To my guest reviewer with the request for another Lone Ranger story starring Butch: well I don't know about that. But I can tell you this much, this story isn't over for a looong long time.

To Silvian: Happy new year to you too, dear!

Thanks for all the reviews! Enjoy!

Chapter 32

Pine's Creek had once been a frequently used trapper's cabin. Hunters going for mountain lions, bobcats and wolves holed up there during the cold winter months, when the trapping was good, and the game plenty. But with the coming of more settlements, villages and mining camps, the log cabin of Pine's Creek had been deserted and was now a hiding place for outlaws and misfits brave or desperate enough to enter the mountain range. It wasn't big. But it lay hidden amongst pine tree, had a good fireplace, and a big featherbed to fight about. The men occupying the cabin right now, six of them to be exact, sat huddled by the fire, drinking their stolen whiskey and wondering what had happened to their leader who had never missed a rendezvous point before. Outside, the wolves howled, and the horses tight to the hitching post whinnied restlessly.

"Well, that's it boys." The oldest grumbled, spitting into the fire menacingly. "I told Butch te leave that broad at Rosa's. But he insisted on taggin' it along and here we are."

"Shut up, Ray." Barret bit at him. Frank, still wearing Eleanor's dress and sporting a ridiculously half destroyed bonnet on his head, sat shivering by his side. Whenever Butch was away, the young man had a tendency to lean on the next in line to lead the group, which was Barret, despite the man's protests. "They could just be delayed for all we know."

Ray scoffed at the Frenchman's words. "ye said it yourself. That Elton aint no fool. He sure wasn't fooled by the change of clothes, since he wasn't the one chasin' ye and Frank across the desert was he?" Barret was silent, and looked away. "If he's on their trail, they're in a lot of trouble, ahm tellin' ye."

"They aint dead are they?" Frank whimpered, looking up at Ray pleadingly. The old man was about to reply when Barret interrupted him.

"They're not dead, Frank." Barret said, shooting a warning glare at Ray, who just narrowed his eyes at the army surgeon. "I'm sure they'll be here by morning. Snow just delayed them. That's all." Frank nodded, seemingly comforted by Barret's words. "Get some rest, goofball." The Frenchman continued, pushing Frank away from his side. The young man got to his feet obediently, and dragged himself to his cot in a corner of the little cabin. The men hadn't decided about who was going to occupy the bed tonight. It was a discussion they all tried to avoid in fear of a fight breaking out. And without Butch to stop it, things could get ugly in a hot second.

"Aint no use lyin' te Taylor, Jack." Ray shook his head.

"Aint no use getting him into a frenzy either." Barret shot back. "I'd like to get some sleep tonight if you don't mind. And I don't know about you but I don't like listening to Frank's wailing when I'm trying to get some shut eye."

"But what if they are.. dead.. though." Skinny started carefully, wringing his hands together nervously. "Ah mean whut's gonna happen te us and all?" when no one answered, he continued. "We could sell the horse." He suggested with a bright smile. "And the saddle."

Ray was silent, and stared at Barret knowing the man was going to voice his opinion about this matter again, like he had been doing all evening.

"Shouldn't have killed him." Barret started, causing Ray to scoff again. "Butch didn't say anything about killing those mercenaries. What if he had a different plan with them? Keeping that man alive could have proven useful. Now all we got is his damn nag."

"Useful for what, in the devil's name?" Ray spat at him. "Ye weren't the one staring into the barrel of a gun when ye had te decide whether er not ye were gonna kill one of them mercenaries, Jack. Don't give me this shit again."

"We could eat the horse." Jesus suggested, trying to lift the mood. The other men stared at him in disbelief. Eating a horse was something of a disgrace. "What? I'm hungry!"

"We're not gonna eat the damn horse." Barret rolled his eyes at the stupid suggestion. "We could sell it in the next town, like Skinny suggested. But before we make any drastic decisions, I think we should stay put and wait for Butch.. and that girl."

"Wait." Ray barked. "That's all we ever seem te do for that ol' dog. Ah see we pack up tomorrow, sell the horse, split the money and get some fer ourselves fer a change." Picking up a piece of the little jack rabbit they had for dinner, he tossed it in the fire, making the grease sizzle as it reached boiling point in a matter of seconds. Barret had been watching his movements with a passive but calculated expression on his face.

"If you're so displeased with the way things go in this gang, then I wonder what you're still doing here." The Frenchman asked. "Take the damn horse and go if you think you can do better. I'd be happy to be rid of your ugly old mug."

