[A/N: Haigaiz! Back again with the next bit of the Western saga after it was so nicely-received last time ;3 This time: Curses! Chases! Concussion! Super horses that can run foreverrrrr! And Angeal and Zack make their appearance – they'll be hangin' around more now…

So this really turned out a lot longer than I thought it would! And so, it's going to be multi-chaptered! 8D So please bear with me, I'm back to college full-time for three weeks but this bugs me so much I will most likely find the time to continue it xD

Alors, onto the main event~

Enjoy~!]

I – Lock and Load.

The air collected in this canyon was warmer, thicker than the breezes that roamed across the prairies, and Genesis could feel the heaviness of the atmosphere on his skin. Golden rocks radiated heat hazes, shimmering across the flat bottom of the valley above straggling clumps of scrub, and the very soil itself burnt under an unforgiving sun.

Genesis leant back in the shadow of the boulder he sat against, holding a small, tattered volume in one hand, his other running idly through the sandy grit beside him, unconcerned over rattlesnakes or scorpions that could be basking beneath the surface. In his peripheral vision, he could see the black bulk of his horse, tearing at the sparse vegetation; just above the line of the pages he read moved a shadow accompanied by the regular crunch of footsteps and metallic touch of spurs, light breath occasionally blowing out in an impatient sigh. As the sun crept on through the sky, Genesis snapped the white leather-bound book shut and lowered it to glare from under his hat.

"Angeal, shifting around like a corralled steer will not make the coach come any faster. You're giving me a headache."

The tall man he addressed halted and looked down guiltily, only glancing back at Genesis for a second. One gloved hand rested at his hip on the holster of a heavy pistol; looming over one broad shoulder was the butt of a shotgun, a belt of shells crossing his chest to keep it in place. He shrugged and stared down the canyon again, squinting in the punishing light but obviously not seeing what he was looking for.

"I'm worried for Zack, that's all. I don't know that he'll lead the men properly – he'll charge too early and get hisself killed…"

Genesis shook his head, a half-smile dawning on his lips as he closed his eyes and rested back again contentedly. "I lead this gang, Angeal. If I thought he weren't ready I wouldn't've let him go down there, would I?" He could readily imagine Angeal's expression, the inerasable worry for the young man Genesis had allowed to join them the year before, and rode straight over it. "Any case, he'll have you down there with him in case he decides to shoot out before the gun's primed. The boys will follow you over him if need be." Cracking one eye open, he fixed his lifelong friend and now comrade with a hard stare. "But you won't let that happen."

"No." Despite the assertion, Angeal did not sound convinced. "It's just his first lead an'—"

"He has to do it sometime," Genesis reminded him, stretching his legs out luxuriantly. "I might not always be around, and if you take over you'll need a capable deputy. The boy needs to bite the bit, and you can rein him in after."

There was a laden pause broken only by the champing of the horses next to them, Angeal fingering his pistol for a few seconds before taking off his hat and passing the rim between his fingers, running worn leather gloves over the braided brim.

"You've been sayin' that a lot recently. Since that raid in Nibelheim."

"What would that be?" Genesis knew, of course, but he did not want to address the issue so directly. Ever since that failed attack his thoughts had kept returning to that man; the sheriff with the gold star and silver hair like the moon, with his piercing, unafraid eyes the green of fresh grass after the rains, his taste, only barely sampled, like the mint Genesis' mother used to have in her tea all those years ago…

If Crescent hadn't been so pale and foreign, Genesis would have been convinced he was some Native shaman who had cast a curse on him – but that was an idea that held no weight in the light of fact. Whatever the cause, he didn't like the strange preoccupation, and the encounter had somehow thrown a lot of his life into harsh perspective.

"That you won't always be here. You ain't planning on—"

Angeal's determined response was cut short by the skitter of horse hooves rumbling off the canyon walls, undercut by the rattle and creak of the stagecoach they had been waiting to ambush. The man's gaze snapped to the mouth of the gorge where Zachary and the rest of the gang were hiding, and Genesis slowly opened his eyes with a smile to his companion that hid the unrest he felt.

