Snake Skin | John Marston (editing)

Outlaws And Gunslingers ✅

"There she is," the young woman whispered to herself as she entered Valentine from the west atop her black horse. "I wonder if you missed me, dear Valentine..."

Slowly but surely making her way to the butcher's, she glanced around at the buildings, recalling how she left them two years ago, back in '97. The dusk was settling in, meaning the drunks would soon be stumbling into the saloons, decent folk would be heading home, and the law would be gettin' lax.

Once she reached the butcher's table, she dismounted and turned to face the carcass of the red deer that had been slung across her horse's backside for the last four hours. Without a second thought, she cut the carcass free, letting it slump into the mud.

"You gonna give it to me like that, Miss?" the butcher called out from behind her. Ignoring his question, she hefted the deer onto his table, its body sprawling across the surface.

"That's a big catch, dear. Are you a hunter?" he asked, grinning as he examined the carcass.

"How much?" she asked bluntly, her gaze never wavering.

"Considerin' you're a good shot, the best I can do is eleven dollars, Mi—"

"Fifteen," she cut him off, naming her price.

"Miss..." he cleared his throat, hesitating.

"Fifteen," she repeated, her irritation evident.

"Thirteen, that's the highest I can go. Red deer ain't in much demand no more."

She sighed, stepping back but keeping her eyes on him. The butcher noticed her fingers brushing the handle of the revolver at her hip. "T-that won't be necessary, Miss."

"Thank you, Sir," she said with a smile. He sighed, pulling out a small chest with his earnings. As the butcher counted out the money, she glanced around. The sound of boots squelching in the mud grated on her nerves. Valentine never had any love for her, and she felt the same.

"Fifteen, Miss," the butcher said, pulling her from her thoughts as he held out the money. She quickly grabbed the cash and counted it in front of him. Satisfied, she shoved the money into her satchel and turned back to her horse.

She patted the horse's neck and took up the reins, leading it with her. The thought of spending the night in Valentine wasn't so bad. She hadn't seen a single wanted poster with her face, name, and bounty. That was good enough for her.

As she headed to one of Valentine's saloons, she heard cheerful singing, laughter, and the occasional crash of a bottle or chair. She sighed, looking down at the mud with a grin. "Might as well get a drink while I'm here."

She tied her horse to a nearby post and slipped around back, entering through one of the doors. Inside, she was greeted with a cacophony of noise—laughing, singing, and the clinking of glasses accompanied by a lively piano. She made her way to the bar and tossed some coins to the bartender. "Whatever you got, pal."

The bartender nodded, wiped a shot glass, and poured her a whiskey. She stared at the liquor for a moment, her thoughts interrupted by a large man bumping into her. She spun around, glaring. "You got a death wi—"

The bearded man interrupted her. "Miss, have you seen my friend?"

She shook her head and turned back to her drink, downing it in one swift motion. The burn made her cough, catching the bearded man's attention again.

"Have you seen Lenny-boy?" he asked, leaning on the bar, his eyes pleading. She took in his disheveled state. Just another drunk fool, ripe for the picking, she thought.

"No, ya' shitbird, I have not," she snapped.

"Hey, two more!" the man hollered, tossing some money to the bartender. She just stared at him.

"He's absolutely out of it..." she muttered, watching the bartender pour the drinks. Without hesitation, she grabbed her glass and took the shot, as did the man. While he was distracted by the noisy saloon, she took the opportunity to inspect him. Worn-down hat, old blue blouse... but most importantly, the guns slung low on his hips, just like hers.

One drink turned into two, and two turned into ten. Eventually, they found Lenny and embarked on a drunken adventure one would rather forget. Still, she never caught the man's name.