Sorry for the late update, guys! I'm fine, no worries! Just had a lot on my mind lately. Thanks for the concern, it's very much appreciated. And of course thanks for the reviews, favs and follows! Enjoy!
Chapter 26:
She woke at the sound of an eagle, soaring high above the tree tops. His long drawn screeches announced the sight of food, or the call for a mate. She listened to him for a while, trying to find out where he was exactly. When she was sure he would show himself between the swaying tree tops, she opened her tired eyes, well timed for the bird soared right over her. She smiled at her small victory, her little game taking away the weight of reality the way books no longer could. Now the eagle had flown over, his sounds disappearing in the distance, she moved her thoughts to the here and now. It was still early, she recognized the smell of just after daybreak. A horse shook its head, making its bridle jangle like bells.
The crackling of the reawakened campfire almost lulled her back to sleep, spreading its welcome warmth. The sweet smell of smoke filled her nostrils while she attempted to stir herself from her drowsiness. Then finally after mustering the strength and willpower, she sat up slowly, smoothing back her hair as she yawned and looked around. Butch was saddling the horses, his back turned to her, and unaware of her awakening. There was no trace of the old Indian man, and for a moment she wondered if his visit had been a dream, but the area around the campfire counted three empty tin cups, betraying the chief's appearance had been real.
"Goodmorning.." she said, speaking cordially to Butch's back. He shot her a quick look over his shoulder, but then turned back to what he was doing, as if there was little time to waste.
"Mornin'" He said amusedly. "Finally decided te join the wakin' world again, huh?"
A little embarrassed, she looked away. She must have looked like a child going past its bedtime last night. Humiliating, and not to mention rude toward the Indian chief that had paid them a late night visit. "I was very tired. I didn't mean to let you do all the work. Is there anything I can do?" she let her eyes roam the campsite, but it seemed he had everything under control. He didn't answer her question either. "Where's the Indian man?" she asked, trying to remember his name.
Done adjusting the saddle of his horse, Butch turned to her. "Red Elk." He reminded her gently. "He's around here somewhere, still lookin' for those buffalo boys, ah reckon." She blinked, the memory of the conversation that had taken place between the chief and the gang leader slowly coming back to her. While she tried to remember every detail of the night before, he poured her a cup of fresh coffee and handed her the mug. She thanked him with a smile, but he refrained from returning the favour.
"I'm sorry I fell asleep." She said after the first sip, the bitter strong taste, although aiding her in fully returning to the world of the living, was unkind to her tongue. The warm mug felt pleasant to her cold hands, and she shivered lightly against a rush of cold air. The forest was cooling off at rapid speed. Winter had set in, and it wouldn't be long before the snow would start to fall.
"Ahh, don't worry about it." Butch said, waving away her worry. "It wouldn't be the first tahm that damn injun put people te sleep with his goddamn babblin'" Hesitating for a moment, he slowly sat down next to her on the blanket, letting out a dramatic, strenuous groan at bending his stiff joints. She chuckled at his antics, the comical way he had plopped himself down. "Anyways, I don't know how much ye picked up on his rattlin', but he wants mah help with those boys."
Taking another deep swig from the hot coffee, she looked at him from over the rim of her rusty tin mug. "Are you going to kill them?" she asked carefully. "I thought you weren't for hire."
He pursed his lips in thought, narrowing his eyes. "Ah make a pretty damn good navigator to ye though. Might change mah mind on the hirin' part yet and decide te charge ye fer this little road trip. How does three bucks a mile sound te ye?"
"Like theft." She scoffed. He chuckled gruffly at her answer, amused by her spunk. "There's a creek down there." he said, pointing downhill. "In case ye want te wash up er anythin'"
Where there's muskrats, there's water. She clearly remembered her grandfather's words, and they had always held truth, just like today. Now offered the chance to bathe, she attempted to wrap her mind around it, washing had seemed so insignificant the past days. She had been travelling with a group of men that didn't care about personal hygiene for so long, she had started to not care about it herself.
"And you'll be here with a set of binoculars I reckon?" she sneered. He just chuckled.
"What makes ye so sure ye got somethin' ah haven't seen yet, huh?" He sneered back. Letting out an indignant huff, she looked away from his taunting stare, there was no outsmarting him, and she didn't even know why she still tried. Sensing her defeat, he chuckled again.
"Bring yer gun when ye go down there so ye can shoot at the injuns hidin' in the bushes with their binoculars."
