A/N: As you probably noticed, I only just changed the title, seeing as before I had little idea where this was going. But...now I do! Hence, an all around informative title, yes? Yes. Wrote this under the inspiration of Bon Jovi's Blaze of Glory, and Switchfoot's Dark Horses, two awesome songs to be sure.

Chapter 3 - Methods of Escape

"Miller!" came the antagonistic male yell, causing Riley to spin around like a small, skittish animal. He had been in the process of mulling over how to convince them to let Jake have some food when the two men had both heard the voice and looked towards its source, though Jake did so with far less animation. Carson advanced upon them, fists clenched and face resembling that of a raging bull. Between his incensed expression and heavy footsteps, he was a sight that would evoke trepidation into a weaker man, but Jake just scoffed inwardly.

Uglier in the daytime, just like I expected...He thought, repressing the sneer that threatened to make itself known. It was the afternoon of the second day he had been in the camp, and mercifully, he had not seen Carson's face; he had been out hunting for food with the same band of thugs that had found him.

"Wh-what?" Riley faltered when Carson had come to a harsh halt before them. "Something wrong?"

"Why in Christ's name is he walkin' around like some sorta free range chicken?" A finger was pointed accusingly at Jake, who hung back a bit unobtrusively as Carson snarled at his nervous subordinate. "We chained him up last night! Why did you let him out Miller?"

Riley raised his hands, a futile attempt to placate Carson. "I was just letting him stretch is all! He's been good! Hasn't tried to run, not one bit!"

"No Miller, you don't get it do you? You and that "good heart" of yours...This guy is on the shoot, and you're so wretchedly oblivious it's sad!" He swore loudly for emphasis, drawing even more attention to the scene than there had been before. Jake crossed his arms and focused on his feet, until another, unfamiliar tone cut through the tension that had arose.

"Carson giving you trouble again Riley?" It was a smooth voice, yet had a quality to it that made it sound very serious and even slightly on the threatening side. Jake's eyes flitted up to see a man who looked very much like Carson, but more distinguished with an almost clean-shaven face, at least having some sense of cleanliness where it counted. Riley nodded to answer the question, perking up at the sudden other presence.

"Case, I swear I didn't touch him! He had it coming!"

Ignoring Carson's protesting against the issue, Case turned his attention to Jake, and his gaze hardened. "This the one?"

"Yeah..." Carson replied indignantly. "Ain't he shady lookin'?"

"Thoroughly," muttered Case under his breath, taking a step closer to Jake. He had a deep, repugnant scar running from his forehead down to his jawline that had long since healed, Jake noticed it straight away. "What's your name?"

Riley piped up, "He won't tell!" This true proclamation was followed by a grunt as Carson's elbow found its way into his chest.

"Oh, come on, you have to have one," Case coaxed, holding the steely eyes of the camp's new hostage. They remained locked in an deep, stoic stare for a long moment, but Case let himself gradually look away. "Was my brother hard on you when he found you?" He asked absentmindedly. Jake's suspicions were justified by this conformation; their relationship as brothers was the reason for their physical similarities. Case was clearly the elder, but had the same stringy blonde hair as Carson, except his was tied back, while his younger brothers hung messily around his face. Either way, Jake did not answer, not even giving a subtle head motion or gesture to let Case assume anything.

It was because of his utter lack of response that Case sniggered lightly, once again joining in a battle of the eyes. His shown with hidden malice, and it was then that Jake understood that Case was a very dangerous man, indeed.

"What type of mudsill are you, huh?" Carson's older brother drew, crossing his arms to match the captive only feet away from him. "What kind of...low-life?"

Surly as ever, Jake leaned forward and said gruffly, "A real good one."

Case exhaled and backed slowly away, stroking his chin contemplatingly. He looked to his brother and Riley, who watched, temporarily giving up whatever opposition they had to one another. Finally coming to some verdict it seemed, Case frowned and stated to the two spectating men, "I don't like this one. Chain him up every evening, and during the day, don't let him out of your sight, or I'll personally castrate you in the most vile way possible." And it did not take a schooled man to know that Case was dead serious.

Carson, glaring, followed Case as he left without further word.

Riley swallowed loudly, as if he had been holding back such an action since the two brothers had arrived. "Sweet Jesus," he garbled, "please don't try and run on me...I value what I have!"

Jake allowed the slightest shadow of a smirk. "All men with wits do," he concluded, drawing a small chortle from Riley.

"Would you look at that? Guy's got himself a sense of humor!"

The smirk faded into nothingness as Riley's voice grew faint.

He had been keeping a close eye on the brothers, specifically Case, when he saw the woman who had taken his horse from him. The woman called Quince. A will to take back what was rightfully his emerged again from the cage he locked it in, intensified when he took in the way she walked, head held high and pride in her gait. Pride for her possessions and freedom. Pride for her rank, for no one looked at her in a way that would induce any bitterness from her sickly striking self. And ultimately, pride for the elder brother, who she drew close to, and paying no regard for those around her who she certainly deemed lesser, kissed with a passion that only came from the satisfaction of wrapping one around one's finger.

