The intense sun shined brightly over the town of Dawson, Texas. The intense heat meant that the tourists were spending their time watching moving pictures, or in saloons getting drinks and food. The folks in the outer district didn't have that pleasure. Instead, farmers and other store owners carried on, trying desperately to make a living in a town that was promised the "Best in the West." The districts only saloon stood in the heat, a gust of wind and sand blowing past the entrance. Inside, prostitutes, musical performers, and bartenders tried to keep their customers happy. Most of the patrons at the bar were either weary travelers, criminals on the run, or both. As the clock hit high noon, the saloon doors gave way to reveal two gentlemen dressed in elegant black suits, and hats. They were right on time. One of the men made it to the bar to order drinks. A small group sitting at the table heard the man say: "Four shots of whisky, free of charge, correct?"

"Of course, Mister Grant. Drinks are always on the house for Dawson's Gang."

"Glad to hear it." He said simply, taking the drinks and making his way to the table.

The second man that walked in had made it towards one of the prostitutes, trying his best to "charm" the women by stating his wealth, and power. The patrons at the bar paid no attention to the hostility that progressed from their conversation, and everyone did their best to stay quiet as the man smacked the woman. The man who brought the whisky was quick to set them down, and pull something from his coat.

"You whore, don't you know who we are?" One yelled, grabbing the woman by the hair.

"Now didn't your daddy's teach you how to treat women?" A man that sat with the small group stood up, lighting a cigarette casually as he stepped forward, waving out the match and lifting his head up to reveal emerald green eyes under his brown hat.

"You best walk away now, stranger. She ain't worth your life." The whisky man growled. The green eyed man shook his head and laughed a bit. "Look's like they didn't. You see, women know that you have money, and power. That's why you're talkin' to them. No point in flaunting your pecker to someone who knows you have it." As he took a puff of his cigarette a few snickers were heard from the patrons, but it died down when the "womanizer" turned to face him.

"Who the hell do you think you are, talkin' to the Dawson Gang like that--"

"Henry Leopold Adams, at your service."Leo cut him off, tipping his hat to the men. A small murmur formed among the people. Obviously his name was known around these parts.

"The Coyote? What the hell are you doin' around these parts?" The Whisky man squinted at him. "You fellas haven't heard? Richard Dawson's days are numbered. We're gonna hang him high in the streets for everyone to see." The two men laughed, and Leo joined in, tipping his hat up a bit to swipe the sweat off his brow.

"You think you can walk up to two of his best men, say that, and get away with it?"

"Well, when you put it like that I reckon I do. I don't think anyone here is a particular fan of Richard Dawson, especially when you didn't give the nice bartender his payment, you slap women all over the place, and you didn't even tip the musicians for playing such a great number." He pulled out an old coin from his jacket and flipped it towards the direction of the musician playing, and in the quick instant his other hand pulled out his silver revolver, fully loaded. "Don't try nothin' fellas. Dawson claims to be a man of God, but I know you two ain't. Let's take a walk outside. My friends and I don't want to get blood on this floor."

The two other party members managed to follow Leo and the two out of the Saloon, and into the blazing sun. "My friends and I are fully equipped to dissolve any action of escape you might think of, so don't do anything stupid! Bradley Grant, one of Dawson's gang leaders, and Mister Leonard Freemont, a fellow 'priest' and lawyer for the town of Dawson... You two aren't the first we've killed to get to Dawson, and you sure as hell won't be the last. Anything you want to tell your boss when we meet 'em?"

"You think you can waltz up to a man like Richard Dawson and kill him with just three people?"

Leo turned to look at Roxanne, and then Taheton. "We're an up and comin' business group. I'm sure a few applicants will arrive before we reach Mister Dawson." Leo said casually, gun still pointed at the two men in the dirt road.

"You ain't gonna win, Coyote. And I don't think we'll be needin' those final words." Leonard Freemont said with a smile.

"Why's that, 'Father'?" All he did was point behind them, and Leo turned to see at least six men on horseback riding towards them. All in the same fancy suits Bradley and Leonard were in. "Well, shit... 'Afternoon, gentlemen!" Leo called towards them, to which they all stopped and surrounded the group.

"What seems to be going on here?" The leader on horseback called out, looking at the scene in front of him. "Oh, just a nice conversation is all. We're workin' out a little dispute--" Leo started, but was soon cut off by Bradley Grant. "That Son of a bitch is the Coyote! Kill 'im!"

With a quick shot to the chest from Leo's revolver, Bradley Grant fell to the ground, and the men stumbled to draw their weapons. Leo took this opportunity to get out of the circle, and find cover. "Looks like we got a firefight today, ladies and gentlemen!"

The hunt for Richard Dawson was officially on.

---

---

The dry desert wind blew across the McCarthy farm, kicking up dust as Ella trodded through the fruitless field. The farm was nothing special. A single barn sat on the edge of the four acre property far from the road, mirrored by the homestead which sat right up against the property line that bordered the dusty trail. Another drought had come across and killed all hope of the farm ever seeing any green. A bead of sweat ran down the farmhand’s face as she pulled a a scarf across her face to keep from inhaling sand. She was about to head back into the barn when a familiar voice rang out, sending chills down her spine.

“Afternoon’ miss Carlisle, still tryin’ to for a miracle on this god forsaken property I see.”

A single man paced up from the gate. Ella gritted her teeth underneath the scarf, her mind spinning. What was he going to do to her this time?

“I’ve gott’n nothing for you, Mista’ Smith.” Her voice quivered. “Why don’t you just run along..?”

A sickening grin spread across the goon’s face at her words. He began to slowly walk towards her, drawing his gun. He held the revolver loosely at his side, continuing to advance on the slender farmhand.

“I don’t wan’ any trouble Miss Carlisle, but we had a deal. If you don’t hold up your end, you’re forcin’ my hand.”

Ella turned an bolted for the barn, knowing full well what he meant. Her boots slammed against the dusty, hard ground but it was hard to run across the uneven terrain. The goon gained on her at every step she took. She looked up across the yard. The barn stood no more than fifty feet in front of her. She was going to make it. Ella’s heart pounded in her chest and her hope was rising, right before she was tackled to the ground. The man held her to the ground with a knee and grabbed her shoulder length, brown hair in his hands. Pulling her up to her feet by her hair, the man shoved her to the wall of the barn and held her there, pinning her wrists above her head. She was all but helpless as he tossed her through the barn doors.

Laying winded on the ground, Ella watched as the goon stepped over her and straddled her waist, ripping at her belt with his hands. She had only moments to spare. A plan spun in her mind and with all of the remaining willpower she had, she executed it. She launched herself upwards and reached for the revolver at the man’s hip, tearing it from its holster and planting it in his gut. Ella braced herself for the noise and squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet speeding from the end of the weapon and into the goon. He recoiled in pain and fell backwards, hitting the ground with a firm thump.

"Fucker!" She screamed.

