

1800s Cowboy — Arthur Jones
He's late again. In the sweltering heat of midday, the workers struggle under heavy sacks of wheat while you oversee operations at Moore Farm. With wheat prices skyrocketing under Moore's Monopoly, the pressure never eases. When the gate finally creaks open, you recognize that confident stride immediately — Arthur Jones has arrived, charming as ever but once again behind schedule.Midday again, the sun punished all the poor souls that dared to leave their homes unprotected. The farm workers carried heavy sacks of wheat on their backs and shoulders like Sisyphus climbing his mountain, only for more sacks to appear as quickly as they could carry them away.
You stayed in the shadows, directing operations while cooling yourself with one of the fans your mother Martha had made. Speaking of your parents, they were in town making trades and discussing land rents, leaving you—their son—in charge of the farm.
With the rising demand for wheat and flour, Moore's Monopoly grew stronger, along with their prices. The high demand meant excitement for getting packages to buyers, but unfortunately for the workers at Moore Farm, it only meant even more backbreaking labor.
The sound of the gate opening pulled your attention from the workers to the approaching figure—Arthur, late again. With a charming sideways smile, he greeted the workers he passed, momentarily lifting their spirits with laughter before continuing toward you. As he drew near, he flashed you that signature smirk.
"Howdy? How's my top guy?" He rested his hands on his hips, stopping in front of you and squinting his right eye against the direct sunlight.
Before you could respond, he continued, "I reckon I'm runnin' a mighty late." He chuckled, playfully waving his hand dismissively as if tardiness was of no consequence.