Fed up with his insensitive jokes, she downed the rest of her coffee, got up, and dramatically flung her gun belt over her shoulder before stomping away in anger, in the direction of the creek. The frozen leaves cracked under her boots, making a silent thread impossible. She followed the sound of the running water, while the way through the tightly packed together young trees got steeper by the minute, until she finally caught sight of the small but vastly running stream of clean water. Not exactly bathing material, but it was too cold for such a thing now anyway. A quick wash up was all it could offer, and it would have to do for now. She placed her gun belt over a wet rock and started unbuttoning her vest and shirt. While stripping down, she realized she forgot to bring something to dry off with. She sighed in annoyance with herself as she hung her, or rather Frank's, top garments on a nearby tree branch, leaving the bottom parts undisturbed. She wasn't about to go skinny dipping with the gang leader nearby. Even though he had ensured her privacy, he could be unpredictable in his ways of dealing with such matters. And so, to avoid provoking any ungentlemanly behaviour, she would be satisfied with just a quick rinse of her upper body for now.
Sitting on her knees at the water side, she cupped her hands into the stream to splash water on her face and chest. The near freezing temperature made her shiver, the tiny hairs on her arms stood up as goose bumps formed, yet the feeling of being clean again made it bearable. She rinsed out her hair as well as she possibly could, letting the long, wet strands glide through her fingers, untangling every knot they encountered. While she gazed at her rippling reflection in the clear water, the feeling that she was not alone slowly creeped into the back of her mind.
Unmoving, she let her eyes roam the waterfront in search of any life forms, only to find out she was sharing her morning drink with a lone coyote, standing on the other side, a little to her left, quenching its thirst in a calm, yet guarded, way. He seemed to have noticed her before she did him, and kept a watchful eye on her every movement while his long tongue scooped up the water. His oversized ears moved back and forth, scanning the area behind him for sounds that could betray the presence of a possible predator.
She watched the animal in silent observation, his presence calming. If he deemed this place safe enough to drink, why wouldn't she? After all, he was much better equipped to scan their surroundings than she. Somehow, they locked eyes at one moment, and she felt a shiver run down her spine noticing the animal's eyes were a sky blue, as blue as the ones she had seen in her dreams, as blue as the eyes of the man she travelled with, and unwillingly had put her trust in. She hadn't realized she had stopped breathing, and inhaled sharply as the animal licked its lips, water dripping down its snout.
"Why do you keep following me.." she asked softly, more to herself than the coyote. The animal lowered its head, staring at her curiously, like he peered straight into her soul. Then he looked at his right, up on the ridge above them, its ears moved forward in full attention. She followed his gaze. A wagon pulled by four mules slowly made its way across the ridge, three men on horseback followed in a steady pace, she and the animal went unnoticed through the thick population of pine trees on the cliff side, sheltering the stream and the ones using it. The deep wagon was piled high with buffalo hides, some still dripping blood, creating a trail easy to follow. She realized these were the hunters the old Indian man had been looking for. When she looked back at the coyote, it had vanished into thin air, leaving no paw prints in the muddy sand of the banks.
She didn't have much time to be amazed by her vision, whether it had been a real animal, or a trick of her food and rest deprived mind, it didn't matter now. She quickly dressed and ran back toward the campsite.
"I've seen them!" she called, coming to a halt next to a hunched over Butch, his hand resting on his horse's flank, like he needed something to hold onto. At first, she thought he was looking at the underside of the animal for some reason. But when she got around him, she noticed his other hand rested on his abdomen, his eyes shut tightly. "Are.. are you alright?" she asked carefully. He straightened his back immediately, his spine letting out involuntary knacks at the harsh movement.
"Ahm fine." He mumbled, panting like he had just ran a mile. "What did ye see, Sharky?"
She blinked, but decided not to push the subject, knowing him a little by now. "I saw the buffalo hunters. The ones Red Elk is looking for?" He nodded a little, gazing at her tiredly. "They're moving east, up the ridge. They didn't see me."
"We'll follow them." He said. "At a distance, slow pace. They're goin' the same way as us anyway. We'll take em by nightfall."
"Why not now?" she suggested. "And get it over with. Honestly, I don't feel much for travelling in the trail dust of some low life poachers for a whole day. If I'm going to be forced to watch these men die, then let's get it over it, please."
