Chapter Text
After the Civil War, the United States government was focused on reconstruction. Nearly every part of the south needed fixing, especially the Texas wilderness. It ran rampant with gangs and crime. So the Government sent a town down to barren wasteland to start anew, naming it 141 Horses. The townspeople built homes, and shops, and utilities, even electing a Mayor. The town even had a loveable Sheriff named John Price. Everything was going well, until the Sheriff got seriously injured, forcing him to retire. And so the government sent in a replacement in the form of John Mactavish.
Things seemed to be well, until, on the night of May 15th, 1876…
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The floor of the old saloon creaked as a man shrouded in shadows entered the crowded space, turning heads. His cattleman covered the majority of his face, leaving just black underneath. He walked haltingly up to the counter as the rest of the place watched him with held breath. He then slowly raised it, revealing the skull bandanna nestled on his face. The saloon became quieter, realizing now the danger they were all in. You don’t just exist in the presence of The Ghost, you either die by his gun or your own. He placed a coin on the counter, sliding it over to the bar keeper. The older man just looked back at him with stone cold eyes, finally Simon spoke. “Whisky, on the rocks.” He said, his voice gruff. The bar keeper just nodded, taking a bottle down from the top shelf, and pouring Simon a glass.
A new creaking sounded filled the saloon, spurs clicking along with the chirr. “Well, well, well.” Came a voice from the entrance, “If it isn’t the infamous Ghost.” He said, entering further. Simon raised his head, turning to look at the man who just entered. “Graves.” He stated, getting up and facing him fully. “Haven't seen you in a hot minute.” Simon continued, leaning back slightly on the bar. “Here to finally collect your bounty?” Ghost chuckled, grabbing his glass and taking a sip. “You know me so well.” Philip smiled sarcastically, before it transformed into a wicked frown. The bounty hunter unholstered his revolver and brought it right up to the outlaw, Simon didn’t even flinch, he just sighed. “You always do this, always think you’ve finally fingered it out. Taken the high road and jumped down to topple me.” Simon tilted his head up, meeting the gun at eye level. He took another sip, before placing the glass down. “But you have never succeeded, chasing me from town to town, always hot on my trail. I, on the other hand, always slip right through your fingers. That should tell you something.” Simon fully got off the bar, walked right past Philip, and left.
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“An outlaw?” Deputy Garrick said, in a supposed tone. “Haven't had one of those come by in years!” He leaned slightly on the counter of the bar and paused for a second. “Well, I guess I haven’t worked here long enough to actually know when we last got visited by one of them.” The bartender, Price, laughed. “You are funny.” He said, now looking up from the cup he was drying. “We don’t get many, that is true. Especially none as well known as Simon Riley, The Ghost.”
The Sheriff walked over to meet them, finishing up writing in his notebook. “I just got done talking to some people who were here, seems he left in a hurry.” John said before looking up to meet Price’s eyes. “Yup,” Price replied, picking up another glass. “Told off some bounty hunter, then just left. The bounty hunter didn’t take it well, he screamed some curses into the air before leavin’ just as quick.” The Sheriff just nodded, adding it to his already extensive notes.
“Thank you for your time.” John said, beckoning Kyle to follow him out of the establishment. The two exited into the sunny landscape, plagued by intense heat. “Y’know Sheriff,” the Deputy started, “I have a feeling things are about to get a whole lot more interesting.”