Right Under Your Nose: Western

[Snuggle Bunz]

(to start this is a closed thread ill make an OOC for possible add-in characters!)

It was a hot summer afternoon in a gritty little town called Cowley Center in the territory of Kansas. 1851 was a good year for them; the stores were full the streets a-bustle, travelers and town folk kicked up dust as they meandered along on their daily constitutionals. As usual Judd’s Saloon was a veritable cacophony of squealing harlots and drunken slurs, just another day in the rough little den. Judd himself stood behind the counter polishing a glass, a large man, a bit unkempt, but friendly; his handlebar moustache going grey around the edges, those wise and humorous eyes surveying the scene that laid before him.

To his right, the double doors swung open and closed, another set of dusty old boots tromped across the creaky boards. Another stool was taken up as one of the girls sauntered over, her well worn, pink and grey skirts a mass of ruffles and lace, simply exuding sex as she perched herself upon the newcomer’s knee only to receive an approving smirk from Judd. To his left lay the stretch of the dark little saloon, tables scattered here and there, some rickety chairs occupied by grungy looking men, others turned over from scuffles.

Off in the far corner a small group of men sat hunched over a table, beer and whiskey was steadily streaming to the table by request but it wasn’t until one of the men gave a vicious yell and leapt to his feet, did Judd crane his neck with a frown. The man’s chair went flying and his coat pinned to the ground beneath it in a cloud of dust. He was tall, thin as a twig but sinewy muscles rippled beneath his shirt. Suddenly his hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of cloth and leather, lifting up a squirming youth nearly off the floor. “Just who the fuck are yeh!? I toldja I aint never …!”

The man’s eyes bulged, and his breath came out in a wheezing gasp, one of the boy’s boot’s had connected with his gut and hard. In a fit of anger the man drew back his free hand and clocked his attacker right on the jaw, rocking his head back, a battered old hat falling back to reveal a mop of fiery curls. Not one for missing opportunity the boy rolled with the punch and out of the gambler’s grasp, staggering to his feet and tucking the hat back on his head, cramming those curls beneath the leather brim, but before anything couldbe done the gambler had given chace, a few upturned chairs and cussing patrons later the gambler had caught up, and sent the boy flying into the bar with another solid punch the gut. He hit with force enough to knock the wind out of him, if there was any left, that head lolling back again as arms sprawled across the length of the bar, suddenly pitching forward into the stranger and the trollop in his lap, sliding down to the floor in a heap.


“Git back her you lil shit! I ain’t done with you yit!” The bellowing voice seemed to snap the youth back to attention, pushing to his butt and hands he turned to look briefly at the couple above him. Eyes as brilliant as polished jade, a bit too large for that heart-shaped face, snapped from one face to another. A smattering of freckles gave the boy a rather impish and cherubic look, the blood that streamed from those wide and soft lips seemed to mar his appearance, and yet gave a startling appeal.

“Boy you need a mama..” The woman drawled as her fingertips trailed over the low-cut bodice, highlighting two very ample and very creamy breasts. With a wicked little grin the boy didn’t skip a beat, voice light and almost sweet, “Aye, not a cheap whore.” Before the woman could even feign offence the boy had done two things; first he sidestepped, just out of reach of the stranger and then he whipped a small hand up, tapered digits coiling about an old revolver, what one might guess to be US Army issue. Cocking it, the boy aimed straight for the gambler’s heart, and the man stood stock-still, eyes bulging in a mix of fear and absolute rage. Lifting a grubby sleeve the boy gingerly dabbed at the split in the corner of his mouth, now making for a lop-sided little grin, for a moment he stood there in full view of everyone. The whole saloon seemed to have frozen, they knew better than to get stupid when someone brought a gun in.

The boy couldn’t have been very old, not much taller than five foot and dressed head to toe in baggy, well worn hand-me-downs, there was nothing particularly notable about him save what lay beneath that low brimmed leather hat. “Sorry to bother ya then mister, I’ll just be on me way.” And with a mocking tip of his hat the boy spun on the heel of those ratty old boots and bolted out the doors, flinging them wide. The saloon suddenly came back to life with outraged cries and a few dramatic sighs from the girls, but the boy couldn’t be bothered. In a split second he had untied and mounted a sturdy chestnut mare, grasping the reins tightly in the left hand the gun still at his side and with a few gentle clicks of the tongue they were off.

***

Beggorah! He dinnae know a damn thing! Molly cursed inwardly as she uncocked the gun and jammed it down the back of her belted slacks. Keeping her head lowered she clamped her thighs down on the horse beneath her as they raced through the trees, ducking a low branch just in time she pulled on the horses reigns and slowed perhaps two miles into the treeline.

"There there Bonnie....it's allright now." Those small hands patted and scratched at the thick, muscular neck of the chestnut as she knickered back her response. "Aye...we should pick a spot." With a sigh Molly reached up to knock back her brother's old hat to hang by the laces around her neck, before looking around and hoisting herself off the horse to leap to the ground with a quiet thump. She inhaled and reached up for a canteen, untying it from the satchel on the back of th saddle before uncorking it and closing her bruised lips about the mouth for a swig. It wasn't a few minutes before she had set herself up on the ground, Bonnie tied to the tree right behind her head, as molly pulled the brim of the hat low over her face, leaning back against the tree. She tugged at the collar of her costume, jerking the buttons open as she spread a few inches of cloth open to reveal her delicate clavical. She was uncomfortable but she knew it was a small price to pay.

"That feckin' skiver..." that gentle voice was low, tinted with the accent of her dear ole Da who had run out on them to chase his fekin' card games. Molly thought back to her brothers on the farm, a small, but stable little home on the boarder of Texas she had worked damned hard on maintaining after their Mum had passed. God rest her soul. A grubby little hand came up to scrub at those big green eyes, a stubborn sniff and she was done, pushed the memory back as she began to drift off.

 

[rhev]

William 'Bill' Graves felt drawn too thin. He hated cliches but he doubted his luck would get worse. When he word there was work in the small frontier town of Cowley Center, he'd thought his luck was changing. But a dusty trek across the hot Kansas hills had brought him another disappointment. He thought they were looking for a Sheriff, but by the time he'd got to town local muscle had taken the job, an threatened to throw him into jail if Graves pushed the point the job was offered to him first. Graves wasn't scared, and was sure that he could beat the fat 'sheriff' in a gun fight without half trying. However the town's new sheriff had the foresight to 'deputize' six of his friends on the spot. So the sheriff wasn't an idiot.... no matter how fast Graves was, his revolver couldn't fire a seventh shot.

Giving up the job that he knew should be his, Graves retired instead to the saloon, "Judd's Saloon" he muttered to himself as he pushed open the doors and strode into the smokey dim interior, "Not the most creative name I've come across." Sidling up to the bar he made good friends immediately with 'Judd' as he slapped down two silver dollars and declared his intention to get nice and drunk. Judd of course was happy to call over one of the tavern wenches to try to coax more silver from him, but at the moment Graves wasn't interested.

