Jason could hardly breathe. The scarf around his neck did well to hide his identity, but it didn’t make it easier to draw in any air. Especially then, as sweat dripped down the back of his neck, chasing the chill down his spine. The wall at his back was the only thing keeping him steady at that moment. His knees had lost their gumption, scared into shakiness by the sound of the lawmen outside.

One hand gripped a bag of cash. The other held a marked up revolver. It had served its purpose well enough. Held up its end when Jason had pointed at the bank teller and told them to fill the bags with the money. It had kept the civilians at bay with its metallic, warning gleam. Now he clutched it like a lifeline and hoped it could pull him through one last time.

One more. That was the deal they’d made. One more robbery to set them up, and it was done. Maybe Jason had been lying at the time they shook hands. But Hank hadn’t.

So why wasn’t Hank the one hiding around a corner? Jason couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.

His partner in crime had been high on the thrill of their success. Laden with as many bags as they could carry, they had been ready to book it out of the bank building, leaving the sniveling bank teller behind. A dusty grey scarf had covered the bottom half of Hank’s face but Jason could see a smile behind those crinkled eyes.

“This is it,” Hank had told him. “One last stretch and we’re for the hills.”

Jason couldn’t help but grin back.

After that, it had all turned to shit.

There were lawman at the windows. The bank teller had already slipped out while they shared their moment, a true example of how sloppy they had become in their overconfidence. There was no clear path to the horses and no hostage to force one open.

It was over. They’d gotten cocky. One too many successes had led to the biggest mistake of their lives.

“We’re done for Hank,” Jason had said, his voice grim. “Time to cash in.”

“Not yet, partner. Wait here until I give the signal. And for heaven’s sake keep your head down.”

The twig of a man had squirmed out through a narrow window and vanished. Now Jason was hunched behind the counter, trying to breathe through his bandanna, wondering where the hell is friend had gone.

“That snake better not have run off and left me here,” he muttered to himself.

They hadn’t even decided on a signal. And the shadows at the windows were moving closer. Whatever Hank was planning, he had better do it fast. Jason was beginning to feel like a fish in a barrel, and there would be no window escapes for him. He was utterly cornered.

“Drop your guns!” shouted a gruff voice from outside the building. “Come out with your hands on your head if you know what’s good for you!”

Jason swore and drew back the hammer on his revolver.

“Come on, Hank. Where are you, you bastard?”

“Last chance! Come on out!”

The sound of a gunshot had Jason ducking his head instinctively. But though his heart galloped like a mustang, the shot was not for him. Outside, the lawmen were in uproar as they yelled and ran for cover. Answering shots were fired. Jason could hear a familiar jeering cry over the ruckus. Hank hadn’t left him.

His heart lifted. That was a signal if he’d ever heard one.

On his feet at once, Jason tightened his grip on both bag and gun and leapt out into the fray. The distraction was all he needed. Where before there had been a firing squad aimed at the door, now Jason dodged the only shot still aimed at him and immediately dove behind a wagon. Unluckily for him, the horse was still hitched. As bullets ricocheted off the wheels, the horse startled into motion, taking his cover with it.

He scuttled alongside it, keeping an eye out for heavy footsteps. But the bulls had their hands full with Hank. For the moment, he was a lesser concern. Jason grinned as he heard his partner crowing insults as he ducked between buildings, marking each thrown insult with a gunshot to keep them on their toes.

Jason managed to grab the bridle of the horse and yank it to a halt.

“Hang on girl,” he told it, too worked up to properly soothe its nerves. But he’d always had a way with horses. This one was an impressive quarter horse, and those its nostrils flared and eyes rolled, it held its nerve as Jason unhitched it from the wagon. He pocketed his revolver and leapt up on its back, pooling the reins in his free hand. The money he kept a firm hold on. Like hell he was going to lose it after such a kerfuffle.

A kick of his heels was all it took to spur the horse into flight. He squeezed tight with his knees to keep seated. Shouts followed him as he galloped across the street, quickly guiding the horse behind a building for cover.

“Hank!” he shouted. The bandana muffled his voice, sitting low and askew on his chin. Cursing under his breath, he yanked it down and yelled again for his partner.

“Hank! Where the devil are you?”

Another spatter of gunshots rang out to his left. Footsteps pounded behind him and Jason urged the horse back into a gallop before the lawmen could set upon him. The agile hooves of his horse kicked up clouds of dust in his wake. Keeping his head low, he rushed to the sound of the fighting, determined to scoop up his partner before they were fully surrounded.

He rounded the corner of the saloon just as the final shot rang out.

The silence was louder than the firefight had been. Jason wrenched on the reins, hardly feeling it as the mare lurched to a stop beneath him. His heart was in his throat, his ears ringing with the soul-shattering quiet.

