When the West was Wild! (Closed)

[Armphid]

The sky stretched overhead in a unending field of blue that seemed to stretch past forever above the scrub lands, the deserts, the bad lands, and the patches of green verdant range and prairie than went with rivers and underground springs in the largely untamed lands that made up the West. To the east, the high and craggy Rocky Mountains rose to create a low wall of distant gray and to the west, the mountains of California reared up in the distance as if to place this piece of the Utah Territory all on its own.

Sound traveled far in the arid air, still warm from the sun that now sank behind the western hills and mountains and on the breeze there came the sound of tinkling music, hoarse singing, laughter, shouts, and all the sounds one heard as the sun went down over a silver town like Tanner's Lode. Were any of the people on the outskirts of the three roughly delineated streets, they might have heard a different set of sounds coming their way.

They were familiar in a way yet sounds anyone would have harkened to where they noticed; the soft thumps of hooves in a steady beat, the faint jingle of tack, the slight hiss of disturbed dust and dirt from the pounding beat of the horse's gait. Familiar enough in that it was how most people came to Tanner's Lode, after all, though there was a stage once a week and sometimes wagons came through with equipment for the mine or heading further west to California or Oregon Country but odd in that it sounded like one rider and a rider coming in with the edge of nightfall barely behind him.

The good people and tradesmen of the little boom town, and there were more than you might expect, were hurrying home before the saloon, inn, and bordello all got too rowdy and so they were the ones who saw him ride in. He was tall and strong bodied but with a lean frame rather than a heavy set bruiser’s body. His pale skin was weathered by travel and time in the sun but was not quite tanned. His face was clean featured with strong features and keen eyes the color of amber took in the streets with measured glances. He was ordinarily clean shaven but the last few days he’d gone without and heavy stubble of chestnut hair was on his face. The hair that could be seen beneath the low topped, wide brim black hat on his head, a blue band about the base of it, matched his face well, long enough from his long time on the trail to just barely brush his shoulders. He wore a faded blue army jacket, though the insignia and trim had been taken off and the brass buttons no longer shone brightly. He wore a gun belt at his waist and on one side of his saddle a lever action repeater rifle hung, a shotgun on the side opposite. Most of his tack and gear looked a bit rough, indicating a long time riding, but his weapons were in immaculate condition. A sheathed bowie knife was openly belted to his right thigh and a slender headed tomahawk dangled from one of his saddlebags. His tack was dirty but of good make and seemed well cared for overall.

She was here, he was sure of it. A town like this was perfect for her. The law, if there was any, was corrupt or owned by the company that owned the mine and didn’t give a damn about anything unless it interfered with company business. The miners would be rowdy but stupid and have more money than they’d know what do to with. She’d find a purpose for it. The bank, and there would be one, would be stuffed with their money and with silver just waiting to be shipped by stage to the company’s refinery. People were used to noise, used to minor trouble and violence, used to keeping their noses out of other peoples’ affairs. Yeah. Six Gun Sal could make a killing in a town like this.

She had before; figuratively and literally. Which is why he was here.

He tipped his hat to the few women making their way home as he passed before he drew his horse up out front of the inn for a few moments. Would she be there? Taking relief from the road in creature comforts like a hot meal and a warm bath? God knows he longed to. This would be the tricky part; figuring out where in this mine town the she devil would be living it up before she and her little gang robbed the bank, tied up the sheriff, and let anyone in jail out or any other crimes they felt like pulling. Murder, maybe. Like in Dodge City.

His jaw tightened and he dismounted, walking his horse around to the back where the stables were. He rang the bell that hung outside and began to take his bags and the horse’s tack off. The innkeeper and a stableboy met him and there was a brief exchange before the boy took the tired beast to be watered, fed, rubbed down, and bedded down, saddle and tack draped over his back. The man slung his bags and weapons over his shoulder and followed the innkeep inside.

Get to his room and get everything set and secured. Then he’d start looking for her. Lisabeth Green AKA Six Gun Sal didn’t know him but she would. Sam Winfield would be the man to take her down and see her dancing on the end of a rope back in Dodge City. If God was kind, his face would be the last thing she saw before the murdering outlaw was carried to Hell.

It wasn’t for the bounty, though she had a not inconsiderable price on her pretty head and it wasn’t for the sake of law and order. It was justice for blood shed and a life taken; a life he held dearer than his own. For that life and that loss, he’d ridden from Kansas to the Mexican border, up to Wyoming and now down into the Utah Territory.

Sam slipped a hand into the interior breast pocket of his coat and fingered the paper there. It was the drawing he’d made from her wanted posted; the bounty hunter always had a good hand at drawing people. He might have been an artist if the world were different. He’d stared at that paper and the face on it for a few minutes every night for six months and shown it to people in every city and town from Dodge to Deadwood. But soon it’d be over. He’d take her, if Hell itself barred the way.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

The stage coach looked formidable. Fitted with a big iron door and lock, it took a team of four horses to pull it and it's load and carried no less than three armed guards. They were loading it up bright and early the next morning, hoping to finish loading it by the time the noon sun came up. An impressive amount of silver went into it, large, muscled men carrying boxes of it from the mining company.

It looked like quite a payout, and therefore quite a target.

Lisabeth Green, AKA Six Gun Sal's target, that was.

Stationed at the old Santiago ranch off the road some twelve miles away, she lay prone on the flat Mexican style roof with a spying glass, attention firmly on the road. She knew on a rocky outcropping across the way, her second in command was doing the same. Her trusty mare munched oats uninterestedly while two of her men sat in their saddles impatiently. Down the road, a dust cloud could barely be seen. She grinned.

"Well boys, looks like we got ourselves a show." She called down, rising to her feet with a laugh. A petite, pretty creature, Lisabeth managed to look rather attractive even in her scandelous boy's attire-her long dark hair was braided down her back, pretty aquamarine eyes complementing a pair of red lips. She wore dark breeches tucked into black, dainty ankle boots buttoned up the sides, a white button up blouse tucked into the pants. The belt and holster tightened around her small waist seemed out of place if not ominous-while the tan leather cowboy hat bearing the silver sheriff star spoke of mischief and trouble.

She hopped off the roof and untied her horse, a thrill of excitement beating in her chest. When the dust cloud came into normal eyesight, she rode off with a holler.

From the otherside of the road three men rode hard and fast to flank the carriage, while Lisabeth's team did the same. Gunfire sounded in the small valley, the beating sound of hooves and shouts and laughter from a rambunctious gang of thieves.

The armed men returned fire, picking off two horses right beneath their masters-sending cowpokes tumbling into the dirt and sand. A man took a shot to the shoulder and fell off the carriage-while another lost his gun courtesy of Six Gun Sal who, true to her name-was wielding a revolver with impressive precision, shooting it right out of his hands.

