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Billy Rocks can’t remember why Goody brought them to this town in the first place, but as soon as he throws his final hairpin, securing his win against the cocky gunslinger, he’s ready to hightail it out. The disgusted looks they’ve gotten since they first waltzed into town has done nothing to reassure his uneasiness. If anything, the sneers and jeers have gotten worse since Goodnight started going around collecting on the opposing bets. He reaches for their canteen, hoping to at least feel the sweet relief from the heat with some cooling water, but finds it’s bone-dry without a drop left to speak of.
“Goody, we’re out,” Billy simply states, tying his long hair back into place, chocolate eyes still scanning the crowd for the smallest flash of a gun or another weapon.
They could never be too careful travelling to places like this, just the pair of them. They’ve learned the hard way just how prejudiced and small-minded folks out West can be, particularly after Billy and Goodnight divest them of their money.
Goodnight nods once in acknowledgement, accepting the canteen from Billy’s outstretched hands before he speaks up for the first time since the duel began.
“Anyone got a well or somewhere similar I can get my friend here some water?” he sweetly inquires, his crystal blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight as he gestures backwards at Billy. “It’s hotter than blazes out here and I think we’d both appreciate some nice, refreshing water right about now,” Goodnight continues when no one answers, the crowd shifting away uncomfortably or some of the men spitting at their boots.
“We don’t serve your kind here. Neither of ya,” one man spits out, teeth gritted before he spits as close as he dares to Goodnight Robicheaux’s face.
“And what might that imply?”
“A runaway from the railroad and a Southern soldier turned sympathizer,” the man clarifies, shoving Goodnight roughly in the middle of his chest.
Goodnight violently gnashes his teeth but says nothing, all too aware of how his mouth has gotten him into more trouble than he’d like to admit.
When he returns to Billy’s side, they find a wisp of a woman waiting with an outstretched canteen, her green eyes soft and accepting.
“Water for the two of you on your travels,” she whispers, handing the canteen directly to Billy.
“Much obliged, sunshine,” Goodnight flashes his signature smile, that Southern charm dripping from him like a second skin.
“Goody, stop,” Billy warns, his tone rough as he casts his gaze around their immediate surroundings, searching for any sign of an angry brother or father to come running back with a gun to kill the famed sharpshooter for speaking such pleasantries to the unchaperoned woman.
He’s seen plenty of men killed for much less in his time at the railroad, after all….
“No offense here and no Daddy to come after y’all. I just can’t stand to see people mistreated.”
“The world needs more people like you,” Goody declares.