Snake Skin | John Marston

Piece of Calico

Y/N sighed as she turned away from the window, done listening. She quickly located her horse and mounted him. Just as Y/N set them hooves on the muddy track, she glanced back at the sheriff's office and saw those two men again. Lenny was leaning against a wooden pole, puking, while the other man was eyeing a poster in his hands.

The bearded man noticed her the second he pulled his eyes away from the piece of paper. They made eye contact and a flash of recognition crossed his face. As he looked back at Y/N, his eyes widened, and he glanced at the paper once more.

At that exact moment, Y/N realized it: that was a poster of her face.

Before the bearded man could do anything, Y/N was racing away on her black mount.

The day passed quickly, and the sun was setting, casting darker hues across the sky. Y/N spent the whole day in hiding, a bit paranoid about the thought that those two men might be on her tail. That sort of thing happened every time she ventured into civilization. They'd find out who she was, and she'd go into hiding. It wouldn't be long before lawmen came around and opened fire.

The Golden Cobra—a name synonymous with an excellent gunslinger, fueled by aggression, passion, and ambition. Aggression and hatred for a world that wouldn't leave her alone. Passion for adventure and adrenaline. Ambition to reach her goals. If not for the law, the Golden Cobra would have been an outstanding bounty hunter.

Between Flatneck Station and Flat Iron Lake, Y/N set up camp for the night. Ever alert, she watched as the fire burned brightly, cracking the wood and leaving no spot unburnt.

After a while, appreciating the warmth of the flames, Y/N slumped back against a tree, completely relaxed. Just then, she heard the crack of broken twigs behind her, barely masked by the sounds of the fire. Instantly alert, she jumped up and pulled out her revolver, aiming at the trees. Nobody was there, at least visibly. The young woman might have been paranoid and fatigued, but her instincts were sharp.

"Come out! Now!" she yelled. Another breaking twig was heard, followed by the rustling of hedges.

"Wait!" A Native American man wandered out with his hands in the air, carrying a bow. "I mean no harm to you..."

Y/N cocked her gun at the man, to show him that playing games would have serious consequences. "You! Who are you?" she demanded, biting her lip impatiently.

"I mean no harm, Miss. Please. Don't do anything stupid. I'm out hunting for my people," he replied, hands still up. Just as she was about to speak, she felt the hard tip of a weapon tap against the back of her neck. She huffed, chortled, and raised both her hands just like the man in front of her.

"Goddamn redskins..." she muttered under her breath.

"Hey! Shut up," the man behind her demanded in a gruff, deep voice.

"How much are you idiots getting? Huh? Are you gonna kill a piece of calico? Really?" she taunted, watching the Native American man look around her tiny camp, touching her bag and belongings.

"What do you mean?" the dark-skinned fellow asked, turning to face her.

"Don't play dumb! You two came for my head, no?" she asked confidently.

"No. I have no idea who you are. Do you know her?" the darker man questioned the guy behind her. The other man spun her around to face him, still at gunpoint. She promptly scanned his face. The man had a few nasty scars, probably from an animal. Still, he frowned and shook his head.

"Ya' daddy never teach you how to shave, Sir?" Y/N said with a smirk.

The man widened his eyes in surprise. "And you're still talking?" he said, looking at the revolver and back at Y/N.