These were no lawmen with their too-neat moustaches. Each of them were dressed like they were ready for a day on the town. But they wielded weapons with just as much prejudice, and Jason sucked in a breath when he recognized the tallest amongst them. Kurt Fallon bristled like an angry bull. Not surprising, considering it was his bank that had just been ransacked. He was a man Jason was not looking forward to meeting.

Kurt’s men crept in from all sides like vultures descending on a meal. The closest reached down, gun at the ready, and flipped over the body crumpled in the dirt.

Hank’s wide eyes stared straight up at the sky. Jason choked. His horse shifted anxiously beneath him. The clouds passed on overhead, promising rain soon, completely uncaring of the tragedy unfolding below.

There was red spilling from Hank’s pale shirt. It blossomed like a flower, growing and growing until it overflowed onto the ground. His eyes twitched slightly, not quite gone, and Jason had never known a worse moment than when that fading gaze found his. Jason reached up with numb fingers and yanked down his bandana, mouth open in shock.

Hank’s eyes sparked with recognition. Weak lips twitched.

Then, breath hitching, Jason watched his friend die.

Kurt spat on the ground.

“Good riddance,” he said.

Jason saw red. A cry erupted from him as he reached for his gun.

He didn’t even get it out of the holster. There were shouts of warning as the men all whirled towards him, coming together like a swarm of ants. The harsh sun glinted off their pistols, aiming wildly at him.

The first shot just barely caught him on the shoulder. Jason dropped his gun, hand springing open at the sudden burst of pain. Then he was forced to cling to the mane of the horse suddenly rearing beneath him. The shouts, the gunfire were finally too much for the poor horse, which whinnied in fright and whirled on its back hooves. In the next instant it took off away from the group, hooves pounding as they ate up the ground.

Jason was lucky not to be flung off its back. Teeth gritting, he returned his grip to the reins and snapped them, driving his heels in. He left his grief behind him, next to his friend in the dirt. There was nothing he could do for him now, except make sure his sacrifice wasn’t wasted.

“Get the horses!”

Jason heard Kurt’s shout from behind him and urged the horse faster. Its sides were heaving, but it was broad and strong, and the men chasing them only spurred it on. Bullets whizzed past Jason’s head. One came so close it nearly knocked the hat off his head.

He burst out onto the road again. Ahead, lawmen were still gathered by the bank looking for accomplices. They were quick to notice him, rushing to block the road with their guns drawn. Behind him, the sound of Kurt’s men was fast approaching. There was no way forward, and a death wish going back.

The sound of a horn echoed in the distance. Jason’s head shot up at the sound. Over the top of the closest building he could see a puff of smoke trailing in the sky.

He yanked the reins, and the horse reared again as he forced it to turn sharply. Then he was pelting down an alleyway, cringing at the sound of bullets pinging off the wall just behind him. There. The station was a straight shot from here, and just ahead Jason could see a train pulling away. In that moment that sun-starched hulk of metal was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Faster,” he urged. The horse panted beneath him, but never slowed. They careened after the train, shooting past the station and drawing surprised yelps from those on the platform. Women clutched their skirts and their hats. The men pointed after him, calling for the lawmen. Not a single friend among them to give him the benefit of the doubt.

A familiar wanted poster flashed at him from a post. The badly scrawled imitation had never been a problem before today, but now as he rode past them barefaced, Jason knew he would never be coming back.

But he had to make it out first.

The train raced ahead of him, chugging as it picked up speed. His horse rallied, a true champion of its kind as the distance between them and the train drew smaller and smaller. He didn’t dare cast a look over his shoulder to see if he was being pursued. If they’d managed to get their horses in time. He’d either find out with a bullet in his back, or he’d do right by Hank after all.

Ten meters between him and the train. Five meters. One. Then he drew up alongside the first open carriage, fighting to keep from being thrown even as he stretched one hand out for the door handle.

There was sharp pinging sound as a bullet struck the metal carriage. Jason reared back, almost losing his seat. Then he lunged for the handle and this time his fingers closed around it. He gripped the rusted metal like his life depended on it. In one smooth motion he swung himself up and inside.

His knees hit straw. Jason dropped the bag of money and landed on his elbows, heaving with exertion. Though blurry vision he forced himself upright, staggering to the door to look out.

In the distance he could see the dark shapes of Kurt and his men on horseback, but they were far too late. The world was flashing by, picking up speed, and he knew they would not be able to catch up. An almost-hysterical laugh escaped him and he threw them a jovial wave.

It was over. He’d made it.

The horse was still chasing the train. It tossed its head, mane catching the wind as it ran free alongside him. Jason smiled, and couldn’t help blowing a kiss to his rescuer.

“Thanks a lot girl,” he said, words snatched away by the wind. “I won’t forget it.”

Then he took a seat against the wall of the carriage and waited to find out where he was headed.