She wasted no time. One of Dawson’s other goons would have surely heard the shot. Ella re-tightened her belt and stuffed the revolver in between it before grabbing the lever-action Model 1876 that lay propped against the wall. She ran to her horse that was already saddled and clambered on top, sliding the rifle into the holster attached to the saddle. As she rode out of the gate, two horsemen were already riding towards her from down the road. She’d guessed that they’d already know the fate of their buddy and proceeded to speed towards the center of town, unknowing of the situation that she would come across.

Ella yelped as a shot flew over her shoulder, but wasted no time in drawing the stolen revolver and returning fire. The horse and rider flew around the corner as gunshots erupted from behind her, barely keeping traction on the dirt road. People emptied from the streets as Ella tore through the crowd on horseback, emptying the last of the revolver’s ammunition in the direction of her assailants. She was too preoccupied to notice that she was no more than twenty feet from colliding with the men surrounding Leo and his crew. Ella slammed into the first horseman and hooves flew. Both riders crashed to the ground in a rather spectacular manner and all fell quiet, if only for moments.

No one gave more than the standard curious glance at the trio of riders making their leisurely way down the main street of the outer district before going on with their day. Visitors were common here, no matter the time and day. The residents of this town had better things to do, like work for a living and be able to pay the ridiculous amounts of tax when Dawson's men came knocking. As long as trouble did erupt, there was nothing to see.

Up on his mount, Taheton scanned the area slowly, taking in the terrain and potential threats amongst the flow of bodies. He has only been into this city once and hadn't stayed for long. Unfamiliar territory made his skin itch, so he rectified it by familiarising himself as much as he could as the small group headed towards their destination. Since there is a certainty they would need to fight their way out of here sometime today, he would need to know things like potential hiding spots and the shortest path to where they will be tethering the horses.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he dismounted.

This wasn't his style of operation. Walking into enemy territory, stirring up trouble and loudly proclaiming one's intentions in broad daylight wasn't exactly the best way to ensure you would live to fight another day. Taheton had always been the cautious sort, to take advantage of the night, scout for opportunities and strike when their guards are down. It was common sense when hunting foes that outnumber or outgun you, after all. Notoriety served as a double-edged sword, and he would rather not have his face plastered on the streets and walls of various establishments. And knowing Dawson's influence, these posters wouldn't remain solely in this town for long. A small part of him cringed at the thought of his Tribe's chief getting his wrinkled hands on a poster in the near future.

Walking pass Leo to snag the vacant table in the back corner of the saloon, Taheton gave a polite but curt nod to whoever met his eyes. This is such a bad idea. How was I convinced to go along with this hare-brained scheme again? A light feminine giggle drifted towards his ears as he sat down without ordering a drink, causing him to glance up. Inyan take that silver tongue. Now he remembered exactly why he is here now, going along with this crazy plan. "The Coyote" was an apt title for such a man. He had persuasion skills on par with the Trickster God who shared that name.

About an hour or so passed before their two targets sauntered through the doors of the saloon. Tension bled into the atmosphere of the establishment, growing thicker by the second as Dawson's minions slapped a woman. It was only when Leo stood up, drawing attention to himself did Taheton shift slightly as well. The stifling air stilled at the interference before ebbing so slightly. His fingers brushed the handle of a tomahawk, hidden beneath his coat. Silently getting to his feet as the confrontation unfolded, he slid one tomahawk out, head pointed towards the floor even as Leo's revolver was levelled in the direction of the two lackeys.

Shadowing his party leader's steps, Taheton positioned himself to the right, where a single swing of his arm would bring the hatchet thudding into the one named Leonard Freemont should the situation call for it. Just as well he didn't go for his rifle in the saloon, as he was easily dismissed as the lesser threat compared to Leo in the eyes of these two men. Exactly the way he liked it.

A twitch ran through him as more men on horseback surrounded their group of three. In between cursing under his breath, he spared a second to glare balefully at the young silver-tongue. However, nothing more could be exchanged as the first shot was fired and Bradley Grant toppled, a bloody hole in his chest. One moment of shocked silence fell. Then chaos ensued.

The thundering of hooves alerted him to more incoming trouble just as he released the tomahawk in his hand towards the self-proclaimed priest. He didn't stop to see his weapon burying itself into flesh, instead, diving away in the nick of time as an unknown rider and their horse collided with the circle of Dawson's men. Taking advantage of the stunned hush, he stood from his crouch and surveyed his surroundings. Roxanne and Leo would be fine, they could handle themselves in a firefight. On the other hand...

The rider who fell from his horse during the collision groaned, but a swift kick to his face knocked him unconscious. The crunch beneath his feet as the lackey's nose broke was satisfying enough to ease his irritation of being dragged into a group fight in broad daylight. Both horses were back on their feet, effectively blocking Taheton from view as he made his way towards the woman. As far as he could see, she wasn't visibly wounded.

A couple of gunshots forced him to duck behind a stack of wooden crates, putting the female possible-civilian - definitely someone in the wrong place at the wrong time - half out of his sight.

"Miss, I would suggest hauling ass out of here on that horse of yours." He called flatly even as he unshouldered his rifle and took aim around the corner of the crates. He pulled the trigger before ducked back to load another round.

The saloon was crowded from the time Zuya had walked in earlier that morning. It always amazed her at how early some people would start their revelries, but at least it was to her benefit. At least she wasn’t taken notice of as she walked in, tho that could have also been due to how she was dressed. She had donned a smaller pair of mens pants along with a faded white shirt. She had tucked her long dark hair up under a hat and used that hat to obscure her facial features. You didn’t often find many women in the saloons like this other than the prostitutes, let alone a native woman so she found it best to try and disguise who she really was.

She had seated herself at a table up against a wall yet near enough to the door in case she had to make a quick getaway. A few days of following Dawson’s men had tipped her off to the fact that they often liked to visit this saloon, but she had yet to come across the men she was looking for. So she was hoping that today may be her lucky day.

It had been about an hour that she’d been sitting there when a trio walked in. They weren’t Dawson’s men for sure, but what had caught her eye was that one of them was native like her and another was also a woman. They were an intriguing group, but she didn’t watch them for too long so not to attract attention to herself. She took another sip of her whiskey then sighed as she glanced around the room.

Another hour passed by when finally they walked in and she grinned as she saw it was who she was looking for. Bradley Grant, one of the men who attacked her and the man that pulled the trigger on her husband.

She didn’t have much time to start formulating a plan on how to take him out, however, as a slap rang out and she glanced over at his companion who was in a dispute with a prostitute. She discreetly moved her hand down to her side, preparing to go for the dagger she had hidden in her boot in case things began to get ugly. However one of the men in the trio who walked in earlier confronted him. What the hell? Is this man looking for a fight? She thought to herself as the conflict began. She didn’t foresee things turning out to well with it so she quickly downed the rest of the whisky she’d been nursing before silently getting up and making her way outside. She hadn’t brought her bow in with her as that would have drawn suspicion and had left it on her horse. She decided she needed to get to it quick before things got ugly.