It was getting messy and with a for sure two guards still firing from inside the carriage, Lisabeth didn't really want her men to stick around to be shot up. Spurring her steed on and a hand firmly pressing her hat down on her head, her knees tightened on the sides of her saddle, feet slipping out of the stirrups. Still racing along at a break neck pace, she rose from the leather saddle, tugged her horse left-and jumped right! RIGHT onto the bench beside the coach driver.

Bam! An elbow to the gut and he slumped, temporarily allowing her use of the reins. She pulled veered right, barely hearing the whoops and shouts as another man leapt from his horse and onto the carriage, punching through the slot a guard fired from. The driver baled, her man fell off-and her men fell back as she took the remaining guard-and goods-on a joyride.

 

[Armphid]

There was a faint click as Sam slid his telescope closed, slipping the collapsing brass tube back into a saddle bag behind him. "Damned if I know how the woman's still alive acting like that." His dark bay whickered, tossing his head as if in agreement; though really it was just because Sam's other hand had tugged the reins to move him away from the bush he'd been chewing on.

The hunter and his steed were just below the crest of a hill that the road wound around on its way west to head into the mountains and to California on the other side. From below and away there was a growing dust cloud, smaller ones off behind it, and the sounds of whooping and hollaring could be heard faintly though the gunfire had ceased for the moment.

The night in town had given him a bath, a night's rest in a bed, a clean shave, and a lead. Nobody remembered where Six-Gun Sal was staying in town but plenty of people remembered seeing her. Men didn't forget a woman like that, and plenty of women were jealous enough to recall very clearly. Which meant she was hiding out somewhere nearby and coming into down for fun and to scope out marks. Like the silver shipment heading west today.

He nudged his steed into motion and rode down the hill to the road. Sal was dangerous alone but she also rose with a gang. Six to one against him and a gunfighter of her reputation being one of them were not odds he liked. So first things first was to get her gang out of the way.

It was easy enough to find them. They were riding like thunder along the road, trying to catch up to the runaway stage. And any minute they'd be riding right into that narrow cleft in the hill...

Sam slid out of his saddle and pulled his rifle out, working the action to chamber a round. He stepped up and lifted the weapon to his shoulder, flipped up his sight, took aim at the oncoming group...and then raised the end and fired one, two, three shots into a large, broken branch that was dangling from a dead tree on the hillside above the gap.

The branch fell with a crash on the outlaws, who had been looking wildly around to see where the shots were coming from, the weight and impact of it pushing them back off of their horses and to the ground. Their beasts bolted further down the road, shocked by the sudden noise and motion.

Better than the outlaws deserved but he wasn't one for killing unless he had to.

He slipped the rifle back into his mustang's saddle and pulled the shotgun, shifting it to one hand as he walked towards the fallen men. The lead bandit had caught the branch in the head and was unconscious, two of the others groaning and moving weakly in a daze. One of them was struggling to his feet as Sam drew near; the bounty hunter swung the his heavy double barreled scattergun up and caught him with the stock across the face. There was a crunch as his nose broke and he dropped to the dirt road like a sack of potatoes. One of the others recovered enough to start to scrabble in the dirt for his gun.

He froze as Sam stepped into his field of vision with the shotgun pointed at him. "That's enough of that. Hands where I can see 'em, both of you, now!" The two still conscious bandits lifted their hands slowly, one sinking back onto his knees, the other still on his back. "Looks like none of us are catching up to Six-Gun Sal now. I bet you made arrangements if you got separated though; meet up, split the loot, ride off and celebrate. So. Why don't you tell me where Sal's going to be waiting for you?"

"Go to hell, law dog," the kneeling man growled. "We ain't got to tell you nothin'!"

"Well, you know, that is a fact," Sam admitted blandly. "But there is a little problem with that. I'm no lawman. I'm a bounty hunter. Sal's got a nice price on her pretty little head, so she's worth something to me." He fixed the talkative crook with a cool gaze. "You're not. In fact, leaving you behind to come after me, all hot blooded and het up, seems mighty unwise. You might get up to mischief, maybe even come after me and try to kill me. Can't say as that makes you any more valuable. Be a smart move to blast you and kick you to the side of the road." He seemed to weigh the idea, nodding a little, "You know, that's not a bad idea. I'd get four horses and your gear to hock, maybe drag you back and see if the mining company's willing to give me a little something for getting rid of you."

The two bandits looked at one another, their faces paling.

"Guess that means you're actually worth more to me dead than alive," Sam mused. "Well, too bad for you, partners. I'll give you a second to pray or say anything you need to."

"W-wait! Wait!" The man who'd been on his back sat up, "Don't shoot us, mister! We'll make it worth yer while!"

"Y-yeah! We'll tell ya, we'll tell ya where we was supposed to meet," the other chimed in, "And all the places we dun scouted out around here to hide in!"

Sam smirked. They bought it every time. "Will you now? You know getting Sal would get me a lot more...telling me all that would be just enough to make it worth keeping you breathing." He then raised the gun to his shoulder, "Start talking and I'll make up my mind."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

The sound of hooves sounded in the lonely valley as Lisabeth rode along, mildly intoxicated and rather pleased with herself. She had lashed the guards to two of the four horses and sent them off towards town with her blessing(boy, wait til that mining company heard what she'd done!) Then she stashed the silver in an abandoned mine before washing up in a nearby creek and borrowing a bottle of whiskey from an uptight farmer a few miles away.

She was a sight-bouncing in her saddle, dark hair loose and tumbling down her back and over her shoulders, she seemed to be singing to herself, one hand loosely gripping the reins to her mare while the other lifted the bottle of amber whiskey to her ruby lips periodically. The silver sheriff star shone on her hat, glinting in the light like the stolen prize it was. Two of the carriage horses were tied to her pommel, riding along with Nellie, her painted mare.

Damn near on the doorstep she slipped from her horse with a breathless laugh. "Since none of you slowpokes caught up, I had to hide the treasure m'self! If y'all are nice, I MIGHT tell ya where it is!" . She teased as she set the bottle in the sand and began to loosen the saddle on Nellie, listening for the expected jokes and fuck yous-that never came.

She paused, aquamarine eyes sweeping the quiet, still clay brick building. Surely they'd be back by -now-? Hell, she had expected complaints for being so late. "Somebody come out here and help me brush down these horses!" . She began to walk towards the small shed, the dry hitch post-letting Nellie lead the other two horses, untying them from the mare as she made for the shed...and then darted down along the right side of the building, crouching low to avoid the windows.