"Time for his test." As if the conversation had never happened, he tucked his book safely back inside his scarlet coat and stood languidly, feeling the sun strike the back of his neck as he came out of the shade. His horse raised its head as another outlaw approached, darting across the scree as soundlessly as the shadow of the keening eagle gliding overhead.

"It's our mark," the new arrival murmured to Genesis when he got close enough, a little breathless but not flagging in the least. "Driver, one gunman with him, another on the back. Rifles, probably pistols, no Gatling."

Genesis saw Angeal's sigh of relief at that; the hand-powered machine guns were lethal, spitting out bullets in sprays too unpredictable for any but the most skilled – and goddamn lucky – horsemen to dodge. The redhead nodded his acknowledgement to the scout and turned back to Angeal.

"Go, and make sure he don't mess up."

With a terse nod, Angeal swung onto his grey horse and moved off behind the scout, heading toward the plume of dust which marked the approach of the coach. Genesis wandered out from behind the rock to watch it, from here only able to see the glint of sun on glass and metal, hearing its road thunder ever closer.

How many similar vehicles had he robbed? Countless. They had worked on a successful technique to this business which worked like a charm; the gang would conceal themselves high up the scree banks at the mouth of a gully and creep down, guns muffled and horses calmed, after the target had passed, herding it along the trail. When the order was given – when Genesis deemed it time, unless he put someone else in command – the two groups would sweep down and catch the carriage, gunning down any guards until it crashed and they could plunder it or until one of them managed to leap on and seize control. Then the robbery itself, and a swift exit of victory and saddlebags replete with gold.

Today was an experiment of sorts, and Genesis would take a strictly speculative role. Tweaking his hat to block the sun from his eyes, he pulled the ever-present bandanna over his mouth and strode to his horse. It took only a moment to check the girth; then with a practised jump he was in the saddle, the reins laced lazily through the fingers of one hand as he spurred the steed further along the slope. The horse picked its way over the treacherous ground and Genesis turned his attention to the stagecoach, more visible than before now it was closer on the snaking, barely marked trail.

Four horses pulled the wooden vehicle, encouraged by the bite of a long whip and cries that rang desperation into the mountains. The passengers had seemingly noticed the silent escort that hunted them; the two guards had loaded their guns and the man up front was half-turned in his seat, watching the pursuit, while the rear man was braced to lift his weapon to his shoulder as soon as the outlaws launched their assault.

Genesis watched the shapes stalking after the coach, picking out Angeal swiftly in his dusty white shirt and dark brown waistcoat, tall and tense in the saddle, and beside him the figure of the youngest member of the gang, his head bare, wild black hair standing out even from here. His gun was in his hand; Genesis waited, curious to see when Zack would order the attack. It would have to be soon – already the guards were prepared, if fearful, but the coach was almost halfway down the canyon. If he was not careful, it would be too late and he would have failed his test.

But just as Genesis was becoming impatient, Zack's pistol fired out into the air and his voice rose, unrestrained and excited, and at the call the eight horsemen thundered down into the road behind the coach. Just in time – Genesis noted the point for later evaluation – but as the battle began just like every other battle, he found his thoughts beginning to wander again. As always recently, when given a second of silence they returned to that damn man…

He didn't want that now. That was a month and a world away, and he would probably never see him again; foolish, like an undisciplined cowherd, to be mooning after a momentary acquaintance in such a manner. Below, the guards appeared to be far more skilled than they had anticipated – already one of his men was down, slumped over the saddlehorn as his horse pranced and bucked, left behind the main fracas.

Gunshots shattered the serenity of the cliffs, cracking and reverberating up to the sky. From his vantage point halfway up the valley side on a solid rock promontory, it seemed to Genesis that an equal number of shots were bursting out from either side – with a thrill of surprise, he realised that what they had believed to be harmless civilians inside the coach also had weapons, confirmed when one man riding beside it was tossed out of his saddle from a shot through the now-open window, while the rooftop guards continued their own barrage.

