1874, New Austin.
The U.S. Marshal's office was stifling, the air thick with the stench of cheap whiskey and desperation. Three lawmen stood stiffly, awaiting orders from James, a man whose years of service had etched a map of harsh lines onto his face. Among the weary veterans stood a fresh face, a junior Sheriff who'd only worn the star for six months: Thomas Mecauvine.
"You, you, and... you," James barked, pointing a callous finger at each man. "You're saddling up. We're hunting the bastard who killed the Deputy U.S. Marshal's daughter."
"I'll ride for you, James," drawled Bernardo, a towering figure with a mustache thick enough to hide a bird.
"Long as I get to burn some tobacco along the trail."
A groan broke the tension. "Ugh... hell, I can barely keep my eyes open. That whiskey last night had a mean kick." The man squinted at his superior.
"I got a question, James. You mind?"
"Speak your piece."
"Why in the hell are we dragging this greenhorn along? You're putting a boy on a cold trail that you couldn't even crack in your prime?" asked the man known locally as Penny the Drunk.
"In the name of justice and civilization, Penny," James replied, his voice flat.
"The Law doesn't care who hangs, and it don't care who pulls the lever. All that matters is that the Law holds." James was a fixture in New Austin, an old dog who had survived more winters than most.
He turned his gaze to the boy. James's face was a map of deep lines and scars. "You. What's your name, son?"
Thomas instinctively tightened his belt and brushed a thumb over his badge. He straightened his spine—a pose that spoke of ambition barely contained.
"Thomas. Thomas Mecauvine, sir. Ready to serve and uphold the law."
"Don't be so stiff, boy," James chuckled, glancing sideways at Penny and Bernardo.
"Hahaha... forgive me. I swear, I see the face of every dead lawman in you. You all look the same when that star is new."
James stepped closer, his heavy boots thudding on the floorboards. He clamped a hand on Thomas's shoulder, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
"Listen to me, kid. Someday, you're gonna hear things out there... make damn sure you remember them. You hear me?"
Thomas stood frozen, then quickly doffed his hat. "Yes, Mr. James. I will follow your lead, sir."
To the veterans, it was a familiar tragedy. Thomas was stiff, naive, and a true believer in justice. The exact kind of man usually chewed up and spit out by the men in charge.
***
High noon. The sun beat down on their badges like a hammer on an anvil. Thomas, Bernardo, and Penny rode a dusty trail just outside New Austin borders.
"¡Órale! Hey, kid!"
A cloud of acrid smoke hit Thomas in the face. Bernardo, puffing on a rolled cigarette, slowed his horse to a lazy trot.
"What is it?" Thomas asked, waving the smoke away.
"Pfuhhh..." Bernardo exhaled a grey cloud.
"Escucha, chico.You oughta turn back. This trail ain't for you. Go home to mommy." He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his vest.
Penny, riding alongside, cracked a bleary eye open. Thomas pulled his reins, stopping Jasper.
"What do you mean?" Thomas demanded.
"I ain't gonna repeat myself, mijo." Bernardo waved the paper.
"Read it! This is why I don't want you here. ¿Comprende? I looked into your file."
"Hahahaha... give it a rest, Bernard. Always hazing the rookie," Penny slurred, swaying in his saddle.
"Shut up, Penny! Put that bottle away before you kill us all." Bernardo snatched the whiskey from Penny and glared back at Thomas.
"Vete a casa, kid. Ride back. Now."
Thomas's jaw set. The insult to his ambition cut deeper than the personal attack. "On what grounds? I... I will not take orders from an incompetent drunk like you!"
"Ooh, look at that, Bernard! The puppy barks!" Penny cackled.
"Silence!"
Bernardo swung off his horse, boots hitting the dirt with a heavy thud. He walked toward Thomas, his hand drifting casually but deliberately toward the Colt on his hip.
The air turned electric. Thomas felt a cold shiver not fear, but instinct. Before he could think, his hand snapped to his own holster.
*Click.*
Thomas's gun was leveled at Bernardo's chest before the veteran had even cleared leather. Bernardo froze, genuine shock flashing in his eyes for a split second before the sneer returned.
"You know why I want you gone?" Bernardo spat on the ground.
"Porque you're a silver-spoon milk-drinker."
He continued, voice dripping with venom. "I figured out why James sent you. It ain't talent. It's your daddy. 'Anderson the Merchant,' right? James probably thinks your daddy's plata will pay for our funeral costs if things go south."
"So you think I bought this badge?" Thomas didn't lower his gun. His voice was steady, colder than before.
"No, Bernardo. This is my case. And my family's money didn't buy my aim."
"Hey, fellas... looks like we got company." Penny pointed a wobbling finger toward a ridge in the distance.
*BANG!*
A gunshot rang out—Penny had fired his rifle wildly into the air.
On the ridge, a silhouette scrambled in panic, spurring a horse away. Thomas instinctively kicked his horse to give chase. "I'm going after him!"
"Hold it!" Bernardo grabbed Thomas's reins, nearly jerking the horse over.
"¡Calma! We're here to track a killer, not chase scared rabbits."
"He could be a scout! Or the killer!" Thomas yelled.
"Let him go," Bernardo said, his voice dropping. His eyes weren't angry anymore; they were... anxious.
"No pasa nada.We stick to the plan."
"Yeah, Bernard's right," Penny giggled, though he was reloading his rifle with surprising speed.
"Prob'ly his will peeping and crying for his mama."
Thomas lowered his gun, but his grip tightened. Why did Bernardo stop him? And why did a 'drunk' like Penny spot the ambush before anyone else? Thomas realized then: the danger wasn't just ahead of them. It was riding right beside him.
He's fresh meat, still wet behind the ears. That star on his chest is too shiny, full of fool's hope. But when the dust starts flying, you see it: a quick hand, a cold eye. That ain't just luck, that's hunger—the kind that gets men killed, or turns 'em into legends.