Jake cursed himself for his over-analyzing, feeling as though he had let his reckless thoughts of resentment distort everything.

Case pulled away from her only just, and whispered something into her ear; something that made her peer over his shoulder, something unreadable flickering across her face even from a distance. She eyed Jake for a few seconds and that only, releasing Case and turning away, like she had been repulsed by the very sight of the prisoner whom the man she had displayed clear public affection to had brought her attention to. Regrettably, Jake's antipathy for her treatment of Paytah caused him to linger too long in his scrutiny, and Riley discerned it for what he had assumed it was earlier.

"Again, huh?" He sighed. "Look, buddy, I can't stop you from looking, but you hafta understand that she's not a good - "

"No. You understand," Jake went on with his habit of interruption, reality palpable. "That shake has my horse." He refused to call her a 'whore'. The word brought back too many memories; memories of she who was only known by that designation, and not her name. Alice...So lovely, yet so monstrously taken from the world of the living.

Riley's eyes widened, and he was speechless for some time, his mouth ajar. "They gave your ride to her?"

"Carson did."

"Well, does Case know?"

"I would think..."

Trying to be cheerful but failing miserably, Riley commented, "At least you won't need a horse now, eh?"

Truth be told, Jake's patience was thinning, with everyone and everything. The absolute obliviousness his chaperone had with his predicament wasn't helping either.

...

...

Despite Riley Miller's affability, he was not a man to cross those in authority, and chained Jake back up that night, albeit a bit halfheartedly. He made sure that the chain was not so tight that it cut off the circulation in the prisoner's leg, and that his hands were bound behind his back in a way that would keep his arms from going numb too quickly. Riley was also able to get him some food and a small amount of water ahead of his re-confinement. How he had been able to talk anyone into giving him any extra nourishment was beyond Jake's comprehension, though with so much virtue it wasn't exceedingly difficult to believe. It was too bad, that after all was said and done, his congeniality would probably cost him.

He waited until he was sure the last of the inhabitants had passed out from their drunken exploits, and the lights of the fires dimmed. Then, moving a rather sizable rock towards him with his foot, he began to work with his bound hands, gradually loosened over the course of the hours of waiting. In that period of time he had been able to do little about the chain, considering there were people very close to him that could hear if he tried anything. He stared blankly into the distance in a state of concentration, twisting his wrists around incessantly to be rid himself of the thick rope that held them. He could have tried to slice through it with the rock he had shrewdly kicked near the tree on his way back to it for the night, but that would take far more time than he had. The light of the early morning hours would be materializing before long, and he needed to put as much distance between himself and the camp as possible by that point.

After much struggling, the rope dropped free of his wrists, and he rolled them around, decreasing the numbness that had set in after a prolonged stretch of time. He took up the rock subsequently and turned his interest to the chain around his ankle. Jake had watched Riley vigilantly when he fixed it, becoming conscious of the fact that it was not as simple of a task as he thought it to be, a complex series of twists and 'ties', ending at a wide ring that was slack enough to move, but tight enough to not have the ability to be slipped off his booted foot. He examined it methodically, tracing the places where the chain looped inwards around itself, and the place where it connected to the shackle-like circle. Consequently, he knew where to slam the rock down when he did...and it hurt, a lot. The force of the heavy rock on the chain and ring caused them to press painfully down with every blow, but it was worth it in the end. The chain gave in fairly easily, and in the end he was separated from the tree with only the ring and a few barely-connected links hanging from it. He was confident no one had paid the noise any mind, all presumably having a lie-down not far away.

He got to his feet, and took a experimental step to see how much noise from the chain fragment he would have to deal with. It clinked maddeningly, but not loud enough to awaken the sleeping ones. Needless to say, Jake still put down as little pressure as possible on the foot plagued by the leg manacle, starting the painstaking trek through the mass of sleeping and spent bodies. He had been able to, with the help of Riley and some subtle questions, learn where Quince would be keeping his horse. They had been very subtle questions. In any case, he knew where he was headed, and it was too late to turn back - not that a man like Jake would do so in the first place. It was time to move on and abscond from a sort of group which he had, himself, once been the head of, like Case.

He saw his Paytah's silhouette from a distance, tied to a line that ran from one durable bush to another. Jake knew it to be him - all the other horses were together elsewhere. He continued to mind the weight of his right foot, mastering quickly how to move without causing the remaining pieces of the chain to jangle about. Paytah saw Jake before he reached the place where he was tied, and restlessly shifted, pawing at the ground agitatedly.

"Whoa...hey...it's all right." He placed his hands on either side of the animal's head, speaking softly. At the familiar voice and touch, the horse calmed, becoming still. "That's good...that's right." Jake went on in an undertone, moving one hand down Paytah's neck, then moving to release him from the line he was tied to. As he worked at the reigns, he thought to himself that the horse was much like him: unfamiliar and restrained from freedom. "We're gonna leave, just you wait..." He finished aloud.