It was a trap, they had been set up somehow – the first pangs of what was horribly like fear, something Genesis had not felt in years since he had been forced into this life, tore through his gut. Drawing one of his own pistols, he half-reared his horse to turn it with the intention of joining his men and twisted in the saddle with a curse to aim the gun down at the driver of the speeding coach.

But just as he was about to kick his mount down the slope, he felt the unmistakeable touch of a barrel against the back of his neck and froze, the horse pawing and tossing its head beneath him.

"Drop your weapons."

The metal was cold on his skin in comparison to the arid air and unyielding; Genesis had no choice but to pitch his pistols to the ground, an attempt to turn his head cut short by the press of the gun on his spine.

"And the knife."

In those three tacit words, his captor's identity was revealed; it could be no one else. Dropping the hunting blade to the rock too, Genesis smiled wryly beneath the bandana, drawing amusement from the fact that Crescent hadn't found out about the second knife. He tilted back his head, cradling the gun barrel as he laughed and held his hands up.

"So we meet again, huh?"

Ignoring his words, the man behind him lifted the gun from his skin. "Turn this way. Slowly."

Genesis nudged his horse around with his knees, suddenly aware of the sharp drop off the edge of the promontory in the dusty silence, and came face to face with a group of five men, only one of whom he recognised. The one holding that pretty rifle steadily aimed at his chest, jade eyes shadowed under a black Stetson somewhat similar to Genesis' own, silver hair gleaming in the sunlight.

"G'd afternoon, sheriff. Didn't expect to see you here."

"Come with us. If you resist, we will shoot all of your men."

Genesis cocked his head and grinned wider, though the bandana hid it still. "You'll have to catch 'em first."

Before the man could reply, Genesis twisted the horse back to the valley and the still-raging battle and gave a loud, piercing whistle – the prearranged signal to break off an attack and flee to safety. Almost immediately his men wheeled off from around the coach and galloped away up the road; before the curses from behind him and the beginnings of pursuit from the men gathered, Genesis saw Angeal glance up and see his predicament. He raised one hand in acknowledgement before he felt, rather than heard or saw, the swish of the rifle end swinging towards his head.

A dull pain erupted in the side of his skull and the last thing he saw before he blacked out was the rock rushing to meet him as he slid off his horse, and he hoped Angeal had gotten away.

.

Sephiroth watched Rhapsodos hit the ground dispassionately, knowing that he would not be seriously hurt and taking merely irritation that the job had to be done in such a way. He would rather have not knocked the man out; it was brutal, too uncivilised for his preference, but Rhapsodos did not co-operate and he had to pay the price.

And that lack of co-operation had caused more problems than anticipated. Sephiroth raised his gaze from the crumpled form beneath him as he swung off his own horse, hanging the rifle back on his saddle, to see the men he had brought galloping in hot pursuit of the outlaw gang, multiple plumes of golden dust swirling in the bottom of the canyon with the light breeze.

He knew they would not catch them. This was open, wild country; home to bandits and natives and the buffalo wandering on the grasslands. It was not a place for townspeople, even from a bare excuse for a town such as Nibelheim, even when they swore they knew these parts from the five generations they descended from. They still would not catch their quarries, but Sephiroth knew that any attempt to call them off now would fail.

They would come back to town later, angry and tired, and he would let them go and thank them for their help with a small payment. Such was the way of things; allegiance bought for a few coins, every man for themselves, all wanting to catch a bit of glory for their own good. That dream of pioneering, of making a name for oneself out of nothing, was, perhaps, the draw of these lands, the reason for the constant stream of travellers wandering out in the sun and through the larger towns like Midgar over on the East coast. Sephiroth remembered, when he had lived there, how many anonymous people passed his dwelling every day: weary families caked in dust, fresh-faced belligerent boys armed with the cheapest revolver they could pick up at a store, wealthy old men with their pinstripe suits and pocket watches, watching the world go by because they already had what they wanted.