"Which is exactly why ahm stayin" Ray bit at him, ready to punch the arrogant army surgeon into next Wednesday. "We all know yer untouchable because yer daddy wants ye back at that damned plantation where ye came from. But the rest of us aint that lucky, mister Jaques Barret. So ye just shut yer trap and stop talkin' about things ye don't know anythin' about!"

Rendered silent at the mention of his past, and current disposition, Barret decided to lay down on his own cot as well, his back turned to the rest of the gang. As usual, Skinny didn't understand why people got mad at eachother, and Jesus only cared about himself and didn't seem to be bothered by the heavy mood that hung in the air like a thick blanket.

/

Sobering up slowly, Eleanor floated between sleep and being awake without realizing. Thankfully, the narrow hallway to Butch's door was a quiet one. Across from her, on the other end of the dark hall, behind the other door, the sounds of the opium house emerged. She made them her own, like she was part of the establishment, this was her world now. Still leaning against the door, sitting on the floor, she concentrated on the throbbing of her head, protesting against the amount of alcohol she had ingested in such a short time, on an empty stomach. There had been no sounds coming from Butch's room. Sometimes she wondered if he was even still in there. She watched the moon walk her path from one end of the building to the other, changing the pattern of the shadows on the wooden floor in front of her feet. The world didn't stop turning because Butch Cavendish was indisposed. Time passed by at the same speed as usual. Her tortured mind wandered to her mother, and the life she used to lead. Nothing would ever be the same again. She realized that now, while sitting on the disgusting floor of a Chinese brothel, in a town she didn't know, with people she never met before. Following a man around with a price on his head.

She wondered if Butch would ever forgive her for coming between one of his victims and the barrel of his revolver. She didn't mean for him to get shot. She didn't want him to get hurt. But then again, he had been shot before, a bullet wound wasn't exactly a new reality to him. And now he had another thing to be mad about. Her not staying where he told her to stay, and causing a ridiculous ruckus throughout the whole town. She didn't know what he and reverend Brady had discussed together, but she was sure it didn't involve much praise about her person. She pressed the back of her head against the wooden door, and bumped it a couple of times in frustration.

Reverend Brady's thick wool coat smelled like horses and incense. A scent she remembered from her days attending church in Brady, before her father passed away and her mother decided God could be worshipped while tending to her ever failing garden. There are a lot of starving faithful in the world, she always said. Her attention was drawn toward the coyote gnawing on the underside of the rotten boards that made the only barrier between her and the predator outside. His eerie blue eyes becoming familiar to her. When he managed to break off part of the wood with his sharp, yellow teeth, she took off one of her boots and tossed it at the animal, hitting the wall instead. " Git!" she hissed. The rocking of the structure because of the impact caused the coyote to take off. But she knew he would be back eventually.

Though the deafening silence of unconscious drug addicts in the other room, she started hearing something else. Something that came from the other part of town. Up the street from which she came, all the way to the chapel where the reverend was holding his mass right now. The singing of God fearing Christians echoed through the smoke filled hallway where she sat, carried on the haze of the opium.

Nearer, my God, to thee

Nearer to thee

She recognized the song from distant memories. She had sung it herself in church before her mother decided she had had enough judgemental glares from the town's women folk toward her person, a widowed mother of a young woman she somehow refused to marry off. While the people of Standing Faith sang their praise at the other end of town, she sang along in hushed tones, comforting herself with distant memories of her family.

E'en though it be

A cross that raiseth me

Her swollen throat made her singing sound like a dying kitten, and she coughed in the sleeve of the reverend's coat. Her voice was barely above a whisper while she continued.

Still all my song shall be

Nearer, my God, to thee

Her singing, soft as it was, exhausted her more than ever before. She had always been told she had quite the voice, but it had been altered and affected by living outside, exposed to all elements. So she grew quiet, and decided to listen instead. The singing continued, and she realized in dismay, she had forgotten most of the lyrics by now. It had been so long ago since her last mass. She remembered, when her father was still alive, before the war, the Sunday mass ended with her mother baking pancakes upon their return from church. And she somehow always felt famished from getting up at the crack of dawn, help her father harness their old horse to the carriage, and make their away across the plains to Colby's little chapel. It all felt like she had lived a whole different life altogether. She wondered if she would ever see her mother again. A few days ago, she had still been hopeful, but in a place like Standing Faith, all hope seemed lost. Despite the silence surrounding her, her head had never been louder, and her ears buzzed and peeped from her increased blood pressure. She could feel her heart beat violently in her chest, and it felt like she had to remind her brain what breathing was. Her stomach turned unpleasantly, and she shifted where she sat, letting out a pitiful groan. Just like Butch had said, she didn't even feel the cold anymore. Closing her eyes to concentrate on her aching body, listening to the soothing singing of the church visitors, she felt like her brain was playing a trick on her. Through the gentle, God fearing tunes of a song like Nearer My God To Thee, came another song, sung by a much gruffer voice that was terribly out of tune too.