She made her way down the alley she’d tied up Sota and quickly grabbed her bow as she heard the dispute move outside. Just from the sound of things she knew this would end in a fire fight and she needed to find some high ground. Glancing around she mapped a path using some crates and windowsills to get herself onto the roof of the building she was by. She slung the bow across her body and quickly made her way up to the roof with surprising ease.

As she got herself situated, taking off her hat and letting two braids fall around her shoulders, she glanced down at the scene to see the trio now surrounded by Dawson’s men. She also saw the woman riding like hell towards the group with pursuers on her tail and Zuya wanted to yell to her to watch out, but it was too late. The collision caused some confusion, but not for long as a gunshot rang out. Her head whipped towards the man, “The Coyote”, and she gritted her teeth in anger. He had just taken out her target and gave him a far too quick and easy death. She couldn’t stew for too long, however, as all hell broke loose. She surveyed the scene and watched as people went for cover. She nocked an arrow then pulled the string back and released it towards a man who was firing at “The Coyote”. She hit him square in the shoulder, which wouldn’t kill him right out but left unattended he would die. She nocked another arrow and surveyed the scene again. She noticed one of the woman’s pursuers was now headed towards her and the native man who had taken cover behind some crates below Zuya. She had a clear shot on him and released, the arrow embedding itself in the man’s neck. This was not how she foresaw her day going.

---

Wesley Topsfield was the strongest man Annette had ever known. There had been a lingering guilt inside Annette, her whole trip into town from the family's ranch. The sun was warm in the sky and Nettie couldn't help but think that her father was wide awake searching for his daughter who was no where to be found. She was old enough, it was possible she had just taking a trip into town for supplies or for some fun to cool off. What would happen when day turned into night? What would happen when one night would turn into several? The man would worry himself into his literal death bed, if not go insane looking for his one and only daughter.

Nettie knew she would get Richard Dawson before that though, she knew through the grapevine that there was a group of people wanting to get together to destroy this man. He had screwed over plenty of people who had made Dawson into the prosperous town that it was now. Arriving at the saloon fairly early, Annette ordered herself a drink and snacked on some sunflower seeds. She could go for a hearty breakfast at the moment, but didn't want to stay at the saloon for very long. It wasn't a place for a young woman during any time of the night unless you were looking for work or looking for trouble.

Sometimes both.

Annette spoke kindly with one of the worker girls, complimenting her outfit and small talking about where she had gotten it from. Nettie didn't want to go into too much details. All the prostitutes had mouths larger than any hole in their body, and if Nettie told one of them that she had plans to seek out the group to kill Richard Dawson- it would be the talk of the bar before she could spit the shell of her sunflower out.

Lucky for her, a man beat her to it. This was the man she was looking for after all, and he definitely made strong first impressions. Nettie went to speak, "Hello, I'm Annette Topsfield, my father owns the ranch out there on t-" One of the goons spoke over her, pushing her aside in the tussle that was ready to rear it's ugly head. As the fight made it's way outside, Nettie placed some money on the table, and slipped the worker who had gotten her hair grabbed a little extra. Women deserved respect. Walking outside she was ready to speak again, but this time was interrupted with a gun fight breaking out.

"Oh Lord have mercy!" Annette called as she took cover by a Native woman, who had been dressed like a young worker man. Nettiie ducked her head, her hands flattening her mess of curly blonde hair. Standing next to the woman they were on completely different spectrum of features, but they were both strong and beautiful women none the less. It wasn't until the arrow pierced the man's neck directly that Annette realized that this person was not just a pretty face but a skilled marksman! "Nice shot." Nettie cooed, from her spot. She surely hoped that this woman was a part of this group that was forming, because this smooth talking "Coyote" would need all the help he could get!

________________________________________________________________________________________________

The three of them were an unlikely trio, a man, a woman and a native Indian. They had been united for a common purpose, and it was this purpose that saw the three people with different upbringings and stories of their own come together to bring down the menace that is Richard Dawson and his gang of scum and villainy. Not that Roxanne was particularly free of any sin herself, but when compared to the likes of Dawson, she was as good as a saint. Sure, she had robbed and killed people, but Richard Dawson had done things far, far worse. The trio made their way into the saloon, and as Leo found themselves a table, his two other companions took their seat.

It wasn’t that much long later before their targets arrived, just as the Coyote himself had expected. The Black Rose had been unsure of how reliable his source of information had been, but fortunately for them, it proved to be true. Keeping her eyes focused on the two scum, her gazed swiveled and focused onto one of them at the sound of a commotion erupted.

Her stare shot daggers at the man, Leonard Freemont as he grabbed the working woman by the hair. Her fists clenched and balled into a fist in anger. Scum like these were too good to be left alive. Henry began speaking up, challenging the authority of Dawson’s men, and Roxy was more than ready to support him should the need arose. The confrontation eventually escalated to the point where they were ready for a showdown. She got up and followed the Coyote and Taheton out into the hot sun, her hands ever ready at her holsters. The sound of horses approaching soon brought along more Dawson men. Aww well, more to kill then.

As soon as Leo fired as his shot, eliminating Bradley before the poor shit even realised what happened to him, his other two companions began to work on Dawson’s gang. Taheton took care of Freemont by tossing his tomahawk into his chest, and Roxy relieved her twin revolvers from their holsters, spitting lead as they emptied their load onto the mounted men, toppling three before they could reach for their guns. She ran for cover as the rest began to return fire. A sly smile crept onto her face for this was just another day at work for her.

---

---

The collision sent Ella tumbling to the ground, her dear horse falling with her. She landed on her side in a manner that knocked the wind from her lungs, coughing a few times in response. Her side flared up in pain and she suspected a broken rib, but now was not the time to dwell on simple injuries. She quickly clambered over to the native man that was in close proximity to herself, taking cover behind a knocked over barrel. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d serve for the next few seconds.

"Miss, I would suggest hauling ass out of here on that horse of yours."

Ella nodded in acknowledgement, but not necessarily in agreement. “Appreciate the suggestion, but I ain’t runnin’ anymore.” She wasn’t gonna run from this fight. Dawson’s gang had fucked with her for the last time. It was time to strike back. As soon as a moment presented itself, she slid over to her horse and ripped out the Model 1876. With a quick crank of the lever-action she quickly took aim down the sights fired a single .45-70 round at one of the cavalry men, sending him falling to the ground. With a practiced hand she re-cocked the gun once again and took another shot at a fleeing goon, striking him right in the leg.

“I hate to be the realist here, but I doubt we can take Dawson’s entire gang righ’ here, righ’ now.” She called out to her new-found allies, hoping that they had some sense to flee while they could.

Ella snatched her fallen hat from underneath her trusty steed and placed it back upon her head before grabbing a pistol from yet another fallen goon. She split the pistol and glanced at the chambers. Four shots. Good enough for her. With a quick moment to take aim Ella let of a barrage of the remaining four rounds, her off hand slamming down on the gun to re-cock it after each shot. After it ran dry, she threw it aside and unslung her rifle from her shoulder, letting off another three shots in rapid succession at the remaining goons, only two of which met their marks. It was almost a perfect fight thus far, they had yet to have a casualty. She was about to duck back into cover when a shot rang out in her direction.