After several halfway decent ales had poured down his dusty throat, Bill felt much better about himself despite his situation. Even the doxie next to him, trying to talk him into a blow job, was starting to look somewhat appealing. He shook his head as he realized he must be further into his drink then he meant to be. Then trouble walked in the door.

Bill's well trained scout's eyes marked the young boy as he walked in the door. The fair skinned youth has the soft features of a young boy that's fed well at his mother's table and not made his own meals out on the open range. A curl of red hair fell from beneath the leather brim of the boy's hat. Not one to immediately dismiss someone just for their youth however Bill scanned the boy as the youth looked around the dim tavern. No gun, clothes not cut for his frame; obviously handme downs, and if the boy had a knife, it couldn't be much more than a folding blade, certainly nothing to protect himself with.

Bill turned back to his beer thinking, 'Well, maybe he's just in here looking to deliver a message. Certainly doesn't belong in a place like this.' It was odd though, as Bill took another long draw of his beer, he couldn't take his mind off the youth. The combination of soft features and red hair reminded Bill of a youth he worked with in the army rangers. Seamus that boy's name was. Good kid, real sweet, always smiling. Bill remembered how that shock of red hair was enough to tip them off to an Indian patrol. Bill took another drink as he recalled having to bury sweet Seamus's body in a shallow grave after killing six braves and driving another half dozen off. Bill had always wished he could have taken Seamus's body back home to his mother, but he had to get out of injun territory too quickly and report back to his commander.

It wasn't a big surprise when a few minutes later, before Bill had finished his beer that he heard a commotion to the side. "Just who the fuck are yeh?" some local bellowed. Bill didn't even need to turn to know who the local was roaring at. Bill did turn however as the man's roaring cut off suddenly in a gasp. He saw the scrawny gabmler haul back and smack the boy right in the face. The boy had youth on his side, Bill imagined he was about fourteen, and it was lucky he did. A blow to the face like he just took could easily break a mans jaw.

Sensing trouble, Bill reached down slowly to his holster and unsnapped the cover from his revolver. He wasn't expecting to use it, but he'd rather be ready. Sure enough, as the redheaded lad squirmed out of the drunk's grasp, he rolled beneath a table and directly towards the bar. The drunk roared and charged after the youth as the redhead bumped into Bill. Bill assumed that the boy was trying to be subtle, trying to disguise the boy's light fingers. Bill let the deception go, eager to see what the youth would do.

Then just as the drunk made it to the bar, Bill heard the sound of his revolver cocking. "I’ll just be on me way." the youth said with an irish accent, again making Bill think of Seamus. The bar went silent and the youth edged his way to the door before turning and fleeing. The bar as a whole watched as the youth untied a horse and sped off northwards.

"North," the drunk said, "No one pulls a gun on me. He's headed up into the hills, should be easy to follow. I'mma go kill that little shit." Roaring and bellowing the tavern started to go back about their business. But the drunk seemed furious, and Bill saw an opportunity. He'd have to go after the boy anyways. Couldn't let the little guy escape with his iron after all, even if he did make it easy for the youth to take it.

"Hold on there friend," Bill said to the drunk, making no movements at all.

"Yo talkin ta me?" the gambler roared?

Bill nodded and said, "Have a seat," then to the whore next to him, "go check your makeup darlin."

The gambler set down as the whore stood and walked off, obviously dismissed. "Why should I hold on?" The gambler said in far too loud a voice.

Bill answered softly, "Because you fool, you've just announced to a bar full of people you're going off to kill a kid who didn't do anything more then point an iron at you. Kansas may not be a state yet, but I'm pretty sure that new sheriff of yours won't take to killin a child over an insult. Now if you want your honor cleared, I couldn't help but notice you were doin pretty well in that card game over there. Pay me twenty dollars and I'll go after the boy, I'll make it right and you won't ever see him again. Plus you won't have your neck stretched out for it."

The gambler considered for only a few minutes, "You'd kill a boy for twenty dollars?" he whispered? Bill turned and glared at the gambler, an icy cold stare that promised that death wasn't something he was unfamiliar with. After a few moments of that intense glare the drunk nodded, "Twenty, ahhhyuh, agreed."


***


The path was clearer than a herd of wild horses would have left. Bill sighed, this boy needed help, he wasn't going to last out here. Maybe he'd find out what the boy's story was before tearing a strip of hide out of his arse for stealing his revolver.

Tying his horse up a few hundred feet away he crept quietly towards the sleeping child. Pulling his revolver from the sleeping youth's grip, he returned the Smith & Wesson Model 3 to his holster. Then, pulling a knife from the belt opposite the holster, he began to clean the underside of his fingernails. Kicking the boot of the young boy to wake him up he stood menacingly. "Wake up boy, you got a bit of explaining to do."

Bill made sure that he tilted his knife just so as he cleaned his nails so that the sunlight glinted off the steel blade right into the youth's sleepy eyes.

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

Molly was standing in the humble kitchen that belonged to her family, black boots shoulder width apart and shoulders stiffer than a treebranch as she glared at her Da. The foolish man was rubbing the back of his head sheepishly trying to make up another excuse for his absence. Alas before he got another word out Molly flung a cast iron frying pan his direction, the man had scarcely escaped a dented head. “Oh aye! An’ you’ll be back before the mornin’ an’ there’ll be winnins enough to line our pockets!” Molly took one step for her father though she was unarmed, and he sighed, knowing he would never win this battle. He wrapped his big arms around his little spitfire and kissed the top of her hot head.

“I know yer Ma never wanted ye to do this on yer own lass, but ye know yer brothers and I we..”

“Da there ain’t nothin’ much left fer ye fekin’ games why can’t ye just stop!?!” She buried her freckled little nose in his chest and felt dizzy with the scent of ale and sweat.

"Wake up boy, you got a bit of explaining to do."

Molly started, she pulled back and looked up to her father as he slowly melted away, those shocking emeralds flying open as she slammed back into the tree; breath catching in her throat. Slowly her hand scampered along her beltline to find the gun, but grasped only air. With a curse she nudged back the hat and slowly followed the line of the man’s body, he was slender, but made of stronger stuff than the bastard in the saloon. She relaxed a little, slowly making her way up past his belt, the gun! She hissed beneath her breath and stiffened again, lifting her hand to shield her eyes she cast an eager glance towards Bonnie. Shite this was the other man.

Settling back into character the ‘boy’ gave a shrug of the shoulders before slowly pushing up along the tree, and balancing on those old boots. No spurs. Molly detested the things, she’d seen scars on horses from the bastards who misused them and refused to use them herself when working on her family’s farm. “Mister, bout your gun…ya see…” At a complete loss, the boy suddenly kicked a boot-full of dirt and grass up into the cowboy’s face, whipping about and darting behind the tree. In one smooth motion a hunting knife was produced from his right boot and cut through the tied reigns of the chestnut. Springing from the ground he launched himself only half grabbing the horn of the saddle and looping one boot in as the horse took off, spinning about and nearly trampling the stranger.

