Chapter One: Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

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Recovered from the Diaries of Wyoming Slim

July 3rd, 1859

Almost twelve years to the day. Nothing has been on my mind but finding him and killing the son of a bitch, and I would like nothing more, but not before he tells me who the rest of his men were. Not before. Been nearly a month of riding with this Henry fellow, he does not say much and what he does say usually carries insight in some way or another. The sheriff not so much, truthfully I rather wish we didn't need him but the more guns we have the better, there's truly no saying just how many men Waters has convinced to hole up with him out here. We're close now, something I have waited for so long I have almost forgotten what came before, I can barely remember her face now.

Wyoming Slim

April 21st, 1859

Plains outside Silver, Texas, United States of America

It was entering the twilight hours of yet another scorching day of rough riding. The air was finally beginning to cool as the sun crept back over the horizon and they were catching up. The winds hiss as they sweep over the hills from the northern side of the valley, and tumbleweeds roll about as the sands blow in roving clouds of dust. Wyoming Slim begins to build a fire while Henry Thomas and Sheriff Joseph Collins unpack the gear and tie down the horses. It was almost the end of the second week they had been on the trail of Billy Waters, riding almost non stop through the hot, dry Texas plains. A one hundred dollar bounty rested on Waters head dead, an extra fifty if brought in alive. Mr. Thomas was no bounty hunter but was an experienced tracker and desperate for the money, though Slim didn't know why. He was a tall and slender man with aged bronze skin who fancied trinkets and tools all the way from his tracking implements to his shaving kit, needless to say, he did not travel lightly. It was an uncommon trait for a tracker. However, his reputation preceded him as being a skilled hunter and talented tracker. Joseph Collins was the sheriff of a town hit and raided by the fugitives they found themselves after, a town called Silver. He was a round man who was particularly red in the face most times of day and never ran out of things to complain about. Wyoming slim sits by the stacked pile of wood striking his flint against the tender trying to catch a spark.

"So why do they call you Wyoming Slim?" Mr. Collins asks as he lays out his bedding and takes a seat next to the, still unlit, campfire.

Slim strikes his flint again and the pile of wood lights ablaze, "Well, I suppose because it's my name, Mr. Collins." He replies now walking over to Joseph's saddlebag and removing a can of beans and a pot before returning to the campfire.

Henry lays out several sheets of leather and begins to clean his Colt Navy revolver by the fire, "Thank you for the light, Slim." He says as he begins to disassemble his revolver.

"Well, what kind of a name is Wyoming then?" Joseph asks with a chuckle, "I figured it was where you came from."

"I suppose the same kind of name as any else," Slim says now setting up the pot over the fire and pouring the beans in, tossing torn bits of jerky into the pot.

"So tell me Wyoming," Joseph says again through a chuckle, "What's got you convinced this is the man we're after?"

"You don't believe my claim?" Wyoming asks without looking up from the fire.

"Well you say this boy is somehow gonna lead us to those outlaws, I just don't see the connection."

"Billy Waters has been traveling with the same boys that hit your town. Near over a year, before that, he ran with the Hetley's. I've been on his trail for a long time."

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