What in the hell was going on here? She cursed herself for drinking on the way here-but at least she wasn't falling down drunk. Still, mighta helped if she was stone cold sober. Revolver in hand, Lisabeth stealthily made her way towards the back, flanking one side of the broken wooden door. Maybe they weren't here yet. Maybe something had happened, a fight or a lawman. She hadn't seen any horses after all, but a rival gang of bandits might've taken them after clearing the place.

Lisabeth frowned a moment before reaching over and slowly pushing the door open, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges. She paused again, Took a steadying, slightly sobering breath-and crept inside.

 

[Armphid]

Damned if she wasn’t a sight. Pretty enough to make a priest kick out a stained glass window, merry and singing soft in a voice that a man’d love to hear saying his name.

Of course, if the devil looked like the devil, nobody’d be fooled by him. And he wasn’t about to get fooled by Lisabeth Green. Sam was not in the hideout; indeed, he was lying flat on the ground among the scrub nearby as still as a stone. He watched her pass, so close he could have leaped out and picked her off the saddle.

But she also might pull her gun and put a bullet in him before he got to her. Her reputation as a gunslinger was well earned, he’d learned on his long trek, and he wasn’t about to risk a shootout with her if he could help it. She was too fast, too accurate; fact of the matter was, he was sure she was a better shot than him. So he was going to take shooting out of the picture as best he could.

He wanted and watched as she darted about, having caught on to the lack of response. He stayed still as a dead man until he saw her slip inside. Sam stood up as quietly as he could and moved to grab the reins of her mare and the other horses; they were already moving so the sound of them shouldn’t tip her off. He pulled them along a bit and then tied them to the tallest scrub bush in the area he’d been hiding in. Sam reached down and picked up his rifle, laying it across the mare’s saddle and sighting in on the building.

“Lisabeth Green,” he called out. “I’m here to take you back to Dodge City; you’re wanted dead or alive. I’d prefer alive, but I’m a flexible man. I got your hidey hole covered, and I took the liberty to clean it out of food or water beforehand, and I’ve got your horses. So you can try to shoot it out with me, when I got cover and more rounds than you do in your pistol, or you can wait until thirst and hunger wear you out and I walk in and get you, or you can throw out your gun, walk out with your hands up and we can do this like civil folk.”

He paused a few moments. “What’s it going to be?”

 

[Ambrosia_64]

She was halfway up the stairs when someone called out her name, her real name, and laid out just what was what all firm and polite like. Papa always said a temper wasn't becoming a lady, but boy if her face didn't turn red with anger as she realized she'd been tricked. Those rotten good for nothings had sold her out!. That, or she'd been followed coming here last week, but then where were the yellow bellied dogs?

She moved up the rest of the stairs and situated herself to one side of a dusty window, her heart beating a little unsteadily in her chest. So. She'd been found out eh? She dared to edge a glance out the window. Sure enough, the sonuvabitch was out there, little more than a hat and a rifle on one side of HER horse. Her temper boiled further as her face set in a scowl.

She stepped quickly forward, turned-and fired through the window, the sound of shattering glass alerting him at once just where Lisabeth Green was inside the building-and just what she thought of his proposal.

That first bullet hit the dirt right underneath the mare, causing a stir as the mare startled, tugging back on it's reins and making a poor steadying base for him as Lisabeth walked out onto the roof in full view-already firing off another two shots. Pop, pop! His hat would be knocked askew and a bullet rocketed off the rifle barrel as she stepped off the edge of the roof, landing with a growl on her black ankle boots before continuing her bold strides forward.

The petite outlaw stood there before him, a breeze whirling her hair and blouse as she stood with her gun leveled at him, sharp, furious eyes intent on a target he no doubt never meant to present-and she didn't take the shot. It was a bare moment of hesitation-but it would be enough.

 

[Armphid]

Sam's first though as the shot rang out and the horse kicked up was whether Six-Gun Sal was fearless or just stupid. The mare took off as best she could, her head jerking when the tied reins brought her up so she didn't get far but it did mean she wasn't cover for him anymore and his rifle was way off of sight. Damn!

Then the second shot blew his hat off his head and parted his hair, and the third knocked his weapon wide. Hell, maybe he was the stupid one.

There she was, slender and supple, bold as brass, standing a pace away from him with fire in her pretty eyes and that lovely face contorted with anger. The warm breeze blew through her dark hair and made her look all the more lovely, all the more deadly. He took that all in as she took the final step and raised her gun to shoot him dead.

Sorry, Cal, Annie, little Rose. He'd die before getting justice for any of them but he'd still go down with a fight. Sam swung his rifle back around, knowing he'd never have the time to even get off a shot before she blew him away.

His rifle thundered, to his own surprise and that made him jerk the shot wider than it already would have been. The bullet missed Lisabeth's left cheek by a half inch at most, the outlaw able to feel the disturbance in the air as it shot past. Sam swung the butt of the rifle down into her hand, knocking the gun out of her grasp as he worked the lever action to chamber another round and brought the barrel down to point at her again.

His heart was pounding in his chest. "That's enough, Miss Green. Hands up nice and high now, yer a wildcat in a scrap by all accounts but I ain't a slouch myself and I'll shoot if I have to."

God in Heaven, he was alive. Alive. But how? She'd had him dead to rights. Had her gun jammed? He hadn't heard the hammer click on a dud round or anything. But if not then...then why hadn't she shot him?

 

[Ambrosia_64]

For a crazy, horrible second Lisabeth thought she had fired-but instead a bullet whipped past hercheek. This. This was how she died, and all because she couldn't quite close the gap between thief and killer. Head turned slightly from the heat and feel of the passing bullet, she moved to step back as he swung the rifle down and struck her hand, dropping the gun she couldn't bear to blow holes in him with and putting her off balance as she swung her other fist wide to strike him somehow, to put up a fight that wouldn't make anybody bleed-but her hand was small and she was way off balance, so all Sam would get was a grazing strike before she fell backwards on her pert bottom, aquamarine eyes glaring into the barrel of his rifle, hair freed now that her hat had toppled off her head.

"You good fer nothin' joy killer!" . She burst angrily, a kick into the sand as she snatched her hat back up and shoved it onto her head before she crossed her arms beneath her chest, disobeying immediately. His near politeness was infuriating all its own, she'd be damned if she went quietly. He seemed even taller from her seated position, towering over her while brandishing a rifle she wasn't scared of. "A bullet coulda only helped yer looks!" . Boy she was angry. Still, with her revolver a pace or two away and her being unwillingly to use it on him anyway, she supposed her fun was over until she escaped. What a bastard! She had a schedule to keep, and like hell she wanted to head home and face her poor father.

