🂱 • 𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 • 🂱 ~ 𝒹ℴ𝒸 𝒽ℴ𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓎

chapter twenty-five - a spade

Despite the situation, Cheyenne audibly laughed.

"You've got a pair, I'll give it to ya." she choked back a few more laughs. "Why the fuck would I join the cowboys again?"

"Well..." said Ringo, pacing around the woman, hand resting on his holstered gun. "Would you like the long or the short version?"

"Any version you got that makes a lick of sense." the woman shook her head.

"Fine then, the short one." Ringo leaned down to Cheyenne so he was eye level with her, a wicked smirk on his face. "You don't join us, we'll kill everyone you love."

~

"Welcome back, Lady Earp." Ike Clanton chuckled, passing by Cheyenne on horseback. The cowboys were camped out at some old miner's camp outside of Tucson, which had been abandoned around fifteen years ago.

Cheyenne was surprised at how quickly she was given her freedom. She remembered Ringo's words quite vividly.

"We will kill everyone you love."

Cheyenne knew they'd try to either way. But the way that she took it, this was a good chance to get some inside information on what the cowboy's plan was. She'd just have to act like she was on their side. Plus, her sharpshooting skills and ability to deceive were things that she knew the cowboys couldn't operate without. Ringo was too straightforward, Brocius was too curt. Ike was simply too stupid. She always knew she was a useful tool to the cowboys, but it was when she wasn't on their side that she realized how much they struggled without her.

Was it the perfect plan? No.

But it was something.

"Move along." Brocius sneered, pressing the end of his shotgun into her back. She had forgotten she was being escorted. She limped along, gritting her teeth with every step.

"Fuck you." Cheyenne mumbled under her breath, just quiet enough so only Curly Bill could hear her. Curly Bill stopped at a dirty canvas tent near the fire. A location that was hard to sneak out of.

"Your shit is in there. We leave in the morning."

~

Cheyenne sat on the stiff bedroll toying with her empty revolvers mindlessly. She was bored out of her mind. She thought about Spade. He was her soulmate in animal form. His big gentle brown eyes with long, curling eyelashes. That shiny black coat that she had spent so many hours brushing and tending to. His smooth gallop, and the way he always took care of his rider. She loved that horse more than anything, and now he was God knows where, probably hurt and starving in the rough desert terrain. He was a domestic horse, not a mustang. He didn't know how to find water naturally or have the instincts of a wild horse. He was probably dead by now, or worse;

Stolen by someone who didn't appreciate horses and would treat him like a machine. It made her sick to her stomach. Tears threatened in her eyes. She didn't hesitate this time. She let them flow, bringing her knees to her chest.

Suddenly, her tent flaps opened. A newer cowboy, probably a few years older than Cheyenne stood there, waving her out. She quickly looked up, wiping her eyes agressively. He wore pretty nice clothes for a cowboy, especially a new one. He had dark hair, a thick mustache, a sharp jawline, and light eyes. He wore a crisp black hat, dark chaps and black leather boots. His spurs were sharp, glittery, and jingled as he moved around. A staple red bandana was tied around his waist.

"You alright?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fine. Give a warning next time, will ya?" Cheyenne said firmly, clearing her throat.