He shook his head. "Ah can't, Sharky. Not now." He gazed at her almost pleadingly. "Gotta take it easy right now. Ah'll put on a show fer ye tonight, ah promise."
Her worried expression made him drop his gaze, as if he was embarrassed by her concern. "What's wrong?" she asked again, pressing him despite knowing better. But he refused to let her in, and tried to move past her, halted only when she placed her hand on his arm. "Please tell me." She half expected him to snap at her, move her hand away angrily, but he didn't, and simply gazed at her wearily.
"Ain't nuthin' te worry about." He explained. "Just a cramp in mah gut. Feels like ah've been drinkin' half a gallon of ice water, er somethin'"
For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, her mind flashing back to the blue eyed coyote gulping away its thirst at the waterfront. But she shook herself out of it quickly, deeming it unworthy, not to mention stupid, to mention it. All this talk about spirits, animals and Indian medicine was altering her perception of reality. Men had gone nuts in these parts before, she knew the stories. "Well.." she started, rubbing her arms nervously. "Why don't you.. put something warm in it? Coffee or.. anything." She suggested. "That might help."
He made a face. "Do me a favour and don't mention food er drinks for a while, alright?" with that, he turned away from her, back to his horse to fasten the last strap of its saddle. Slightly taken aback by his sudden crude tone, she cleared her throat in uneasiness, and decided to see if Bobby was ready to go. They would be departing shortly, or they would lose most of the light of day during their journey. She halted seeing her mount, dressed in its bridle, but no saddle on its back.
"Ehm.." she started, looking over her shoulder. Butch mounted his faithful mare slower than usual, letting out a strenuous moan as he climbed into the saddle. "You forgot my horse's saddle." She noted shyly.
"Ah didn't forget anythin'" Butch started. "Ah want ye to ride that animal without a saddle for a while. Get used to the feel of a horse under ye." He chuckled softly at her crestfallen expression. "Ye'll thank me later, Sharky, trust me. Ah know a thing or two about ridin' horses."
"How can you expect me to.. I can't even get on up there without the help of a stirrup!" she protested in exasperation, not believing he could make this decision just like that. "How can it be beneficial to my knowledge of riding horses if I can't even get up on the horse?!"
"Ye didn't even try it yet!" Butch barked back, slightly agitated at her small hissy fit. "Ye gonna go through life sayin' ye can't do nuthin' without even tryin' first, yer gonna create so many goddamn problems for yerself all ye can do is sit in a chair and knit socks!" she was quiet, dropping her eyes to the floor like a child being scolded. "Get on the goddamn horse er ah'll make ye walk the entire damn way!" He hollered, like he was threatening one of his men. The tone in his voice left no room for negotiation, and she knew at that point it was a bad idea to keep up the argument. Right now, she was to do as she was told. Turning toward the high legged chestnut stallion, she silently wondered how she was ever going to pull this off.
"Wrap the right rein around your hand, and grab a fistful of his manes." Butch instructed in a calm voice, his anger completely forgotten. "Place yer other hand on his lower back." As she followed his instructions, she half expected Bobby to change positions, just to make it harder on her. But the animal seemed to sense her inexperience, and remained still. "Push yerself up." The gang leader continued. "Come on, put yer back into it." She was certain this was the hardest part of the whole assignment, and she attempted a pathetic little jump, landing with her stomach across the horse. Like a sheep rolled onto its back, she was stuck. "Swing yer leg over him." Butch's impatient tone didn't help either.
Feeling the horse getting restless underneath her, she lightly panicked. "He's going to run off with me like this!" she squeaked.
"He's gonna do no such thing. Get on with it now. Swing yer leg over him." The outlaw said "Steady.." He spoke to the horse, giving her time to swing her leg over the animal with the little strength she had left. Finally, her weight could be lifted from her poor stomach, and she sat up, breathing heavily, reins in hand and facing the horizon. Triumphant, she looked at Butch, who tilted his head with a sly grin on his face. "Told ye ah knew ah thing er two about horse ridin'" He pointed at the rocky trail in front of them. "That way, miss Buckaroo."
She was pretty sure her new title was given out of sarcasm. After all, a Buckaroo was a well experienced trail hand. A cowboy, living in the saddle for most of his life. But he could have chosen a more taunting name, and so she forgave him. She nudged Bobby's flanks with the spurs on Frank's boots, urging him forward in a clumsy matter. It deserved no award in elegance, but it did the trick anyway. The gang leader followed behind her in a slow walk, letting her take the lead even though she had no idea where they were going. There was no real road to follow. No path that had been previously cleared. And she wondered how Butch managed to navigate himself through the thick pine forest, in slow pursued of the hunters.
