Otis's eyes rolled back and the next moment he fell backward and slid down the little rock ridge. His lifeless body just lay there, right beneath Rusty's feet. It was like straight out of a comic book, where the main character stands over his fallen rival, looking down with nothing but pure confidence and pity. Except Rusty didn't have that confidence. The only reason he managed to turn this situation around was luck. There was no smart maneuver in which he overpowered the villain through his intelligence, nor was he like one of them cocky, buff cowboys. He was nothing more than a man who seemed to have the mercy of God by his side.
Rusty spun around to face the threat he hadn't dealt with yet. Pat was sitting back covering his jaw with his hand, looking like he was in agonizing pain. There was not a lot of blood, but from his groaning Rusty could tell he was damaged significantly. He locked eyes with Pat and in that exact moment he saw how the previously calm and confident expression on his face transitioned into fear.
"He fears me?"
For once he had the upper hand, and he was not gonna let it go.
"Can't break the act. Focus"
Rusty redirected his revolver right to the face of the hurting man in front of him. He stepped onto the ledge, cocking his revolver as he closed in.
"You better give me one hell of a reason not to shoot you, mister," Rusty shouted.
"Let's just stay calm now, please, I have a wife and family, I don't even fucking know that guy. The only reason I'm here is to save my family." Pat's voice cracked as he held his jaw, trembling.
Pat clenched his teeth and muttered something under his breath. Rusty couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy, but he was also smart enough to know he couldn't let down his guard.
"You're here to kill me, cut the crap," Rusty replied angrily.
This was a moment needing zero tolerance, so why couldn't he pull the trigger?
"The boss sent us after you, I ain't getting no bounty of yours," his voice trembled with desperation.
His body language said it all — he wasn't lying. Before him laid a man without harmful intent. A man who lived for one purpose: duty. Rusty's brows knotted. Nothing about this made sense, and worse, it was starting to sound... honest.
"Otis was right, he's got me on a damn leash. The boss promised me he would release my wife and kids if I captured you, that's all there is to it."
His voice was much calmer now, but still shaky from the pain he was enduring. There were so many thoughts rushing through Rusty's mind. Was he really going to put his trust in this stranger? Maybe this was it. A lead. A thread. The first since the day they died. Rusty holstered his gun, but the questions weighing on his shoulders only grew heavier.
"Just this once, I'm gonna put a little trust in you. I know very well how much family means to one, and for that reason I'm willing to spare you," Rusty said.
It might be his only shot at learning the truth about his family's death. Hearing what he said about his family made Rusty emotional, and he could sense himself in Pat's story. But letting his guard down completely was a risk he couldn't take.
"I apologize in advance," Rusty said.
He walked up to the barely conscious Pat and with a small leap he charged up a kick aiming right for the back of his head. The dust from the ground blew over his face as he fell out of consciousness. Next, Rusty bent over to swiftly grab the gun out of Pat's holster. It felt heavy and there were several burn marks on the wood handle shaped in almost a circle. It was definitely higher grade stuff. He had to get answers.
"I wondered when you'd wake up," Rusty said.
Hours had passed since Pat hit the ground. Now the fire was roaring. The sun had set and the previously scorching hot day had turned chilly, with the moon shining across the rocky landscape and lighting up the desert. He threw another piece of wood on the blazing fire.
"Oh fucking hell, you tied me up, you bastard?" the drowsy Pat said.
"I took necessary precautions."
Pat wiggled a little to get the ropes loose but it had no effect. He angrily muttered something beneath his breath and then laid back his head on the cliff wall and looked up toward the stars.
"I uh-I buried your little friend over by the creek, thought even someone like him deserved a proper burial," Rusty said.
"I don't give a fuck about him, I'm honestly glad I'm finally free of him," Pat replied coldly.
"Okay, I don't care what business you had with him, but I want answers."
"Get these ropes off me and I might help you out."
Rusty hesitated for a second, but walked over to the beaten down Pat and untied the old, scratchy ropes and threw them away. He sat back down across the campfire and slightly treaded over his holster with his fingers.
"Who are you with? Who's this boss you've kept mentioning?" Rusty asked, he was intrigued.
Pat's eyes wandered away from him, and after a slight hesitation he started speaking.
"They're called The Red Riders, You'll know them by the hex marks they leave... often times by the blood of their victims, and the way they never leave anyone alive to talk about it. About the boss, I don't know any more than you, the only man who even knows his name is ol' Travis, the boss's right hand... but uh-"
Pictures started flashing through Rusty's mind, he was kneeling in an old wooden house, rain pouring through the open roof. The blood from his own mother seeping through his fingers and being washed down by the rain. His head started pulsating hard and he lifted his hand toward his head, but stopping midway, realising he's exposing his weakness. Flash. Right there, on the back wall of that wooden house... a red hexagon.
"I have to focus, if I'm seen like this he'll make his move"
He swallowed hard.
"Oh... uh, thanks, you know where they are?" Rusty asked
"I couldn't tell you, they move around too much, although there is one person who might know, but he's gonna be damn hard to find as well."
Rusty narrowed his eyes. His heart burning of rage.
"Then it's time we start looking."