When Taylor looked up again to assess the situation, he counted the riders on his side and caught One-Eyed Bobby making a break for it. It was him, all right, and Taylor could have sworn he caught a chuckle and an sinister grin of recognition coming from him. He heard another horse whinnying from behind him and also noticed the other riders and Sparrow Hawk, Bobby’s perennial right-hand Indian, moving forward with him. [i]Is it just me or did that bastard get a lot more popular down west?[/i]

Taylor then noticed why Bobby and Sparrow were spurring their horses into a faster gallop: they were going for the front of the car, where the cargo they were all supposed to protect was located. No way in hell would Taylor lose those sweet, sweet dollars he was promised.

“Stay back here and shoot at the rest! I’ll make a break to the front where the cargo is,” Taylor yells to the others. Clutching his rifle tightly, he starts crouch walking through the aisle towards the express car in front as broken glass and bullets fly all around him. Bobby was one dangerously accurate gunslinger for someone with no depth perception, and Taylor only trusted himself to take him on.