Sopping wet locks of hair pulled taut under Grant’s iron grip as he yanked the Kid up by the soaked strands, hauling him out of the rushing water and into the merciless air of the cold desert night.

The outlaw spat and sputtered, coughing up a mouthful of river water and drawing in a strained grasp. “Christ! I’m sober! I’m sober!” The fugitive hacked, voice rough and wet as he twisted in Grant’s grip to glare at the man whose fingers still fisted in his hair.

“I told you to shut your mouth.” Grant tsked, letting his fingers uncurl from the outlaw’s hair to let the boy slump to the riverbank in a gasping heap.

“Oh, gee, how considerate,” The Kid huffed after dragging in one last strained wheeze. “Here I thought you said that ‘cause you were getting tired of my voice.” The outlaw groaned, lifting his head from where it had been dipped to the ground to glare daggers into the lawman. Thick water droplets gathered on the limp tips of his hair and splattered onto the ground below in spreading pools that crept ever outwards to stain the forest floor a dark, muddy brown.

They’d decided setting up camp away from town would be a wise choice and had set up in a small wooded area not too awful far away from the train station. The trees were sparse but offered cover enough and they’d even found a small river near the middle of the small woods, the babbling little brook just perfect for sobering up drunk little pests who couldn't seem to keep their delicate little hands to themselves.

“I am tired of hearing your voice.” Grant assured with a humourless snort. Nevertheless, he waved Gavin over from where the man had taken up post leaned against a tree a few paces away and held out a hand expectantly.

The deputy wordlessly pushed a small, steel cup into the sheriff’s hands before retreating back to his place, watching the scene like a hawk yet never saying a word from his silent post.

The metal cup felt warm and welcoming against Grant’s fingertips and steam billowed up from the rim in rich plumes that swirled through the sky before finally being claimed by the breeze. The cool metal gleamed in the flickering glow of the small fire they’d set up earlier and reflected the orange blaze back in a distorted reflection of warm light that cast the Kid’s face a soft sepia when the Sheriff pushed the thing into his hands.

“Drink this. It’ll sober you up.” The sheriff directed after a moment, feeling the need to after the outlaw did nothing more than stare into the cup like a filly stranded on the train tracks.

“I think my little dip in the river did a fine job of that.” The Kid snorted tastelessly, still blinking down into the cup like the stars themselves had been plucked down and drowned under the dark liquid. Steam swept up in thick curls to brush a gentle caress over his soft cheeks, still twinged a slight pink with the aftereffects of his drinking, and twirl it’s pale fingers around his damp hair.

“Look, Kid, it ain’t poisoned.” Grant huffed dryly, running an exasperated hand back through his graying hair. “If we’d wanted you dead, we woulda shot you in the street.” The sheriff explained tiredly, a touch irritated by the boy’s unwarranted hesitance.

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t spit in it.” The Kid muttered spitefully but, after a long moment, he finally brought the brim to his lips and tipped the cup back. Despite his earlier hesitation, the outlaw craned his neck back to dump the caffeinated godsend back in one swift swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. A pleased sound hummed softly from between his lips to echo off the metal walls of the cup as he finally pulled the empty thing back and Grant couldn’t help but wonder when the last time the guy had sat down and had a cup of coffee was.

“I say we tie him to a tree so we can get some sleep.” Gavin piped up, the first time he’d opened his mouth since they’d left town.

“Sounds like a good idea as any.” Grant agreed with a shrug though, honestly, he wasn’t quite sure how well he’d be sleeping with a notorious murderer roped to a tree naught but a few feet away.

“I say we don’t but I guess it’s two to one.” The Kid sighed and pushed himself up off the bank with the butts of his hands, pausing to drag his palms against his dark pants before he reached down and snagged his hat from where it lay just beside the river. The outlaw plopped the thing back on top of his head and stalked over to the nearest tree before flopping back to the ground, landing heavily on his ass with a soft “oomph.”

Grant was gonna go out on a limb here and guess The Kid’s coordination probably hadn't all returned quite yet.

Gavin heaved himself up off the forest floor and reached for his overstuffed bag where it lay just beside him. The man rummaged about the bulging thing that was about beginning to tear at the seams and pulled out a long rope from within. The cord was beginning to fray with age but was thick enough to hold a horse still and long enough for it too, dragging the ground even as Gavin began walking across the makeshift camp.

Why the hell the deputy thought to bring what almost looked like rope from the gallows, Grant would never know, nor did he think he wanted too.

The man kept a sideways glare dead set on the outlaw, a vicious sneer twisting his features as he approached. Yet the expression lost some of its ferocity when set against the absolutely flat look of deadpanned boredom the fugitive returned it with.

Gavin seemed undeterred, however, and quickly set to work looping the massive rope around the thick trunk of the tree. The fraying cord stretched over the Kid’s slender frame in thick strands and pulled taught over the graying bark of the pine. The outlaw’s arms were pressed close to his sides and the unyielding rope held them there with merciless strength while the massive cords wrapped over his lean chest to keep him bound.

“So this is what pure evil looks like.” The deputy sneered as he finally pulled back to sit in front of the outlaw, one leg bent under himself and an arm rested against his knee where it was propped up.

The man received no response, just dead silence from the Kid who refused to even bring his gaze up from the ground, head dipped so his hat guarded his eyes.

Gavin reached back and Grant stiffened as he caught the metallic gleam of the lawman’s pistol shine under his hand in the low light of the dying fire. The deputy pulled the weapon from it’s holster and drew it forward, causing the sheriff to shift forward an inch as an uneasy pit grew in his stomach.

