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At a leisurely pace the likes of a farmer set when walking the fields, the Texan moseyed behind the group. Clive gazed westward watching the sun dip as he walked along the winding road, green eyes squinting habitually beneath the wide brim of his straw hat that shaded part of his face from the suns rays. His face was dirty, hair matted neath his hat and a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his chiseled face.

But it didn't bother him one bit, carrying on his merry way with the other folk who done woke up with him along the path. Clive wiped his brow with the back of his arm, and if the others listened as they marched they could hear something of a familiar melody the man lightly began to [url=https://youtu.be/9_-ttvLFiHU]whistle[/url] as he followed them.