New Austin 1889
Red Harlow looked the sheriff in his stony blue eyes as a bag containing about ten grand was offered to him. He had finally killed the dirty rat Griffin and avenged his pa. Now what was next? "It was never about the money." He muttered and grasped the halter of his bay stallion.
"Best be getting on, Red!" shouted the wounded black soldier known as Buff. He clinched his leg as red blood trickled out like a spring and made a crimson pool near his boots. "Gov'ment will be sendin' their boys after you."
With the grace of a true equestrian, Red swung into the saddle in a blink of an eye. Without a word (he never spoke much), he and his steed were off, riding at breakneck speed away from the late governor's manor. The blazing sun was setting low in the sky, but it was still radiant enough to cause the bounty hunters neck to be pink. New Austin was a large state situated in the southwest bordering Mexico. Brimstone was in the Northwest and his destination, Hennigen's Stead, was in the south, right across the river from Mexico.
Red couldn't understand why he had to leave Brimstone, but the sheriff, Annie, and Buff could stay. After all, they had shot as many men as he did, but Red took out the governor of New Austin. He was a "bad" man.
For many days Red Harlow road through deserts, prairies, mountains, and forests searching for the place his father Nate had grown up. Supposedly Nate had family members there that Red never met. They didn't take to kindly to Falling Star, Red's Native American mother. It was sad that after twenty-seven years, Red was finally going to meet them for the first time. If they were there that is.
Riding like mad thorough the state of West Elizabeth this time on a palomino Kentucky Saddler, Red found himself being robbed by a group of pick pockets around the ages of seventeen or so. The leader of them was obviously the tall lanky Scots boy with a six shooter. He had long shaggy black hair that fell to his shoulders and a face covered in cuts and nicks, not much unlike Red. "Hold up!" he said in a bold rough voice. A smoker, thought Red. "Sir! I'm to give you the choice: give me all the money you got in your pockets, or bite my bullets."
"I am not threatened by children," spat Red looking down over his horse at the youth. The boy nodded to another boy who was even rougher looking than his counterpart. The boy raised an old musket to the palomino and pulled the trigger. With a large BANG! the horse fell to his knees, dead as a doornail. Dead as Griff.
Red was on the ground now, surrounded by these teenage boys and their ancient hand-me-down guns. These boys had to be from poverty. They all wore rags and they were begging with force. "Now, let's say you give me the money, mister," said the leader, stepping towards Red with his Colt 1873 six shooter. The bounty hunter hated to hurt children but these miscreants meant business, especially the one holding pistol to his head.
Harlow quickly drew his Scorpion revolver out of his holster and shot the boy with the musket who killed his horse. The bullet hit the kid right in the gonads and he fell with an "OH!" All the other rushed to escort the boy away from the scene…all but their leader who nervously put his revolver in the pocket of his ragged Levi Strauss Jeans.
"Who the hell are you?" the boy asked backing away from this strange man who had the "deadest eye" he'd ever seen.
"My name is Red Harlow. I'm from Brimstone. I came down to find my Uncle Ed's place in Hennigan's Stead. You know where that is, jackass?"
"No, I ain't a jackass. My name is John Marston," said the boy who pulled out the Colt. He didn't care how much older this "Red Harlow" was than him, no one talked to John Marston that way. Red simply shot the gun out of John's hand.
"JESUS!" shouted John while gripping the throbbing, bleeding hand.
"I can kill you now, but something tells me you know exactly where my destination is so you're just gonna have to stick with me. I doubt Musketdude and the rest of your posse will miss you." Red used some rope to tie Marston's hands together.
"I told you I don't know nothing about no Hennigan's Stead. I have always lived her in West Elizabeth. In the orphanage with the guy with the musket; that's Bill."
Red smirked as he brought a small donkey in dire need of horse pills out of a stall. Whether John Marston liked it or not, he and Red were going to be in Hennigan's Stead by sunset.