Mack awoke feeling much stiffer than he ever remembered being.
He reached out to the side of his bunk to find the familar stash that was always there.

His hand first met the smooth butt of his pistol and then fumbled a bit to the left for the bag of tobacco and rolling papers…..gone. Instead he found pair of wire rim specticals…..curious.
He sat up in the bed……..wait, a bed?
Last he recalled he was curled up outside under the sturdy old wool blanket that he carried.
He looked around the large canvas tent in which he slept. His friend of many years Angus was asleep in a bunk across the room. Angus looked differant, older.
Mack swung his feet down and reached for his canvas pants….gone too, replaced with a pair of fancy fringed buckskin like the young bucks who wandered into the towns at the foot of the mountain wore….also gone was the sturdy cotton shirt replaced with a fringed thing that was even more garish than the pants…

This was getting way too confusing…a quick search of the tent revealed a wood box with a pair of black cotton trousers and a starched cotton shirt and black vest. Not exactally his style but at least he was presentable. Also in the box was a pair of black leather boots, similar to the ones worn by the ranch hands to the south. He dressed quickly, slipped his pistol and a sheathed Green River behind his belt and stepped from the lodge quietly as not to wake Angus.

The sun was bright this morning and a quick duck back into the lodge produced a bowler hat that fit Mack well.

The camp was abuzz with people, even at this early hour. Many more people than Mack ever remembered seeing at the spring trade event. Women and even children milled about. Piles of furs, trade goods and unwashed people were spread about giving the alley a unique aroma. Mack again fumbled for his makings out of habit only to discover they were still gone…had he quit smoking? He did recall doing so.

A rotund man with a full beard and two rather important men walked up to Mack, they were babbling about how big some town could become.

“This is Mackense Walters, our vice president of the fur traders council.”, the round fellow blustered. Nobody had called Mack by his full name in years…..what the hell had he gotten himself into?