Hey, everyone. Sorry, it's been so long since I updated this, I had a long case of writer's block, and exams etc. In Fact, it was so long that the 'life' of the original document (1st) of the story, ran out, which meant I couldn't update chapter 3 on the first two chapters. So, here it is, enjoy, and reviews will be much appreciated!

Chapter 3:

The wounds that had been inflicted on Abornazine, could have taken months or even years to heal, but instead were mended and his body restored to its former glory in only a matter of weeks. Remarkable really, when, like Mister Ross constantly reiterated, 'he could have died as easy as a drunk in a shootout'. Abornazine's recovery, was in no small part due to the knowledge and, it must be said, unusual fascination of Professor Macdougal, who expressed curiosity in the nature of Abornazine's social circles, and its traditions. Information like this, would perhaps be something that Abornazine wasn't so used to sharing, especially with the white man, but the professor was an acception, and the native boy took advantage of the opportunity to answer his questions, as a way of expressing his gratitude towards the professor for healing the imprints of bad, bloody, memories on his body.

The professor revealed to him his hatred of the natural sciences, and his preference to the studies of the human mind (psychology, was what the professor had called it). Although, he never fully explained his interest in the culture and communication of the natives, of which his concentration seemed to be solely on, the vast majority of the time. It was strange, however, that after Abornazine, had fully recovered, the professor, disappeared. Nobody seemed to know where he went, but the young native once heard a rumour, from the bar downstairs, that 'the poor bastard had been shocked by an attack by the Dutch crew on his hotel room in Blackwater, and had fled back to Eton'.

Abornazine knew who Dutch was, he was the leader of the natives, an unusual one too. A former outlaw, not to mention the fact that he was as white as chalk, in charge of, what had become under his leadership, a major tribe in the county. Perhaps, the curiosity of the professor had gone beyond acceptable limits in his interest in the native tribes, if acceptance for the white man, existed in any form anyway, and had pissed off Dutch, and his crew a considerable amount. If that was true, then the professor must have been extremely lucky, because Dutch knew how to deal with people who pushed his short temper over the edge, and it was usually swift, and lethal. Abornazine should know, that was, after all, how he had dealt with his father. Rumours were that he hadn't done the kill personally, but he took credit for the crime regardless, and had used Nastas as an example of the consequences of being a traitor. Abornazine had almost suffered identical consequences, if not, for the luck of his discovery by locals.

He doubted the story though, especially given the hotel that the professor had become very much obliged to for its hospitality, was only across the street. Having said that Abornazine, could go into very deep sleeps on some nights, perhaps that showdown had occurred on one of those nights.

Once Abornazine's wounds had healed, and his ability to move freely without pain, the sheriff returned to the hotel, for the first time in a month, since their first encounter, this time with a slightly improved expression beheld upon his countenance.

'How are you feeling, son?' he asked, whilst remaining keen to not miss out on witnessing, what appeared to be an outstanding game of poker occurring nearby.

'Not too bad, sir', the native replied, 'is there any reason why you wanted to grace me with your presence on this occasion?'

The sheriff's smile, took a dip, and was transformed into a frown.

'Well, look, this town saved your life, so I figured...'

'So you figured...what?'

'You oughta' help do some savin' for this town too'

'And tell me please, sir', what does this so called 'saving' entail?'

'Killing Outlaws, arresting those who disturb the peace'

'So you want me to be in the law, in shorter words?'

'Yeah, in shorter terms.'

'And, what if I say no?'

Mister Ross slammed his fist down on the table, and gave Abornazine a death glare right in the eye, before grabbing the native boy by his short collar aggressively, and ensuring that their faces were close enough for the purposes of intimidation.

'Now, you listen here, you idiotic little native shithead. You lived in those forests out there, with Dutch's gang, so as far as anyone bar you and me, and my deputy are concerned, you are still an outlaw. I don't fucking care what you did or didn't do, but if you don't provide me with assistance, then, you're going to be as fucked as a chicken in a kitchen. Fuck your relationship with nature, the only surroundings you'll be used to are barred windows, and grey walls, for the rest of your life, or maybe just darkness, unless you don't join us.'

Abornazine, was admittedly shocked by the reaction of mister Ross, and even felt fear deep down inside him, rooted like a hostage to the spot, at the lawman's references to jail, or even death, if he didn't do what he said. He sighed, before saying, 'I suppose I don't have much choice then?'

'That's correct,' Ross replied, still with a stern look on his face.

'Right then,' Abornazine said before standing up to face the doors of the hotel, 'If you're going to blackmail me, at least don't waste any more of my time. Let's get the law business you want me to do, done and over with, before I do take a preference for time in jail instead.'