Paco Valdez
BE
You decide to get the hell out of town before you end up dead or captured. Besides, Kallow is just as dreary in the daytime as it is at night. It's not exactly the kind of place you'd like to settle down in.
You hastily make your way to the general store to purchase some oats and dried meat for your journey before saddling up Betty and galloping off into the wild.
You know that a little to the north are some hills and a town called Wicklow that's about as wealthy a town as Fullton, but a little smaller in size. One thing's for sure, it's a much more pleasant place to live than Fullton, by all accounts. Only downfall there is that the law is 'enforced' more readily than any other towns in this backward county in the middle of nowhere. Also, the region around Wicklow has recently plunged into a fierce war with the Indians, who claim the land as their winter hunting grounds. Lucky for you, however, is the fact that most battles occur during the winter. Summer Indian raids are a rarity. Perhaps a more important hindrance of the town is that you are a wanted man in that town due to a slight indiscretion that occurred between you and the sheriff's sixteen year old daughter.
The big selling point for you to go to Wicklow, however, is the fact that the Vigilante's influence there is minimal, barely even measurable. At least it used to be that way. Those Vigilantes have been spreading like wildfire lately, though.
You set as best a course as you can and offer up a silent prayer to God. Your internal compass is less than adequate.
Around midday you come to a sprawling homestead, surrounded by acres and acres of prime grazing lands. The main house is a magnificent four-story high affair, with window upon window overlooking the pristine countryside. You pause for a second. Sometimes homesteads like these will be shorthanded for a season or two, and will employ able bodied hands for a pretty good rate. Maybe you can take up some honest work for a few months until things blow over with Paco and his army of thugs? You entertain the idea of marching up to the front door and asking the man of the house if he's currently employing. You decide to do just that, wondering if they will recognize you when you arrive.
You trot over to the nearest homestead and dismount Betty, making your way to the door. You knock thrice and after a few moments the door opens.
Your heart drops and your hopes dash. Staring you in the face is none other than the Sheriff of Wicklow. It takes him a moment, but you see in his eyes that he recognizes you as well.
"You son of a bitch," he says in a growl.
You don't say anything in return, simply step off the porch and get back into your saddle on Betty's back. You kick your heals into her flanks and she bolts into motion.
The crack of a gunshot fires from behind you and you feel a sharp, tearing pain rip through you. You twist with the impact and fall from the saddle to the unforgiving earth below. The sheriff stands over you moments later as your life blood collects in a pool around you.
"I told you I'd get you, you dirty bastard." The sheriff says before spitting on your face.
The bright sun shining in your eyes begins to dim and fade until there is nothing but the darkness and silence.
You decide to get the hell out of town before you end up dead or captured. Besides, Kallow is just as dreary in the daytime as it is at night. It's not exactly the kind of place you'd like to settle down in.
You hastily make your way to the general store to purchase some oats and dried meat for your journey before saddling up Betty and galloping off into the wild.
You know that a little to the north are some hills and a town called Wicklow that's about as wealthy a town as Fullton, but a little smaller in size. One thing's for sure, it's a much more pleasant place to live than Fullton, by all accounts. Only downfall there is that the law is 'enforced' more readily than any other towns in this backward county in the middle of nowhere. Also, the region around Wicklow has recently plunged into a fierce war with the Indians, who claim the land as their winter hunting grounds. Lucky for you, however, is the fact that most battles occur during the winter. Summer Indian raids are a rarity. Perhaps a more important hindrance of the town is that you are a wanted man in that town due to a slight indiscretion that occurred between you and the sheriff's sixteen year old daughter.
The big selling point for you to go to Wicklow, however, is the fact that the Vigilante's influence there is minimal, barely even measurable. At least it used to be that way. Those Vigilantes have been spreading like wildfire lately, though.
You set as best a course as you can and offer up a silent prayer to God. Your internal compass is less than adequate.
Around midday you come to a sprawling homestead, surrounded by acres and acres of prime grazing lands. The main house is a magnificent four-story high affair, with window upon window overlooking the pristine countryside. You pause for a second. Sometimes homesteads like these will be shorthanded for a season or two, and will employ able bodied hands for a pretty good rate. Maybe you can take up some honest work for a few months until things blow over with Paco and his army of thugs? You entertain the idea of marching up to the front door and asking the man of the house if he's currently employing. You decide to do just that, wondering if they will recognize you when you arrive.
You trot over to the nearest homestead and dismount Betty, making your way to the door. You knock thrice and after a few moments the door opens.
Your heart drops and your hopes dash. Staring you in the face is none other than the Sheriff of Wicklow. It takes him a moment, but you see in his eyes that he recognizes you as well.
"You son of a bitch," he says in a growl.
You don't say anything in return, simply step off the porch and get back into your saddle on Betty's back. You kick your heals into her flanks and she bolts into motion.
The crack of a gunshot fires from behind you and you feel a sharp, tearing pain rip through you. You twist with the impact and fall from the saddle to the unforgiving earth below. The sheriff stands over you moments later as your life blood collects in a pool around you.
"I told you I'd get you, you dirty bastard." The sheriff says before spitting on your face.
The bright sun shining in your eyes begins to dim and fade until there is nothing but the darkness and silence.