A hand grazed along the boy’s boot then something grabbed a fistful of the woolen jacket he wore. Suddenly stars dotted the treetops, but it was far to early in the evening for such a thing. Suddenly a gruff face came into focous and the boy yelped, a high pitched noise like a kicked dog; in that moment the small boy was all arms and legs, two rather powerful hooks found purchase in the stranger’s flesh, allowing him to feel just how well the muscles behind them had been earned.

"Get ye fekin' mits offa me!" His eyes were wide, too wide, the whites were showing and those fiery curls were plastered to his sweaty brow, caked now in dirt and uprooted blades of grass in his struggles, alas he didn't have the strength to actually prey the bastard off. Inwardly Molly bristled with fear.

 

[rhev]

Bill was ready for the boy's quick movements, he had seen him fight in the bar. He was half expecting the boy to jackrabbit or try to lash out at him. However what Bill wasn't ready for was dirty fighting. Cursing himself as he wiped the dirt from his face, he saw the boy swing up into the saddle and try to take off. If the boy ran, he'd have to shoot. He didn't dare risk his horse on a chase. It was unfortunate, but the boy sealed his own fate.

Then foolishly the boy turned and came straight at him. Bill launched himself to the side, but reached out and grabbed at the boy with both hands. Snagging a solid catch on the boy's jacket, the horse beneath galloped on, and the weight of Bill's body was too much for the unbalanced rider. The boy tumbled out of the saddle, landing on the ground hard. Again Bill was somewhat amazed by his resilience. His breath barely knocked from him as he hit the ground, the boy began struggling to get to his feet almost immediately. The redhead thrashed about, his fist connecting weakly but painfully with Bill's face before Bill had finally had it. "Get ye fekin' mits offa me!" the wildly swinging boy yelled.

Still gripping the boy's jacket and leaning over the boy, Bill picked the boy up and slammed him back to the earth three, four more times, blasting the air from the boy's lungs. Gasping for air, he had trouble fighting off Bill then. Still squirming, but with out the air or strength, Bill now over-matched him. Bill saw panic in his eyes. Good, maybe now he wouldn't act the fool. To drive the point home, Bill drove the point of his knife into the ground half an inch from the youth's cherubic face. The sharp edge of it gleaming next to his eye.

Bill slammed the boy into the ground one more time before releasing the boy and standing over him. Unbuckling his gun and leaving it in his holster, Bill gripped the butt of his gun. "Now," Bill said, "I'll have ya know that I can take the top of an injun's head at 500 paces. I don't like to draw unless I plan on using it."

Then in a voice that commanded respect, he lowered his voice and growled angrily, "So don't you make me do that son, neither of us is gonna like it."

Stepping backwards from the boy, he grit his teeth, "Now, why don't you real careful like explain to me why you'd choose to pick a fight with a man twice your size then steal another man's gun. You lookin for a shallow grave?"

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

The boy was slammed against the ground and shaken like an angry child with a doll, eyes clamped shut to avoid further injury. When they opened the boys body went stiff, a shimmering blade near the size of his forearm was planted firmly into the earth beside his temple. Choking down a little squeak as the cowboy shook his ‘ragdoll’ again, dropping him to the ground and retreating to his feet, the knife slicing through the dirt as he retrieved it. Curling slightly onto his side the boy, clamped an arm over his chest and tried for a steady breath.

As he listened to the man spout off about his talent for picking off those with lesser weapons the boy scowled and under his breath muttered, “Feckin’ Americans…” He shot a murderous glance up to the bastard and noted the rather sizable hand on that blasted gun hilt. Spitting on the ground in a clear mixture of disgust and frustration he struggled to sit up. “I’m not…” Emerald orbs danced over the but of that gun again, and back up to the man’s stern face. With a stubborn set of his jaw the boy slowly ground out his tale, preferring not to be shot and left for dead.

“Me Da wen’t missin’ ‘bout a fornight ago. Been sniffin’ out his stinkin’ trail for a week now.” The tale was short and bittersweet, obviously leaving a bad taste in his mouth as those pale lips pursed into a scowl.

Turning his head away from the man slightly he noticed movement not a few yards off, it was Bonnie grazing on the sparce grass beneath the shade of the trees. A gentle smile tugged at the corner of the boy’s mouth, with a quick grimace he cupped a small hand over the wound and hissed a curse.

“That feckin’ lowlife had it comin’, more than I gave ‘im. Your gun was convenient.” Then he fell silent, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, chin dropped, that mop of curls a dusty mess.

 

[rhev]

Bill sniffed, displeased with the boy's reckless demeanor. This is the kind of kid that lies about their age so that they can get into the army too young. Run off, get their heads split open by an Apache tomahawk. It had to be the Irish brogue, the red hair and the accent, he felt like he was looking at a ghost of young Seamus. Blinking away the comparison, Bill ignored the ghosts of his past.

"Yer Da ye say?" Bill spit then kicked the boy's boot. Cleaning off his knife on his pants he nodded over towards the boy's horse. "I'm not sure if I believe you, but I'll tell you what I do believe. I believe that if I take my eyes off you for a second you'll be off and runnin for your horse over there aren't you?"

The boy nodded after a moment, probably deciding that Bill would see through an attempt at a lie.

"Let me ask you something boy, what do you think your horse is now? Hundred, hundred fifty feet off?"

Again the boy nodded.

"An how big do you think that shiny metal ring is at the bottom of his reins there?" The boy looked over at his horse for only a moment, just long enough to see the metal ring hanging in the leather straps about a foot below his horses mouth. He turned back to answer, but Bill had already turned and in one smooth motion had drawn his pistol, cocked it and fired, all in the space of a few seconds. The sound of the gun crack happened almost at the same time as a ringing noise as the bullet dinged off the metal ring in the horse's gear. Whinnying and rearing up, the boy's horse startled and tore off.

In one smooth move the gun was back in it's holster and the sound of the boy's horse galloping off was thunderously loud in the wake of the echoing gunshot. Turning a grim look on the boy, Bill continued, "Now, you think of running or coming at me again with your little butter knife and I'll put the next shot into your kneecap. Really piss me off and I'll put one in your gut and leave you here to bleed out. We clear on that point son?"

The boy, still staring, swallowed nervously. Bill took it to mean that he finally understood the severity of the situation. Bill glared down at the boy, "The way I see it, you owe me three times. The first I unstrapped my gun and let you take it back in that bar. The second, I didn't kill you for taking it and not returning it, wakin you up all fair like so as you could explain yerself. Third I didn't shoot ya for trying to run me down. All told, I think that makes me a pretty nice guy. But I do believe that I'm all out of patience."