Ella cried out as a round clipped the outside of her thigh, sending her down to the ground. Leaving one hand over the now bleeding wound she used her other to try and drag herself back towards the bar. It was amazing how hard everything became to do after she’d been shot. It took all over her effort just to reach the from porch of the bar before she gave in and leaned back against the wall, gritting her teeth in pain. It was going to be a long day.

Victoria Chatham

Victoria looked upon the city of Dawson as Marie trotted into town early in the morning. The same as any other shithole in Texas really, just bigger, a lot bigger. Victoria began to wonder how exactly she was going to kill Dawson. Sure he wouldn’t be hard to find but he owned this entire city and she was one girl. She moved her hand down the ivory grip of one of her pistols, still not deflowered by powder. She wore the shell belts loose so they hung low on her thigh, just the way she had seen the gunslingers that frequented her cathouse wear them. If she was going to get the opportunity to put them to use she was going to need some info, and there was always one surefire way for a girl to get it. Men never thought much of working girls and thought their secrets would just fall out of their “silly female brains”.

As she made her way down, for what must pass as a main drag in the seedier part of town, Victoria spotted a tavern. Not perfect but it would serve her purpose. She steered Marie towards the back of the building and found a small corral. She awkwardly slipped off of the saddle and fell the short distance to the ground. Marie wasn’t exactly a large horse but she easily towered over victoria’s 5’3” frame. She led the appaloosa mare into the corral and gently patted her cheek saying “You behave yourself girl” before grabbing her saddle bags and closing the gate. As she walked around the building she unbuckled her gun belts and tucked them under a dress inside the bag. A woman with that much firepower would definitely raise suspicion and she wasn’t looking to get into a gunfight with a pile of Dawson’s men.

“I’m here for a job” Victoria announced to the barkeep as she walked through the empty parlor. He finished polishing the glass he had been working on and set it down before asking “Dancer, or whore?” Victoria leaned on to the bar, “Whatever you need me to be”.

“Right, both”

---

A few hours later the saloon had filled up and Victoria was backstage getting ready for her act. She had changed from her normal white blouse and high-waisted blue floral skirt to her working attire which amounted to a green satin corset top dress with a tiered skirt pinned up in front of her thigh and sheer lace, elbow length, fingerless gloves and tall black heels. “You’re next red” called another dancer as she adjusted the black lace chocker that covered the scar on her neck. Victoria nodded silently and slipped through the curtain. She walked behind the musician running a hand along his shoulders and whispered “play me something good would you grandpa.”

As she started her dance she saw two men, who were just a little too full of themselves, enter the bar and start hassling one of the girls. She tried to contain her anger and keep dancing. One doesn’t need to convince a prostitute your rich, just pay her what she asks and you can get what you need. When the man slapped the girl, Victoria stopped her dance immediately, shaking with anger. If she had her pistols she would be shooting already. Before she could do anything stupid another man stood up and told the offender off. Victoria followed the conversation quietly; turns out she had come to the right saloon after all. She didn’t know who the coyote was but if he was out to hang Richard Dawson than she could stand to know him a little better. As the large group left the building Victoria whipped around and headed for her bags in the dressing room, a flurry of bright red hair flowing in her wake. She dug the pistols out of her bag and strapped them on as she ran out the back door and around the building. As she reached the street she found quite a few new faces and a raging gunfight. She slid into the cover the scruffy gunfighter had jumped behind.

“There were a lot more subtle ways you could have handled that.”

---

A few minutes before the firefight...

The saloon was full to the brim with people, customers mingling among themselves while the employees worked to keep the place going. As another hot day began in Dawson, the sun hung high in the sky. At the bar many folks were already drinking heavily, droplets of split liquor splashed onto the fine wooden surface but were quickly wiped up by the attentive bartenders. The working women within the tavern passed out drinks to tired patrons, all while flaunting their breathtaking beauty. At a small round table several gamblers sat, pint glasses spread over the table while they played cards. A prostitute sat on the lap of one of the men, whispering into his ear with a smile. For the moment it was peaceful, that momentary peace would not last long.

"Do they even know who you are?" The pianist asked, half jokingly and half rudely. Adjusting his glasses as he took his position at the bench in front of the old piano.

"I don't need an introduction, friend." Dean Jackson replied with a cocky grin.

The former slave turned wandering musician knew these drunks, desperadoes and drifters wouldn't care what his name was. Ninety percent of them would be focused on the color of his skin. It didn't matter, part of him enjoyed the anonymity. Always allowed him to watch with such satisfaction as they were all utterly stunned at the display of musical mastery played before them. Dean tried to be a modest fellow, but considering how damn good he was at what he did, modesty could sometimes be difficult.

"Just play the notes I wrote on that sheet. If this goes good, I'll give you a quarter of the tips." Dean said calmly, tuning his guitar as he had his back turned to the audience.

He stood upon a small raised stage on one side of the large saloon, an empty mug serving as the tip jar. The piano was to the left of the stage, and pianist just rolled his eyes, forced to go along with this performance. He didn't think he'd start his day taking orders from a negro, but his boss had no qualms hiring the man after seeing him perform previously. Gave as glowing a review as someone could. Once the old instrument sounded just right, he spun around and revealed himself to the crowd. Looking out at the room with a smile, none in the crowd returned the expression. Really he just saw glares, but that was something he always expected.

"Hello there, I hope you're all doing great today. My name's Dean, just sit back, grab a drink and enjoy the show." He said to the crowd, hearing a few boos and jeers in return. Then dove right into performing, gently playing a few chords as the piano started slowly. Dean began to sang in a slow baritone, as his fingers glide over the strings.

Across the trail I rode
The sun sets low in the hills
Only moonlight lights my path
Then I heard them...
Then I saw them...

Dean's hands picked up pace as he rapidly plucked and played his guitar, his foot tapping along to the beat of it as his fingers danced over the frets. The piano picked up pace, keys nearly pounded as the song sped up like a horse speeding through a field. His voice went up slightly in tone as he sang quicker.

Three outlaws, three guns, aimed my way
I turned and ran, as shots rang out
My six shooter bared, three to one, no care
One down in a bloody heap, face-down in the dust

A few of the patrons grooved to the music, tapping their feet and nodding their heads. One of the prostitutes started to dance, swinging her hips as another grabbed her and the danced as a duo. Dean smirked as the instrumental carried, the frantic pace of the music chugging along. His hands shifted and moved around the instrument. He briefly glanced towards the doors as they popped upon, and a troublesome duo entered. He heard one in the crowd speak of Dawson's gang, and that caused the musician to blink, but not break stride in his playing.