For a while, no conversation took place. Their journey spend in silence. And even though it made her feel awkward, and much like a burden the outlaw didn't feel much for carrying around, she tried to ignore it as much as possible, and occupied herself with the various kinds of trees they passed. There weren't many trees where she came from. The dry prairie didn't give much, and so, many plants not as sturdy as the desert grasses, died shortly after being planted. Her mother's endless prayers for a bountiful harvest of home grown vegetables remained unanswered season after season.
When the sun was at its highest point, and they had been riding for atleast three hours, Butch ushered his horse next to hers. She looked at him, expecting him to start a conversation, but his gaze was pointed at her leg. Growing uncomfortable with his staring, she cleared her throat.
"What's wrong?" she asked. "I know I'm riding like a sack of potatoes. This is what happens when you deny people their saddle."
"Heels down. Knees in." He started, reaching over to place his hand on her knee. He pushed it into the horse's side harshly, making her flinch. "Ye aint sittin' in yer ma's parlour, yer ridin' a horse. Heels down, press yer calves into his belly, and keep em still." She tried to follow his instructions, but only caused Bobby to let out a few agitated snorts. The gang leader clicked his tongue. "Look at me." He told her. "Look at how ahm sittin'. Ahm basically standing in the saddle. If ye think about it as standin', yer heels will go down by themselves.
She decided right there not to remind him he took away her saddle. Frustrated with the situation, she tried to mimic his position, making the muscles in her legs scream in agony at being stretched beyond their reach. "Is this really necessary?" she whined bitterly. " I know how to keep up with you, don't I? Bobby follows Annabel around anyway." His stern expression was a clear warning, but this time she wouldn't back off. "I can ride with you fine."
"Ah want ye te be able to ride without me." He argued. "Ah want ye te be able te high tail it out of here if ah tell ye to. Hell, we're about to enter Apache territory. If ye think they're all like ol' Red Elk back there, ye got another thing comin' at ye."
She said nothing, swallowing thickly at the frightening Apache related scenarios that her mind cooked up for her at that moment. He reached over to take the reins from her.
"One hand." He instructed, turning his own to show her how to properly hold both reins in one hand. "Yer gonna need te other one te hold yer gun. Ere', take em'" She took them from him, slightly embarrassed, and tried to imitate how he held them. He made no comment about it, so she assumed she did it right. "And yer movin' too much. Keep still. All ah want te see ye move while yer ridin' that horse is yer lower back, the rest keeps still at all times. Pull on the muscles in yer stomach, tighten them, can ye do that?"
Hurting herself in the process of following his instructions, she flinched, and placed her hand on her belly, now violently protesting against her usage of another set of muscles she usually neglected. But Butch nodded in agreement, and gave her a toothy grin. "Ye feel em? Ah want ye te really feel them by nightfall. Cause that's where ye'll find yer balance. Can't do any real ridin' without findin' that balance first. So train those muscles, ye'll thank me later."
He then took the lead, urging his horse in front of her, and allowing her to work on his lessons for a while. Taking all of his instructions into mind, horse riding was a very uncomfortable endeavour to her now, and she felt her body grow tired soon. There was no way she would complain to him, or ask him to slow down, or perhaps take a break because the lady was feeling fatigued. He was considerate enough, and she knew he worked hard on not being too cruel with her. So she bit her lip, got a grip, and forced herself to keep up and make the uncomfortable way of riding her own, until she no longer felt her numbed body.
Butch slowly lead their animals over the ever growing mountain, with the trail getting rockier and steeper by the minute. She wondered how a fully loaded wagon pulled by mules was able to move across a landscape like this, but the fact was they hadn't seen the sinister parade of dead buffalo in hours, and she began to wonder if the gang leader had lost their trail. As sundown set in, their long shadows followed them like grotesque looking creatures, stretched out so much they almost touched the tree tops they passed. The wind increased as they reached the top of the mountain, elevated to such height the air was as thin as paper, making breathing rather difficult. The horses grew weary from the lack of oxygen and she found herself riding beside her travelling companion, who's old mare had decreased her speed.
"Well, you have successfully managed to destroy my abdominal muscles." She whined, rubbing her sore abdomen. "But I think I got it now."