"So, I believe I done asked you a question and to my reckonin, you ain't explained it well enough." Bill moved to a nearby rock and sat on it. Nodding at the boy he grimaced, "Now why don't you pick yourself up off the ground and do as I say. Tell me why it was you were really in that bar, and why you picked a fight with that man. Maybe," he paused as he glared at the boy for a moment, "Maybe if I believe you, I'll let you make those three favors up to me."

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

"BONNIE!" The boy started forward but by the time he balanced in a crouch the man had turned around. That feckin' gun swiftly holstered Molly's heart skipped a few beats and the boy fell back onto his arse. Swallowing a few colorful words the boy clamped swollen lips shut suddenly locking his attentions on the man with the gun stiffly allowing him a nod.

Swallowing audibly the blood drained from the boys face and he flinched as the man spoke; Molly used every last bit of strength not to bolt. God above what she wouldn't give to have a gun of her own, but she had intended to buy one upon concluding her business in the saloon. So much for that plan.

The boy's face grew paler still as the man spoke of becoming indebted to him. What could a gunslinger possibly want from a traveling boy? The whites of the boy's eyes were showing again, but his jaw quickly set firm, stubbornly straightening his shoulders and sinking to his knees again, never once blinking.

"....I only asked him if he had seen him, said me Da cheated. Not mucha lie...when I asked if'n he'd seen me Da leave he took took to his...unpleasant nature. So I showed him some o' mine!" That delicate jaw clenched again as he staved off the trembling of his bottom lip.

"I dinnae mean to take YOUR gun....clearly I made a mistake." the boy went silent again. Molly willed her heart to beat regularly again but she was far from out of danger.

"What the feck could I owe ye?" That damnable attitude again, but it could not be helped. The boy flinched visibly upon finishing his words and scrambled to his feet, feet in a defensive stance in case the man decided to come at him instead of just shooting.

 

[rhev]

Bill sighed, annoyed at the boy, but seeing an angle. With the twenty dollars he had taken from the gambler he was down to under fifty to his name. He had no line on work and had no call to take up with banditos, which was one of the few skill sets he could use at a moment's notice. He didn't care for lawless types, but he wasn't above running a scam or two. An idea vaguely forming in his head he stared at the youth. That cherubic face, the spunk, the red hair, hell, even the story, it was all perfect.

Why shouldn't he? The boy wasn't likely to last another week or two on his own. Too bull headed, too rash, too clueless.... too damn Irish. Bill glared at the scared young boy. Yes this could work. He grinned at the obviously scared youth.

"Ok boy, lets say I believe you. You're lookin for your Da. Why don't we make a little mutual bargain? I'll help you find your pop, and more importantly, I'll keep your neck out of a short noose. In exchange you're going to help me earn a few coin along the way. Maybe if I think I can trust you long enough not to try to stick a knife in my back, I'll even show you a few ways to keep yourself out of the fire."

Not knowing the boy's name yet, he simply asked, "Whatda think of that boy?"

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

The man's grin made the boy slightly recoil, what could he possibly have in mind? Molly steeled herself inwardly as she willed herself not to shake. Slowly the boy's head nodded, up then down. He took a step to the side, "Fine....ye get that much. But I'm not much good without me horse...an' you scared her off!" That look of discomfort hiding fear melted slightly into one of a scolding parent. A role Molly had been forced to take on at an early age.

To seal the deal the boy lifted his chin a bit, "Call me Jonny...O'Connor" With that he turned clearly giving no heed to the threat of being shot, the man would either shoot or turn out to be honest. Molly prayed equally for both as she had no idea how this bastard intended to make money off a young boy. The boy padded softly through the underbrush, alas making much more noise than should be made in the wilderness. He was eagerly clicking his tongue as if to cal the horse.

"Feckin Americans...." the boy mumbled as he jumped, the sound of hooves behind him making him spin and come face to face with a massive horse. The boy gawked, the horse was far taller than he, black with white socks and a white star in the center of its brow. The tack upon it was polished to a fault and clearly done so with pride.

The horse snorted impatiently as the boy looked up to the rider, a look of distaste crossing those sweet features. A hand was offered and the boy grabbed it moving to leap in back of the cowboy, but was jerked up front like a little child. With a curse of objection Jonny was settled infront of the man in the saddle, shoulders hunched forward and scooting up nearest the horn as possible.

They took off in the direction they had watched Bonnie gallop away, and after a few minutes of deafening silence the boy grumbled out a question. "What money could I possibly bring ye?" Half expecting no answer at all that delicate jaw set again, though more gently as the bruise was taking hold, boy would it be a colorful one.

 

[rhev]

"First off," as Bill set his horse, Sparks, off on the path, "I got a good look at your horse while you were napping. Bonnie I think you said her name was? If Bonnie's a year under twelve, I'll eat my hat. A
mare that old won't have gone off far." Cuffing Johnny on the side of the head, he growled, "So stop squirming before I tie you up and drag you along back." Bill smiled, though Johnny couldn't see him, and added, "and mind you, he just ate."

Cresting a hill, not far off the pair spotted Bonnie grazing in the distance. Kicking Sparks into a light trot, they headed for the Mare. "You've burned yourself in Cowley Center, and me too by the way. So we've got to move on. Fort Jefferson is two and a half day's ride north of here. I've a mind that we head up there. We can ask about your father there, and I'll fill you in along the way."

"Now," he said as he let Johnny down off Sparks back in front of Bonnie, "Why don't you give me the details about your pa, let me know what you know about him. Why was ya lookin for him in Cowley Center?"

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

"I hope ye do eat it." Jonny ground out, holding stock still in the saddle, sadly being jarred a bit badly being unwilling to move with the horse as one should, but it was clear he had no intention of being any closer to the man than he had to be.


The man's knock to the head was rewarded with Jonny's elbow into his ribcage. Jonny hunched lower in the saddle as the man behind him gave a hearty chuckle. Molly snarled inside, wanting to give the man a lesson in propriety but she was quickly reminded of her state. A frown creased the boy's face and settled there for the remainder of their search.

"Fine." Was the only response Jonny gave as those beautiful jades scanned the hill crest, suddenly sitting upright in the saddle, practically jumping down without help from the cowboy. "Bonnie!" The boy ran to the horse as she lazily lifted her head an rested her chin on his back. The boy wrapped the chestnut's neck in a desperate grip, fingers lacing into her withers. For a moment he didn't move, face buried into the thrumming pulse of the horse.

Molly willed herself not to cry, but she had been afraid she had indeed lost her only friend in this journey. She quickly steeled herself, feeling the man's eyes upon her and casually walked off to the opposite side of the horse,her head well hidden beneath the mare's shoulder.

"Not tellin ye a feckin' thing till ye tell me the name o' the devil I just signed off on."