It was a land of great danger and opportunity, where one had to watch their back every second because there would always be five pistols trained on it. Crime was rife and with the expanses of wilderness open for criminals to escape into as well as the attitudes bred into every man, it was almost impossible to contain – but Sephiroth could only try, now he was here, and with Rhapsodos' capture he had acquired a valuable asset.

In a strictly businesslike manner, he beckoned to the one horseman who had stayed behind – his deputy, Strife – and the small blond hopped off his small horse to help, blue eyes wide and trusting. Sephiroth briefly turned Rhapsodos over, seeing no sign of injury up close either. That was good enough for him. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a pair of rough iron handcuffs and slipped them around the outlaw's wrists while Cloud held them in front of the body, checking the lock before letting those slim arms drop.

"Help me put him on the horse," the sheriff instructed, standing back to step to Rhapsodos' other side. Cloud mirrored his example; Sephiroth slipped his hands under their captive's arm and shifted, bracing to lift him and push. He nodded to Strife and then, on a count, they both picked Rhapsodos up and shoved him onto the whickering black horse, propping his lithe body into the saddle. The deputy was little help, being so comparatively short and thin; but Sephiroth thanked him anyway and settled Rhapsodos securely on his own.

He tried to push away the memory of the last time he saw this man, but as every other time he had tried in this month, he failed. That unexpected encounter had unsettled him far beyond what he had wished for or expected; he hid it well, as he had learnt to hide everything from these people, but his thoughts still whipped up like the dust storms that occasionally struck the fields around Nibelheim, quick and vicious and destructive, every time he was reminded of Rhapsodos.

And those times had been frequent. For two weeks, he had entertained the possibility of being able to forget about the outlaw and his gang forever, so life could get back to – albeit mundane – normal. But it seemed Rhapsodos was not going to let him do that. As if determined to torment him, the man had left the area for a while (or at least kept quiet) before returning with a vengeance – almost every morning a rancher stormed into his office with reports of rustled cattle, damaged property, or horses scattered. The eyewitness reports all suggested one culprit – or one culprit and his associates – and as the crimes mounted, Sephiroth was forced into action.

The trap and its nature had been his idea, put into action after days of exhaustive scouting and planning. It had not been cheap, either – he hoped that the expense would be worth it, that they could rid the area of this one gang and hope that they didn't come under the focus of another.

But now the plan had come to fruition, and after making sure as perfunctorily as he could that Rhapsodos would not fall, Sephiroth stepped away from him and hooked the reins over the horse's head, going back to his own steed to tie them to the saddlehorn. One last check; and then he mounted, turning on the loose scree and gesturing to Cloud.

"Go behind and make sure he doesn't fall."

"Yessir."

Sephiroth moved off, trusting his horse to select a way through the rubble and keeping Rhapsodos' beast on a close lead, but slack enough that they would not pull each other down. It was a long trek down to the valley floor, but it seemed even longer when Sephiroth was glancing out of the corner of his eyes at the unconscious captive every few minutes, checking for the first signs of him coming round.

Part of him dreaded that event, and part of him was curious to see what the man was really like in further conversation. No, that couldn't happen – he should not talk to prisoners because of the complications it raised, and because there had been instances where the captured had charmed their jailer into setting them free. Sephiroth was a careful man, and he always adhered to the rules. If talking with the captive was out of order, he would not do so – no matter how much that little traitorous part of him wanted to get to know the outlaw better.

Dread because he had no idea if Rhapsodos would mention the particulars of their last, first, meeting in front of Strife. That could be disastrous; though Sephiroth believed the youth to be too awestruck by him to blurt the story out, there was always the possibility, and he did not know what that would do to his hard-earned respect as sheriff.

That was somewhat the reason for him sending Strife to be the rearguard of the little escort, as well as for his professed concern. However, they finally reached the road, the dust having already settled over the grit and stones, and Rhapsodos had shown no signs of waking, not even with the uneven rhythm of his horse's movement and the encouraging clicks the other two riders had to emit to keep their own beasts going. That state of affairs suited Sephiroth just fine as they turned and started on the road back to Nibelheim.