The other two rode hot on my trail
Bullets glided by in the wind
Another dead
But not me, partner

Then the piano player paused, as instructed, and Dean took centerstage. His fingers dashing over the guitar, as his feet tapped faster. He glanced back towards the crowd, having memorized the song from constant repetition. The chatter between the Coyote and Dawson's men drawing his eyes towards them. Dean had heard of Adams, never seen him before but heard the names in his travels. As the coin flipped in his direction, landing in the mug, he was in the process of singing again, the piano kicking back into the music. As the Coyote left with foes in tow, Dean watched them, singing.

Wolves watching in the distance
Vultures in the skies
Dead men lie
But not I

A shot echoed in the outside and the song finished early. A firefight had a particular way of drawing all the attention. Many of the patrons jumped out of their seats, and looked out the doors and windows. Others took cover, Dean darted off stage. Leaving his surprised pianist behind. He dashed out the back door, tucking his guitar behind him as his other hand slipped into his holster. A smile went onto his face as he moved through an alley, taking cover behind a building and cocking his six shooter.

Dean had left the building.

This wasn't exactly how Leo said it would all work out to Roxanne and Taheton when they rode in to Dawson. He didn't think the brown eyed beauty would mind a firefight of this proportion, but Leo knew that Taheton would have preferred a more silent approach to all of this. But that isn't how to start a message. Leo wasn't a man to hide his disgust, and bloodlust for Richard Dawson, but he had to keep in mind that there are in fact other ways to go about things... But it was far too late for that. The Coyote wasn't the fastest shooter in the west, but he spent most of his life making and practicing guns, so he was pretty damn accurate. He squeezed off three hits into three different men, and barely missed his last two. The quick son's of bitches found cover. At this point men were riding on horseback, firing rifles, and hiding in alleys, behind barrels, and in buildings. Leo was in the middle of reloading as a man aimed for his head, shot the cigarette out of his mouth, and before he could pull the trigger, an arrow pierced his body, and he fell down. Looking around, it looked like he had some friends. A woman on horseback joined the fray, going near Taheton. They had the mysterious bowman, and now, another woman joined the fight with flaming red hair right next to him.

With the first woman's “I hate to be the realist here, but I doubt we can take Dawson’s entire gang righ’ here, righ’ now.” comment, and then the red head's “There were a lot more subtle ways you could have handled that.” , Leo glanced over his cover to see Dawson's men still going at it.

"Give up, Coyote!" Someone yelled, it turned out to be Bradley Grant, the man he shot in the chest just moments ago. That fucker was still up, even if two people had to hold him and bring him to cover.

"Oh Ye of little faith! Leo yelled over the gunfire, giving the red head next to him a grin before standing up and giving a sharp, clear whistle. A horse rode through the fray, knocking people over, and neighing loudly as it ran towards Leo. The man side stepped, and opened the bag as the horse ran by, and Leo retrieved his old repeater, some extra ammo, and his whip. He smacked the horse hard and it galloped away, and Leo was quick to roll out of the way and back into cover. He heard a female scream to see the woman next to Taheton fall over with a bulletwound. "Don't die on us now, Miss. It seems to me that you have some unspoken words you want to say to Dawson and his men." He called out, rising and shooting off shots, cranking the handle to fire quickly, and successfully. He managed to walk in a straight line, taking out a handsome number of men that decided to either look out of cover, or charge at him on horse. He knew that he had cover, and there were allies he didn't see lurking in the shadows.

He stepped behind a building pillar, pulling out bullets to put in the repeater. "You best surrender now, Grant! No one cares about the actions of the outer district, reinforcements aren't comin'" Leo said, hearing an awful lot of silence. They grouped up, and started to form a plan, which wasn't good for them. Leo heard a thud next to him, and saw a whisky flask with a bullet mark indented in it. The Coyote guessed that's how he survived.

"You're all going to die either way! You're not taking out the Saint of the West, Everyone who fired a shot at the Dawson Gang are through!" Bradley Grant yelled, although having a bit of difficulty. "You seem tired, friend! Why don't you just come on out and let us escort you to the 'heaven' Richard Dawson promised you! As the bible says, rapists, and vandals, and murderers get the luxury suite past those pearly gates!" Coyote's words were filled with sarcasm, and hidden anger underneath, peering his head out ever so slightly. He turned his attention back to Taheton, Roxanne, and the rest who had joined their little firefight. Something big was going to happen, but they weren't going to run away from a fight like this. Dawson would kill them himself. Hopefully his native friend could sneak his way to a vantage point, or even the mysterious bowman that saved Leo's life before.

Just then, a nasty hiss erupted from the silence, and Leo looked down to see a stick of dynamite right at his feet. He gave a yelp and grabbed the stick, and trying to toss it back towards them, except they were expecting that. A whole line of men aimed their weapons at Leo, and so all he could do was run across the dirt road, desperately trying to aim his throw as he let go of the dynamite. He felt a bullet rip through his shirt on his side, another almost gave him a fresh scar on his nose.

He dove into an alleyway, covering his head with his arms, as the gunfight continued, and the dynamite exploded with a loud bang.

---

Twenty minutes before the fight outside...

Next door to the drinking establishment where the fight was eventually about to spill out, was a slightly smaller building which seemed just as busy. The sign outside the entrance read "Helmes the Third, 'Goldust' vs 'Big Hoss Lobowski'- First KO wins!". Of course, Helmes the Third was referring to the now veteran of the fighting world, Maxwell Helmes. Despite the age of 35, he can still keep up with all the young up and comers, and this peak physical condition that had been maintained for so long paired with the experience his father taught him and the experience he had garnered for himself made for one scary fighter. Just the name Helmes was enough for any establishment to be able to sell their seats very quickly.

Max sat in a form of dressing room as he awaited to be announced, pulling on his black leather gloves. He had got a good look at his opponent already. Lobowski was at least 6' 7", if not taller. However, his physique leaned on the more chubbier side. No doubt this guy was a powerhouse and would be trying to overpower Helmes almost immediately. That was a lot of fighters problems these days, too busy trying to use their power to win and nothing else. Agility and patience was also key. Backsteps, dodges, a jab and then go. It all played a major factor in those, and if another fighter also knew this and employed those techniques, those were the fights that 'Goldust' enjoyed. Soon enough, he could hear his name being called out, accompanied by cheers and whoops from the crowd.

Maxwell emerged from the curtain, looking out at the crowd as he raised his fists up high above his head. He then walked down to the ring where his opponent sneered at Helmes from the center. Max smirked at him as he walked around the ring, shadowboxing as he did so. After taking his sweet time, he finally grabbed the ropes and hoisted himself up. For many members of the audience, not only was a fight a fight, it was also a show, and Max understood this perhaps more than his father did.

After Max stepped through, the two fighters went to their own corner until a referee stepped in. Referees never really facilitated a match, they were just there to stop lowblows or fights getting too out of hand. The bell rung, and the match was underway. Lobowski stepped forward and immediately came out swinging, trying to land a right hook out of the gate. However, Max's smaller height and agility made dodging even easier. Helmes rolled his body from right to left, feeling the Big Hoss's right hook glide over him. Best not to get hit by this guy. Max could already tell that if he didn't remain vigilant, then any of those punches could knock him on his ass in one shot.