It was just as he said this that he felt the cold press of metal against his neck, and heard the feminine voice contend, "Sure you are."

Immediately he dropped his arms, very much aware that the person behind him had a gun to his neck.

"Back up slow or your life is lost."

He did so.

"Turn around. Don't try anything."

Again, he did as was requested, and found himself face to face with she who he had looked upon with such aversion he could not describe it. Quince. She held a Winchester rifle in her hands and her face, visible at such a proximity, held no traces of humor at all. Her hat's brim was raised, and she dressed as the men did, but Jake could feel nothing but disgust. Disgust for the current predicament and disgust for who she was. He stared her down, and offhandedly crossed his arms. This small action made her site the rifle closer to him, aimed squarely now at his chest.

"You Quince then?" He stated more then questioned, knowing the answer full well. "You have something that's mine." His tone was dark enough to make another man wish they hadn't crossed him, but she neither flinched or cowered.

"It's not yours anymore. You belong to this group now, and they do with you what they want."

Jake scoffed. "Mighty big talk for someone so low. Somebody who sleeps with the boss to get a status..."

The comment got him what he needed, and when she moved again, he caught the barrel of the rifle with both hands, kicked out and caught her ankle with his foot, tripping her up and using his own strength to force her to the ground. He ripped the gun from her grip, flipped it around and slammed the end of the barrel down into her throat, one foot on either side of her body. In the back of his head, no matter how revolting she was to him, he knew he could not seriously injure her in any way. She was a woman. They were not to be treated adversely - only taught how to act right.

"You ready to act civil, Miss?"

His question was answered, though not in a civil way at all, and not by speech. He was greeted with the sensation of two unpleasantly healed boots colliding with his legs. She must have been a flexible thing to manage that was what crossed his mind fleetingly. Quince used the momentary solid surface as a means to push herself far enough back to have standing room, but Jake would have none of it, dropping and all but kneeling on her stomach to stop her. He turned the gun once more, pressing it horizontally into her throat, where the barrel had just been, the pressure his one knee was inflicting on her gut was probably excruciating. Another indication to it was the telltale grunt of pain that had escaped her mouth when the sudden weight of a full grown man had been applied to her abdomen with such force. Jake was completely indifferent on the matter - as long as it wouldn't kill her, he had no opposition to it.

"Get up off me right now or I swear on my father's grave I'll scream for help!" hissed Quince, her hands finding a spot to hold on the rifle at her neck. There would be a bruise from it, he was sure.

"Why? I ain't done nothing yet." The last word he added in somewhat of a fit of frustration. The very thought; how it displeased Jake! "I just want my horse." He went back to his main point quickly, not one to hem and haw.

"No!"

"Then if you don't mind my saying so, Miss, you made this happen on your own." Courtesy was not something he wanted to give her, having no respect for her other than for her gender, but he hoped that she would be able to discern his faint sarcasm through the semblance of candor.

Jake should have known she would do as she said and scream when he saw the look of panic flicker across her face, but he couldn't get his hand over her mouth in time.

"Help!" Her voice pierced his ears and he scrambled to his feet, rifle in his hands and taking a single stride back towards Paytah in one swift motion. His fingers struggled with the tied reigns as he began to feel the familiar consciousness that came only from alarm. He heard the sounds of many people rousing and coming to Quince's aid as she continued to cry, sobbing convincingly at that. Still he wondered: if she was as strong as she appeared, why did she feel the need to make others help her? Why not make an attempt to rip him back down to the ground and give him a taste of his own torturous ways and beat him senseless? The confusing ways of women...

"What happened?" The distinctive voice of Carson shouted heatedly. More voices followed. Jake finally freed his horse and took up the reigns in one hand, holding the rifle in a death grip in the other.

"It was that...that devil you found a couple days ago!" She wept, and Jake could tell as he risked a glance at the surrounding faces in his haste that people found the prospect of her expressing such emotion, in a word, odd. "I caught him watching me earlier, it scared me, but I gave it little thought. I just went out to check on my horse - thought I heard some stirring, when he jumped me!"

Anger arose throughout the assembled.

"What's going on here?" It was Case. He shoved his way quickly in to the woman and his brother. Jake placed his foot in the stirrup simultaneously.

"Captive just got free and tried to rape Quince, Case!" Carson spit out like a curse faster than any normal sentence would be formulated.

"He's escaping!" someone alerted the three persons of interest.

Jake was barely able to swing his leg up over Paytah's back when the sound of the gunshot echoed and the bullet hit the ground a millisecond later, directly beside the horse's back hoof. The noise and closeness of the shot spooked the animal, who bucked in terror without warning, throwing his owner to the ground with an agonizing thud before taking off into the desert. Straight away the group was around him, both Case and Carson pointing pistols at his forehead.

"Somebody wanna tell me how this snake got loose?" Case inquired forebodingly.

...

...

Well, there it is, chapter 3 for you! I liked the way this one turned out, personally! Hope you did too! Please review, or ask questions or anything you wish, and I shall reply post haste!