Marshal

He journeyed home now after the end of that war; His uniformed tattered, his heart bleeding and sore. All that sustained him, was his thoughts of Kate. It's all that kept him from entering into hell's gate. A seasoned man returning no longer a boy, ready to put away his guns. Ready to settle down get the ranch going raise some sons.

I've been Marshal for a few years since returning from the war. I'm about six-foot-tall, weigh 200 pounds with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. My hair used to be raven black, but is now turning gray. My mustache is also turning gray. I usually wear bat wing chaps, pointed toe black buckaroo boots with Mexican spurs, and the thing that I'm most proud of is the star pinned to my vest.

I've been Marshal for a few years since returning from the war. I'm about six-foot-tall, weigh 200 pounds with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. My hair used to be raven black, but is now turning gray. My mustache is also turning gray. I usually wear bat wing chaps and pointed toe black buckaroo boots with Mexican spurs, and the thing that I'm most proud of is the star pinned to my vest.

I came in from the porch where I'd been sitting with my usual morning company, our dog, a collection of cats and chickens. Dee, my emerald-eyed cowgirl, had just made a fresh pot and handed me a fresh cup - hot and black like we both liked it - with her always pleasant smile.