When Max came back up, Lobowski tried to follow up with a left straight shot to the jaw. However, Helmes had way better speed than this titan of a man ever could. Max slipped left, stepping in one step and bringing his fist to Lobowski's side. Max's punches had been described as spring loaded. They came out of nowhere and still hit hard. Max coiled his arm back and stepped back out, in fact stepping back twice more to create some distance and see how his opponent took that shot.

Lobowski certainly wasn't expecting that, and the Big Hoss gritted his teeth in pain. The crowd cheered at the handiwork of Goldust Helmes. Surveying his opponent, Max rushed back in to keep up the pressure. Lobowski couldn't keep up with this burst of aggression. Max put his right arm across Lobowski's chest and braced it as he used his left to try and land more bombs to the body. Trying to defend against the body shots, Lobowski couldn't concentrate against the right arm, which was slowly pushing him to the corner. Suddenly, the Big Hoss could feel the ring post against his back, and Max smirked up at him as he brought his right arm back.

Two fists began drilling into Lobowski, and the speed and power of which these shots were coming meant that he didn't have a chance to retaliate. A shot from the left into the gut, a right hook cracking into the forearm that guarded his face. The blows kept coming and coming, and Lobowski was all of a sudden powerless against the hailstorm of shots that Max rained down upon him. As Lobowski's defence wore down, Max didn't let up. He originally thought to let go of the attack but he could see that the block was beginning to waver. Lobowski tried to peer through by letting his hands apart slightly.

Big mistake. Lobowski had just created an opening that Max didn't even take a second to exploit. His fist drove past the hands and landed square into Lobowski's face. Suddenly the Big Hoss's hands dropped. The shot had clearly rocked Lobowski, and now he was open for Max. It was time for his finishing combination. Max dropped low, and began to drill in to his stomach at a rapid pace. The shots alternated left to right at the pace of a gatling gun. After ten blows landed, Max leant back up and swung with his right, landing a solid hook across Lobowski's chin. That was the killer blow, and the 6' 7" powerhouse slumped to the ground, his body sprawled across the canvas. The crowd cheered at the victory, although a few had made a bad bet and was going to have a very angry group of men to answer to when they didn't pay up.

---

Present time...

Max had now undressed from his fighting attire, and was wearing his shirt and black duster outfit. With prize money now in his hand, Helmes began to walk out from the fight venue. However, he was quickly met with the sound of ringing gunshots, and a familiar sizzle of a specific type of explosive. Helmes bolted down the road, taking cover at an overturned crate. He quickly unholstered both of his revolvers. It seemed he had ended up behind one of the groups. He peered over to see the outfits of Dawson's men closest to him. He had to make a decision, join this fray and risk the repercussions or take the first step in getting to Dawson himself.

With a shrug, Max stood up and pointed both of his revolves, a finger on each trigger and a thumb on each hammer of his revolvers. Using his flanking position, Max let loose his bullets into Dawson's men from behind, keeping some pinned and maybe even hitting a few. Max didn't have time to check, once he was out, the gang would know of his position and he had to duck back behind the crate. Sliding his now empty revolvers back into their holsters, Max readied his double barreled shotgun, fastening the bandolier across his chest.

It was attention Leo wanted, and that he got. Plenty of it. From both Dawson's gang and various individuals willing - and in some cases, the Native American thinks eager - to get on the tyrant's blacklist. Considering his current situation, Taeton felt he was still generous enough to say his small party's leader managed to accomplish what he came into town to do. Now the hard part lay in getting the hell out of dodge. The number of guns aimed in his general direction seemed to lessen slightly as more and more newcomers arrived on scene, allowing him to cast a glance over the entire street without being interrupted for a moment.

A movement in his peripheral caught his eye. Taheton brought his rifle up and fired without a second's pause. With an agonised yell, his target plummeted from the roof of the two-storey general goods store opposite the saloon. However, fast as Taheton had been in spotting the gunman above, the man's partner who was right on the fallen's heel fired two shots down on the street. The Sioux tribesman's Springfield spat out another bullet, but a sharp scream caused his heart to jolt. It was a woman's, and his first thought went to Roxanne. His fears were put to rest when he caught a glimpse of the Black Rose still in the fight, fierce as ever.

Well dammit all. A frown creased his brows as Taheton's gaze landed on the woman who had barrelled her horse into the circle of Dawson's men. The very same one he had advised to clear out of the firefight. Who clearly had a beef with old Dawson when she decided to stay and fight. The blood stain he could see on her clothes as she hobbled into the saloon wasn't exactly reassuring. It would be a right shame to lose a potential ally so early in.

Ducking from cover to cover, he steadily made his way over to the building as well, pausing only to tug his tomahawk from the chest of Freemont's corpse. He had every intention of treating that wound, deep or not. After all, it was partially his fault for not keeping a close enough eye on his surroundings. Not to mention, his father's spirit might just chew him out when he next dreamt for not putting his skills to use when needed. Taheton found the young woman leaning on the back wall of the saloon, half hidden behind the bar. Grudgingly, he admitted she at least still retained good sense despite the pain to ensure she was out of the line of fire before slumping down.

A quick scan of her form told him she only had a nasty gash on her right thigh, courtesy of a bullet. Luckily, it was a graze. Had it been a bullet lodged in her flesh, he would need to pull out his surgery kit in order to dig it out. And here was not exactly the ideal time and place to perform an operation. Slinging his rifle back on his back and hatchet into the loops at his waist, he crouched down and allowed his hands to hover at her side.

Eyeing her to both ensure and extract permission, he pinched the ruined cloth of both sides of the bleeding cut and with a muttered "pardon me, miss", proceeded to rip the fabric further apart, exposing the entire wound with blood-stained skin on both sides. Fishing into his pouch, he brought out two different powders folded safely away in paper.

"This will cleanse the wound and stop it from getting infected." Taheton explained as he tapped the Echinacea powder onto the gash, then lifted the other packet. "This one's agrimony. For stopping you leaking your blood all over the place."

Since her dress was already in this state, he didn't feel sorry when he tore a strip from her clothes in order to bind the area and constrict blood flow after applying the powdered herbs. "If we get outta here somehow, I will stitch you up. For now..." Tying the ends off strongly, he glanced in the direction of gunfires. "I suggest not putting any weight on that leg. I would say stay out of the fight. But seeing how well you took my advice last time, I'm not holding my breath."

Job done, Taheton prepared to return to the streets - if only to know the companions he rode in with was still alive - when an almighty bang rang through the air. Swearing softly, he sidled up to the saloon's wall at the doorway and peeked out. He was just in time to see a couple more objects airborne, but not where they came from.

"More incoming!" He called in warning before lowering his voice to a grumble. "Iya, are they trying to raze this place to the ground?"

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Well, the plan was a success. Not a complete success, but still a success in some from at least. Once the trio had opened fire on Dawson’s men, it seemed to attract all sorts of attention, as more and more strangers began to join up with them as they took the fight to Dawson’s gang. She’d thought that the sucker Bradley had gone down for good after that hit he took from the Coyote, but that would have made things too easy for them, wouldn’t it? Now they had to content with the moron yelling in their direction as two of his goons dragged him into cover.

