Chapter Text
The year is 1899. Nearly the turn of the century. Outlaws still stalk the fruitful land of early America.
You are sitting in a small, dusty office dimly lit by a few lumpy candles. A man sits across from you at a table, with a small group standing behind him. “So my boys here tell me yer able to find outlaws?” A strangely short man looks up at you from under his hat. His sheriff badge glints as he leans in toward you.
“I sure can, for the right price that is.” You say back with confidence. You are from a well known posse of bounty hunters, known as The Hangmen.
“I figured as much.” The man chuckled, whom you only know as Sheriff Turner. The group of men looming behind him also let out a laugh, obviously not impressed by your display.
“So, who’s the bounty, lawman?” You lean in as well. You’ve grown cocky, with numerous successful bounties during your career.
“A nasty group of outlaws… go by the name of Devil’s Right Hand. They’ve been ransacking my poor town as well as the others in the surrounding area. Now where you come in is, not a soul I send after them has ever come back alive.” His tone is serious, you can tell this isn’t just some type of scare tactic. Whoever these boys are, they have struck genuine fear in the heart of this man. You’re taken aback by this for a moment, but quickly regain composure.
“Seems as though you haven’t hired the right help, Sheriff.”
After a bit more hushed conversation, the Sheriff sent you on your way with a map and the last known location of this “Devil’s Right Hand”. Mr. Turner told you that this would be a small camp of tents. You walk down the small dirt path and away from the Sheriff’s office, passing a small general store and a medicine shop. You reach your sturdy black horse and mount up, headed for the dingy hotel you’ve checked into for the night. Taking your horse at a slow pace down the roads, people gawk at your attire. Being in a clan of bounty hunters such as the Hangmen, you have no shortage of wealth and your clothes definitely project that. Today you chose an all black ensemble, with gold accents.
“Wats a perdy gal like ya doin’ in a town like this, huh?” Some random man called out towards you. His accent is so thick you barely understood what he said to you. He grins at you, and you notice most of his teeth are also missing. You shoot a look at him, and barely contain a smirk.
“‘Perdy’, huh? I can show you perdy, mister.” You say with a sly grin and push your long coat up to reveal a shiny revolver. The man jumps back and yells colorful obscenities at you and all you can do is giggle to yourself. After that interaction, you found yourself at the hotel. You steer your horse over to a post and tie him up for the night, giving him a pat as you walk away.
Entering the hotel, a scrawny man is startled by the little bell that rings when you open the door. “Uh, can I help you?” His voice is shaky.
“I have a reservation for a room… should have been placed by the Sheriff?”
“Oh, yes, I see. Ms. [last name]?” He looks you up and down from behind the counter, obviously he had not seen someone like you around before.
“That’d be me.” You say, tipping your hat to him. He hands you the key to your room and you head up the rickety stairs. When you finally unlock the door, you are greeted by a dingy but cozy room complete with everything a traveler needs. You change out of your clothes and collapse on the bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
In the morning, you are awoken to the sounds of the small trading village. People haggling with each other, the whinnying of horses, and the sound of hooves on packed dirt. You slowly crawl out of bed and get ready for the day. Today is the day you start the search for your bounty. You pack up your stuff and walk back down the stairs, passing back by the clerk.
“How’d you sleep?” He asks sheepishly, eyeing your outfit for today. This time you chose a pair of blue jeans, a white tank top, and a brown leather jacket. You knew you would be spending a lot of time on the back of your horse searching, so you just went with something comfortable.
“As well one can with the saloon right across the street.” You say light-heartedly.
"Ah, I apologize for that miss." He says back, genuine.
"Oh its alright! Here's my key, ill be checking out." You put the small key down on the desk and tip your hat to the man one last time before heading back outside.
You mounted your horse and unfolded the Sheriff's map on your lap. Squinting against the harsh morning sun you start off towards the last known location of the Devil's Right Hand. This is going to be quite the journey… I might need to raise my rates. You think as you realize their camp is at least a few miles from any civilization. You ride your horse for hours in the blistering heat, until you finally decide it's time to stretch your legs. Dismounting your horse, your boots hit the dirt trail creating a puff of dust under your feet. You barely have time to get your bearings before you feel a rope tighten around your ankle with a gasp.
You find yourself with your face in the sand, with a bunch of hooting and hollering outlaws circling you on their horses. The sun shines harshly behind them, so all you can see are fire-lined silhouettes. The deafening sound of hooves surrounds you, as you try to pin-point a face.
The hooves slowly come to a stop, with one set coming to rest right in front of your head. “Hey boys, look like we’ve caught ourselves a bounty hunter!.” A scratchy voice calls from above you. You look up to him, his face covering the sun. The man who spoke is one of slender but muscular build, with shockingly red hair. He is wearing a sly grin on his face as he looks down on you, in this vulnerable state. The others giggle from atop their horses, obviously finding your capture hilarious.
“I assume you boys are the Devil’s Right Hand.” You say with as much venom as you can muster. You make eye contact with this red-haired man as well as you can.
“That’s right, little rat. You’ve made a mistake taking our bounty, darlin’.” His smirk can be heard through his voice. All horses have come to a stop, leaving you encircled. “Now, I'm a gracious man. I will give you this one chance to turn tail and leave us alone, got it?” His smirk is gone, and his eyes are glinting with some kind of threat.
You figure this is the only way to get out of these ropes. “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” A sarcastic tone fills your voice, still looking up at the figure looming above you. Suddenly, the rope around your ankle loosens and you take this chance to spring to your feet. A hand hovers over the pistol on your belt, but you are interrupted. The man makes a clicking noise with his tongue.
“Now don’t do anything hasty, darlin’. I let you live, don’t yeh think that’s enough?” There is a cold cockiness behind his voice that irritates you. It is true, he did let you go. You don’t even have the time to consider before the sound of hooves kick up again, and they are gone.