"Who're you working for anyway? The mining company?" . Even scowling, even as defiant as she was, she was easy on the eyes. A handful, sure, but at least less dangerous without a gun.

 

[Armphid]

He tilted his head as he felt her small, delicate fist graze his chin. Still was enough to smart, light as it was. Girl knew how to throw a punch for her size, no doubt about that.

Sam almost grinned as she kicked the ground, jamming her hat on, and possibly just to spite him, refused to do what he asked. "Been called lots of things in my time, and a few by pretty girls, but never that." He let the comment about his looks go; she was probably right. He was no judge of men's looks but he was sure he wasn't much of a prize.

It was funny; she was like a child throwing a fit at having playtime interrupted. God knew she wasn't a child, at least not physically. Her face was pretty as a prayer book and from what he could tell she had the form to match it. But she was acting like a kid at least.

His almost grin faltered when she asked who he was working for. Sam's eyes grew hard and his voice cold. "Not the mining company. Not yer pa back East neither." He took a few steps away keeping his rifle trained on her as he sank into a crouch and reached out to pick up her gun with one hand, before slowly rising back to his full height. "A dead man, a widow, and an orphan hired me, Miss Green. All of them in that sorry state thanks to you."

"I appreciate you reminding me of it," he added. Sam glanced at the pistol; the hammer was cocked and there was a round in the chamber...then why hadn't she shot? There was no jam that he could see. He carefully eased the hammer forward and then walked over to her now calmer mare and slipped it into a saddle bag, his eyes and weapon still trained on her. "I almost forgot who you were, and who I am, and why I came here in the first damn place."

Sam walked back to her, "Now, Miss Green. I aim to take you back fer my clients and that is what I will do. It don't have to be rough, I'd like to keep things civil as possible. But that means yer going to have to meet me partway on this. Stand up nice and slow and hands behind yer back if not up. I'd have to have to knock you cold, but that is a thing I am prepared to do if it comes to it."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Her expression was inscrutable as his voice and eyes changed-but she felt the chill in her bones,and knew not to test him, not just yet. Her arms loosened as he backed off, her glare less resolute-and a little troubled.

"What're you on about?" She sounded less fiery and a bit more skeptical. "You saying a ghost hired you?" She didn't know anything about no orphans. Nuthin' about widows either. For a moment she just eyed him with that hint of temper and a bit of confused irritation-but he sure looked like he meant business.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and did as he said, crossing her slender wrists behind her back so that, hopefully, she'd have a bit of wiggle room to get loose later. After only a moment more of glaring up at him-as if to be sure she couldn't wrestle his rifle away-she turned around with a "Hmph."

She was a small slip of a woman, not the kind you'd expect to be off firing guns and racing horses. No wonder her pa was so anxious-girl her size shouldn't be roughing it the way she had.
"I don't know what those yellow bellied boys told you-" . Lisabeth said in a quieter fashion, no less stubborn. "But I ain't never been in the habit of making widows. No fun in that." .

 

[Armphid]

Sam didn't answer until she stood up and put her arms behind her back. He smiled faintly and it lasted only a moment before speaking, "Now ain't that better than being knocked around? We can be accommodating after all."

Now was the risky part. The soldier turned bounty hunter set his rifle down once she'd turned away and pulled his own pistol. "Just stay like that for a few moments now, Miss Green." He picked up a length of the rope he'd liberated from her hideout and stepped up behind her.

Lord Almighty. It had been a long time since he'd been so close to so pretty a girl. He hadn't imagined his next time in such a situation would be like this. Dancing, maybe. Not roping her up to haul off for hanging.

He tied a quick one handed knot around one wrist and then began to loop the rope around and over, threading between and looping around again. Classic knotwork...he wasn't the best but he wasn't bad either. Should be strong enough to hold a little thing like her.

He finished up the knot as she spoke again and he couldn't help but growl, pulling the final knot a little tighter than he would have ordinarily. "I heard plenty of men tell me they ain't never done anything like stealing or rustling, even when I caught 'em right in the middle of it. So you tell me you ain't in the habit all you want, I've heard it before."

The coldness was back in his voice and under it was a fierce anger that bubbled and edged at his control. "But once is all it takes, Miss Green, habit or not. And as that widow is the wife of my cousin Cal, shot dead in Dodge City by you...I have a little knowledge of the subject."

It was good she said that. Again, she'd rescued him by reminding him that she wasn't a beautiful young woman with a sassy mouth and brilliant eyes. She was a killer. Cal's killer.

Sam put his gun back in his holster and then bent down and lifted Lisabeth up off the ground and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat, "Now I try to be a civil man, as much a gentleman as I can be, but I'll thank you not to talk about it again, Miss Green. Tests my patience, you see. I been after you fer a long time and it'll be a hard trail back to Dodge for trial. I'd suggest you not make it easier fer me to do some justice myself."

He carried her over to where her mare and the other horses she'd brought in were tied and then lifted her up and off, placing her on her stomach on the mare's saddle. Then he untied the reins and lead the horses off to where his own was tied up, well out of sight of the hideout.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

A worried frown flickered over her lips as he spoke, an electric realization of just where he intended to see this end, widening her eyes and causing her head to turn.

Those red lips parted to deny his rumbled accusation so close to her ear-but her mouth felt dry and she couldn't make the words in the face of his adversarial tone and cold expression. She hadn't killed anybody! Sure, she had stolen a good amount of horses, gold and silver, but never from anybody who needed them! He'd see her hanged for a crime she didn't even commit!

She shoulda run, she shoulda shot, she shoulda never gotten captured-he hauled her over his shoulder and her world got dizzier, the shoulder in her stomach uncomfortable as she felt her heart race. "Yeah well-" Her knees had bent but she resisted the urge to kick, the buttons to her black ankle boots dusty but an over all good quality. "Guess maybe I shoulda saved you the trip!" She fired off, though it wasn't quite as fierce as before. "Hand me my gun and I will!"

He put her on her horse and Lisabeth DID try to kick out at him this time, a growl of her own. She didn't feel invincible anymore though. Rather, she was worrying over actually being dragged in, on being tried for murder. Would her pa bother helping then? She always assumed he'd get her out of trouble were she ever caught, but if she was accused of murdering some poor woman's husband?

 

[Armphid]

"Tarnation!"

Sam dodged to the side to avoid her kick. Before he could question the wisdom of it, his hand flew and slapped her ass in an open palmed spank, "Try it again and you'll get more of the same! Maybe if yer Daddy'd done that a time or two, you wouldn't be here right now."

Lord, he had to not think about how good that had felt. For either reason.

