Chapter 21
Rider sat bolt upright. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. Then he saw Deadshot sitting next to the fire in the early morning light. Everything that had happened the previous day came washing back over him, and he sucked in his breath.
“You all right?” Deadshot asked.
Rider nodded but did not reply. Despite the warm weather, it was cold outside so early in the morning, so he scooted closer to the fire.
Wiping his eyes, he tried to compose himself.
The early morning hours were always the hardest. That was when everything felt too fresh, and he had to take a couple of moments to focus his mind.
Deadshot was looking at him expectantly, as if he wanted him to say something.
“I’m okay,” Rider croaked, his throat dry. “Just not a morning person.”
It was the truth. Rider had never enjoyed early mornings. Despite living on a ranch and helping his father out in the fields almost every single day, he simply couldn’t get used to getting up before the sun rose.
Deadshot removed the pot of coffee from the fire and poured some into a cup.
“Coffee always helps,” he said as he held the cup out to Rider.
Rider wasn’t so sure about that, but he took the cup anyway. Coffee wasn’t his favorite beverage, but hopefully, it would help him wake up. “Thank you.”
Deadshot nodded and then, without a word, poured himself a cup of coffee as well and slowly started sipping the scorching liquid. Rider drank his coffee while Deadshot prepared some oats for them. By the time they were done eating, Rider felt much more alive and ready for the day.
They quickly packed up their things, loaded them on the horses, and then they were on their way.
Deadshot had said that there was a small town a couple of miles away, and that was where they were going.
With no knowledge of where Quincy and his gang’s hideout was, they would have to collect clues and information until they could figure out where to find them.
Rider really wanted to find his mother and sister as quickly as possible, but he knew he was going to have to be patient. Deadshot was the best bounty hunter, and the man had agreed to help him, so Rider was going to have to trust him.
Now that they were on their way, they had moved to the road again. They weren’t going too fast since it was important to keep the horses healthy on such a long journey.
“How old were you when you started bounty hunting?” Rider asked, his curiosity taking over.
Deadshot grunted, obviously not as excited to talk about himself as Rider was to learn about him.
“Come on,” Rider complained. “We might as well talk. There’s nothing else to do.”
“I am doing something,” Deadshot pointed out.
Rider tilted his head to the side in confusion. “What exactly is it?”
“Enjoying the breeze and the silence.”
Rider wasn’t one for silence; he was used to talking all the time. His father had been a lot like him in that way. They talked about everything and nothing as they worked on the ranch. It felt strange to him to simply be quiet when there was so much to talk about.
Sure, they were on a mission, but why couldn’t they at least fill the time with meaningful conversation? Deadshot obviously had millions of stories, and Rider was eager to hear all of them. It didn’t make sense to him why Deadshot would not want to share his stories.
“Maybe we can—”
“No,” Deadshot cut him off before he could even finish his sentence. “No talking unless it is necessary, only riding.”
Rider wanted to argue. He also wanted to tell Deadshot that he was being mean, but instead, he kept quiet. If the bounty hunter didn’t want to talk to him, he had to respect it, whether he liked it or not. He needed Deadshot’s help, and the last thing he wanted was for the man to change his mind.
They arrived at the town that Deadshot had spoken about at around noon. It wasn’t big, but it looked very similar to where Rider was from. Rider wondered if all towns looked the same. He wanted to ask Deadshot but swallowed his words.
“What is it?” Deadshot asked from beside him.
Rider shook his head. “Nothing.”
“You’re practically bouncing in your seat. You get one question, so ask it before you explode from keeping it in.”
“You’ve been to many different towns, right?”
Deadshot nodded. “Too many to count.”
“Are they all the same?” Rider asked. He was much more curious about Deadshot himself, but when he had asked about Deadshot’s past, he had cut him off completely. Rider didn’t want to risk having to deal with the silent treatment again.
“Mostly,” Deadshot replied. “But there are some that are a little different . . . bigger, busier, more businesses and shops.”
That made sense, Rider thought. It was difficult to imagine places he’d never been to before, though.
Maybe on their mission to find his mother and sister, they would stop at towns like that, and he would be able to see them for himself.
Rider wouldn’t mind seeing more of the world; he just wished it were under different circumstances.
“And the people?”
“People are unpredictable,” Deadshot replied. “Some are good, but more are selfish and evil. It’ll do you well not to trust somebody until you actually know them, and even then, never believe everything they say.”
Before the attack on his family’s ranch, Rider had heard stories of gangs and violence, but he had never seen any of it for himself.
Thinking about it now, he realized that he was probably disillusioned and that Deadshot was right.
There were many evil men, and probably women, out there, and it was best to be careful.
Looking at Deadshot, it was easy to tell that the man had lived a difficult and rough life.
When you spend your life chasing criminals, it’s easy to forget that there are some good people out there, and Rider did not want to forget that.
He knew he could learn a lot from Deadshot and would listen to his advice, but he did not want to lose himself in the process.
Rider turned toward Deadshot. “What do we do now that we are here?”
“We ask around. Talk to the sheriff.” Deadshot steered his horse to the right, turning down a narrower road. “See if anybody knows anything about Quincy or his gang that could be useful.”
“All right,” Rider agreed. “That doesn’t sound too difficult.”
“Talking is never difficult,” Deadshot stated. “It’s knowing whether somebody’s words can be trusted that complicates things.”
“Are you saying that people will lie to us about Quincy?”
Deadshot shrugged. “There’s no way to know, but on a mission like this, you have to take everything you hear both seriously and with a grain of salt.”
They went directly to the sheriff’s office.
Deadshot said that that was the best place to start and that sheriffs are generally more helpful toward bounty hunters than townsfolk.
Unfortunately, the sheriff didn’t know anything about Quincy.
Like most lawmen, he had heard of him before but had never actually come across him.
When he heard that Deadshot was searching for him, he was rather surprised.
Not once during all of this time as sheriff had a bounty hunter agreed to go after Quincy and his gang.
Most men thought that going after Quincy was a sure death sentence.
When they were done at the sheriff’s office, Deadshot and Rider went to the general store. There, they spoke to the owner, but he too had no information. Their last stop was the saloon.
Considering the time of day, the place was empty, but the barkeep was there, busy washing dishes. The man was friendly and wanted to gossip, but once again, they found no information about Quincy.
Except for the bread they bought at the bakery, their visit was pointless, and soon enough, they were back on the road.
Rider knew that it wasn’t going to be easy to find Quincy because of what Deadshot and Sheriff Stewart had told him, but gaining no information at all worried him. How long was it really going to take to find Quincy?
Rider wasn’t too worried about being on the road for a long time. He would search for his mother and sister as long as it took, but his concern was for them.
If they were alive, they needed to be rescued, and it needed to happen soon.