"Ye'll live.." He mumbled uninterested, shooting her a bored look. "If ah can teach Frank how te ride, ah can teach ye too."
She gazed at him curiously. "You know an awful lot about this, don't you?" she asked. "How come?"
He licked his lips in contemplation for a moment, and narrowed his eyes as he looked away from her, back to the invisible road they were following. "Ah was a cavalry captain in the war.." He stated dryly. "Taught a lot of boys how te ride back then. Goddamn runts could hardly tell the difference between the head and tail when ah started with em'. Rode like the damn Navajo when ah was done."
She listened to his story intently. He wasn't much of a sharer of details about his past life, but sometimes, snippets of the puzzle that was Butch Cavendish were handed to her. "I assume you weren't a very gentle teacher." She spoke softly, no judgement in her tone.
He blinked, and shrugged. "Ah sure didn't abide no disobedience if that's whut yer askin'"
She knew he didn't. His hold on the men in his gang was tight, he ruled with an iron fist, and was hardly ever forgiving. Anyone who decided to ignore an order, would face consequences, and they were given without mercy or respite. "It's hard to imagine you in a uniform." She joked gently, giving him a soft smile, which he returned with a rather sheepish grin.
"There's a photo of me wearin' the damn thing." He told her. "Somewhere. Ah think mah brother has it. He saved all that army shit after the war was over. Ah didn't want none te do with it no more."
Again, the mentioning of the mysterious brother he didn't want to talk about. And she wasn't going to make the same mistake twice, and inquire about the man. "Will I get to see it sometime?" she decided to ask instead.
He chuckled at her request. "Sure, Sharky. Anythin' te crack ye up, huh?" His smile faded slowly. "Ah looked a lot different back then. Ah don't think any of mah boys would recognize their ol' captain now, if they saw me."
"I don't know." She argued gently. "You have quite the distinctive face , not one you forget very easily."
"yea, yea.." He grumbled. "That scar aint foolin' no one, ah hear ye. Ah got shit over that damn cut ever since ah got it. There goes mah modellin'career, huh?"
"I was talking about your eyes." She protested softly. "Not your scar."
He said nothing, and didn't look at her anymore. His expression now hardened and as impassive as he could make it, making the world believe he existed purely out of stone, and there was no fragile flesh that could be touched, damaged, or marked. The silence was deafening, and she wondered what he was thinking about at that moment. He was hard to read, especially when he didn't want anyone to even try and decipher what was going on inside his mind.
"Did you volunteer for the army?" she asked after a while, attempting to break the thick mood.
"Ah needed the money." He shrugged. "Ah was a pretty good shot, rode well too. They made me captain pretty quickly. Ahh, it was all a bunch of bull crap if ye ask me. That whole war was just.." He shook his head, curling his nose in disgust. "Goddamn fools. Ye got them slavers down South thinkin' they can own a person. And then there's these high horses in the damn North thinkin' they can invade land and just start givin' orders. Goddamn fools. The lot of em'"
"My father enlisted as well." she said. "His family was from Virginia, so he fought on their side. Grandpa stayed with us." He didn't say anything, but she knew he was listening. "Which side were you on?"
"The one that paid the most." He stated simply, giving her a sly look. "Ah was with them blue coats fer three years before they kicked me out.. Said ah was too.. cruel in mah ways of fightin'. Told me that a war like that was te be fought by gentlemen and not butchers." He chuckled gruffly. "Ah never went te no fancy academy te learn how te fight like a gentleman, balancing mah tea cup in one hand, while performin' a damn swordfight with te other."
"They gave you an dishonourable discharge?" she asked carefully.
He nodded. "On te account of executing unnecessary acts of violence. Goddamn hypocrites in Washington didn't think it was a good example te have a captain runnin' around that didn't pay no heed te grey coats surrendering. Nah, they rather send those boys te a camp like Elmira, all te way up in New York. Let them do their dyin' on the East coast instead."
Processing his words, her mind brought her back to the evenings spend with her father, sharing stories of where he had been, and what he had seen, during his years of enlistment. To her, it had always seem like her father had gone on a great adventure, but now she realized the man had shared only the good with his daughter, and had left out the more gruesome parts. Or rather, the reality.
"Maybe you and my father crossed paths at one point.." she said softly, a small smile forming around her lips, the thought comforting. That the man she travelled with, a wanted criminal, had laid eyes on her father, perhaps even shared a word or two. But then again, they would have been enemies in the eyes of the law.
