All For 10 Dollars

Exodus In America

She knew she had to go down but honestly felt like avoiding this place entirely and ride on. But she knew what was waiting for her down there and had to continue down words. Yes sir, she had chosen an odd path to follow, but once she set his mind to a thing, she didn't like to give up on it until she'd dogged it to its end, killed it, or it killed her Then why, she wondered, wasn't she more concerned with tracking down whatever vermin had nearly laid her low?

"Horse. You have an opinion?"

The gray beast did not respond. Katherine sighed. "I agree. I have made stronger decisions?" But she knew if she gimped her way around this town as she was, she'd end up dead for certain. The same gut feeling she'd relied on so many times over the years in tracking miscreants.

Katherine fixed her hat and rode down the dirt road into town as dusk settled over the landscape, the dimming light casting long shadows across the muddy streets. The town was a typical western settlement, complete with three saloons, four general stores, and a cluster of weathered wooden buildings that stood as silent witnesses to the passing years. A sheriff building along with doctor's house. Then it's the crystal-clear river that flows gently through its center, providing both practical and scenic benefits to its residents. As she approached, the click-clack of her horse's hooves echoed in harmony with the occasional creaking of old wagon wheels.

The townsfolk, always on the lookout for newcomers, glanced up from their daily routines to catch sight of the mysterious rider. Their eyes widened at the sight of a woman dressed like a man, scar visible on her neck, riding with the grace and confidence of a seasoned cowboy.

Katherine dismounted in front of the saloon, sign on top was a beaten, old wooden piece of crap with an old washed down yellow and red painting with the name of the saloon "The Hearthstone '' what a name she thought and mocking it under her breath. Tying her horse to the hitching post, she adjusted her hat, the brim casting a shadow over her eyes, which gleamed with a hint of weariness and wanderlust.

As she entered the saloon, the swinging doors creaked, drawing the attention of the patrons within. Yet the room cared not who entered all were busy with their own lives to give a rats ass. The familiar scent of tobacco, whiskey, and sweat enveloped her senses, a scent that was as much a part of the West as the vast landscapes she roamed.

With an air of self-assuredness, Sierra made her way to the bar, taking a seat with an ease that suggested she was no stranger to this rugged world. The bartender, a grizzled old-timer with a mop of gray hair, approached with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

"What can I get you, stranger?" he asked, wiping a dirty rag over a polished glass.

"A shot of your finest whiskey," Katherine replied.

As the bartender poured her drink, the murmurs and whispers among the patrons resumed, their intrigue now coupled with a sense of admiration for the stranger who had tamed the untamed West in her own way.

Katherine took a sip of the whiskey, letting the warmth of the liquid spread through her. She surveyed the room with a keen eye, her gaze lingering on the locals who held their poker games in hushed tones, and the drifters who nursed their wounds and dreams alike.

A group of rowdy cowboys at a nearby table eyed her with a mixture of amusement and challenge. One of them, emboldened by a few too many drinks, called out, "Hey, girlie! You lost or somethin'? This ain't a place for the likes of you!"

Katherine's scarred neck tingled, but she remained unruffled. Instead of retaliating with words, she allowed her actions to speak louder than any response. She calmly reached for the revolver on her hip, but the old man behind the counter coughed to get her attention. She rolled her eyes in annoyance, sighing as she let her coat fall back in place hiding her revolver.

The cowboys exchanged glances at one another soon getting bored and they decided to focus their attention back on their cards, leaving Katherine to enjoy her drink in relative peace.

"Don't mind them boys, they're a bunch of idiots." The old man stated as she placed the clean glass under the counter.

"Idiots playing with fire end up losing." Katherine muttered as she took another sip.

The saloon was a haze of smoke and raucous laughter as Katherine Unsworth sat at the bar, nursing her whiskey. The noise and chatter enveloped her like a familiar cloak, but her senses remained sharp, as they always were. She had an uncanny ability to pick up on the subtlest of details—a skill that had served her well in the unforgiving wilderness.

As she sipped her drink, a well-dressed man approached, his attire suggesting he was more than just another cowboy passing through. His dark suit and polished boots stood out amidst the rugged attire of the saloon regulars. A discreet but observant eye would have noted the subtle bulge of a concealed weapon beneath his coat—a telltale sign that he was not just a casual visitor to this wild outpost.

The man took a seat beside Sierra, his sharp eyes glancing around the room before settling on her. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice carrying an air of formality that clashed with the rough ambiance of the saloon.

Sierra appraised the stranger with a flicker of curiosity in her emerald gaze. She was no stranger to encounters with lawmen and government agents, but this one seemed different—more composed, perhaps even more dangerous.

"I reckon you're welcome to sit, but it ain't gonna change the fact that you stick out like a sore thumb in this place," Sierra replied, taking another sip of her whiskey.

The man offered a faint smile, seemingly unfazed by her remark. "Sometimes, sticking out is precisely what one needs to do in order to get the job done."

Katherine raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what job might that be?"

The man leaned closer, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. "Getting on with finding your once brother in arms and bringing them to us. Or you can say goodbye to ever seeing your beloved sister again," 

All she could is tighten her grip on the whiskey glass. "You touch one hair on her head, and you'll regret it," Katherine warned, her voice laced with a dangerous edge.

"Then don't give us a reason too, Miss Unsworth. Do your job and all will be well." He simply answered.

"I'm not your dog! What I'm doing is to clear my name and get my sister back which you will give her back or I swear to fucking God I wil~"

"Come on, Unsworth. Moral degeneracy waits for no man...Or women is your circumstance. Now hurry along." The agent interrupted Katherine threaten with in order. Before she could even blink he rose from his seat with a smug look on his face.

"Oh, Miss Unsworth, you are helping bring civilization to these lands because without law we'd be living in hell. Good day, will be seeing you soon." The agent said as he walked away leaving Katherine sitting at the bar.

She glared at the agent as he left the saloon to vanish into the night. She tightens her grip around the glass bottle so hard it began to crack slightly, she found herself wrestling with conflicting emotions. She knew one way to hide this or rid of it entirely raising her glass up in the air to get the attention of the old man wanting to get rid of the emotions in her head.

"Whiskey," she uttered with a voice that betrayed her internal turmoil. The bartender, ever the silent observer of the saloon's patrons, poured her drink without a word, recognizing the familiar face of the scarred rider.