.

For a second, Angeal thought that the raid would go well. Although at first he had been worried over Zack's capabilities, when the younger outlaw got going, he was an unstoppable force fuelled by energy and pure excitement for the chase. Like an exuberant puppy, his blood could be raised by anything trying to get away from him, and also like a puppy he would not stop until he caught it; it had caused them trouble in the past, when overexcitement could ruin the chances of them all escaping, but Zack had never caused the death of any gang member and after the fact he was always repentant enough for Genesis to let him off with a warning.

For a second, Angeal thought that Zack would not heed the whistle he had not wanted to hear, even when the battle had turned against them for sure, even when two of their men had dropped and Angeal had felt the whizz of bullets too close to his skin too many times. But even as the elder stared up to where Genesis was beleaguered in disbelief, Zack's rallying cries turned panicked and he led the others away, peeling off from the assault as swiftly as they had launched it.

For a second, Angeal was torn between following the order and trying to save Genesis, though he knew it was a fool's errand. There were at least ten enemies surrounding the redhead, and he had only a pistol, a shotgun and two long knives. His decision was made for him when the majority of the other force crashed down the slope, yells angry and revolvers firing wildly into the air in heavy hostility. With a growl of frustration, Angeal turned his horse and followed the others, spurring the grey on as the distant image of Genesis falling to the ground repeated over and over.

It was a hard ride fraught with anxiety and concentration, adrenaline burning through his blood as hot as the sun beating down from the cloudless sky. Zack knew where to go – as soon as they reached the far end of the canyon, where scree-banked cliffs fell away to ripple across the land back to the mountains, he whistled and the six remaining horsemen split into three pairs, each team racing away in a different direction to divert the hunters.

Angeal joined Zack's stout bay horse and the two veered off north along the rough hills leading to the mountains that characterised this part of the country. The other did not look at him, too intent on urging his horse on to greater speed, digging in with the spurs, half-standing in the saddle as he crouched over the beast's neck. Occasional glances behind whipped his untameable black hair into his eyes, but the looks always precipitated a greater effort, and when Angeal followed his example he saw three men whipping their horses up to a lather, almost concealed by the dust trail.

The speed and immediacy of the chase was exhilarating but Angeal knew better than to let it get the better of him. He kept a sharp eye out for the landforms he recognised, the self-designated signposts back to their camp hidden in the foothills. There was one, the broken cactus – and then, that rock shaped like a horse tossing its head – and there, the dry, branchless trunk stooped to the ground like one of the trademark apple trees from his home town all the way back up north. He called out to Zack and together they swerved into a small gap between hills, a dry creek bed littered with desiccated plants and loose pebbles bleached by the sun.

The noise of stones kicked up by their horses' hooves rattled through the afternoon air and was soon joined by the din of others following – and then a loud cry and a curse, and Angeal looked back to see one pursuer down in a cloud of dirt, his horse having evidently slipped on the rough ground. He smiled and turned back, steering his own mount carefully up a steady gradient that rose and flattened in unrelated bursts.

Their horses were far more used to this terrain than the townsmen's; the rancher's beasts probably rarely had to come up this dangerous ground, as for risk of injury their riders would try to find safer routes through the territory. But the outlaws had no such qualms; the safest places for them were the ravines and gullies, the scrub-covered cliffs and caves where no one else would stumble upon them. And as now, the entry routes acted as a winnower of sorts, to cut down on enemies until they all fell.

The remaining two men were not to be put off so easily. Ahead of him, Zack ducked with a yell as a bullet caught his cheek, and Angeal immediately drew his pistol to twist and fire at the attacker. His shots went wide when his horse pitched in an unexpected dip, but he recovered and fired again, and this time his aim was true – his opponent was blasted from his seat with the force of the bullet square in his chest and dropped to the ground, dragging behind his whinnying horse with one limp foot caught in the stirrup.