He grabbed the lasso off her own saddle and began to tie her legs, "I was going to leave her feet free, but seems like you'd abuse the privilege." It took some effort, as her cooperation seemed to have vanished for the moment, but he got her ankles together at least, if not as firmly as he'd like.

The bounty hunter shook his head, moving around to the other side of her horse so he could look her in the eye. "You think of me whatever you want, but I ain't planning on making this hard unless I have to."

He then glanced up at the silver star on her hat and grimaced. Sam pulled her hat from her head and removed the star, "You ain't earned this," he said and pocketed the badge before settling her hand down on her head.

The tall man walked over and untied his dark bay mustang and mounted up before taking the reins of the other horses in hand. "Now, I want you to tell me if it hurts or anything." Finally, he had her. Now he just had to keep her, all the way back to Dodge City, and not kill her or get killed himself. "Ha now!"

The horses moved forward into a canter before falling to a steady trot, making their way out of the little valley before angling eastward to the long road ahead.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Lisabeth let out a high pitched, unladylike oath that woulda set a lesser man's hair ablaze. She was as angry at herself as she was at him as he got hold and tied her ankles together-her show of temper just made that much harder to escape, damn it all.

She scowled at him in response before he took her hat and-!

'Hey!" her blurted protest seemed genuinely dismayed. "I do too deserve that! I stole it fair n' square after scaring the bajeezus outta a lawman in Coyote!" Dammit, that was HER star! He set her hat back down on her head and slipped a little over her eyes as she thundered another curse-and then the tall bounty hunter walked away with a last, unintentional shot to her pride-before saddling up and riding off.

Lisabeth wasn't about to claim discomfort as her belly and chest met with the saddle time and again-she was grudgingly thankful they weren't at a full gallop, but damn if she wasn't getting awfully sore rather quick. Mostly she just hoped no one saw or recognized Six Gun Sal slung over her own horse trussed up like a turkey. Biting her lip, she made sure not to feel sorry for herself-but she had better escape this...cousin of Cal before something bad happened.

She wasn't about to be lynched for something she didn't do, not while she had a treasure hidden away for sure. Wasn't going to spend itself, and she might need it to flee to mexico if the tall rider was persistant enough.

 

[Armphid]

She looked delicate and all but the mouth on her! Hell, he'd have liked that about her a lot if she wasn't a murdering skunk. Well, not a skunk. She was too pretty for that.

Sam frowned as he rode, guiding the other horses along behind him. Dangerous thinking. The kind that'd get him shot in the back if he wasn't careful.

They rode on for another few hours, taking the way around Tanner's Lode. He couldn't risk the mining company deciding they wanted Six-Gun Sal for themselves. The trip back could mean a lot of camping until he was in more lawful parts.

He caught sight of a little gully to the north ahead of them and nodded. That'd do for tonight. Sam turned towards it, "Reckon we've done as much as we're going to make before dark, Miss Green. As we've both had a long day, I figure there's no need to push it now."

They came down into the little gully. Sam tended to the horses first, starting with her mare. Water, food, and a light rubdown for each. As he finished with Lisabeth's horse, he patted the beast's nose. "She's a pretty one, your girl," he commented. "You've got good taste in horses if nothing else."

It was almost dark an hour later when he sat down by a small, flickering fire. The still tied Lisabeth was across from him. He lifted a skewer that had a few rashers of bacon sizzling on it up from the fire and slid them off on a large piece of bread. He poured a cup of coffee from the old, pitted steel pot he'd brought our for it and then rose and walked across to kneel beside her. "Dinner's served, Miss Green. We'll get better fare as we head East but a bacon sandwich is nice enough at the end of the day."

He held the aforementioned foodstuff up to her, careful to keep his fingers back away from her mouth. Sam had no illusions about her willingness to bite him. "This's yours, so eat on up."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

This guy was weird.

Lisabeth watched him with that same scrutinizing expression as before when she thought he was mad enough to take bounty jobs from ghosts. He didn't seem like a cruel man-her stomach muscles ached terribly from the ride, but he coulda dragged her from the horse, made her run if he had wanted. He didn't look like a cowboy, exactly-but he could make it as one, broad shouldered and pretty fit looking, if a bit tired seeming, somehow. Her traitorous mare even seemed to like him. He spoke up and Lisabeth's thoughtful, almost jealous but still civil voice answered back before she could stop herself.

"Nellie's a gift from pa. She usually doesn't like other people." He might not catch her blink, but he would most certainly catch her scowl, as if he had tricked her into being civil somehow. She turned her face away and glared out at the horizon instead, ignoring whatever else he did for the time being. His knots were pretty good-he'd done each wrist individually, making it harder for her to get loose-her fingers barely grazed the rope.

She would though. She was sure of it.


----

The bacon smelled good and her sore stomach rumbled quietly, but Lisabeth wouldn't have asked for a sandwich if she were starving. He probably was waiting for her to ask, just so he could eat it in front of her knowing she was hungry. When he stood up-she found herself both surprised and annoyed to be proven wrong.

"I ain't eating that." She said as mean as she could as he walked over, talking almost over him as he blathered about food and travels like they were on some sort of vacation. "I'm not hungry-" But he just knelt down anyway, holding the sandwich to her painted lips-and she took a bite of it anyway, whether to shut him up or because he was so damned easy about offering it.

If she didn't know any better, she'd almost think it was to avoid hurting his feelings. She swallowed, then shook her head. "You are something else, Mister Lawman." Whether this was good or bad he wouldn't be able to tell-those aquamarine eyes were intent on the fire soon as she said it.

She wouldn't be accepting anymore of that sandwich either. She'd eat once she stole back into Tanner's Lode. The Saloon owner owed her a favor, after all.

Hm.

"I want my star back." She said stubbornly all of a sudden, the thought of it being in his pocket enough to irritate her back into hating on him.

 

[Armphid]

He half smiled as she took a bite of the offered sandwich. She was stubborn and proud but had some sense. Starving herself wouldn't make any of the plans she was hatching any easier.

Best remember to check those knots before he turned in.

Her spoken words were a mystery. Was she insulting him again? She'd cussed powerful enough to peel paint off a church earlier but this...well, it wasn't clear. Her eyes were on the fire and not his, giving him no further clue.

Land sakes but she looked nice all lit up by the fire like that. He grunted and rose; that was not a good line of thinking for a man in his position. Before he could try to badger her into eating more, she abruptly blurted out about wanting "her" star back.

Sam tried not to notice how the stubborn, almost pouty set of her lips was adorable as he shook his head and walked back across the fire. "Ain't your star. Like I said afore, you ain't earned." He held up a hand, "Now, I know you scared or tricked some lawman out of it, not saying you ain't done what you did. But that ain't earning a star."

