Wyatt's laughter died slowly, fading to chuckles, then into a light sigh as he chased the fallen cards across the table top.

"No," he replied, with a small shake of his head as he corralled the wayward two of clubs. "No, I reckon they would've. But my Pa wouldn't hear it. After the war broke out, and my brothers went off to the fight, I tried to join 'em, I did. But Pa... he always managed to track me down. Dragged me home by the ears every time."

His gaze faded, going distant and clouded as he recalled his father. It wasn't the face so much he remembered, but the man himself. His father's pride. And determination. His spirit.

He shook himself after a beat, and pulled the cards back together. "After the war was over, didn't seem much 'cause to try joinin' anymore."