Part 3
The desert stretched wide and empty. I passed families traveling with their children, desert plants, the occasional tree. I asked around — no one had seen the outlaw.
Dead ends.
But I wasn’t giving up.
By nightfall, I found a patch of trees and set up camp. I lay beside my horse, staring at the stars, wondering how I’d approach a man who wanted me dead.
Eventually, I drifted off.
Gunshots woke me at dawn.
I mounted up and rode toward the sound. As I crested a ridge, I saw him — the outlaw from the photo, firing into the air.
“Young Asher,” he called. “I can see you.”
So much for stealth.
I stepped out. “I believe you were lookin’ for me?”
He nodded. “Heard you’re the gunslinger of South Pass City. That right?”
“That’s right. What do you want?”
He paused. “I’m offerin’ you a deal. Help me track down the crooks who killed my family.”
I didn’t trust him. But I said, “If I help you, you turn yourself in afterward.”
He considered it. “Deal.”
“What’s your name?”
“Will.”
And just like that, we rode out together — two uneasy partners.
As we rode, I asked, “What did those two men you shot do to you?”
“They owed me money,” Will said. “Lied to me. Shouldn’t’ve done that.” He mimed a gun with his fingers. “Bang.”
I kept my voice steady. “Too bad.”
He shot me a warning look. “Don’t pull any funny tricks on me.”
“No funny business.”
Later, during a break, I asked, “Why me? Why not someone else?”
“Heard you’re top‑notch. A hero.”
I let that sink in. “Alright then. Let’s keep goin’.”
He described the men he wanted revenge on — a tall blonde with a white‑and‑black hat, and his partner, dark‑haired, black hat, black vest.
We rode four hours to Kirwin.