"When first ah came to Louiseville, some pleasure there te find. A damsel there from Lexington, was pleasing te mah mind. Her rosy cheeks, her ruby lips, like arrows pierced my breast. And the name she bore was Sharky, the lily of the west."

She rolled her eyes realizing it wasn't her brain, but Butch finally going mad. His terrible, alcohol induced hollering an insult to the well-practised choir in the distance.

"I'm pretty sure her name was Flora." She corrected, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back against the door. "Not Sharky."

"She robbed me of mah liberty, deprived me of mah rest." He continued, shamelessly mixing up the lyrics like they were his own. She huffed at his words, some rest in this filthy hog pen yes. "Still ah love mah faithless Sharky, the lily of the west." She sighed, shaking her head in mere disbelief of the current situation.

"Quite the curious way to show it." she mumbled to herself, making sure he wouldn't be able to hear her. But he just continued singing, ruining the quiet mood of before. By now the lyrics had stopped making sense to her tired head, and she gave up trying to understand what he had cooked up this time. It had no meaning anyway. He was just getting bored all by himself behind that door. Her mind wandered to the rest of the gang, knee deep in snow and somewhere out there in the wild. "Do you think the rest made it?" she asked Butch, now that he had made the impression he was willing to acknowledge her existence again.

"Ahh, wherever they are, they can't be in a bigger pickle than us." He mumbled bitterly from behind the still locked door. "Although Frank surprised me before with his ways of gettin' himself into trouble."

"I hope they're all safe." She continued softly.

"How about ye start hopin' ah don't bleed out in this damn tub." He grumbled. "If ye'd pull the same stunts with them as ye do with me, they'd all be laying in a ditch somewhere with a hole in their heads. And all yer hopin' and well wishin' wouldn't make a damn ounce o' sense."

She bit her bottom lip and shook her head, fighting back tears. "I'm sorry." She whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Not te mention ye didn't do as ah told ye. Te stay put in that damn hotel." He growled, despite the obvious tears in her broken voice. "Ah guess ah could have seen that comin' when ah put Claymore in charge of ye. Boy was never any good at keepin' the men in one line anyway." She opened her mouth to protest and come to Claymore's defence, but he wasn't done yet. "Ah aint never met a person who had more trouble makin' themselves invisible than you do. Instead of laying low, ye throw back a few snakebites and start braggin' about me bein' yer own personal watch dog." She said nothing, knowing more was to come, and she deserved to be reprimanded. "AH AINT YER DOG!" He hollered, making her flinch. "NOT YER SPIRIT DOG, NOT YER GUARD DOG!" his loud voice had temporarily startled a few nearby pigs, and they trotted away from the walls of the establishment letting out frightened squeals. "And ah leave it up te ye to figure out how many men ever kicked me in the nuts and got away with it.." He continued gruffly, exhausting himself.

Numbed from the entire day, and his still furious mood, she stared ahead of her with a blank expression, feeling the tears run down her cheeks. She drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around them as she hugged herself in a desperate move for comfort.

"Ah don't know what ahm supposed to do anymore." She heard him mumble, more to himself than anyone else. "Ah should've left ye in Rosa's charge."

She frowned at his words. "I would have never stayed there." She bit back. "I would have killed myself before deciding to stay there." He didn't reply. "If you want to get back on your promise to help me I can only tell you I'm not really surprised. You wouldn't be the first one to break his promise to me." Again, he didn't answer. "I know you rather just sit there and sweat out the hate like you've been doing all your life." She heard him let out a gruff, bored chuckle. "But I will not become like you. Never." She shook her head to herself, emphasizing her own words. "I would never be able to abandon someone in need."