Scrubbing the tears away quickly Jonny seemed busy checking the straps and buckles upon his gear, adjusting this and that ensuring there was enough water left int he canteen he took a halted swig of it before securing it again. A strange glance was spared to the lovely rolling meadow they had found themselves in, but as soon as the unreadable thought crossed those cherubic features they passed and the boy leaned against the horse, waiting for the stranger to speak.

 

[rhev]

Bill nodded his approval as the lad checked his horse's rigging first off. Wherever the boy had come from he knew to look towards it's gear first and foremost. Gritting his teeth at the teenager's impudence, he considered his response. He couldn't imagine ever speaking to an adult the way this redhead was.

"You can call me Graves for now," Bill said, "That's as much as you'll get till I get your real name and a little more truth out of you...'Johnny." Then gritting his teeth he spat out, "Damned potato head, I'mma have to teach you to lie better before we get to Fort Jefferson."

Gazing off into the distance at the sun, starting to ride low towards the horizon he added, "Let's get a move on. I passed a good camp site earlier today. If we keep moving we can make it there a good hour or two before sundown. On the way you can tell me the truth."

Without waiting to see if the boy was following, Bill turned his horse northwards.

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

Jonny swung himself up into the saddle, patting the mare's neck as he nudged her forward with a gentle hip movement. Slowly he gathered the reins and stiffened at the insult. Kicking the horse into a frantic bolt he rounded the front of Graves and his horse, halting them abruptly. Leaning forward in the saddle the words came passionately,

"Look here ye bastard of a whore! I dinnae ask ye ta come along and ya dinnae have no FECKIN business askin' me name past what I gave ye! I ain't feckin lyin' to ye I am an O'Connor an' will be till the day I die, me Da is Sean O'Connor bless his skivin' hide an' I'll be draggin' it back home before the next fortnight or they'll be hell to pay! And if'n ye EVER say anythin' about potatoes ye damn well better hope they're in your stew Graves!"

Face redder than a beet and eyes full of more venom than a rattlesnake the boy settled stiffly in his saddle, point securely across he then nudged Bonnie to back up, and allowing Graves to lead the way.
****

The ride was quieter than death and rightly so, Molly was still fuming an hour later and Graves likely had his own thoughts on what had been said. Molly struggled fiercely not to give into her urge to smooth things over, but in the end she would have to or risk abandonment, and considering she had no clue where they were, she decided to suck it up.

"Me Da is Sean O'Connor...as I said. He likes cards and ain't too great with 'em." They were now at a trot, side by side the boy seeming to move fluidly with the mare beneath him, one might think he were born on the damned thing. Tapered digits worked to repair the reigns in a crude knot as they rode another stretch in silence.


"It's three brothers and me and me Da...we run a farm...but he ain't 'round much since me Mum died. Did somethin' aweful to 'im..." Those emerald orbs darkened in memory for a moment, lips set in a thin line. "They came here with us lads not 12 years ago...but we never did anything ta earn yer bitter tongue Graves." The last part was insistent but not cruel or accusing. Again the boy fell silent till it was indeed just past sundown and Graves halted his horse.

 

[rhev]

Bill couldn't help but grin to himself at the lad's outburst. He allowed himself a slight smile as the boy dropped back behind him where it wouldn't be seen. Good, he knew how to push the boy's buttons. That would be useful. Never a better way to beat a man in a fight then beat him in his own mind before the fight started.

Bill rode perfectly silently, trusting in the boy's anger to burn itself out against his wall of silence. He knew that he could wait much longer and more patiently then any fourteen year old. Finally he was proven correct as the boy started talking again. He ignored the comment about his tongue, choosing to save a harsh response for later if the boy remained impossible.

"Fine O'connor, I'll believe yer word. But ya believe mine. I wasn't kidding when I said ya'll find yer way into an early grave if ya don't wise up some. Ya think I deserved a tongue lashin' that's fine, we can leave that, but when you're around strangers, you either learn to hold your tongue or ya might find someone cutting it from your mouth to cease it's wagging."

He sighed, realizing that most of his interactions with the youth so far have been nothing more than threats. That was no way to get the boy on his side. "Look, you're fast, I saw that. I saw you're a scrapper too. So here's my idea, you tell me what you think of it. We get to Fort Jefferson and you give me a day to try to find out any information about your Pa. Then on the second night there, you start some more trouble with a drunk, a rich one if possible, and I'll come in and save you again. Then, I convince the trouble maker that he'd better pay for the trouble of hurting my 'nephew."

Bill looked back at Johnny, "Follow all that? Think you can manage?"

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

Molly bristled again at Graves' threats, she was getting mighty sick of this and something just dinnae sit well with her about the man. Something she couldn't put her finger on, aside from the fact he was infuriating as hell itself!

"So I am to be beaten shiteless and ye get the money eh?" That's all the boy said as he dismounted, tying Bonnie to a nearby tree and unstrapping his pack. With a violent motion a thick and rather large blanket was unfurled, spreading across a patch of grass before Jonny took half of it and folded it like a sandwich intent on nestling into those folds regardless how hot it was.

Casting a glance over his shoulder at the suspicious character the boy had taken up with he muttered something unintelligible. Seeing no response from the man he raised his voice, "I said, can ye cook? Bah...ye likely cannae cook tar..." Knowing better than to ask Graves to fetch wood Jonny did it himself, returning swiftly with an armful of tinder and one of good solid wood.

He dropped down into a crouch above the pile and rearranged it, stuffing the tinder just beneath one of the thick pieces. Taking a stick in hand the boy began a rather rustic method of starting a fire, sandwiching the stick between two pale palms and working its tip into a crevice in the wood till a small stream of smoke began. Bending forward he blew on the tinder till it caught and gingerly fed it.

Leaving the fire to build the boy took of again this time with a pot from his satchel only to return with it filled with water by a nearby brook. Within half an hour he had managed to rustle up enough roots and cured meat from his sack there was a small stew bubbling on the fire.

Jonny shoved a cupful at Graves then retreated to his blanket with his own to sip at it. Giving a contented little sound it was rather decent for such sparse supplies. Remaining in silence the boy simply stared at Graves from across the small fire waiting for the stoic old fart to make a sound.

 

[rhev]

"So I am to be beaten shiteless and ye get the money eh?" The boy asked, to which Bill answered, "You'll get a little coin, but most importantly you'll get help finding your father, and with my help you'll live long enough to hug yer da again." The boy seemed disinterested in his response and Bill was realizing that the boy's mouth seemed to have a powerful need to run, not caring what it was spewing.

"I said, can ye cook?" the boy spat venomously. Bill was about to answer when Johnny bullied on, "Bah...ye likely cannae cook tar..." Raising an eyebrow he allowed the lad to make camp. He thought about correcting the boy on tying his horse to a tree, but decided to let experience teach instead. Making sure that he was in full view of the lad, he quickly twisted up a spare length of leather into short loops and wrapped them around the front fetlocks of his horse. The classic hobble allowed Sparks to graze without being able to move faster then a slow walk.

