Jack looked out the dirty glass windows, taking his last look at the hustle and bustle of New York City. There were little poor kids dressed in rags, and newsies hawking the headlines. The vendors on the street were loudly calling out to the people passing by. The buildings, some giant like mountains, and some the size of pebbles, all stood in the heart of the city. He was leaving the only world he ever knew, to go to a place that, to him, existed only in his dreams…

Jack's P.O.V...

I was half way to Kansas City and I started to feel the sweat pouring down my forehead. My hands were visibly shaky, and my eyes began to sting with the pain and hurt I had kept in for so long. Why had I left the only family I had ever know? The scene played out in my head like it was yesterday…

"Ellis Island in Flames! Thousands Flee in Panic," I yelled as I continued to walk down the foul street, 50 papes on my shoulder. My stomach started to rumble, so I high-tailed it over to Tibby's, the local newsies hang out. Just as I was about to open the wide glass door, a real hoity-toity lady walked over.

"Excuse me, boy, are you Francis Sullivan," she asked as my face began to redden at the mention of my real name.

"Yea, I'se Francis," I replied back coldly, "What's it to ya?"

"I'm with the Upstate Prison, and I have some news for you. Well, it seems that your father, James, has been released from jail and he would like you to come and live with him." I stared at her in horror, reliving the times when my pop wasn't in the slammer and he would get drunk and beat me 'till I couldn't walk. Even at the age of 20, I still shrunk in fear at the mention of his name. I was never going back there, not with the person that I had secretly admired as a child. The only thing left was cold, sheer hatred. I dropped my papes, and began to run away, to nowhere, anywhere but here. I quickly sprinted back to the lodging house that I had called home for over ten years and gathered my few possessions and the little money I had. My most prized possession was a picture of me and my ma.

I was only seven at the time, but I still had the same hazel eyes and light brown, shaggy hair. Anyway, I took the fastest route I could to the train yards. All I could think of was the old man's face and how he would say I was runnin' away from my problems. The embarrassment washed over me, but quickly turned to anger. 'You're my problem, Pop,' I thought as I shook with rage. I almost ran into the door that opens into the station. I had been thinkin' so much, that I forget how far I had run. I just bought a ticket to Kansas City with the last few cents I had, and began my journey to Santa Fe.

I shook out of memory lane, and wiped the hot tears off of my permanently dirty cheeks. 'Only one more day on this filthy hellhole of a train and I'll be one step closer to my dream,' I thought as I lay down on the floor, ratty blanket in tow, and went to dreamland.

Two weeks later…

I was getting used to this hot, blarin' sun that was beating down on the back of my gritty neck as I shoveled manure into a pail. I was even startin' to pick up the accent that these people have from the cowboys on the ranch I'm woikin' at in Kansas City. Sometimes, though, my New York accent slips through with me unknowin'. Some of the guys even began to call me Ace, or Ace-High. Saving up my money that I get from this lousy job to buy a horse takes a long time, 'cause we barely get enough pay to put food on the table. I went back to my work, and concentrated on not dyin' from the heat. A noise burst through my shell…

"Hey, deadbeat , havin' FUN shoveling that manure," Flint and his little posse of cowboys taunted, "Ya better get a wiggle on if ya want yer pay!"

"Hey, who you callin' a deadbeat," I angrily screamed back.

"You wanna fight, boy?"

"Yea, maybe I do wanna fight. Let's go!" Then we began to fight like kilkenny cats, kickin' up dust in the air as we rolled around on the ground, knocking the daylights out of each other. Then, all of the sudden, Flint yelled out in the middle of it, "STOP!" I jumped away from him, my nose bloody and dusty, and my hands with the skin rubbed off at the knuckles. Then Flint spoke again, "You'se a damn good fighter boy. Where'd ya learn how to punch so hard?"

"I'se used ta be a newsie in New Yoik City. I was kinda like dere leadah," I snapped back just as I realized that I had slipped into my native New York accent.

"Well, kid, you'se proved yer self to us, so how about we go down to the saloon and buy you'se a drink?"

"Well, alright," I said, me being pretty confused by now. 'I wonda if he knows anythin' about getting' ta Santa Fe,' I thought to myself…

We sauntered over to The Old States Saloon, a grimy building with lots of toothless old men standing outside, and Flint barged through the swinging doors.

"Howdy Jim-Bo," He called to the bartender, who was also missing a few teeth, "I'll take a coupla shots o' whiskey for me and this dude!" Then Flint proceeded to strut quickly to a corner of the bar, where there was a couple of shady lookin' cowboys sitting around a circular table. I continued to watch this scene unfold, when a voice broke my thoughts, and I turned to see Jim, the bartender whispering down close to my ear.

"Hey, son, you better watch yo'self 'round Flint." I nodded quickly. "He's one curly wolf, he is. Wouldn't dare cross him over."

I nodded my head again just as Flint got up from his dark corner table and headed over.

"So Ace, Why'd ya shin out of New York," Flint mumbled before taking a shot of hard liquor. Just seeing that drink made me sick to my stomach.

"Well, uh, ya see, this is the shoit voision. Me pop got outta da slamma and he wanted me to come live wid him. But, my childhood wid him wasn't poifect, so I kinda jest left," I replied in a very quiet voice. Flint nodded, but didn't say anything about it.

"Well, I see you drank up one' of them shots," he finally replied. "We'se gotta go. I hear there's a sign-up for a cattle drive to Santa Fe at the General Store," Flint said as he strolled out the door. I followed him out, not knowing what to expect. This was my chance to get to Santa Fe, I thought as I excitedly ran to catch up with Flint. I probably even have enough money to buy a horse now, too! I finished my reasoning as we walked up the rotted steps of the store.

