It had been four cold nights since Ranger Sykes and Wiley had left Agua Fria. The two had barely spoken a word, only the mutual clomping of horse steps filled the Desert’s silence.

The sun reddened any unshaded piece of skin. The desert sand whipped at their cheeks and the lack of water tightened their throats. Riding through a narrow path between two towering sheets of rock. They bellowed down at them, the sandstone tall and watching.

Just as they entered the middle the atmosphere changed, coming out from the larger cracks in the stone the heads of horses peaked out alongside their riders. Four men. Each paired with weapons at the hip.

All around them there was nothing but the bare yellow desert and the tall stone. The earth was cracked into crumbling sand. The parchedness was palpable as lungs gasped for breath and throats gasped for water.

Immediately he yelled, “Texas Ranger!” Everett flashed his badge to the men. Despite him revealing his profession, the men still drew guns and shot first. The bullets striked and rolled through the air, they pitched and screamed into Everett and Victor’s ears.

More bullets whizzed past as they rode ahead on their guns. “Fucking bandits!” Victor moaned as he drew his gun and rode off away from the group. He wasn’t going to die like a bobbing apple in a game of apple bobbing. Ripe for the picking.

Just behind them the four men shot, just scarcely missing their horses. Bullets picked up dust and embedded themselves into the stone around their fleeing forms. Victor shot one directly in the head just as the man made an attempt to seize his horse. He smiled widely as the wind rushed in his face. The other men bellowed at the sight of their fallen comrade.

But the smile dropped soon, “Sykes! Behind ya!”

Everett turned quick to see one of the men pulling up behind him. With long blonde hair that mirrored Everett's, his strands dashed over his face as he tried to aim. Kicking him off the horse, Everett gleamed as another bandit tumbled into the ground, picking up a sand cloud as he fell further and further behind the dashing group.

Another shot rang near Everett’s ear, he shot the bandit in the shoulder. Non-fatal. But it slowed him down until he stopped completely. One less man to contend with. The bandits weren’t getting away, not while they were still in Everett’s sights.

There was only one left, Victor took him out with two well placed bullets in each shoulder. The shots rang out over the open desert arena. The dashing rides came to a halt which let Everett and Victor catch their gasping breaths. “Nice work Wiley.” Everett added, “Thanks for the save.”

Victor nodded and holstered his weapon without so much as a “thank you”. Everett had decided that Victor wasn’t much of a talker. They’d barely shared a word over the past few days. It didn’t matter much to Sykes, he was used to travelling long distances without anybody but Ranger.

They rode on a bit longer, eyes catching every natural movement on the plains for another group of bandits. “Why don’t we make camp ‘ere?” Everett gave. He could tell that Ranger, his horse, was getting tired and a tired horse was a liability. Especially out ‘ere.

Wiley nodded, which seemed to be his only available words, still quiet from their encounter. His hat sat low, obscuring his features in shadow encrusted moonlight.

Sitting at the edges of their fire with full bellies Victor finally broke his silence. “We got three men to take down if we want to get rid of the Roscoe Gang. Wilbur Cross,  Otto Armstrong and that bastard Neil Roscoe.” Everett nodded as he stoked the fire, adding small pieces of kindling.

The wood hissed and cracked, “You sure you want to do this?” Victor watched Everett as he asked. He didn’t break under the scrutiny. Didn’t give  away if this was all a ruse to get him on multiple murder charges. Sykes’ face remained unchanged as their eye contact didn’t break.

“I’m a lawman, like you said, this is my job.” Victor nodded staring down at the fire and feeling the warmth on his cheeks. Sykes was not a complicated man, but that made him all the more dangerous. Victor Wiley flexed his fingers over the fleeting flames, running the heat over the lines in his palm.

He decided to give him a bit of information. “Last time I heard they’re in Cattlebrooks and Serpent’s Ridge but I ain’t sure where Roscoe is. Hopefully one of ‘em will tell us.” A few stars twinkled above them and despite the cold trails, warmth that wormed through his veins. Victor had noticed it becoming a routine whenever he shared a camp with the lawman.

His darkened eyes, a curious look overtook Everett’s blue eyes. “Why do you wanna kill the Roscoe gang anyway? You seem like a good man despite the trail of bodies.” And Everett wasn’t lying. He’d saved him alongside those bandits and in Everett’s book, he was an honourable man.

“Why would I tell y’a? You lawmen don’t care or get paid off so it ain’t no use.” Victor fidgeted with a long blade of grass. He twisted and braided the piece together, pulling at it into strands. His stetson was near the top of his henskin, the black fabric was slightly faded from his time under the blazing sun.

Victor didn’t elaborate, only staring down at the fire with the grass in between his slender fingers. His in-elaboration only heightened the interest in Everett. Men without a cause didn’t go on killing sprees across the Texan desert with a lawman he’d just met. He obviously had a stake in the case, but why, that’s what intrigued Everett Sykes.