“You disgust me, mongrel.” Gavin hissed in a dangerous whisper, leaning in to breathe the words into the fugitive's face. “What kinda sick bastard stabs his own mother in cold blood?” The deputy sneered as he brought his weapon up to pushed the brim of the outlaw’s hat up from his face.

The Kid brought his eyes up from the floor to glare coldly into Gavin’s own brown orbs. “Keep talking and you’ll be next, farmhand.” The outlaw whispered slowly, voice as cold as the ice and dark as the black, starless sky above them.

“Lay off it, Gav.” Grant interjected just as Gavin opened his mouth to reply.

The deputy turned to give Grant a questioning look but the sheriff waved him off with a shake of his head. There was no cause to torment a man they already had tied to a tree.

Gavin hesitated a moment but reluctantly drew back with a final scowl, sneering at the outlaw as he slowly drew back to his previous post and settled against the tree he’d been leaned against earlier.

Silence settled over the camp soon after. Gavin eventually grew tired of his one sided glare-fest and rolled over onto his side, grasping tiredly for a blanket that wasn’t there and absently throwing a few leaves over his shoulder in the process. The dying fire finally succumbed to the cruel wind stealing its life away and died with a last crackle and a pathetic hiss, leaving nothing but silently, smoldering ashes glowing a dull red where there had once been roaring life. Quiet swept through the world like an unseen rider, bringing the late hours of the night in on its silent hooves.

“Shame the stars aren’t out.” The Kid’s voice broke the spell, his honey words startling Grant out of a light doze. “If this was my last night of freedom, I woulda liked to seen ‘em.” The outlaw mused, gaze turned toward the uncaring blackness of the sky to stare at the heavens that couldn’t care less if the people below them lived or died.

“Shame.” Grant agreed gruffly but his voice sounded deafening in the silence between them, loud and rude in the quiet of the night. Quiet soon settled in once more but now that the outlaw had stirred the lawman he couldn’t seem to find sleep again, his eyelids heavy but his mind whirling behind tired eyes. After a moment, he finally caved and pulled himself up to a sitting position with an irritated grumble.

“I have to ask,” The sheriff began, watching through suspicious eyes as the outlaw squirmed against his bonds to shift towards him a bit. “How’d you get the horse back?” Grant finally asked incredulously. The question had been prodding the back of his mind since he’d found the creature outside the saloon in a town miles away from where the Kid had leapt from its back and pressed into his mouth before he could reign it back.

“Silver always comes back to me.” The Kid replied simply, smiling softly as he angled this head to where the creature was currently tethered to a tree not far from where Grant sat.

The sheriff cast a long glance at Silver, the phantom shadow of a horse nearly invisible in the black of night before bringing his deadpanned gaze back to the Kid. All he got was a shoulder jerk that probably would’ve been a shrug had the guy not been tied to a tree.

“Hey, Sheriff,” The outlaw piped up again after a few minutes, shifting about as if he were nervous, though the thick ropes pulled taut against his lean body restricted the movement.

“If you’re gonna ask me to loosen the ropes, the answer is no.” Grant deadpanned flatly but the dry comment won a light chuckle from the captive and a warm smile still lingered on the outlaw’s lips after the noise subsided.

“I wouldn’t be here if you were that stupid.” The Kid dismissed with an amused smirk but then seemed to sober up some. “Look, Sheriff, I know I ain’t in no kinda position to be asking favors of you,” The outlaw began slowly, bringing his lower lip gently between his teeth. “But if they string me up, will you make sure they don’t do nothin’ to my horse? Watch after him?” The boy asked urgently, worry flickering clearly in his mahogany eyes as clear as day.

“Um,” Grant began un-eloquently, taken back by the sudden request. “Uh, yeah, sure, I guess.” The man got out haltingly before he recollected himself with a curt cough. “Sure. He’s a fine animal.” The sheriff finally managed, reaching out a hand toward the horse to give the creature an assuring pat.

Silver reared up on hind legs the moment Grant reached for him, giving a loud whiny before slamming his front hooves back into the earth to back up a pace. The horse gave a restless snort and pawed anxiously at the forest floor, prancing in place and eyeing the sheriff with haughty rage. The animal only settled when the Kid gave an urgent click of his tongue and made a soft shushing sound, straining against the ropes to make eye contact with the horse from where he was bound.

“I don’t think he likes me very much though.” Grant admitted with an awkward chuckle, letting his hand fall back to his thigh where it had rested earlier as he returned his attention to the outlaw.

The Kid gave a small laugh, a warm, sweet sound that reminded Grant of the wind; wild, and lawless, and crystal clear in the cold night. “He’s used to you chasing us.” The outlaw pointed out. “He’s a wild thing but give him some time, he’ll warm up you you.” The fugitive promised, his voice softening some as he gazed fondly at the proud creature who only blinked mistrustfully at Grant as if intent on proving his rider wrong.

“If you say so.” The Sheriff snorted as he stretched out and shifted to lay on his back, gazing tiredly up into the starless sky. He could worry about wild horses and their wilder masters in the morning. Right now, all he was worried about was getting some fucking sleep. “Get some sleep, you bastard.” The man groaned in the direction of the outlaw, the distinct feeling of eyes boring into the back of his skull keeping him in the cruel claws of wakefulness even as he turned over.

“Well, you ain’t wrong about that one.” He barely heard the Kid chuckle before he was claimed by the imposing darkness clouding his exhausted mind.