He sat down and leaned back against his saddle before bringing the brightly polished steel badge our of his pocket. "You earn a star when a town, or city, or territory, or what have you says that they trust you to be the law. To not abuse the power of the star and keep 'em safe. It's a symbol of the public trust, to use a fancier term. And neither you or I have earned that. Whoever you took this from, that's whose star it is, because some folk saw fit to pin it on him. The fact that you took it don't make it yours. Hell, just shows you're a long way from getting one of your own."

He slid it back into his pocket. "I don't wear a star either. I'm no lawman. My name is Sam Winfield. I'd apologize for not introducing myself before but given the nature of our meeting maybe you can excuse my manners. Or not, I suppose it don't matter to me that much."

He lifted the cup of coffee he'd poured earlier and took a drink, sighing happily. "Anyway, that's higher talk than you might expect from a guy like me, and I bet you don't want to hear no more of it." The bounty hunter shrugged and held up the sandwich, waggling it a bit, "You sure you don't want more of this? I was gonna make another for myself, but if you're done, well, you don't look like you got anything that's catching and it's been a long day."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

For a minute, Lisabeth looked thoughtful, as if his words made her reflect on whatever morals the girl might've had-before that stubborn scowl reappeared and she exhaled sharply in a huff.

"Maybe he was a corrupt sherriff. Maybe he bought his votes, threatened folks-and then I rolled in bigger and badder than he was and showed him what for." He slid the star back into his pocket, and Lisabeth knew she wouldn't be getting it back 'less she held him up later.

For some reason, she didn't think that'd go over too well. Best to slip away without rousing that angry coldness from earlier-this Sam Winfield wasn't nobody to mess with, maybe. Besides-he was out here on account of his cousin, she supposed she couldn't fault him that.

Even if she hadn't killed anybody.

"High talk is just that-talk." Lisabeth tipped her head sideways to lose her hat before flopping on her back in the dust. One of her legs was bent, the other draped over that, black ankle boot bobbing a little. "I can spin just a good a story as you-more interestin' too. Good people may be admirable, but they don't have any good adventures to 'em."

She looked at the stars as she shifted slightly, her bound arms hurting her back a little-but it felt good to be on her back, undo the soreness. She shrugged at his question, offering a simple, unladylike "Nope." before going quiet again.

Maybe she was being too compliant. She hoped he'd just assume she was dumb or expectin' her pa to save her from the gallows. She thought about saying as such-but didn't want to risk angering him again.

"Goodnight Sam." She said easily and with a small hint of mockery.

 

[Armphid]

She was wrong. And stupid if she thought that the good people who'd come West to settle didn't have any adventures or stories to tell. Fighting off bandits or hungry bears and wolves, trading with Indians, racing storms to get beasts and kin to shelter, what was that if not an adventure?

But she was a spoiled rich girl who took to robbery and murder out of boredom. What more could he expect from her? He still felt a trifle disappointed. "Little rich girl, you got no idea what an adventure just making a living is. Or what it means to survive adventure after adventure and then have everything you gained ripped away when some spoiled brat playing bandito robs a bank."

Sam's eyes were harder when he looked at her, "But thank you. Here I was thinking you were a pretty young lady but you reminded me otherwise. I appreciate it."

He bit into the sandwich and sighed. This was going to be a long, unpleasant trip. But that's how it was. He considered gagging her tomorrow...but that wouldn't hardly be humane. Maybe she'd wise up and keep her sweet lips shut.

Yup. And maybe he was a Chinaman railroad worker.

Sam finished the dinner and then did the little tidying up that was needed. He pulled the blanket from her mare's saddle and then the rolled-up extra one from his own gear. The tall man came over and knelt beside her, "Here ya go." He slid the rolled up blanket of his own, he'd have used her rolled-up extra but God only knew if she had a knife or something in there, under her head and then draped her own blanket over her. "Good night then, Miss Greene."

The hunter went back to his place across the fire from her and lay back down, his shoulders and head on his saddle. He looked up at the sky overhead. Not a bad day, all told. He yawned and shifted his shoulders, settling in. Maybe it'd be a not bad night too.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Lisabeth only huffed in response. She was bored with him already, it seemed.

Though...in the quiet, she tried to think if she'd knocked over any banks. A couple, yeah. She had never really thought of the people saving there, just the big rich corporation. What if someone HAD had to start all over cause she had emptied a vault or two? Where had that money even gone?

She heard Sam get up and rustle about as a brief expression of worry flickered across her features. She'd bought a bunch of whores. For life, shocking the hell out of their no good madame and setting them up proper just because. Imagine, previous whores dressed up in finery and owning their own former brothel. Hilarious.

It didn't seem as funny anymore, if it'd cost so terribly much...

Stupid cowpoke. Lisabeth tried to dismiss the thoughts, tried to harden her heart to it. She didn't quite manage-so she focused on hating the cowpoke instead. He didn't know her. Being waited on hand and foot was awful. One might suffocate in it, drown in lace and callers and codgy old suitors. All she had wanted was to be free, dammit. What was the point of being "spoiled" if you were being spoiled with everything you didn't want?

She set her jaw and ignored him as he kindly covered her up. Nope, she hated him. Mustn't think him oddly polite or thoughtful, mustn't reflect on her life too much, or next thing you'd know she'd be going back home and getting locked up in the house all over again.

Eventually, she realized she was listening to Sam's steady breathing, the crackle of the fire having died out to near nothing. Lisabeth waited a while longer to see if he was faking before she sat up slowly, scrutinizing him in the starlight and darkness. She almost, almost wanted to know what he was like to have as a friend rather than an enemy. Almost.

And then she laid back down, knees bending towards her chest as she wiggled her bound wrists over her bottom-a tight fit, but not as tight as it coulda been. Hands now before her, Lisabeth set to loosening the binds around her ankles, undoing the knots easily before she turned and slowly slipped to her feet, barely disturbing the dust as she tip toed her way towards her horse for a knife.

Well, this was going rather well! She'd be on her way South before he even knew she was gone. A new, more loyal gang, maybe a name change-easy as pie. Later, she'd send a man or two to get the silver, but not before she was sure Sam was outta the picture, back east or where ever he belonged.

"Hey girl." She murmured softer than a whisper as she sawed through the thick rope between her wrists, freeing her hands from one another so she could slice through the right wrist's binds, then the left. She put a foot in the stirrup, her hand tight around the pommel of her saddle-and froze as she heard a distant bird call, some kind of owl or...

She took her foot down, frowned at the dying smoke trailing into the night sky from the fire-then looked out into the desert as a return call sounded. Something wasn't right-something wasn't right and it seemed distinctly red-Lisabeth had encountered a band or two of Indians before, the lawless sort as wild as she was.

