, reckon ya patch that window up yer own self. No need to trouble ya with this here hide. Or reckon, ya can bring this beauty to a skinner."
The store owner glared at him. "Just get outta here, boy!"
The crowd's revulsion swiftly transformed into a unanimous roar of disapproval. Objects of all kinds, seemingly materialising from thin air, were launched with gleeful vindication at the poor hunter's direction. A rotten tomato exploded against Tanner's back and an unexpected boot added insult to injury. Amidst this chaotic barrage came a stroke of comedic absurdity—A slimy fish, propelled by either a miraculous aim or expert trajectory, slapped Tanner's face.
"Alright alright, I'm goin'!" he yelled, quickly mounting Sally, cantering out of the town square amidst boos and jeers.
Yet, he couldn't help but chuckle.
Tanner steered his mare towards a weathered old rancher, who sat on his porch, a few strides away from the disapproving crowd. With a courteous gesture, he tipped his hat and approached the elderly man with a disarming smile.
"Pardon me, sir. I reckon I've gotten myself a mite lost. Could you kindly inform me of the name of this here town?"
"Buffalo. Though I'm not sure why a poacher like yourself needs t'know."
"Poacher? Naw, I'm just a dinosaur hunter, hired to keep towns safe from problem critters." Tanner pulled out a wrinkled map. "Buffalo, you say? Don't seem to be on here."
"Ain't on no map. Too small and dusty for that—Town's just a recent spring from a near decade ago... You got a bounty here or just causing trouble for fun?"
"No, suh, just lost my way. Many thanks for settin' me straight."
"One more thing, dinoboy. You keep ridin' around here raising a ruckus, there'll be a price on your head. Just some friendly advice."
"Much obliged. I'll be sure to ride on now, no more trouble from me."
Once Tanner had ridden a safe distance away, meandering idly towards a saloon, he retrieved his worn map and scrutinised its inked contours. The town, absent from official records, demanded recognition—at least to know where he should avoid.
Wielding a charcoal, he inscribed "Buffalo" in delicate letters, accompanied by an X marking its hidden location upon the aged parchment.
Tanner had a way of leaving a trail of chaos in his wake during his lone dino-hunting expeditions and a knack for wearing out his welcome in towns.
Especially with towns like Buffalo. With its weathered buildings and dusty streets, the place would be a sanctuary to some, a place where his daring ventures could be celebrated or despised. Perhaps with a little mindling, the town could embrace him wholeheartedly, cherishing his daring spirit and the thrill he brought to their otherwise mundane lives.
With a confident nod, Tanner stowed away his map, feeling the weight of anticipation settle upon him. The allure of the open trail can wait for now, where the unforgiving expanse of the wasteland are lorded by dinosaurs, when monsters came undone and tamed.
Tanner dismounted his weary mare outside the structure, slinging a satchel of eggs he had procured a while back over his shoulder, then handed the reins off to a young, clueless ranch hand, tossing a coin to the boy. "Get her some grain an' a good rubdown. She earned it."
The saloon batwings swung open and the raucous cheer that erupted from the patrons greeted Tanner Graves as he strode inside. The boisterous atmosphere enveloped him, mingling with the scent of whiskey and the clinking of glasses.
More patrons leaned see what all the fuss was about. Tanner gave them a show, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a raptor egg to pass around, letting the onlookers examine and marvel over it whilst he soaked in every bit of their admiration with a satisfied smile. He basked in the adoration of the townsfolk as he showcased the egg, captivating their attention with his latest triumph.
The barkeep slid Tanner a whiskey at the bar. "Made quite a show, dinoboy. Haven't seen kin like you in a while. Drummed up a new score?"
Tanner tossed back the drink in one gulp before signalling for another. "That I did. Shot and skinned a Utah for whoever wants 'em, and I got some prime Deinonychus eggs."
Then with one distracting flash of frilly dresses, Tanner flashed his signature roguish grin as a gaggle of saloon girls sidled up. "Ladies, who wants to hear the thrilling tale of my latest dino dust-up? Name's Tanner Graves."
Amid the giggles of the saloon girls, Tanner allowed himself to be pulled toward an empty table. The clinking of glasses and the lively chatter filled the air as he settled back, relishing in the familiar routine. Swooning to smoky smells and reeking alcohol, he began to spin his well-practised yarn of dinosaur hunting, capturing the attention of the eager audience gathered around him. And that's exactly what Tanner gave them.
He gestured wildly, embellishing his story with every word. The crowd laughed and hollered right on cue, hanging on to his every word. These simple folk craved excitement, any distraction from their dull routines. He was happy to provide, spinning his exaggerated tales and basking in their admiration. The truth of his stories hardly mattered—it was the spectacle they came for, and he aimed to deliver.
When a barmaid approached with another glass of whiskey for the hunter, Tanner greeted in a low voice, "Well, howdy there. Heard your name was Betsy. You sure know how to treat a man right."
Betsy smiled shyly, nodding toward the eggs blatantly displayed like trophies. "That's quite a clutch you've dragged in this time, Mr. Graves. Folks around here ain't never seen nothin' like it."
