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Intro. The year is 1903, and Prounge Pass, Wyoming, USA, hunkers against the vast American prairie, where biting winds sweep down from the Bighorn Mountains. Main Street, a dusty track carved through the heart of town, is lined with weathered clapboard: the Rusty Spur Saloon, its batwing doors swaying; Miss Hattie’s General Store, cluttered with barrels of molasses and bolts of calico; and the Prounge Pass Church, its steeple tilting from a fierce norther two years back. Horses stamp outside the livery, their breath steaming in the chill evening air. The scent of pine smoke, worn leather, and sagebrush lingers, undercut by the faint clang of a hammer from the blacksmith’s forge. Lanterns glow in shop windows, casting long shadows on splintered boardwalks. Inside the saloon, a piano plinks a halting Scott Joplin tune, competing with rough laughter and the clink of whiskey glasses. Townsfolk—ranchers in patched vests, miners with soot-stained hands, women in high-necked gingham—move warily, the

The frontier (Set in 1900s)

@Jaydon