If she rode off now, she'd probably surprise them and blast through their line before they could react.

But that'd leave the cowpoke here alone, asleep and unknowing.

...

She growled, taking her hand off the pommel as she searched through her saddlebag for the revolver he'd confiscated, holstering it in the waist of her stolen pants before moving to his to retrieve his rifle. Lisabeth untied the two stolen horses and left them alone, sneaking back towards the man asleep at his saddle. She heard another call, closer this time, and her heart beat a pace faster as her right, small hand reached out and shook Sam urgently by the shoulder.

"Wake up!" The hissed, slightly anxious words might alarm-or confuse him-some, considering she was loose, considering the petite lass was crouched next to him holding HIS rifle against the sand.

 

[Armphid]

The wind wasn't hot and scratching but warm and caressing as it passed over his face and brought him groggily to his senses. His amber eyes took in the green, leafy branches over his head and there was soft, green grass under his back instead of hard dirt. He was under the big elm near Cal's cabin and his horse was running with the others in the large coral nearby, their hooves like distant thunder.

Sam sat up and smiled. Green and pretty here, fresh. And fresh was what he needed. After his four years of horror in the war, after Ma and Pa dying from the influenza, this place...new and unspoiled, that's what he needed.

He slowly stood, adjusting his army jacket. The brass buttons shone and the golden braiding and thread on his rank and decorations seemed to shine almost as bright. There was Cal now by the paddock. And little Rosie was running towards him, Annie in the door of the cabin. Supper must be ready and he breathed in deep to try and catch a whiff of it...but there wasn't any smell.

...Now that was a mite strange.

Then he felt something push on his shoulder, though no one was there. It came again and he stumbled forward, unprepared for it. Suddenly he felt himself standing on the green sward and lying on hard packed earth at the same time, warmth and cold rolled over him, and he faintly smelled charred wood and another, unfamiliar smell. There was another push that almost spun him around and the hardness, the cold, the smells grew stronger, more immediate.

He heard-

"Wake up!"

His eyes opened and he blinked to see Six-Gun Sal crouched by his side, looming over him in the darkness. It was impressive, given her small stature, and he had to admit it made his heart pitter pat a bit to see so pretty a lady so close.

Except that she was free, with her gun in her waistband and one of his in her hands. "Well, this is a bit embarrassing," he said after a few beats. Damn! How'd she get out of that? He'd have to tie her tighter next time, if there was a next time.

But she looked worried, and annoyed as hell, not angry. She also wasn't paying him much mind and his captured rifle wasn't being pointed at him but on the ground where he could pick it up.

A bird call came, close to camp. Sam's eyes narrowed. Bit late for a starling, wasn't it? "Thunderation." He reached over towards his rifle, catching Lisabeth's eye and nodding a silent thanks. "Reckon on fighting 'em off from here or trying to ride through their line?" Whoever they were.

It put another puzzle to him too. Why had she woken him up and brought him a gun? Why not leave him if she was already untied? But he could think on that if they got out of this with their skins.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

The cowpoke had looked awful peaceful. If she weren't so worried about them both getting scalped, she mighta felt bad for waking him up.

"Hell Sam, if I was gonna shoot 'em I wouldn't have bothered waking you up." It was hard to determine if she was joking or not-her brow was furrowed as she looked out into the darkened, expansive desert. She didn't seem...afraid exactly. Just anxious. Hesitant.

Maybe a little odd, considering how bold she had been facing him yesterday, rifle or no rifle. But then there was that mysterious last shot that never came...

After another bird call she stood, absently offering a hand to help him up as she did so. Whether he took it or not, her eyes flicked to him with a mischievous grin.

"We'll ride through. I'll race ya." A louder bird call, closer this time, and she tipped her hat to him with a wink, firing off a quick "Fer the sheriff's badge." before he could protest.

Girl was either brave or crazy. Maybe both. She moved quickly to her horse, hoisting herself up and swinging her leg over, a quick pat to Nellie's neck. She sure missed having a gang to back her up. A little.

The Indians whooped, and the sound of hooves started towards them, thunderous hooves of five, maybe six horses. She glanced back to be sure Sam was saddling up-then gave both of the stolen horses a solid smack on the rears to send them racing head long into the Indians. Lisabeth gave a little kick and Nellie bolted. She drew her revolver and hunched low and forward. She hoped they both made it through okay-Sam mighta been a spoil sport, but she'd rather trick a living man to escape (causing him much consternation, of course) than flee from a dead one, specially since he weren't so bad-cept that whole, wanting to hang her thing.

Hm.

Soon as she saw a rifle come up ahead of her, she shot it outta the young Indian's hands. One of Six Gun Sal's claim to fame was her marksmanship. Another, her riding stunts. One of the Indians was ahead of the others, peeling in from the right. Lisabeth looped the reins over and gripped the pommel, gun still in hand but temporarily lowered for balance, her right foot kicking loose of the stirrup. By leaning/sliding so far in the saddle, she had been able to duck the Indian's hatchet swing and deliver a strong kick to his chest courtesy of her little buttoned boot.

The Indian was knocked right from his horse, breath clean out of him.

 

[Armphid]

Indians. Which tribe? Not that it mattered. If they were sneaking up, they meant to kill, not to trade. Her comment about shooting made his jaw clench. Here she was joking about not shooting these braves; hadn't kept her from gunning down Cal. That green place he'd been dreaming of wasn't like that anymore; he was gone. It would never be the same again.

He looked at her hand and then up at her. Sam gave the slightest shake of his head and stood up on his own, eying the darkness warily. Her challenge and grin drew a surprised look; this wasn't a damn game! But she was grinning like a cat next to the butter-churn. The bounty hunter turned and started to gather up his gear and throwing it onto his horse, "I didn't agree to no stakes, Miss Green!"

He was pulling himself into the saddle when the whooping rang out, and he cursed under his breath. Too slow, Sam. She was getting away and the Indians would get him if he didn't get after her now. "Can't a fella just escort a lady in peace," he groused. "Ya now, Chet, get up!"

His horse leaped into motion, surging under him and sending a thrill through him that excited and terrified. That fighting rush; that urge to clash, to fight, to kill. Not the first time he'd felt it and it wouldn't be the last. But since the war ended, he dreaded it, in part. What it let him do.

Though he might not have to do anything. Six Gun Sal shot a rifle out of a startled brave's hands and then sent another tumbling to the dirt. God damn! Looking like that, shooting like that, riding like that! Maybe the girl was the devil, after all, or made a deal with him. She was opening a path for them without having to draw any blood at all.

He'd be damned if he didn't envy her.