The high pitched scream that came next drew more than just a few looks as several heads turned to the source of the noise. Roxanne thought she saw Taheton glance her way, but she’d just be mistaken anyhow. The scream had belonged to another woman riding a horse who had been wounded by a gunshot as she rode into the firefight. The attention on the woman was soon lost as she returned her focus to the fight.

There was a lot of smack talk between both sides, and for what it was worth, the ones given by the Coyote was definitely on point. The Black Rose fired away the remaining rounds in her revolvers and returned them to their holsters.

Unslinging the Winchester 1876 from her back, she’d just fired over a round, when a angry hiss captured the attention of just about everyone. The source, a stick of dynamite that had landed at Leo’s feet. Roxanne watched as her companion fumbled with the explosive, not knowing how to do with it. As he ran away with the stick trying to get rid of it, Dawson’s men took their chance to aim shots of him while he ran down the road.

Taking a brief look around, she saw Taheton moving back to tend to the wounded woman. She focused her efforts on the remaining Dawson’s men and that was when she heard the loud explosion, only to hear Taheton warning about more incoming.

The firefight had definitely escalated into a noisy one that was for sure. SHe'd been doing well so far, but with explosives like dynamites and such, who knew how things would turn out? Explosives were fickle things.

Victoria wondered what she had gotten herself into as bullets snapped through the air above her head. She saw the coyote give her a grin and pull a fancy maneuver with his horse. All she could think was that she should really teach Maria that trick. As Leo moved further away and put fire downrange Victoria noticed nobody was firing in her direction anymore. She quickly pulled one of her pistols and peeked over her cover. She saw a man moving up the far side of the street at an angle Leo couldn’t seem to see. Victoria pulled back on the hammer of her pistol with her thumb and took a deep breath.

Leaning out the side of her cover victoria closed an eye and peered down the colt’s sight putting the front blade directly over the man’s face. With a tug of the trigger and a puff of white smoke a round sprang from the barrel and flew harmlessly over his head. The recoil was a lot more than victoria had expected swinging the front of the pistol so high it almost flew out of her hands and hit her in the face. Re-cocking her pistol and readjusting her grip she took aim at the man, now crouched and running faster, and let loose another round. This one pelted the ground at his feet making a small explosion of sand and dirt. The third round clipped his leg and he stumbled but continued to hobble toward Leo. Victoria could hear the coyote trading quips with Dawson’s men but tried her best to ignore it and concentrate on her target. He was moving a lot slower now so the fourth round ripped through his shirt. Number five flew wild behind him. She pulled the hammer on her pistol and rotated the last round behind the barrel, one last chance to drop this man and save her new found ally. She slowly pulled the trigger while breathing out, keeping both eyes on her target. She felt the hammer drop. Her pistol kicked back in her hands. She saw red explode from the man’s chest and watched him fall to the ground. Still. Silent. Dead.

But she didn’t have time to reflect on the fact she had just taken a man’s life. Suddenly a flash of red and sparks fell into her vision. With a high pitched yelp she realized it was a stick of dynamite. She didn’t know much about explosives just that she didn’t want to be anywhere near them. She took off running in the opposite direction, sprinting back toward the front of the saloon but she certainly wasn’t dressed for running. The heels of her shoes sunk into the ground slowing her down, the corseted top of her dress limited her ability to breath. She tripped on the hem of her dress and fell forward into the dirt. She pulled herself up to her hands and knees and desperately scrambled to a nearby barrel, feeling rounds landing around her. As she rolled behind the barrel, clutching her empty pistol to her chest, she made eye contact with a young brunette girl and a native man. Her chest heaved as she gasped out “oh. Uh. Hey there.”

---

---

Ella groaned in pain as she slumped against the wall. Blood ran from her wound and soaked into her off-white dress, her hand that was covering the wound now also soaked in the crimson liquid. Her body shook as adrenaline coursed through her veins and kept the pain somewhat bearable. Ella was just about to reach for an open bottle of whiskey when the native man that had spoken to her before walked into the saloon. She looked up as he approached, her mind spinning.

Ella nodded to him as he glanced at her, presumably to ask permission before he ripped open her dress to reveal the wound. She clenched her jaw shut as Taheton began his treatment, her entire leg throbbing in pain. Her mind wandered once again to the bottle of whiskey on her left, debating on taking a large gulp of it while the native man patched her up. Inevitably, her responsible side won the debate in her mind and she decided against it just as Taheton tied off her wound.

“I’ll see what I can do to not walk on’t. Thank you kindly, mister.”

The young woman stood with a shaky stance, putting little weight on her injured leg as she stumbled towards the back door. Though it took most of her remaining energy, Ella eventually made it back outside and whistled for her horse.

Nothing.

With a sigh, she looked around and hobbled into the side alley. A large explosion rattled the buildings around her and specs of dirt rained around her. Jesus, were they trying to destroy the entire district or something? She whistled again with little hope, but to her surprise the loyal mare came galloping around the corner to her side. She stepped up into the stirrups with her good leg and swung the injured one over the saddle with a slight grimace before riding off back towards the street. She reloaded her rifle while the pair trotted back towards the action, almost eager to see what she had missed.

As the firefight raged on, causing a ruckus in the middle of the town, the musician crept closer to the action. He poked his head out, peering towards the action as a stick of dynamite was lit. Dean gulped nervously as the explosive was clenched between Coyote's fingers, he didn't particularly want to see someone's hand get blown off. Especially not one of the good guys. Luckily he did not have to see that, as Leo dashed across a dirt road carrying the dynamite. It exploded loudly on the ground as the man went down an alley. His hands went to cover his ears as the nearby explosion went off.

Dean made a split second decision the moment after, he had lost sight of Leo as the man went down an alley, but he had to make sure the cocky gunslinger was alive. This whole firefight would be for nothing if the one that started the chaos ended up dead. He sprinted out into the open, six shooter in one hand. Dust kicked up behind him as he maneuvered, two of Dawson's took sight of him, then blasted off shots in his direction. Dirt kicked up on the ground around him as he kept moving, then slid down the same alley which Leo had ended up going into. Sweat was dripping down his face as he nearly slipped to the ground, his eyes finding the daring Coyote. Before he could a utter a word he heard rapidly approaching footsteps, then shifted his gaze to where he had entered the alley from. Angling towards him was one of the scoundrels, trying to get a drop on him.

Then two shots rang out. One slammed into the musician's left arm, just above the elbow, causing him to holler in shock. The other bullet danced through the air before driving into his attacker's collar. Blood soaked the man's vest as Dean squeezed off another shot, putting the lowlife down for good. Dean let out a deep breath, his hand feeling his fresh gunshot wound. He grasped it tightly, applying pressure. It had been a while since he'd been shot, of course he tried not to get into random firefights. Today was an exception to that. The wound wouldn't kill him, he just needed to get it patched up before long. Trying not to show an ounce of pain he glanced at Leo, and spoke.

