A New Beginning

Would You Have Killed Him?

Thanks to the directions from workers and trekkers, you've been able to follow the manhunter's trail out of Annesburg just fine, but now that you have left the settlement and with no one in sight to ask, you're left pondering what to do next time the road splits in two. A concern which, although understandable, will soon prove to be needless.

The Roanoke Forest is quiet and peaceful, with the usual sounds of nature blending with the discreet thump of hooves against dirt-pebbled ground. The serenity leaves you puzzled as to all the horror stories related to this area. Stories told with keen, but apprehensive excite, often accompanied by ardent warnings from men and women alike, the white in their eyes matching the tone of their voice.

Of all these tales, anecdotes, writings and warnings, you wonder how much holds true, how much is a tenfold exaggeration of real events and how much is merely the product of paranoia stemming from folks with vivid imaginations, often, you assume, coupled with wantonness of attention. Although having, up until recently at least, led a peaceful life shielded from the world's cruelty you are not so naïve as to be blind to it. That is what you like to think, anyways. Though you are also well aware of what an overzealous imagination can do to retellings of events that in reality transpired rather uneventful. In particular when relayed in a 'heard-it-from-a-friend-of-a-friend' kind of way.

For all your best efforts at self-reassurance, you thread deeper into the forest with a jittering heart. In more ways than one you are entering unknown territory. It will all be good, you tell yourself, once you find Arthur. Unless he hogties you on the spot, places you on the rear of his horse and takes you straight back to Annesburg, or Saint Denis, a scenario more realistic than you'd like to admit. You hope and wish, you fear and dread, that you will catch up to him soon, and which of these opposing emotions dominate changes by the beat of a heart.

At the top of a small hill, false sense of tranquility immediately turns to real alarm as Arthur, and the metal barrel pointing at his face, comes into view. You pull the bridles, stirring a surprised cry. Dread races through you followed by immediate, but evanescent relief as you realize the ambushers had not been alerted, then apprehension returns. The man with the gun waves his hand, and the man with the black hat dismounts his steed. You jump off your own steed and sneak behind a shrub.

You count a total of three men, about to rob the bounty hunter by the looks of it, though more might be hiding nearby. Your hand hovers over the revolver. You've only fired a gun once in your life, at an unmovable target – and missed, upon which you'd started wailing at the unexpected recoil. You could shoot into the air. No, that might distract Arthur too. You want to distract the outlaws doing the robbing, not the outlaw being robbed. Or bounty hunter, or whatever he is now. Besides, a gunshot would alert them of your position, an undesirable consequence indeed.

You scan the surroundings for threats and opportunities but the vegetation, surprisingly thick for this time of the year, makes an untrained eye powerless to skillful observation. Any sweeping of leaves or shuffling of branches could be a looming threat, or merely a deceiving but innocuous gust of wind.

A trample of hooves has your heart skip a beat, but it also spawns an idea. Because of the direction he is facing, Arthur would see a horse running from uphill, while the neighs and trampling hooves would -might- throw off the robbers for a second or two, providing the gunslinger with a window to draw his weapon and go into hiding. Your hope.

Though impossible to foresee the exact outcome of this interference on account of the sheer number of variables, no other idea spawns as to how to best shift this unfortunate predicament in Arthur's favor. The moment the gunman puts his hand inside the bounty hunter's satchel you send off your mare in a direction that is not directly at the group yet provides enough distraction in Arthur's favor.