A/N This is one I wrote maybe 6 or 7 years ago so I thought I'd bring it out of storage. The chapters are short and sweet and it's meant to be comical above all else, although there is an element of romance and slash sex. Hope it gives you a giggle at the very least. The story is written from the point of view of 'Arkansas' Dave Rudabaugh and set during and after the movie 'Young Guns II' (set in the 1870s).

CHAPTER 1 - MY NEW GANG

My name is Dave Rudabaugh – but I prefer Arkansas Dave. I was born in Fulton County, Illinois in the Fifties and when I was young, my family moved around a lot; couldn't seem to make up their minds – Oregon, Nebraska, Kansas. I ran away when I was twelve and the less said about that, the better. Maybe I'll come back to it later if I can stomach it.

I somehow managed to survive by scrounging and thieving until I reached sixteen, gradually made my way to Arkansas and joined up with a bunch of cattle rustlers. My fellow thieves dubbed me 'Arkansas Dave' and somehow it stuck. Eventually we killed a ranch owner in a skirmish and scattered, me ending up in Dakota, robbing stagecoaches. I thought of myself as an American version of the legendary English highwayman Dick Turpin.

After about a year of that, I got sick of always riding alone and went looking for a gang, eventually, many weeks later, finding John Webb and his buddies in Las Vegas, New Mexico. We became the Dodge City Gang, spending most of our time drinking, gambling and chasing women. After a card game where one of our opponents was caught cheating, John shot him in the head and was subsequently arrested and carted off to gaol. Me and the other boys made ourselves scarce, but returned later to break John out. In the process I killed the deputy guarding the prisoners – at least I'm pretty sure it was me – then thought I better not hang around to get myself caught.

I wound up in Fort Sumner and laid low for a while, but it was difficult to do that for long. I loved attention and I wasn't getting any, so it didn't take me long to start telling everyone who would listen that I was Arkansas Dave Rudabaugh and I'd killed sixty-five men, not including Mexicans and Indians. Actually, that was a lie. That was what I told everyone because I thought it made me sound like someone to be reckoned with. The actual figure was less than fifteen altogether, but that was my secret and I was taking it to the grave.

I had been alone for about another six months when I ran into William H Bonney and Pat Garrett in a saloon. They were surrounded by the bar girls wanting to hear about the adventures of Billy the Kid and I immediately decided I wanted some of the action. Billy was famous. He was always in the papers; right where I wanted to be and despite my previous escapades, I'd never quite managed it.

I ordered a fresh bottle of whiskey from the bar and edged my way into the group. They ignored me for a while, but when I offered the bottle around, they acknowledged me and introduced themselves. I somehow hoped they'd heard of me, but when I told them my name they both stared at me blankly although they seemed quite happy for me to hang around. I spent my last few coins on a second bottle and by the end of the evening, I'd managed to worm my way into the gang with plenty of ass-kissing, which I could be quite good at when I thought it might get me something I wanted. And what I wanted now, was to be part of Billy the Kid's gang.

We rode out of Fort Sumner, drunk as lords, singing not very tunefully, Billy recounting tales of previous adventures. I don't remember the ride, but our next stopping point was San Patricio and a saloon that rented out rooms. Billy and Pat had money to get a meal, a bath and rooms for the night. My last penny had been spent on the whiskey, so I set about impressing them by persuading a woman to invite me to her table for supper and then to a room. Needless to say, she wasn't a very respectable sort, but I was probably the least fussy person I knew. I would generally screw anything that looked twice at me, particularly if there was something to gain from it, such as a free room or just some fun, and it often didn't matter what equipment they had either. It was really a wonder I hadn't caught anything, but I was so busy counting up notches on the bedpost that I didn't really think about that; I guess I was lucky.

I was luckier still on this occasion. The woman, a forty-year old-widow desperate for attention, wanted nothing more than to be thrown on the bed and ravished more than once and when I woke the next morning to find her still sleeping, I helped myself to her jewels and money before I quit the room. I found Billy and Pat downstairs eating breakfast.

"We need to get out of here," I said urgently.

"What have you done, Dave?" asked Pat.

"Nothing," I replied innocently.

"Where's that woman you were with?"

"Probably looking for her pearls," I said with a sly grin.

"Have you no shame?" Unfortunately Pat seemed to have got to know too much about me already. Billy just laughed, shoveled the last forkful of bacon into his mouth and got up.

"Come on, then, let's skin out," he said, throwing some coins on the table for the food and heading for the door. At least Billy approved of my behaviour. I told myself he was highly impressed and thought I was a great asset to his gang. At last I felt as if I'd found some pals that I would enjoy sticking with for some time to come.