"We gotta keep moving, Coyote. Can't let these dodgasted varmint catch us sleeping." He said with a determined expression, a slight smirk escaping his lips towards the end of his words.

Everything seemed to happening so quickly and so Zuya kept her focus on taking down as many of Dawson’s men as she could. ”Nice shot.” She glanced around at the sound and noticed the blond haired woman and that’s when she realized there were quite a few who had joined this mess. ”Thank you.” She gave the woman a small smile before she focused herself once more, taking out another man. She felt back to fine she only had about seven arrows left in her quiver and decided to take her shots a bit more carefully.

A woman cried out and it startled her as she glanced around and spotted the woman who had come blitzing in on a horse had been shot. She could only hope that the woman’s wound wasn’t too bad as she realized perhaps having allies wouldn’t be too bad if she wanted to take Dawson out. They needed to end this firefight soon, however, if they all wanted to make it out alive and actually have allies.

That’s when she heard his voice calling out to the Coyote and her head whipped towards the sound. There she saw Bradley being held up by two other men and she gritted her teeth. So the bastard was still alive. Good. She had a pretty good vantage point on him and she nocked another arrow, taking aim. She took a slow breath in before letting the arrow fly, hitting her target. The arrow pierced Bradley's upper thigh and he cried out in pain as he looked down at it. Before they had time to realize where the arrow had come from she was already releasing two more arrows at the goons holding him up. They went down quickly and she smiled triumphantly as she knew that should keep Bradly down for a bit till she could get to him.

Her victory was short lived as a shot rang passed her and she realized she’d finally been spotted. She dropped to the ground before beginning to move. She needed to get to another location with more cover and quickly. She made it to the edge and was beginning to climb down when and explosion rattled the building, causing her to lose her grip and fall to the ground. She hit the ground hard and the wind was knocked out of her. She lay there for a moment, trying to regain her breath before she assessed herself. Nothing seemed to be broken, than goodness, but she knew she would be quite sore the next morning. Thankfully her bow was still in tact as well, though it seemed a couple arrows didn’t fare so well. That left her with only two arrows left which meant she’d have to wait out the firefight some before being able to make it over to Bradley. In preparation moved down to her horse in the ally and secured her bow to him before grabbing her dagger. She kept herself hidden in the alley, but continued watching the scene and waiting for the opportune moment to go give Bradly the death he deserved.

Footsteps had followed Leo down the alleyway, one of the sets belonging to a man he could have sworn he had seen before. Before any words could be said, they were met by more footsteps, and Dawson's men took aim. Leo had had no time to pick up his gun, but his new ally was much faster than he. Blood was shed on both sides, unfortunately, and although Leo was grateful, there was a look of concern set in his face. It soon disappeared though as the man talked, even mentioning his name. The Coyote gave a nod and looked down the alley before turning his gaze to the man with a grin. "The ones that will be sleepin' will be them soon enough, friend. They don't have much folks left, and even if word gets to the inner city, they'd be too cowardly to send men to the outskirts of the town. Their God won't protect 'em here." The voice of Leo was a "matter-of-fact" tone as if he knew the future. He had been trailing Richard Dawson his whole life, and knew how that man worked.

"If you can still operate with one arm, I could use your help to get the jump on them." Coyote made his way through an open window within the alley. Dawson's gang would be waiting for them just outside the openings, but from the firefight left many advantages for Leo and his allies to use. Leo helped the musician through the window with his arm, but as they entered, he noticed that the shooting had stopped. Quietly, Leo made it through the house, and saw that within one of the rooms were a colored woman and her daughters cowering in the corner, weeping at the sight of them. The Coyote put his finger to his lips, and a small nod to assure them that they had no intention of hurting them. If Leo was honest with himself, it broke him a little inside every time he saw things like this. He had spent his whole life to try and stop the tyranny of the Saint, but in the process of his conflicts with Dawson and his gang, many people were terrified of him, and what was going on. It had to be done.

Finally the air was filled with voices. A woman's scream, and a man yelling before a gunshot went off. Leo slowly peered out a window to see what had happened. A man had joined their cause, a random gentleman who probably lived out here, and had a stick of dynamite as well. Before he could have lighted, or thrown it, he was shot by the remaining members of the Dawson gang. It looked like Taheton, Roxanne, and the others had picked some of them off. The remaining members of the gang was hidden behind makeshift cover in the middle of the road, with a fallen wagon, a horse, and other boxes. he could see a trail of blood, a gasping from a man he could only assume was Bradley. He fought so hard to live, but it was no use. Leo would see him dead.

One of the men was fumbling with another stick of dynamite in cover a few feet in front of the rest of the gang, peering around the cover to see where the rebels were. He managed to find someone, and was quick to light the stick. It was time for Leo's move. he quietly raised his rifle, concentrating as hard as he could on where he aimed. He held his breath, and right before he tossed it, Leo fired at his arm, causing the gang member to drop the stick. Leo hid behind cover as the explosion went off. He could hear the rubble and possible body parts hit the side of the building, and when Leo peered around the corner, the place where the gang member stood was charcoaled, and the cover that the rest of the gang had was practically destroyed.

The confusion was just enough for Leo to make his move. The Coyote marched out of the door, reloading his gun, and squeezing off shots towards the men trying to get up from the explosion. He could hear his allies firing as well, but leo didn't car on how exposed he was. His eyes were on the man known as Bradley Grant was trying desperately to crawl towards a gun. The fight was over. They had won.

Leo kicked the gun away, sending dirt up in the air. Using the butt of his rifle, he smacked Bradley Grant on the head before grabbing the back of his shirt, and dragging him towards the middle of the road. Grant tried his best to curse Leo out, panting, and claiming that they would all burn by Dawson's hand.

The Coyote tossed him down on the ground, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead as he panted himself. Leo looked up at the sky, for a second, then down at Grant, his hands going on his hips. "You see your God callin' for ya, Bradley? You think Richard Dawson is sending reinforcements as we speak to try and desperately save you?" Leo kneeled down and stared at the man with a smile. "He don't give a shit about you, or God, or nobody. You're just a puppet to make him money, and power."

Bradley attempted to spit at the Coyote, but it simply spilled over his bloodied lips. "God is good, Coyote." He managed to laugh, looking up at the pale blue sky. "I did my job, doing anything Dawson needed... I got money, I got women, I got to kill scum like you... He had given you purpose too, I suppose. You ain't getting anywhere close to him. None of you are."

"Unfortunately you're not going to know if we succeed or not, my friend. You'll see your glorious leader soon enough in the darkest pits of Hell." Leo stood, and looked around at the crowd that formed around him. Everyone here had a reason to fight in this battle, it was obvious by the way they glared at the man below them. Henry Leopold Adams pulled a cigarette from his vest pocket, and lit it quietly. He looked up at the crowd once again after the first puff, and raised an eyebrow.

"Which one of you ladies and gentlemen want to do the honors?"