The little bell at the top of the crooked door jingled, and the man at the counter looked up and spoke, "Well, howdy Flint, didn't expect to see the likes of you up here. How are ya?"

"I'se doing jest fine, Buck," Flint replied. "And how's business rollin' fer you?"

"Oh, it's jest great, with all these homesteaders and what-not comin' through these here parts. Who's the kid?"

"Oh, this is…," Flint trailed off.

"Jack Kelly," I spoke up as I remembered Flint did not even know my name. I walked over and shook the man's hand, "Nice to meet you."

"I'm James Peterson," The man said. "Pleasure to meet ya as well."

"I'se lookin' for where we'se can sign up fer that cattle drive to Santa Fe," Flint added as he looked around the store. "Oh yea, the kid needs a horse and some supplies."

"Sure, come on back here, Jack. I'll help ya get yer stuff together." I followed him to a room in the rear of the building. It was musty smelling and dark, like it hadn't been used in years. Then, James spoke again, "Yer gonna need a saddle blanket, a saddle, all that equipment for the reins, a horse, obviously, some new clothes, and some sturdier boots. I can help ya get all that stuff fer a dreadful low price."

"Really? That would be a great help to me…"

After all of my supplies were gathered up, Flint and I headed back to the ranch. He said someone "special" was comin' and then they were goin' to a party "that's gonna be as hot as a whore house on nickel night." Just as he finished speaking the world about this Faye, she walked in.

"Speak of the devil, there she is right now," Flint exclaimed just as he noticed me with my mouth dropped to the floor and my eyes wide, staring at Faye. She had shoulder-length curly, brown hair, and bright green eyes. "Hey, Jack, come 'ere boy, I need to talk to you." I quickly followed, but was not able to speak, as I was still in awe of Faye's beauty. "Boy, I don't wanna get rough with you, but you better pull in yer horns. She's my girl, and you ain't gonna steal her from me. I didn't wanna tell you this, but you're messin' with one of the most dangerous men in the west."

"WHAT," I yelled at the top of my lungs, "Then who ARE you?"

"Boy, I'm Butch Cassidy, one of the most feared outlaws in this here country. Now, nothing is gonna change between us, as long as you don't tell nobody. Got it?"

"Sure, Bu-, er, I mean Flint. I got it," I whispered, as we walked back out into the main room.

In the next two weeks before the cattle drive, Faye and I got closer, but just as friends. She decided to accompany Flint and I to Santa Fe, and begin a new life there. I felt intimidated though, after Flint told me of his true identity. It was still a little unnerving, when you think about it. I didn't feel as if I was starting a new life, merely running away from one that was burdened with a secret. But, after the cattle drive, things began change…

One year later…

The smoky air surrounded me, and the first notes of music from the dusty old piano drifted lazily through the thick air. I began my new job today, as a bartender in the local saloon. The pay wasn't great, but it was more than a newsie made. I reviewed everythin' Flint had taught me about serving drinks, bar fights, everything under the sun. He had grown to become a father of sorts to me, helping me learn the foreign language of the wild west and teaching me the skills I needed to survive in this rough country. I had to admit though, with all of his training, I had some of the fastest hands in the west, not to mention one of the fastest horses in the west, Starlight. Starlight is midnight black with tiny white marks on her that look just like stars, and there is a big, white star-shaped mark on her forehead. She is my most prized, well, possession, I guess you could say. I was ready to begin my new life in the west as Jack Kelly, no strings attached.

"Gimme a straight-up shot o' whiskey," a man yelled over the noise that was echoing through my ears. I was used to it, though, since I had been working here at the saloon for almost a month.

"You look pretty dragged out, man. How 'bout I get you a water," I replied to this disheveled customer. This was normal since usually half the people in this town were full as a tick, day and night. As I was pouring the man a water, she walked in. One of my favorite people in Santa Fe or anywhere, Faye was the closest thing I had to a best friend. But, best friends don't keep secrets, right? I was enfolded with jealously every time some deadbeat tried to eucher her. I tried telling myself that my feelings were that of the protective best friend, but I couldn't fool myself, much less anyone else. I knew I had to inform her of the way I really felt, because in fact, I think I was falling in love with her.

"Faye," I called out, "Over here!"

"Oh, howdy Jack," she replied, carefree.

"Hey, umm, listen," I stammered, "Could I talk to you in the back room fer a second?"

"Yeah, sure, what's the matter," she asked with a concerned look on her face as we ventured into the storage room. Faye was about my age, only I didn't know why she was with a middle-age guy like Flint.

"Well, I don't know how to say this, but I-, I think-, I love you , okay?" My heart pounded and my mind raced with every possible answer.

"Well, I was trying to talk to you fer a long time about this. You see, I think I love you too. But I though you just liked me as a friend so I didn't want to tell you," She stammered back. I didn't know what to say, so I just stood there and stared at her. "Well say something, let's not sit here in silence." I did something that was totally unlike my personality, and I walked up close to her. I almost kissed her just as the door flung open, and an angry Butch Cassidy, aka "Flint," came runnin' in, slammed the door shut, and pulled out his gun. I could feel Faye jump up close to me, and she shivered with fear.

"Get up and stand over there in the corner," Butch said with an unusually menacing voice. " One of you unloyal chiseler's is gonna die tonight. Better say your prayers kids, 'cause it ain't gonna be pretty." Then a shot rang out, and a scream broke the cool night air, "NOOOOOOOOO!"

Then all was still…