"Ahh, Sharky." He spoke gently. "You will forget about all of this. And ah won't remember it either." She listened to his profound sounding words, finally feeling like he was being serious. "You'll find yer way home, get married to some dull as dishwasher store clerk, put some unfortunate bastards on this earth, and all that'll be left of this crap is a faded memory. A bad dream ye woke up from." she didn't know what to say about his miserable sounding prophecy. "But ye'll forget."

She was quiet for a while, trying to find a loophole to drag him out of this uncharacteristic bitterness. And finally she thought of something, and a smile formed around her lips. "Why do you want me to marry a dull as dishwasher store clerk?" she giggled softly. "That doesn't sound like the type of man I'd like to raise a family with at all."

He didn't answer right away, but she knew he was going to explain himself sooner or later. "Cuz ah don't want him te be a better man than me." He mumbled eventually.

Her smile fell slowly, making place for a confused expression. "You want me to marry a man worse than you? I'm not sure I'll be able to find him before growing old." She tried to joke, lifting the mood. But he wouldn't have none of it this time.

"Ah know ye care, Eleanor." His bitterness had returned full force. And she wasn't sure she was ready to lose her nick name yet. "Ah know. But there's trouble ahead, ah can feel it." she was silent. "Ah aint sure ah want all that te become mah ruin." She let his words travel through her weary mind, trying to understand what he was talking about. But he knew things she did not, and she was convinced his words made only sense to those who had roamed this earth for far longer than she had. She leaned back her head against the wooden door, and let her eyes go through the narrow, dim lit hallway. She hadn't noticed before, but there were various crates containing bottles of hard liquor next to her. She reached out to grab one, pulling it out of its straw filled container and squinted trying to read the label. It was a cheap brand of blended whiskey, she recognized the dramatic skull logo on the front. She studied her rough hands. Her nails dirtier than they had ever been before, with cuts and bruises on her palms. She hadn't seen her reflection in a while, but she was pretty sure she was hard to recognize right now.

"Do you ever think about when you were young?" she asked him, wondering if she would still be able to recognize herself in a mirror.

"Not much te think about." He mumbled. "Ah grew up overnight."

She nodded to herself, still holding the bottle in her hands, trying to remove the label with her nails out of pure boredom and restlessness. "I think my mother grew up overnight as well. And nowadays I feel like I'm going the same way." He just listened. "I suppose adulthood and wisdom feels like this great emptiness. Am I close?"

He scoffed. "Ye haven't eaten anything in days and ye chucked back half a bottle of liquor, what did ye expect te feel like?" He growled. "Ye damn goat." She burst out in chuckles at his name calling. "Ah don't know whut te hell te tell ye. Ah numb everythin' ah feel as much as ah can." She finally managed to peel off the label of the bottle, and stuck the drawing of the skull between a crack in the wooden door, making it look like a little pirate flag for the many rats living within the walls. "It comes and goes in waves, Sharky." She wondered what exactly came and went in waves, but she wouldn't bother him with a question like that. Not right now. "As fer yer mother. She didn't get te pick er own life. Can't blame er too much now." She was silent, listening to his words like he was reading her a story, his voice comforting her. ""Why te hell would ye spend the whole night sittin' in front of that door anyway?"

She pondered on his question for a moment, and then decided to give the most honest answer she could think of. "Cause that's the only place I feel safe."

Outside, the weather was turner grim, a wind had struck up, blowing the freshly fallen snow into fast spinning twirls that entered the hallway through every crack and split in the thin walls. Horsemen holding torches galloped through the streets, and she could hear men yell orders at eachother.

"They're looking for us." She sighed, and surprised herself with how little she cared about the nearing threat at the moment. Behind the door, she could hear the water slosh as Butch leaned back to dip his head underwater in a dramatic gesture to show how little he felt for running from the law right now. He stayed there for an uncomfortable amount of seconds and she almost started to worry he was trying to drown himself when she heard him sit back up suddenly, gasping for air.

Relieved to hear him bustle around the room trying to find his clothes, she focused her attention on the sounds erupting from the other side of the building. "They're inside." She announced, listening to the sheriff barking orders at the mostly unconscious opium users. His deputies turned the place upside down in search for the girl and her wanted trail mate.

Suddenly, the door behind her opened, and she fell back letting out a surprised yelp when she landed between Butch's legs. Roughly, he grabbed a handful of her shirt to pull her up. "Git in ere." He growled, pushing her inside his room and shutting the door with such a bang the hinges rattled. Hai Cheng had obviously not provided any towels, for Butch was still dripping wet, wearing nothing but his trousers and snake leather boots. His hair hung in wet tresses over his shoulders, and his face was still pale from blood loss and exhaustion. Rubbing her now sore shoulder, Eleanor looked around the disgusting little room, with nothing in it but a rusty old tub and an oil lamp on a chair. She frowned seeing the red colour of the stone cold water, but decided not to say anything about it.