 

 

 

Miles away, in a saloon by the train tracks, Jason tapped his fingers against the counter. The bartender poured him another whiskey. Jason thanked him with a nod, but said nothing. His shoulder still ached beneath the bandage, but he’d live. Unfortunately.

“Alright there sir?” the man asked.

The glass scraped along the wood as Jason nudged it closer, curling a protective hand around it. He looked at his reflection in the golden liquid, watching it twist and distort his features until he barely recognized himself anymore.

“Just peachy,” he said, and downed the drink.

He’d counted his money. It was a lot. A fair score. As good as any they’d made before. But as he’d totaled it all up in piles, Jason had come to the disappointing conclusion that none of it was worth Hank’s life.

They should have quit earlier. They should have never started. They’d been young and idiotic, thinking a heist or seven could turn their lives around. Now what did they have? Hank, a date with a graveyard, and Jason with comfortless cash.

If he could, he would have split it with his partner. Dead or not, he deserved it. Deserved the fancy tombstone and a priest-blessed grave to see him off.

But Jason knew there was no way he could show his face back in that town. So, without the chance to spend his newfound money the way he wanted it, he’d taken up patronage at the local saloon, where he would call home for the next week and a half. The days sort of blurred together after a while.

“Two more,” he asked. He set the second glass by the empty chair next to him and clinked his own against it in a somber toast.

“Thanks for the save, Hank. Sorry I couldn’t return the favor.”

The bartender was looking at him like he was crazy. Jason sucked at his teeth until the other man looked away.

He hadn’t planned to waste all his money on whiskey. But it was starting to look more and more likely. Since Hank’s ghost rudely failed to accept his drink, Jason shrugged and took it for himself.

The doors swung open, followed by laughter and stomping feet. Jason sighed as he found his peace disturbed by the group of men that quickly claimed a table by the door. They were too rowdy by far, and by the looks of it they were there to stay for a while. He pulled face and pushed off his bar stool. If he couldn’t mope in silence, he’d rather head back to the hotel. At least there no one would question his sour look.

He pushed past them without a word and squinted at the bright sunlight. The heat hit him in an unforgiving wave, almost pushing him back into the saloon. But he fought against it, putting on his hat to cover his eyes. From beneath the brim he could see a line of horses tied up outside. All of them were dipping their noses into the cool water trough. There was one man still tending to them, short and stout with little hair left on his head. If he didn’t put his hat back on quickly he was going to end up looking like an over-ripe tomato.

Jason barely glanced at him as he passed. From the looks of his gear and the group of horses just beyond the border of town, the group were drovers heading west with a herd of mustangs. His eyes swept over the dusty coats of the horses. Then he stopped walking.

Frozen in place, Jason stared at the horses. At one horse in particular, the white pattern on its nose unmistakable even at this distance. Although it had been over a week since he last saw it, Jason would remember that russet brown coat anywhere.

It felt like only the blink of an eye before he was across the street. The horses shifted nervously as he approached, some of them giving him a devilish look that warned he was in for a swift kicking if he got too close. There were at least two drovers still on horseback and they eyed him warily as he approached.

Jason spared them no attention. He only had eyes for the tall brown quarter horse at the front, that was looking at him with a dark eyes. The mare nickered as he reached out a hand and pushed its nose against his fingers.

“It really is you,” he said, awed. “What the blazes are you doing all the way out here?”

“Like it?” said a voice from behind him. Jason turned to see the balding drover approach with a wide grin. “We spotted her out in the valley. I thought she looked domestic, but hell if she didn’t put up a fight when we were trying to rope her.”

Jason turned back to the horse, astonished. “I guess you had no plans on going back either.”

Brown ears flicked at him. He reached up to scratch at the white patch in the center of the horse’s forehead, and as he did he felt a click in his chest as a piece fell back into place. A piece that had felt missing since he saw the red on Hank’s shirt.

“How much?” he asked.

The drover chortled. “Oh no lad, we’re taking these ones west. Plenty of high bidders out there, I’m not going to just give one away for pennies. Especially not to a drunkard. You’ll sober up and regret it lad, mark my words.”

Jason had stopped listening at the word ‘no.’ Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out a roll of banknotes and slapped it against the man’s chest.

Even flustered as he was the man was quick to grab the money. He started counting, lips moving soundlessly. His bushy eyebrows slowly crept higher on his face.

“This is- are you sure you wouldn’t rather a look at the others, lad?” he spluttered, suddenly eager to please. “We have a couple of nice stallions we’re moving that might be more to your liking…”

“No need,” Jason said, already turning back to stroke the horse. His horse. “This is the one I want.”

He leaned in until he was nose to nose with the mare, fingers gentle against its mane.

“The life of a townhouse isn’t for you then, huh?” he murmured, watching those ears prick to attention. “Me neither, to be honest.”

The horse snuffled at his hand, its gaze never leaving his.

“Alright. You and me then,” he said. “And this time we’ll do it right.”