Bill decided to wait and see if the boy would take his lead after the dinner. If he was bright enough to figure out what Bill had just done, then he would do well in the coming days. Accepting the cupfull of stew, he inspected it then grimaced at Johnny. In a voice that sounded angry to mask the amusement he was feeling, he growled, "What's this, no potatoes? You promised potatoes O'Connor!" Then he tried his damnedest not to start laughing as he waited for the boy's response.

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

Jonny arched a slender copper brow, looking rather distant and cool he spoke softly, "Only a pervert be wantin' the potatoes of a young lad, Graves." He let that one sink in and hid a grin behind a mouthful of stew. Once they were finished with the whole pot, Jonny took everything down to the babbling brook to wash.

Heaving a sigh the pot and cups were settled on the bank, clean and ready to be reused. Those emerald orbs picked up the firelight in the brief distance. "That man could be the death of me..." Molly frowned and slapped at the water in frustration, with another sigh she unbuttoned her shirt quite a bit further than that afternoon. Peeking over her shoulder she ensured she was alone and quickly began cupping water onto her face, scrubbing it through her hair and down her chest to brush the bindings that securely held her breasts. Alas the linens would not be coming off tonight. One splendid thing about being on her own was her freedom of dress when it was time to hit the hay. She allowed a weak breeze to brush over the small bit of exposed flesh before buttoning herself up to the neck again and sneaked through relieving herself in a nearby bush. After washing her hands as best she could she filled the pot with clean fresh water and carried everything back to camp.

The boy filled his canteen with the water before replacing the cups in the satchel and offering the remaining fluids to the mare. Bonnie drank greedily and Molly swore to herself to wash the pot out in the morning again, but at the moment her eyes had begun to droop. She had noted the odd method of binding his horse that Graves used, and untying Bonnie, she mimicked it. Giving the horse a healthy scratch on the neck and a sneaking a kiss on its warm fuzzy nose Jonny moved back to his bedding. Without another word he curled up into a ball and completely disappeared beneath the blanket, tucking his hat beside him.
***

Molly lay staring into the dark cocoon of her blanket. She knew it had to be morning by now, perhaps 1am still too early to set out and she hadn't slept but a few stolen moments when she was almost certain Graves must have nodded off himself. It wasn't the ground, she had grown used to that in a weeks time traveling from the state boarder, but it might have been the fact that a man slept within a stone's throw of her. A man she knew absolutely nothing about, and could trust about as far as she could throw him; and while she was strong for a lass her size she couldn't heft that stubborn oaf very far.

Something nudged her through the blanket, with a groan she pulled back the cover to peek one eye out. She saw her beloved horse nuzzle closer, and reached up to hug the beast's face. She scratched along those plump cheek muscles and kissed the fuzzy nose fondly. Her voice was cracked and high pitched as she worked out enough of a greeting for Bonnie. "Hey lass..ye get any sleep?" Molly was rewarded with a gentle but firm nudge, enough to knock her back onto her blanket. "Lucky..." she sighed and dropped her her head back, a mass of Medusa's curls going this way and that, dark circles settled beneath those brilliant eyes.

Molly stretched out beneath the fold of blanket, her shirt having wriggled from her breeches in her sleep, now riding high upon her soft and pale belly. Twisting in her blanket it blessedly obscured the nip in her waist but did little more. For the moment she was unaware, almost too groggy to remember herself, she threw an arm over her eyes to shield them from the approaching dawn; as if such an action could stave off the inevitable. "How could ye do this to us Da...?" she whispered to the still air.

Groaning again she threw her other arm over her face as the horse nudged her belly curiously. With a muffled squeal she fidgeted beneath the fuzzy nose drinking in the simple pleasure of her horse's gentle urging. Today would be full of hard riding and nothing but that gunslinger's charming company. Molly moaned as if in agony at the thought, though which was more painful she couldn't quite decide.

Bonnie left the girl as she heard her breaths even out and moved to graze beside Sparks. Molly mumbled something in a groggy and childish voice before sprawling under the corner of her blanket, legs and arms askew as she began to lightly snore; the sweet siren of sleep too much for her little body.

 

[rhev]

"Only a pervert be wantin' the potatoes of a young lad, Graves." Johnny teased, to which Bill was finally unable to contain his mirth. Chuckling at the boy, he let the lad see that he wasn't a complete ogre. He ate mostly in silence, however did pay the lad a complement on his cooking. It was very good, obviously the lad must have done his cooking for his family after his Ma died. Bill wondered about it, but felt it might be tacky to ask. Johnny hadn't mentioned any sisters or step mother, so he supposed someone would have to take up those duties.

He couldn't help but notice that the youth took the pots to a nearby brook to clean up. Heading in the opposite direction Bill relieved himself while keeping one ear open for trouble. He didn't expect much, but at the same time he felt responsible for the boy. He seemed somehow fragile despite his tough demeanor.

The stars came out quickly and Bill fell asleep quickly and lightly, as he had trained himself to do for the last several years. Unbuttoning his pants and shirt, but making sure his boots were on, he fell asleep under his blanket, his saddle pillowing his head. He cracked his eyes and watched as the boy untied his horse and hobbled it properly. Bill allowed himself a smile as he watched the boy do a passable job. Good, a quick learner. That was important.

He drifted back to sleep, eyes opening several times during the night whenever his instincts roused him. Each time he was able to listen and fall back asleep shortly after. It was still dark when he heard the boy's soft, high pitched voice. He woke instantly but kept his breathing regular, afraid there may be someone else that the boy was talking too. It only took a moment before he realized that the lad was just talking to one of the horses. He drifted off, not bothering to listen to what Johnny probably considered a private conversation.

The next time he woke however, the pale dim light of pre dawn met his vision. The grey world was silent all around him, and for some reason his instincts were screaming at him that there was a problem this time. Opening his ears and keeping still and steady breathing, he listened. Johnny was snoring lightly, that wasn't the problem. The embers of the fire popped once, it wasn't that. Then Bill realized the problem, the hobbled horses were whinnying softly and moving away from the camp despite their hobbles.

"Fuck," Bill thought, something's either in camp or close by. Risking it, he opened one eye slightly and looked around. He didn't see banditos or injuns lurking about or inspecting his gear. Very slowly he raised his head and looked around his immediate area. No snakes, scorpions, wolves. What the hell was spooking the horses?

Then in a horrifying vision that sent his heart to double time beat, he saw it. There, coiled in the hollow of Johnny's shoulder and slender neck was a Copperhead snake. Probably drawn there because of the warmth, any sudden movements and it might strike. Bill didn't dare wake Johnny, the lad might startle and jump. The copperhead wasn't lethal if you could get to a doctor quick enough, but out here, a boy his size and light weight, probably wouldn't survive a strike, especially if it bit at his face, shoulder, or neck.

