davywavy | What's this? A moment of inspiration?

One of the many good things about GenCon this year wsa the fact that I came away from it feeling more inspired than I have for a very long time to write more and, whilst my inspiration has been rather thin on the ground lately, I still have that bubbling well of ideas to play with which led me to start considering GenCon next year and what I'll write for it. So, as a blatant plug...

John D Rockefeller looked up from his papers as the train started to slow. He was glad the long trip down into Texas was coming to an end; it had been a fraught trip with both himself and Cornelius Venderbilt having attached private carriages to the engine. They had been studiously, firmly polite to each other on those rare occasions when both had ventured forth into the public areas of the train at the same time, but even so they bore each other no love and their rivalry for the opportunity which had brought them to this godforsaken little town had helped any appearance of cordiality not one bit.
The papers on his desk gave him many of the details he needed. Jonestown, Texas. Population, 45. A former silver boom-town, the mine had long been worked dry and the town abandoned by all but the most determined characters. It seemed that most of the population spent their time drinking and feuding amongst their little clans.
Until now, that is.
Geological reports indicated the largest oil-strike since the Utah Pool twenty years earlier, and it was no secret that both he and Vanderbilt wanted the rights to this new source of wealth. There would be problems, certainly. The ownership of the land under which the strike was to be found was in dispute and, with such wealth to be had, reconciliation between the various disputing parties was not going to be easy to come by.
The train was slowing now, and he could see the station through the window. Gathered upon the platform was a selection of locals, many of whom he recognised as claimants from the dossier supplied by his agents. Ma Baker, and her Baker Boys. Old Jesse Duke and his Family. Grandpa Jones, who claimed the town was founded by him. Others as well: “Doc” Scott, who had recently patented a new method of fractional distillation – Rockefeller would have to talk to him before Vanderbilt did – and Boss Hogg, who claimed to run the town. Still others, all clustered on the platform, some of whom Rockefeller did not recognise. He made a mental note to chastise his agents: he did not want unknown quantities to disrupt his plans for a quick solution to any obstacles before walking away with the mineral rights.
The train had almost come to a halt before he noticed the last group: the Indians. Standing quietly at the back, waiting patiently. Mentally, Rockefeller discounted them: he knew the Indians were a spent force in the region. He was sure that they would not prove a problem.
He gathered his papers and stood. It was time to begin. He did not see any cause for concern in the knowledge that the oil strike was directly beneath the old Indian burial ground.

The League of Ornery Gentlemen
A roleplaying tribute to every whisky-soaked, shotgun toting grizzled old-timer ever to grace the west.
David has been at the firewater again.