His death tripped up the second man, whose mount shied and bucked, refusing to continue and even more unsettled by its rider's furious bellows and wild gunshots. By the time he might have been able to continue the chase, Angeal and Zack were gone, melted away into the hazy shadows with an elated laugh.

The camp was empty when they reached it, but the sight did not inspire fear yet. They had shaken off their tail surprisingly quickly, and the others had gone farther away from the camp to do so in any case. It was a modest setup; ten or so tents gathered in a vague circle around a fire pit and near a small running stream, two wagons providing a barricade as well as room to store plunder and possessions, and all hidden in a little ravine concealed by its twisting entrance.

With a loud sigh, Zack swung off his horse and met the ground with a thud, shaking out muscles trembling with exhaustion before glancing at Angeal with a mischievous grin.

"So how about that, Angeal!" he cried, spreading his arms to the sky. "We got them good!"

The elder smiled back fondly and dismounted somewhat more gracefully, patting his horse's nose as he led it to the bank of the stream. "We did." All his muscles were aching, from physical exhaustion as well as the tenseness from the initial ambush and the escape. He scratched the grey neck before him as his horse eagerly lowered its head to drink. Zack was still in the centre of the camp, somehow summoning the energy to perform a few squats; Angeal stared at him for a second before clearing his throat and motioning to Zack's horse. "Attend to your horse, Zack."

"Oh! Sorry."

"Always remember to take care of the horse before yourself," Angeal reprimanded him without real anger, though he also noticed the cut where the bullet had zipped past on Zack's jaw had begun to bleed, him oblivious of course. "They're what keep us alive mostly. As you just saw." Since the youth had been adopted into the gang after Angeal found him wandering in one of the towns they visited and was begged to let him join, the raven-haired veteran had kept Zack under his wing, teaching him what he needed to survive more efficiently than what he already knew. Genesis had waved a hand and allowed him to join on the condition that Angeal made him "useful", then promptly took little more notice; Angeal hoped that today was a sign that the redhead was taking Zack a little more seriously, and the thought made him proud.

"Yeah." Given the space to pause, Zack had turned more thoughtful, gazing past his horse's head into the mirrored shallow water below. "Did y'all see what happened to Genesis back there?"

Angeal didn't answer for a second, getting what he had seen straight in his mind. He sighed and looked up to the sky, cut off by the overhanging walls of the ravine above. "I think he got captured by some men from Nibelheim."

"What'll they do to him?"

"I don't know." At least, throw him in jail for as long as they could keep him there, maybe transferring him to a larger institution because any of the towns near here were too small to hold prisoners for long. At worst, deem his crimes to be worthy of the highest punishment, and sentence him to death by hanging. The thought made Angeal sick – to see his best friend, leader and occasional lover dangling from the gallows to be picked apart by the crows…

It was unthinkable for Genesis to be out of his life, for he had been such an immoveable fixture for so long. They had grown up together, moved out into the world together, been made outlaw together and forged their way in this life together – well, that wasn't strictly true. Genesis had been ostracised first, but Angeal could not bear to let him go off into the wilderness on his own and had chosen to leave his own life just for the redhead. But he never regretted it. Every time he saw Genesis smile – properly smile, not grin savagely at a kill or smirk in derision – Angeal knew why he had come with him.

But now he was gone, perhaps forever.

"Well then," Zack announced after a long silence, "we just gonna have to go get him back!"

Angeal started. "What?"

"Don' worry, Angeal," the other grinned, "I'll come with you. We'll go over to Nibel, shoot it up a bit, y'all can break open the jail and there we go! Easy as pie."

The thought wormed its way into Angeal's mind and though he knew it would not be quite as simple as Zack described, he knew from that moment he would go through with it. Genesis was worth anything – and as his protégé had pointed out, he would be there, along with as many other men with some kind of grudge or a death wish as he could muster.

Something that was not quite a smile but not a grimace crossed his face, and an eagle screeched from the firmament above. Yes.

Easy as pie.