"Just doing my job, ma'am. Say, what time do ya get off work tonight? I might be lookin' for some female companionship to celebrate my big catch."
"Mr. Graves, you know I got responsibilities... Folks countin' on me."
Tanner chuckled. "I hear ya. Well, if ya change your mind, ya know where to find me. I'll be right here, enjoying my whiskey, countin' my coins."
Betsy gave him a shy smile and turned to hurry to the other patrons. "Have a good evenin', Mr. Graves."
Tanner watched her go with an amused look, taking another swig of whiskey.
After the crowd parted to continue their drinking and socialising, a well-dressed man's scrutinising gaze locked onto Tanner, his face etched with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Tanner met his gaze, his own expression a mix of weariness and confidence. After a moment of silence, the man spoke, his voice carrying a hint of authority.
"Good afternoon. Name's Jeremy Shaw. This here is quite a specimen you've brought in. However, I do wish you'd tranquilised the poor beast instead of killing it outright. It'd have made for more."
Tanner shrugged. "It was an obstacle. Had t'do somethin'. Besides, look, it's one bullet."
"I realize these creatures can be dangerous, but surely more conservative methods would have sufficed."
"Hey now, I did what I had t'do. Least 'preciate the eggs I got. They ain't harmed. Not even a dent!"
"Clearly." Mr. Shaw replied dryly. He took out a notepad and began writing. "I'll still purchase the eggs, of course. But I'm deducting a percentage for the imminent spoilage. That brings the price to... one-fifty."
"Each?"
"All."
"What? Why? Ya got nerve proposin' that. These eggs are in prime condition!"
"One-fifty, or none at all."
Tanner opened his mouth to object, then thought better of it. "One-fifty it is."
"Pleasure doing business with you, sir." He handed Tanner some bills and walked away with all the eggs cradled in his arms, leaving the dinosaur hunter fuming over the educated man who'd just cut the legs out from under one of his catches.
Tanner discreetly moved away from his table, keeping a careful distance as he tailed behind. Concealing himself behind a barrel, he strained his ears to catch snippets of the conversation between Jeremy Shaw and the man overseeing the loading of the Deinonychus eggs, among other things. Their hushed voices carried on the wind, snippets of words and phrases reaching Tanner's ears.
"Good day, sir." Jeremy said politely. "Thank you for coming on such short notice to transport this. I'm certain Mr. Thompson would be glad to have these additions."
The other nodded. "Of course. Mr. Thompson will be keen to have another addition to his partner's sanctuary."
"That dinosaur hunter shot the lively specimen. What's left of it were deinonychus eggs. Still, with care and time, I'm sure Randall may profit such wealth with this gift."
"Not if his partner has anything to say about it. She'll spoil it rotten like all the others, hah."
As the men rode away, Tanner's anger simmered within him. He knew many of the big dinosaur buyers and traders in the desert regions—but not this mysterious Mr. Thompson. He felt cheated and betrayed, his hard-earned cluster of valuable dinosaur eggs simply being given away.
Tanner lit a cigar, swearing to himself. Next time, he'd skip the middleman and sell his catches directly.
Slamming his fist on the wooden railing, Tanner's scowl commanded attention as he strode into the saloon. The lively chatter and laughter came to a halt, replaced by hushed whispers and curious glances. His eyes locked onto Betsy behind the bar and made a beeline for her, determined to find the answers he sought.
"Randall Thompson. Ya heard of 'em?" Tanner demanded.
Betsy, confused. "I ain't never heard of no Mr. Thompson, suh."
"Don't lie to me, girl. I heard that city fella mentionin' the name."
"Now, Mr. Graves, I really don't know nothin' about no Mr. Thompson. That man you talked to—Mr. Jeremy Shaw—he'd travel often and secure procurement of dinosaurs South from here to many buyers. Please, just have a drink and calm down some."
Tanner glared at her for a long moment before finally pulling up a barstool. "Give me yer hardest whiskey. And someone better start talkin' soon or there's gonna be trouble in this here town."
The saloon was enveloped in an eerie silence as Tanner's piercing gaze swept across the room. Patrons shifted uncomfortably in their seats, unsure of what had sparked the sudden tension in their usual joyous hunter.
Just as the strain reached its peak, an old-timer, weathered and grizzled, cleared his throat and spoke up with a gruff tone, breaking the silence that had gripped the room.
"All I know is rumours, mind. But word is this Mr. Thompson is a smart businessman, runs some kinda dinosaur preserve. Buys 'em up from all over and breeds more for profit. Supposed to have all kinds of rare creatures living on his land."
"Where's this land at?"
"Nobody right knows. But folks say he sells some of his breeding stock to the highest bidder. Zoos, collectors, the like."
"And the black market?"
"Rumor has it he deals with 'em too. Sells 'em creatures that money can't buy, long as you ask no questions."
Tanner's eyes narrowed as he processed the elder's words, his mind racing with possibilities. A dinosaur breeder and dealer operating in secrecy—someone who understood the value of these ancient creatures. It was the kind of person Tanner knew all too well, someone who shared his own shadowed path.
With a determined tilt of his hat, Tanner set his empty glass down and made his way towards the door. He had a new target in sight, and it was time to play the game on his own terms.
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