Per 
Wells Fargo, Agent James Oriely(Soldier from Civil War, left for the West after a year and a half, 27 years old, good shot with rifle or revolver, backup driver for the 6 horse coach), Agent Alex Belltroff(2273, insect like armor, conducted on him by Confederate "Doctors", prefers up close and personal fighting, but carries 10 ga. double barreled sawn-off shotgun with buck shot), Agent Mark Lambert(Max Lombardi, grizzled drives the six horse coach, good with just about any weapon, doesn't shake easily), Agent Stan Bowie(SCP agents Father, prefers defense over offense, he who fights and runs away, gets paid for doing their job), Agent Jeremy Carter(Bullfrog, GOC, Scout and tracker), Agent Nathan Chandler(escaped slave, also SCP 2902 and his cat, only he can remove his skeleton, can communicate with group by sending Skeleton with one group and leaving flesh with the other, the cat is very protective of his flesh, carries a Henry Lever Action .44 rim fire), Marshall, Carter, and Dark as well as 100 pounds of gold bar, and 10,000 dollars are the cargo. SCP 323(a pack of wendigos). 082(Leader of wendigos) 096(a Confederate special op member you see him, he kills you).
All agents arrive to carriage after passengers and cargo have already been loaded, James is uncomfortable being on a trip with this many
James felt relief as Henry guided their 6 horse stagecoach into the Wells Fargo yards. The trip was finally over, one attempt had been made to rob them, 3 men set up in the Rockys, James had shot two of them without warning, one in the leg, the other in his arm. All three retreated. Henry said he should've just killed the scum. But James had already given his fair share of death in the War.
It's why he left, deserted really. Came West and got a job as a guard for Wells Fargo. Pay was good, and honestly he felt the stories of the robberies were mostly tall tales. Sure they'd run into a bandit or two, but in his year of employment he had yet to see any outlaw gangs.
But still, it felt safer in the yard and now the cargo was no longer his problem; he'd get the delivery slip, go inside, and get his pay. The nice thing about San Francisco was with the chaos of the war, he got paid in gold. And everybody traded for gold.
The Cargo Boss came and matched up the manifest to the delivery and gave James his slip.
"Rest and Relaxation time," he said to no one in particular as he entered the office and approached the counter. He laid the slip down for man, who looked it over handed James a receipt to put his mark on, and then traded the receipt for the small bag of gold.
"And to think the Spanish couldn't find El Dorado, when they owned it the whole time," a familiar voice said from behind him. To familiar, Agent Mark Lambert. A gruff and grizzled man in his late 40s.
Lambert had shown James the ropes and while he didn't hold any sort of grudge against him, he always felt uncomfortable around the man, like danger followed him.
"Agent Lambert," James said while nodding his head in a manner to excuse himself.
Lambert either didn't take or want the hint, James suspected the latter, "Hey, we're both Agents now you can call me Mark. So I see you just got back from another successful run."
James's curiosity was peaked, since when did Lambert care about the success or failures of others. One of his first lessons was, if you die the cargo will be mourned, not you.
"What of it?" James said raising an eyebrow.
"I'm putting together a team for a high dollar, high risk run, your the guy I'd prefer to have sittin' next to me," Lambert said.
This threw James off, Lambert always worked alone. His motto was high risk, high reward. "If you want a partner, count me out. I don't do suicide missions."
Lambert pushed his large heavy frame closer, "Didn't say I was lookin' for a partner. Said I was makin' a team 6 men total."
"What could be worth splitting 6 ways and where's it goin', South of Mexico?" James scoffed at the idea but he also wanted to know the answer. Not only the pay and destination but why Lambert would want a team to begin with.
"Just three rich people, slip says Marshall, Carter, and Dark plus belongings. They wanna go to Riddle, Wyoming. Here's the kicker, there's a rail that goes there but they want the stagecoach the whole trip, not just any stagecoach either, they wamt number 1. And they want the six best gun men for the trip. I already got 4, with me that's five. With you as my second coachman and my front gun, well that's six." Lambert smiled showing off his missing buck teeth. James remembered asking about it while training, Lambert had said the other guy got worse.
"Still whats the pay and who're the other four?" Jason pressed on.
"You sixth'll be bout fours times what you just got. And the other four, Agents Belltroff, Bowie, Carter, and Chandler." Lambert listed cooly.
These names were no small deal, they had all earned a massive reputation and wealth working for Wells Fargo.
"I know you can handle it James, the question is do you want it? Are you in or out? Need to know now cause if yer out I gotta find a replacement. We're leaving tomorrow at noon." Lambert putting his meaty arm around James's shoulders.
This was a chance he couldn't pass up. Working with these guys on this big of a job would put him on the map. He could pick his cargos and get a higher fee. "I'm in," James replied.
Lambert laughed and slapped him on the back, "Knew you were! See you tomorrow!"
James tossed the bag of gold gently in his hand, looked like rest and relaxation were out. But maybe alcohol and a prostitute could fill that void.