As another of the raiders wheeled and raised his rifle to bring it to bear on her, Sam rose in his saddle, aimed, and fired all in one swift motion. The young, brave, stupid young man jerked like he'd been stung in a bee and tumbled from his saddle with a shout. Suddenly, he felt the undivided attention of the attackers on him. But they might not be able to do anything about it. Between them, there was a plenty big hole in the skirmish line to ride through and ride through they did. He could hear the horses wheeling behind them to begin pursuit. "You wanted a race, you got one!"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

(I gave it a go to give you something to reply to if you liked the idea!)

She had heard a shot and a shout, but she didn't look back. She didn't dare.

Lisabeth wasn't stupid, she knew the west was dangerous, but if she didn't have to think about it then she didn't have to feel sick and fall off her horse.

Sam had caught up along side her, and she felt relief it weren't him that'd been shot. Though, still could be, the Indians were wheeling around to continue their pursuit. Boy, she hoped they were outta riflemen.

"Ha, like Nellie 'n me'd ever be outdone by the likes of you!" She shouted with a laugh, leaning forward as her treasured horse pulled ahead, her hat toppling off her head to catch on the collar of her shirt, dark hair blowing in the same wind that ruffled her clothes. Almost cheatin', on account she was so much lighter than he was-but the girl was just so full of life, seemingly unaffected by the great danger they were in. Sam would realize that it WAS just a big game to her. She was young and she was free and she didn't give a damn because it beat a slow death at home with whatever husband her daddy picked out before she maybe died bearing babies just like her mama had with her.

Lisabeth seemed to think herself invincible out here. A youthful mistake, perhaps. Or foolish bravado. It'd somehow gotten her this far-she'd been out here for a few years, after all.

And then, as it often does when life is going good-disaster hit. One minute she was determinedly giving him a run for his money, the next there was a whip of a rope and she had disappeared off her horse, causing the animal to rear up at the sudden loss of its rider. Uh oh.

-----

Lisabeth hit the ground hard, a nasty pop in her shoulder that exploded her world in pain. Her dazed senses sharpened as she tried to think through the it, scrambling to grab hold of the rope with her other hand, working to extract her delicate wrist from the knotted loop-when the rope snapped taut, the horse and Indian on the other end having shifted directions and picking up speed-being dragged off in a perpendicular direction than they'd been headed with no short amount of cursing and, embarrassingly-screams.

No, no, no, no, no! The pain in her shoulder caused her head to swim, it was almost all she could to do not to pass out on her end of the rope-it felt like it was going to come off! The sand didn't feel very good as she was dragged on her back through it either. She realized she was still holding her six shooter tightly in her other hand. But bouncing around as she was, a shot was gonna be near impossible-she tried anyway, her head knocking into a buried rock that then bounced her up painfully, causing her bullet to go way off target. Her aiming arm was bobbing all over the place as she tried to line her shot up with his horse again. It wasn't easy upside down neither.

She fired, her teeth snapping together on another nasty bump. The horse didn't slow, and she cursed-missed. She fired again, too much in pain and a panic to be accurate. Another Indian was riding alongside of her, and she shot his horse out from under him instead, her eyes snapping back to the issue at hand so she didn't have to see the blood of the poor animal.

It was a stupid, temperamental mistake, because now Lisabeth Green, the infamous Six Gun Sal, only had one bullet. With a feminine sound of exertion, she managed to roll onto her front, sand now getting all down the front of her shirt. She took aim at the horse again-and then her eyes shifted to the lasso itself. A much smaller target, but attached to her, and closer.

She fired and the rope snapped, the girl sliding a bit further, but no longer being dragged through the painful sand. Sand and dust was all over her, she was even spitting it out as she drew herself up into a kneel, clutching at her shoulder and drawing in ragged, uneven breaths. The Indian had circled back around, seemingly intent on finishing the job with his hatchet.

 

[Armphid]

Sam looked over at her as they rode on side by side, charging into the night with the would be raiders in pursuit. She was laughing, smiling, her hat back and her hair caught in the wind, whipping back. The same wind caught her clothes, stirring and tugging them, accenting the feminine figure the blouse did a good job of hiding normally. Her smile was bright even in the dark and her eyes seemed to gleam.

It was the sight that could make a man feel things for a woman. If she weren't a murderer and a thief. Even then...even then he felt a stir of...something warm, he wasn't quite sure what.

But a moment later, he felt a deep dismay. Her lovely face showed no real understanding of the danger they were in. Of what could happen if they got caught. The moment and the game was everything. By God, it really was a game to her, all of it. The robbing, the raiding, the shooting places up. It was just sport. Was that what Cal had been? Another thrill she sought without really knowing what it meant?

The rope seemed to appear out of nowhere; curling out as if at a crawl but somehow horrifyingly fast. Sam saw it coming, opened his mouth to call out a warning, but the words hadn't formed on his lips before it tightened, jerked, and she was gone.

"Damnation!" Sam pulled the reigns and his bay whinnied loudly but turned his head and body with it, making a wide turn. "Miss Green!" He could hear her cursing and shrieking. Good God, she was being dragged.

For a moment, he paused. She was a killer. He was taking her back to stand trial and hang, wasn't he? Wouldn't this be justice too?

...No. No, it wouldn't. This would be a senseless murder in the wilderness at night, brutal and cruel. It meant nothing. If she didn't stand trial, it meant nothing. That was the point.

Sam spurred his steed forward towards the curses. A shot rang out and he spied the flash from the muzzle ahead. He could see the shapes now; Lisbeth skidding along the dirt and sand, the rope, the horse head of her. Another Indian was pulling alongside her and his heart leaped but another shot rang out and the scream of a horse just after it. The horse fell, the brave with it. Sam pulled the reins right and his mustang cried out as well, jerking away from the fallen horse to continue pursuit.

But it let the Indian dragging Lisbeth to gain more ground. He could still see them but fainter. "Come on, girl. Don't die on me like this. Ain't come all this way for it to end like this."

He heard another shot; his eyes again catching the flash. The smaller form on the ground slid to a halt and he heard her coughing and spitting. The brave who'd been hauling her was slowly approaching her. She was an easy kill. The coppery skinned warrior sneered down and lifted his hatchet, letting out a rising, whooping cry.

Thunder cracked once and he jerked, his shout catching in his throat. It sounded again and his weapon tumbled from his grip. Then a third time and he fell from his horse as it bolted from under him, hooves pounding away into the night. The brave was dead before he hit the ground; blood blossoming from the three wounds in his chest where the rifle bullets had hit.

Sam cantered up and swung down from his horse, "Poor stupid kid. Miss Green, you all right? Damn stupid question. What hurts? Can you ride?"