#peripatetc

He had to rise to his tippy toes to capture them in a kiss. He could tell that the other was nervous, even though he opened up so beautifully to let Hugo explore his mouth while his hand rubbed soothing circles at the back of his neck. He pulled back slightly, enough to move his hand to cup the other’s cheek and guide him to meet his eyes. "This okay?" he asked softly.

The bounty on Anna May Montgomery’s head had been so small, the Sheriff’s office had argued it wasn’t worth the cost of printing. Still, having worked his charms, Samuel had convinced them to do so, with the agreement that he himself would pursue her, and so they would only need produce one legitimising copy.

It wasn’t like Samuel to chase after small bounties or woman outlaws for that matter, but in truth this wasn’t about Anna May, it was about the man she had fallen into cahoots with, one Curly Bill Brooks. Now, the bounty that was his head was definitely something worth chasing and while the Federal Government had determined to keep the writ for their own Marshalls, Samuel had it on good authority they had to pay anyone that brought him in, dead or alive.

Sam had been riding for a two days, chasing a good tip, one that had led him to a small saloon situated on the outskirts of an equally small town. Tying up his horse, Diego, he’d ventured inside and ordered himself a whiskey. After chatting to the bartender and slipping him some extra coin, he’d produced the bounty poster, asking the man if he knew anything about the whereabouts of Miss Montgomery.

“No, I ain’t seen her round here.” The old timer confirmed, studying the image of the young woman, with a keen eye.

“But I’ll tell you one thing, man over there showed me this shame picture only an hour or so ago, but she weren’t named no Anna May.”

Samuel follows the old man’s finger to see it is now pointing straight across the room, all the way towards........Quint Yuill. God Damn it.

He knows Quint is in the same business; a bounty hunter like himself, but that doesn’t explain how he’s got the details of this particular girl, or why the old man has said Samuel might have the wrong name. He and Quint aren’t friends, but they ain’t enemies either and so, deciding he has little choice, Samuel throws back the rest of his whiskey and ventures over to take a seat beside Quint’s table.

There has been a great push towards civilising the West and while expanding the railroads is something Samuel welcomes, the civilisation of the law is much less to his taste. So many bounty hunters have turned into law men now, trading their spurs for Marshall’s badges and their freedom for instruction from the Federal Government. The Sherriff has approached the bounty hunter several times now, talking about him ‘legitimising’ himself and joining the cause but as far as Samuel Silas is concerned, working for the government is no kind of life, no kind of life he wants anyway.

Perhaps that’s why local work seems to be drying up and the only bounties being posted outside the Sheriff’s office are small time outlaws wanted for rustling horses or stealing guns. Perhaps it is time to truly go into business for himself, he could take on work for some of the gangs, maybe target rivals, outlaws who might normally be on the Marshall’s books.

Turning, he sees Quint approach, presumably looking for the same thing he is; a decent bounty to capture, one that attracts a sum worth pursuing.

Oh no

acceptable tbh animals are better

Rain lashes her face, pours off her hat, saturates her to the bone. Her chestnut tugs at the bit, lowers her head, equally sodden and dejected as her rider. 

“This is fucking bullshit, eh girl?” Johanna – no, not Johanna anymore, that name is dead and buried, Jane clicks her tongue, runs her hand across the horse’s neck. “Guess we’ll be taking the long way around.” She sets off at a trot, squinting through the pouring rain.

“Whoa.” Jane halts her mare, eyes fixed intently on what appears to be another rider, rapidly making their way towards her.

“Didn’t think anyone else would be mad enough to be out here in this weather. I guess we all got our reasons.” The chestnut doesn’t respond.

“Oi!”, she calls out, waving her hand in the reaction of the rider.