#doawip

        “‘Till your father does what? Rescue you?” Blake laughed to herself, a bead of sweat rolling down her flushed face. “Once Sheriff O’Brien has you, I don’t give two shits what your father has to say.” The man made a noise halfway between a whimper and a scoff before going silent. Sweet, sweet silence. The sheriff’s office only took a short few minutes to trot to. People stared, as they usually did when someone came in with a bounty. Who would it be this time? A murderer? A thief? Some found them more exciting than the hangings.

        Blake hopped off Daisy, patting her neck affectionately. Offering a small ‘there there’ she tied her up to the post outside O’Brien’s office. Boots clicked on the weathered wooden porch and the tall, lanky sheriff welcomed her with a wrinkled smile and cheerful eye. The metal he shoved in the other socket seemed happy too.

        “Who did ya bring me this time?” He asked, unfolding a rusting tin from his back pocket. A scraggly piece of tobacco pinched between his fingers before disappearing into his teeth.

        “Davey Brock,” Blake replied, untying the intricate knots she used to keep the outlaw on Daisy. Stepping back, she let his body slide forward and hit the ground with a thud. He let out a yowl of pain, ignored by the woman who took her time to pick him up over her shoulder.

        “Should have let me help you with that,” O’Brien tutted.

        “Didn’t see you offering.”

        Shrugging, the sheriff held the door open for her and followed her inside. The shade provided some relief, but scent of piss and old boots became almost nauseating in the summer heat. Blake dropped Davey into a hard wooden chair, his wrists burning red from resisting his bindings. Pulling the bag from his head, she leaned against the desk and removed her hat to fan herself with it. He was barely a man at first glance, more like a boy with his rounded cheeks and baby blue eyes. The scruff and bruises she gave him along the way helped with that at least. O’Brien shuffled through papers on his desk until he found the flyer with Brock’s face sketched in black ink.

        “Let’s see… bank robbery…attempted murder-”

        “It was a misunderstanding!” Davey insisted, lips chapped. The sheriff chuckled.

        “You stole the man’s horse after shooting him.”