"How are we going to get out of this?" she asked, watching the outlaw load his revolves with surprising speed and skill. The wound in his shoulder had been crudely stitched, but had stopped bleeding a while ago. The skin around the wound was a dark blue and purple, and she was convinced he was still in a world of pain. "Are you alright?"

"Give me that lamp." He told her, adjusting his gun belt and looking around for his shirt.

Obediently, she picked up the oil lamp and handed it to him before he had a chance to button his shirt. He blew it out, took off the glass shade, and turned the lamp upside down above the tub, allowing the oil to spill into the dirtied water. She frowned watching him, puzzled by what he was doing, but her attention was drawn back to the closed door, from which behind noises erupted. The furious voice of Hai Cheng, and the scared squeals of his girls. The sheriff and his deputies were inside the hallway.

She didn't have long to concentrate on her heart starting to beat inside her throat, for she was pulled aside by Butch. "Stand back!" he barked at her and commenced to push over the tub with all the strength he could muster. She watched the water flow across the room, finding its way through the wooden wall and door, rushing into the hallway. She suddenly realized what he was going to do, and she was about to protest when his voice stopped her.

"SEE YE IN HELL JONESY." He yelled, struck a match and tossed it into the water. Mixed with oil, the water caught fire, and within seconds the flames latched onto the dried out wood of the structure, lighting it up like a Christmas tree. The men behind the door could be heard screaming as their trousers caught on fire. Listening to their frantic calls, she hardly noticed how Butch send the chair flying through the thin wall on the other side of the room. Scared pigs jumped away from the fire as he had just created his own back door. He grabbed her arm, and pulled her with him.

They were the only ones running in the opposite direction of the lit up building, as the whole town came rushing in to help put out the fire, and no one noticed the two people going the other way. The main street of the town was in a panic, everybody had been awakened by the huge fire that lit up the sky. Almost slipping on the freshly fallen snow, Butch halted in his tracks when he saw horsemen enter the town, galloping down the main street. He pulled the girl with him to hide behind a general store, away from the light. Their breathing evenly fast and visible in the cold night air.

"Rangers." Butch explained to the scared woman next to him, still trying to catch his breath. The horsemen rushed past the general store, unaware of the two people hiding behind its walls. "Jonesy got his damn back-up." She nodded in understanding, but couldn't talk from the lack of oxygen. "Where's yer horse?"

Desperately trying to catch her breath so she could answer, she swallowed a few times. "In the.. stables next to.. that hotel." She said.

He nodded, and blinked hard against the black spots dancing in front of his eyes. "We'll git yers first." He decided. "Get that outta the way." Without realizing, he almost lost his footing, and grabbed for something to hold on to, finding the wall behind him instead. His back collided with the structure harshly, and she reached out to support his weight. "Ahm fine." He argued. "Just a bit lightheaded." She knew it was more serious than that. He was severely injured, and there had been no moment for his body to even remotely start its recovery. His shirt still hung open, and he had pulled on his vest and coat in a hurry. The cold winter air probably felt good on his feverish skin, which was glowing hot with sweat, but he was burning fuel he didn't have.

In a futile attempt to help him, she started buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his trousers. He chuckled at her antics, but didn't stop her. She cursed underneath her breath as she watched the thin shirt get drenched from his still soaked skin. "You're going to get sick this way." She told him.

"Yea, ye mentioned that before." He croaked, giving her a lopsided, half smile. "yer scared, Sharky?"

She looked up at him with a puzzled expression. "We've got rangers and all out for our hides, I think I have a reasonable right to be scared, don't you?" He chuckled again, licking his lips as the metallic taste of blood formed in his mouth. "I also fear you might pass out before we get a chance to get out of this mess." He spat in the snow, and in the dim light of a lantern hanging from the wall of the building she noticed the drops of blood.

"Yea that might very well happen." He mumbled tiredly. "Let's git out of here." Reaching down, he pulled out his guns and cocked back the hammers. "Ye ready?" she just gazed at him with wide eyes.

"Ready for what?"

He pushed himself away from the wall and tilted his head to loosen his neck, preparing himself for a fight. "Stay behind me." He told her.