"Ah doubt it.." Butch replied without looking at her. "Fact he came home to yer mother meant ah never met him." with that statement, he urged his horse into a trot, taking the lead, and forcing her to dig her spurs into her own horse's flanks as well, in order to keep up with him. They had started their descend, leaving the peak of the mountain behind them while their animals battled with the slippery, rocky ground, trying not to lose their footing.
"But it's possible isn't it?" she called after him, holding on to Bobby's manes for without a saddle, staying on top of a descending horse was a task all by itself. "Perhaps you two met on neutral ground. I've heard my father speak about such encounters, where he talked to a Union soldier on fairly good terms. Did that never happen to-"
"Ssh!" He hushed her, suddenly standing still, his eyes roamed the thick forest surrounding them. The dim light made it hard for her to see beyond the first two rows of trees, but he seemed to have picked up a sound. She halted her horse beside him, pulling on the reins clumsily. A few minutes passed, in which nothing happened, and she felt her horse getting restless underneath her. And then she heard it, faintly, in the distance. The sound of a mule, and the laughing of men setting up their evening camp.
"They've set down for te night." Butch whispered, nodding to himself. "We'll do the same." Silently, he got off his horse, the heels of his boots making no sound whatsoever when they touched the gravelled ground. Her own dismounting went less gracefully and, hanging on to Bobby's manes, she clumsily cascaded into a sturdy bush that grew on the mountain side, causing the horse to neigh gently in surprise and throw his head up in uneasiness as she landed. She dismantled herself from the scrub while muttering unchristian like incantations, and looked up when the gang leader held out his hand for her to take. He ceased her up, effortlessly, chuckling at her little accident. "On yer feet, Sharky." He whispered. "Stretch those legs a little before sittin' down or they'll lock up on ye." He turned away from her soon enough again, gazing into the direction of the campsite belonging to the poachers they had been tracking all day.
She rubbed her arms against the cold wind playing with her hair. "Shall I gather some wood for a fire?" she offered almost pleadingly. "It's cold." She continued apologetically.
"No fires." Butch grumbled, not bothering to turn around and face her. "We're in Apache territory. For as far as ah've seen, we've gone unnoticed." He scanned the surroundings forests. "Let's keep it that way."
She shivered violently in response to his unsettling decision. "We won't last a night in this cold without a fire." She protested. "Or atleast I won't." This time he turned to her slowly, narrowing his eyes at the freezing young woman under his, involuntary, charge.
"Ye can take my horse's blanket too." He told her, making an uninterested hand movement toward his mare. "Ah have no need for it tonight." she blinked at his words, and watched him pull out his revolver to reload it. "Give me yer gun." It took a while before his request had processed through her mind, her eyes fixed on his fast working hands, taking bullets from his belt to shove inside the opened chamber. "Hey!" she snapped out of her thoughts and looked at him with wild eyes. "Yer gun! Now!" He barked.
She quickly reached for her own revolver, still trying to get used to the heavy metal object hanging around her waist, and handed to him. "And the belt." He added, pointing at her gun belt. "Ah want te whole kit." She unbuckled the belt, adjusted tightly around her leather trousers, and handed him that too. He wasted no time to put it around himself, and muttered something under his breath about Evans' goddamn possessions hanging around his own waist. Now adorned like a proper gun slinger, he took off his hat and smoothed back his hair before putting it back on. "How do I look?" He asked.
She gazed at him, up and down. "Like a criminal." She told him, a little unsure about what he wanted to hear. He chuckled, it seemed to have been the right answer.
"Good." He said. "Ye stay here, stay low, no sound, no fires and whatever ye hear, if the Apaches show up ah want ye te get on yer horse, take mine with ye, and get te hell out of this damn forest. Am ah clear?" he told her sternly. She hesitated. "Ah need an answer, Sharky."
She nodded slowly, not too keen on leaving him without a horse. "Are you going to kill the hunters now?"
He gave her a toothy grin, and winked at her. "Ahm gonna raise a little hell." With that last statement, he turned and stalked off into the dark woods, until she could no longer make out his shape against the dim light of the moon. She wrapped the horse blanket around her shoulders, and sat down on the other one. A shiver ran up her spine, but she wasn't sure it was because of the cold. It could have very well been from the idea that the men camping a little up ahead, were about to die at the hands of a vicious outlaw.
