Quinn Gaither had lived in Perdido Gulch his entire life, but never in his wildest dreams did he expect that he would become its sheriff. Quinn didn't know anything about the law, much less enforcing it. Albert had given him a copy of the town law book, but all the fancy terminology went over his head. How was Quinn supposed to maintain peace and order in a town where those words didn't even seem to be in the dictionary? When he had asked Albert for advice, all that Albert had been told him to do was work on his aim with his only weapon, a pistol. Even though he didn't think it would help very much, Quinn decided to shoot some targets out in the desert.
BANG!
Quinn fired his pistol, missing the tall saguaro cactus that he was using as a target.
BANG!
His second shot wasn't much better.
BANG!
That one whizzed straight through the center of the cactus. If only it had been Quinn who had fired the shot.
The new sheriff, who didn't feel like a sheriff, slowly turned around to see the mysterious shooter who had been able to send a bullet whizzing over his shoulder and into the center of the cactus. If the shooter standing behind him was looking for trouble, then this was going to be Quinn's first (and last) showdown with an outlaw.
When he laid eyes on the gunslinger, he was shocked to find out that they weren't a criminal at all. They were just a girl, and a rather pretty girl at that. Her dark, messy hair was covered in dust. It stuck out from underneath her battered cowboy hat and went all the way down to her waist. It hadn't been cut in a mighty long time. Instead of a dress she wore tattered pants and a white button down shirt. The only touch of femininity was dirty, hot pink bandana that she had tied around her neck.
"Well, pluck my feathers and call me fried chicken!" Quinn exclaimed, "If it isn't the long-lost healer of Perdido Gulch."
"Call me Lana," The Healer said.
"Well, you aint' healing nobody no more, so I guess that title don't fit very well nowadays," Quinn said.
"That's not true," Lana corrected, "I heal anybody who can find me."
"Well nobody can find you," Quinn teased.
"Patrick can find me and that's all that really matters," Lana said before sticking two fingers into her mouth and whistling loudly.
Almost instantly, a large yellow dog came bounding over to Lana's side. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a little scrap of meat, which tossed to Patrick. It bounced off of his nose and landed in the sand, but he ate it anyway.
"What's that you got there?" Quinn wondered.
"Coyote balls," Lana replied.
Quinn became quite nauseous right after he learned what Patrick was eating.
"Oh, don't make that face," Lana told him, rolling her eyes, "If you shoot a coyote you gotta do something with everything. If I leave anything behind, that attracts vultures. I don't know when the last time that you saw one of those was, but they aren't exactly subtle birds. If I leave the less savory coyote parts behind everywhere I go, then outlaws can just follow the vultures straight to me."
"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Quinn said, still feeling mighty queasy, "So, do you just live out here in the desert?"
"No, I live over there," she said, pointing at a cliff that was barely visible on the horizon line.
"That's a long way from this here patch of desert," Quinn replied, "What brings you this far from home?"
"I heard the gun shots and thought you were Ol' Drake the Snake," Lana replied, "We can't just let him be walkin' around with loaded guns, now can we?"
"We most definitely cannot," Quinn agreed. Drake the Snake was the most feared outlaw in all of Perdido Gulch. He didn't have any powers, but he was an excellent sharpshooter. His nickname came from the long, scaly appendage that he had grown after losing his right arm.
"Now what brings you out to the desert, partner?" Lana wondered, "Last time I checked, you were the biggest townie of them all."
"I'm practicing my aim," Quinn explained. He looked down at his feet and took off his hat. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to tell Lana about his new job or not. He really looked up to her, and he wasn't sure if he could handle it if she laughed in his face.
"Now, why would you wanna do that?" Lana asked, "You wanna keep yourself safe that crooked hearted coyote that you call a sheriff?"
"You think I'm a crooked hearted coyote?" Quinn asked, pretending to be offended. If Lana laughed at his joke than she'd be laughing with him, not at him. Right?
"Wait, are you telling me that YOU became sheriff somehow?" Lana asked.
"Well, the old sheriff destroyed half the town in a battle with Unlucky Penny. Albert ran them both out of town and made me the new sheriff. It was sort of a snap decision," Quinn told Lana.
"Let me get this straight, the only thing keeping Perdido Gulch from going crazier than a rattle snake in a bottle of whiskey is YOU?"
"Well, yes."
"And you don't have any powers?"
"Nope."
"And you can't even shoot a gun?"
"Apparently not."
"That's it, the whole town's screwed."
"It is, isn't it?" Quinn wondered.
"Well, it would be," Lana decided, "If I wasn't going to help you out."
"What do you know about being a sheriff?"
"Not much," Lana admitted, "But I know how to shoot."