They made their way through the main street of Standing Faith, walking over the wooden floorboards in front of the buildings. Apart from the frantic chaos of the town's folk trying to put out the fire before it caught on other buildings, their boots and spurs were the only sound that reached her mind right now. She stayed behind the outlaw's back like he had told her to do, holding on to his torn coat like a frightened child. Sometimes he stopped, aimed his gun at something and fired until she could hear someone scream in pain. It seemed to take forever for them to make their way across town to the grand hotel on the other side.

Suddenly Butch stopped, and pressed his back against the wall of the post office they were standing in front. The hotel was just on the other side of the street now. "Go and git yer horse!" He commanded her. She gave him a frantic look, or atleast she tried, cause he was too busy shooting at one of the rangers hiding behind a barrel to the right.

"I'm not crossing that street!" she told him. "I'll get shot!"

"Go!" He yelled, giving her a hard push toward the open street. "Now!" Already in the middle of it, she had no choice but the hightail it toward the stables. Bullets flew past her head, and she didn't know which ones belonged to the rangers, and which ones were fired by Butch. Inside the stables, the little boy that had assisted her, sat in a corner covering his ears with his hands. He looked up when he saw her, but didn't say anything, so neither did she. Wordlessly, she walked up to Bobby and started saddling him. The other horses whinnied in panic at the loud gun fire out in the streets. By now, the fire had spread and had reached three more buildings. This village was going to burn down to the ground.

Suddenly, something exploded in the distance, a barrel of gunpowder no doubt. Giving Bobby such a scare he reared, pulled himself loose from her grip and started off at breakneck speed. The impact of the beast hurrying off had caused her to trip and take on a mouthful of straw on the dusty floor. She coughed as she got back on her feet, cursing under her breath.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, coming from the East, Elton and one of his men rode into the complete inferno that used to be Standing Faith. The man let his cold eyes roam the lit up buildings and gazed in disgust at the panicking town's people running around to collect their items from the burning houses. "What in God's name is going on here?" He said coldly. The man beside him shook his head, he didn't know, and he didn't care either. The gunfire at the other end of street caught their attention, not to mention the loose horse galloping past them into the wilderness they came from. "That way." Elton ordered, taking his gun from its holster and spurring up his black steed.

Eleanor had decided to saddle a different horse, and take it with her, despite the voices in her head screaming not to steal someone else's horse. She connected with the outlaw emptying his guns on the sheriff's deputies behind the same wall, and he gazed at the mount in confusion.

"Who's horse is that?!" He barked.

"I don't know!" she answered, trying to have her voice reach over the gunfire around them. "Does it matter?!"

"Frank aint gonna thank ye!" He said, grabbing the horse's reins. "Jump on!" she reached for the knob of the saddle and pulled herself up. Butch didn't need to hold onto anything to throw one leg over the horse and sit behind her. Going the same way across the floorboards, he steered the horse through the chaos of people running around, frantic dogs, and the poles that held up the structures of the various porches. They jumped over knocked over barrels and carts, and passed Elton and his man going the other way.

Forcing his horse to make an impressing sliding halt, Elton turned the breezing beast around. "That's Cavendish!" He cried out to his mercenary. "With the girl! Get him! Shoot him!"

His mercenary wasn't as good at giving his horse as abrupt breaks as his employer was, and it took him a while to get his animal to a standstill. It all looked too clumsy for the impatient Elton and he growled in anger at his man's incompetence. Nevertheless, the two mounts in the middle of streets had caught the sight of the frantic sheriff, who just came out of the burning opium den with his trousers burned up till his knees. He aimed his gun at the two unknown figures, and fired, hitting Elton's majestic animal instead. It plummeted to the snow covered ground, screaming in pain, trapping its rider underneath its side.

"Damnation!" Elton cursed, trying to get himself free. His mercenary had dismounted quickly to come to his aid, but was shoved away roughly. "Get back on your horse, you fool! Get him! Get him!" the man jumped away from his furious master, and tried to reach for his panicking horse to get back up. It reared in fear at the flames surrounding it, and the man's incompetent attempts at horse handling continued despite Elton yelling at him in anger and frustration.

It gave the girl and the outlaw a good head start, and they reached the end of town before anyone had a chance to follow. They disappeared behind the thick haze of smoke that hung in the streets of the burning town. The only witness to their departure was the reverend, standing on the porch of his chapel, the only building not yet on fire.

R&R