Not even noticing the pale soft flesh exposed by Johnny's rolling, Bill drew his large knife and rolled very slowly towards the boy and the deadly snake. Raising up on his hands and knees, he crawled right on top of Johnny, his eyes never leaving the serpent. The snake, sensing the movement raised up and scented the air with it's split devil's tongue. As Bill covered Johnny's body with his own, still raised up so as not to wake the boy, the snake hissed, exposing glistening white fangs, pearly poison at the sharp tips. Very carefully, and praying that the boy didn't panic, Bill moved slowly to enact his plan. He lowered himself down onto the boy, crushing him with his own weight so that he couldn't move. At the same time he brought his hand down onto the boy's mouth, preventing him from either crying out or moving his head. As Johnny's eyes popped open, surprise in his expression, the snake hissed right in his ear. Moving lightning quick now, Bill slammed his knife down into the snake, driving the point down into the snake's neck an inch behind it's head. He slammed it down with such force that he instantly cut it's head off and drove the point of his knife several inches into the soil.

Then, still moving as quickly as he could, he reached down and rolled off the boy, pushing him away from the snake. A copper head's venom was lethal for days after it was dead and even a scratch of those fangs could be lethal to the slight child.

Bill didn't see the exposed flesh of Johnny's skin as he rolled across the dirt, her shirt coming up. He was too busy making sure the snake was dead. Then using his knife point to dig a hole a few inches deep, he pushed the snake's head into the ground before covering it. By the time he held up the decapitated snake's head, Johnny had re-organized his clothing.

"Sorry about that Johnny, any sudden movements and this bad boy woulda had you pushing up daises." He shrugged, holding the snake up as it's headless corpse continued to twist and writhe, "But look, we got us a nice fresh breakfast now."

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

Molly woke in a panic, something heavy and warm crushed her. She was unable to move properly let alone the fact she could feel his hips crushed between her thighs. A strangled little whimper escaped just before a large hand and calloused hadn't slapped over her mouth, covering even her nose. In a panic her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she simultaneously saw the looming knife and heard the snakes retort. She was frozen beneath Graves, tears welling up in her eyes before he suddenly lifted himself and shoved her off into the dirt.

Scrambling into a little ball Molly watched in abject horror and bemusement as Graves set to work burying the copperhead's noggin beneath the forest floor. Realizing she had forgotten to breath, she sucked in great lungfuls of air as she scrambled to cover herself, straightening her shirt and slacks, staggering to unsteady feet as she tucked in the shirt.

'Jonny' stood there, mouth agape, seeming a bit drawn and pale, almost frail as he stared at Graves. The man had absolutely no idea what terrible thoughts had passed through that little noggin. Remaining silent as Graves cheerfully dangled breakfast in front of the boy, Jonny's knees began to shake. Giving a nod and forcing a weak smile he mumbled what he hoped sounded like an agreement on the menu before sinking to his knees beside the fire trying to busy himself.

While Jonny started another fire clumsily, Graves prattled on about how to properly gut and clean a snake. First the excrement was squeezed out, then the main body slit and emptied, careful to avoid nicking the gall bladder. Molly just took in the lesson in sort of a haze, torn between her fears of a fate worse than snake venom and the fact that the man before her actually had made an effort to protect her. She wasn't quite certain what to make of him or her situation.

Suddenly the snake was skewered, flesh still writhing as it was wrapped around a thin stick and propped over the morning's fire. Jonny just seemed to stare blankly for the next five minutes, gaining a rather odd look from Graves before he pushed back and spun on heel to walk down to the water. At the pace the boy took it was mere seconds before he collapsed at the waters edge.

Silently Molly allowed pent up tears to roll down her cheeks, quickly splashing water on her face to cover it up. She remained knelt there, hunched over for another few minutes before she heard footsteps. Jumping to her feet and spinning about she spotted Graves' stoic figure looming not a few yards off. An expression she didn't care to think of on his face. Quickly scrubbing the water and tears off her face she made her voice sound a bit lower and stalked past him. "Had ta take a piss.....erm...thanks."

'Jonny' made his way swiftly back to camp, the scent of the cooked serpent rather appealing, and his stomach made that abundantly clear as it growled in protest.

 

[rhev]

Bill wasn't a fool, and one thing no one would ever call him was unobservant. The puffy eyes and red face gave truth to the fact that Johnny had been crying. Unwilling to call him on it, Bill nodded, but as Johnny walked back to camp Bill called out, "Next time save it though. Using yer morning water to put out the campfire is safer then leaving embers to burn."

Bill washed up in the stream and pondered how best to handle the boy. Obviously he had been terrified by his brush with death. But Bill didn't know fuck all from raising whelps. He had a wife once, but that was a long time ago. He shook his head, no, that wasn't the path to go down. He had to watch the red head's back, he couldn't be distracted by memories. Such things served nothing.

Yet his will power and his memory seemed to be at odds. Bridget's fair skin and freckled face swam up out of memory. He shook it off. It was the boy's red hair and accent, that's all. He wouldn't be served thinking about it.

Returning to camp he checked the spit and declared that breakfast was ready. The snake was delicious, tasting much like chicken, but flaky. As the two ate in silence Bill decided he needed to say something. "Say, Johnny, how old are you?" He asked as he scratched at his chin, dark with thick stubble. "I'd guess fourteen, but I don't see any stubble on yer face. Am I off by much?"

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

They remained silent, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the waking forest around them. Jonny seemed to wolf down his portion, despite the strange look on his face, nearly choking when Graves questioned him.

"eh-heh...aye....yer not off. Me eldest brother is 17, then 12 an' 11." Wiping his lips on his sleeve the boy hissed and pulled back in pain. That split lip and sore jaw were now a lovely shade of deep purple, almost black at the lip. Whispering a curse he seemed mildly irritated but far from phased. "Feckin' bastard..."

Glancing up to see Graves with a smirk on his face made Molly fidget, she felt a little bit odd but wasn't quite certain why. She examined his face for a moment, light brown eyes that seemed flecked with an almost golden color when he grinned like he was now, with true humor and something else. A straight slender nose, and a strong jaw. He probably hadn't shaved in a while, but that little detail about men had never bothered Molly, and his mouth was rather...

Jonny shot up, spinning on his heel and heading over towards his bedding stiffly beginning to roll it up, only to pause, take two clearly unoccupied corners and shake the thing for all it was worth. Satisfied nothing else resided in the blanket the boy rolled it up tightly strapping it with the leather ties. He turned just in time to see Graves unfastening his breeches, a new skip to his step the boy practically bolted for his mare and began loading her up.


"So two days ride...we gonna get me a gun soon aye?"

 

[rhev]

Bill chuckled as the boy shot up. Something was bothering him. He smiled as Johnny shook out his roll, he was learning. Standing and kicking the spit into the fire he unlaced his breeches. Sighing as he put out the last embers of the fire, he turned and saw the boy steadfastly paying attention to his horse. "Odd," Bill thought, "With that many brothers you wouldn't think he'd be so shy."

