Author's Note: From my first reviews, I received an astonished statement about Kidd being a cowboy. When I researched using Wikipeadia, I read that Ookubo- san (the creator of Soul Eater) based Death the Kidd off of the western gunfighter Billy the Kidd.

This fan fiction is only promoting that, I'm afraid. Please enjoy!

Chapter2:

Dawn broke over the distant, purple mountains once the black suited stranger and steed appeared in the clearing mist of the large town. Privately, the young man thought to himself how every spot of civilization was so distant from one another, yet all positioned in the middle of nowhere.

He coughed in his hand suddenly, chills vibrating in his chest. A whine from Midnight made him roll his fingers through her mane, and he patted the back of her neck reassuringly.

"A simple criminal, Midnight," he spoke. "You know that I can deal with a few cattle thieves."

"Mornin'," a voice called out. Amber light washed over the boarded settlement further, and shops began to open. Coming from a saloon, a smartly dressed, hunched old man looked at Kidd through tiny spectacles that were older than the young gunfighter himself.

Kidd steered Midnight over to the stranger and dismounted, tipping his hat respectively as he led Midnight to the supplied water below the railings.

"Not going to tie your horse?" the old stranger asked, shifting his glasses as he watched the animal drink thoroughly.

"No, Midnight is a truthful companion," Kidd commented smiling, loosening the saddle on her. "She'd only leave if she had to, that is, if I told her to."

"Well, I've got to admit it's a mighty fine beast ya got thar," he said nodding. "Though I personally believe that calling an animal companion is going a bit too far." He took off his spectacles and rubbed the glass in his pinstripe vest, silvery whiskers still moving as he talked to the patient adolescent. "Drunkards, are friends. Farmers, are friends. Thieving mayors can be friends 's long as they don't hang ya first."

Kidd laughed. "It's a matter of opinion," he concluded. "Off topic, do you have a stable that my horse can stay at? She and I will be spending the day."

"Of course, 'round the back. Follow me."

Kidd whistled at Midnight and instantly she looked up, following Kidd with her head purposely by his shoulder where he pet her comfortably and trustingly was led along the side of the saloon to the large barn at the back by a small farm and immature orchard of unfamiliar young trees.

Positioned by a darker brown horse, Kidd gave Midnight his last salutations.

"That beside her is Richard," the old man said. "He's a gentle old soul- helps me with my farming once he's isn't being stubborn, the old coot."

"I can imagine," Kidd responded, smiling coyly at his horse who was already getting familiar with her new old neighbour.

"Riding through?" the saloon owner, Basten asked. Kidd looked around the empty chairs, tables and twin staircases lined up to rented rooms by a swinging, unlit, black barred chandelier.

"So to speak," Kidd responded, sipping the offered beverage. Warm rum, he noted, setting down the mug carefully. "You've heard about some cattle thieves roaming about of late?"

"Who hasn't?" Basten responded, eager for an interested conversation. "Rumours 's spreadin' 'bout them damned thieves about this town already, but then again, who'd know? All 'o those outlaws breeze through this' ere town all the time: a few more ain't much of a difference."

"I suppose not," Kidd thought to himself, eyes fixed on the dull coloured rink before him. He suddenly stood, a gloved hand running over his belt as his solid gold eyes settled on the patient saloon owner. "How much to rent a room for the day?"

Basten stared at him suspiciously. "What 're you plannin' on doin' in a room by yourself?"

"Sleeping; I've been travelling a long time and owe it to myself to rest."

That reason being valid enough, Basten named the price and led Kidd upstairs with keys in his hands, opening the door to a blue themed room, a bed in a corner with a circular desk at its foot and a pack of cards sealed and new, thick curtains drawn over the windows which prevented morning to stream in.

"You chose a good day to stay," Basten promoted another conversation as Kidd settled himself, dropping his hat beside the new pack of cards and running his hands through white streaked black hair.

"How so?" the juvenile asked absently, removing his gloves.

"Some saloon girls are performin' tonight, 'nd half of the beer we got recently 's free for the town."

"Is that so..." he mumbled, a plan numbly forming in his conscious. "You'll see me about tonight, then. For now, good bye, Basten."

Accepting dismissal, Basten turned on his heel and left the room.

Night was noisy when Kidd woke up. Starlight gleamed outside and candlelight from beneath his locked door, deafened shouts and yells signalling amusement drowning out the high pitched piano western music and singing voices.

Yawning, he sat up on the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. Moments of revising his plan in his head, he stood, pulling on his coat, retrieving his hat, stuffing his dark gloves into his pocket and fastening the twin revolvers on his belt and- in his usual strong, lengthy stride- swept through the door.

Golden irises flickered around. The saloon was full of gritty men, gunfighters and average civilians inducing themselves in the pleasure of alcohol. He sat in a corner of the room crossing his arms and closing his eyes, ears tuned around him. His target of six was closer than he had thought, hissing their plans around the table before him, while playing with a worn deck.

His eyes opened to see a set of glares. A man stood, tall, strapping, dominating, intimidating- obviously the leader of the group.

"What 're you lookin' at, kid?"

Kid smirked. "Nothin' much," he responded, wisely acting a western accent and challenging gaze. "Inless, 'o 'course, you plannin' on showin' otherwise, cattle thief."

As anticipated, his crew flew to their feet in outrage, some in anxiety- drawing eyes to their corner and disrupting the music. The saloon was oddly quiet.

"What'cha stoppin' the music for!" the leader roared.

"Keep singin'!" one of the crew members verbally attacked the saloon girls on the stage, two who flinched and shivered, the third and youngest sending a defiant glare and pout.

Another crew member, absolutely drunk, waved a glass bottle in the air which shattered to pieces at the hands of an unknown gun. A fight broke out in uproar. Dashing along the flying debris, Kidd looked frantically around. His sharp sight caught the fleeing crew sneaking through the back door with a handful of hostages.

Unafriad, he ran into the dry, chilled night.

I'd like to thank my first two reviewers, Sasuke0099 and ! And those who wish their names be declared, please do review!