Then Bill realized that Johnny had dodged the question. He had said that his brothers ages, but not his own. He gazed at the youth as he was busy with his strap and realized that he may have been off about the age. The boy was too tall for a pre-teen, but his soft face and delicate structure suggested a younger boy. Plus, Bill remembered his father teaching him to shave at age eleven, and Johnny looked as if his face had never seen nor needed a razor.

Bill shrugged it off and packed up his gear quickly and efficiently. Pulling his gear together and unhobbling Sparks, he answered, "We will get you a gun on two conditions boy." With a deadly seriousness he looked at Johnny and commanded his eyesight, "First, yer gonna prove to me you can handle it. So far all I've seen outta you is rash hot hotheadedness, childlike impulsiveness, and half truths. I don't cotton to bein around someone that don't know how to shoot either. So there's that."

He paused and then sighed, "The other being that we're gonna have to make up enough scratch to buy one. I don't have that kind of coin on me and I somehow doubt you do either. Do ye?" Bill asked the last bit as he swung up into the saddle and pat down Sparks neck.

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

Jonny tucked that hat on his head, hiding beneath it; emeralds peeking out to silently watch Graves as he mounted his horse. Jonny remained silent, thinking it best the man knew little of what the boy carried on him. Leaping into his own saddle, he settled in easily and nudged Bonnie into pace at the hip of Sparks.

"How much a decent pistol cost 'round where we headed, Mister Graves?" Jonny stared forward, arms slack at his sides as he simply flowed with Bonnie easily and as if assured of every possible movement the old mare could possibly make. Avoiding eye contact Molly let the small title pass between them awaiting how it would be received. Close as she could allow to a respectful title in their situation.


They headed north at a steady pace, the horses trudging through tall grasslands and through valleys, only to rise again up over the hills. Molly looked about in silent and veiled awe as she took in all the beautiful things. The smell of honeysuckle, the wild flowers and the fresh crisp scent of grass as the wind blew. It was intoxicating and relaxing, almost taking her mind off of just how much her poor arse hurt come high noon.

When they stopped for a break in the middle of a meadow, Jonny practically oozed from his saddle, groping for his canteen and drinking greedily as Bonnie began to graze. After his thirst seemed quenched, the canteen was replaced and he grasped Bonnie's reins, with a firm tug he offered Graves the reigns. "hold the horses...lend me yer iron an' I'll show ye can trust me with one. C'mon now I cannae very well shoot ye. Might be a wolf or mountain lion 'bout."

There was certainly nothing in the boy's relaxed posture to belay anything but quiet confidence. As the revolver was hesitantly offered, Jonny grasped it and took a moment to look around. Not 200 feet off there was a black eyed susan bobbing carelessly around in the wind. "Flower.." Jonny muttered and swiftly cocked the gun, aiming down the length of his arm he fired with deadly accuracy, a flurry of yellow petals dispersing in the air as he calmly handed the gun back to turn and comfort his perturbed mare. She certainly wasn't used to all the gunfire but she wasn't about to bolt so the gentle stroking sufficed.

Gingerly Jonny took the reins from Graves and kissed the horse's nose as she nickered and gave the boy her opinion of his actions. A gentle chuckle rising from those wide lips, only to make the boy grimace slightly. "here..." Jonny moved about and grabbed two slim strips of dried beef from his satchel, sharing with Graves as he began sucking on one, a bit hesitant to chew as hard as he needed. Ducking his chin he hoisted himself back on Bonnie, "we should likely keep on, aye Graves?"

 

[rhev]

Bill was suitably impressed, and also mildly disturbed. Even on the roughest frontiers children didn't learn to shoot that well or smoothly by age 12. There was something up with this boy. Mentally Bill counted the rounds he had stored in his saddle bags and figured he could waste a few. Handing the pistol back to Johnny he pointed at a few targets of varying distance and asked Johnny to try a few more times.

This time instead of watching the target, Graves watched Johnny. His brow furrowed and he sighted down the iron sights of the pistol. His breathing slowed but never stopped as he slowly squeezed the trigger. Three out of four shots hit their mark, if Johnny's face was any judge. Bill didn't care. Even a frontier boy, trained to hold a gun by the time their fists were big enough didn't shoot like that without years of practice.

Bill was able to decide a few things. Johnny may look fourteen, but he was likely older. The high voice, no facial hair, the embarrassment about doing his business. Suddenly it all snapped into place. Johnny was a eunuch! Bill managed not to gasp audibly, but he had heard such things. Devout Catholics, especially some of these immigrants, they would take the boys with the beautiful singing voices and castrate them so that they wouldn't lose their high pitched voices.

With a mixture of guilt and sorrow, Bill took the iron back from a beaming proud Johnny. "That's mighty fine shooting son. I guess when we get the money we can look to getting you one of your own. This'un here cost around two hundred dollars, but I'm sure we could find you a smaller one that might suit you better for a little less."

Bill ejected the spent shells and reaching into his belt pouch quickly rearmed the Smith & Wesson before sliding it smoothly into the holster. "And Johnny, you can call me by my first name if you like," Sticking his hand out to the young boy, "Name's William, but my friends call me Bill."

 

[Snuggle Bunz]

Molly felt a bit awkward, she was used to having one of her brothers staring over her shoulder but this man was becoming unnerving. As the targets were taken the pistol was handed back, and for a brief moment Molly caught a strange sarrowful glance on the hardened gunslinger's face. Was that ...pitty? What in God's name?! Molly bristled and stiffened in the saddle.

A hand was offered and the names William and Bill filtered through an irritated concentration. The boy's hand shot out after a moment's hesitation and slid easily to be engulfed by Grave's paw. "If it's all the same to ye, I'll be callin' ye Mister Graves." There was another stubborn set of that bruised jaw, and the boy turned his head in time to veil a look of mild offense. Cannae get too friendly Molly...that's how ye get dead out here. Inwardly she steeled herself against what she believed to be the cold hard truth.

She burried the defensive feelings and cast a snotty little glance back at the man, Why the feck did he just lookit me like that?! Thinning his lips the boy sat back in his saddle and all but slobbered on the beef, savagely tearing off a chunk only to gnash unforgiving teeth upon it and swallow; starting the process anew and seeming rather taken with it. Molly mulled over the new facts she seemed to be rapidly gathering, the guy seemed tougher than nails, but she had seen him grinning like he knew something he would never tell back on that rock. She had also seen he had more depth than your average backwater cowboy, and an odd pension for teaching. This man was confusing to say the least.

At a loss for words Molly simply remained hidden behind her guise, trying not to look at the man insisting the boy could call him 'Bill'. Too familiar. Tearing off another hunk the boy grimaced and shoved the remainder of the strip in the breast pocket of his coat in frustration. The bruise was setting in deeper than one would have thought and for the life of her Molly was not able to remember any herbal medicine.