Make It Out Alive

"Well that makes seven of em dead," the first man said.

"Two left right?"

"Thats what Mr. Houser said he counted."

"I seen a few ride out of town but they all split and started running through the creek so tracking em ain't easy. Luckily we caught up to most of em."

"The last two must have ran the creek a ways. Ain't seen hide nor hair of em."

"What about the one that was in the shootout in the alley back by the bank?"

"Someone said they seen him run through here then they saw a group of horses leaving town a minute later. Bastard must have caught up with his fleeing buddies."

Well that was good news. They thought I was gone. Though there were only two of us left. I know I saw Johnny get out, so I hoped he was the one that made it, but honestly I'd hope for any of them. The only thing that knowing this information changed was that I now wouldn't be linking up with the gang. The women would roll on, and whoever the other guy was would get gone. That was the beauty of our plan. Whoever was left could follow the trail of posted letters and find the women. We weren't a gang anymore, not with all of us dead, but we were still a family.

Darkness finally fell and I quietly snuck out of the town and started out on foot, headed for the nearby hills. I wasn't sure where I was going to go to lay low, but I knew I needed a horse. I hated robbing innocent people, but it appeared that a ranch was my next stop.

**

~Double R Ranch, Kalaska Texas~

If I had any money on me I'd have just offered to buy a horse from the rancher. I knew my description, other than my clothes, hadn't gotten out from the botched bank job, as the only noticeable feature I had was a scar on my cheek from a knife wielded by a drunk cowboy in a bar years ago, and that was covered by my bandana, though I still reckoned I'd shave my beard and leave behind a thick mustache when I got the chance to just in case.

While I was in the crawlspace I found an old hat box and swapped my brown Stetson for a worn black one, and with this being the luckiest unlucky job I'd ever been a part of, I found another box that had a worn black duster that fit me like a glove, so I left my grey duster and black vest behind, opting to just wear black with no vest. My red button down wouldn't draw any attention, especially since it was hidden between my vest and coat, and my grey work pants were what every cowboy in the country was wearing.

As it were, I didn't have my money from the freight wagon job on me, it was in the saddle bag on my horse, who was God knows where at this point. I wasn't worried about him, I knew he'd find his way back to camp, as would everyone else's mounts, but it still saddened me to know I'd probably never see the critter again. He'd been a good horse to me for a lot of years.

Once again I got lucky. The lanterns in the house were all extinguished, and all was quiet. I figured it was just after midnight, which meant I had to get a move on if I was going to put some miles between here and there by sunup. I still wasn't sure where I was going to go, but away from here seemed like the right idea.

I knew I'd need supplies, especially ammo, but that would have to come later. I didn't want to take the chance robbing the house as well, since I didn't know who was inside and what resistance I'd meet. Usually these smaller ranches had the father and a son or two, but they never really put up a fight when I'd had to rob them in the past, but you could never be too sure.

Making my way quietly across the pasture from the tree line towards the barn, I silently prayed that the animals wouldn't whinny since I was a stranger, not that God would listen to my prayers, I definitely didn't deserve that. Once again, luck was in my favor when I reached the barn door and slipped inside. Everything stayed quiet.

I didn't want to chance lighting a lantern, so using the moonlight that slipped through the slats in the walls I made my way from stall to stall, quickly examining each horse trying to decide which one I was going to make my break with. The last stall on the left held a beautiful blonde palomino, full grown but young and strong. I could tell the creature had spirit as she didn't try to back away from me like all the others. I liked that.

I did a slightly more thorough inspection, and the entire time she stood there proudly, almost in a cocky manner as if to say 'yea I'm the best one here. You know you want me.' To make matters better, she wasn't branded! It's almost like the entire world just wanted to be robbed, and lucky for me, that's what I did for a living.

Leaving the palomino in her stall I headed to the small tack room that was off to the side and quickly browsed the saddles and halters, selecting a saddle that would be comfortable and fit me and grabbing a good halter. I didn't grab the best ones in the room, I didn't want to screw the guy that bad.

I quickly saddled the horse by the moonlight and quietly led her out of the back door of the barn. She didn't protest at all. One of the other horses nickered slightly but it wasn't loud enough to alert anyone. There wasn't any sense in trying to make it look like the horse escaped her stall and wondered off, I had a saddle from them after all, so I closed up everything tight and hoped I'd have enough time to get clear.

I rode her hard for a few miles, letting her stretch her legs and get used to me. The whole time I was mulling over a name for the beast as well as planning on forging some papers and finding a running iron to put a brand on her. From the start she seemed to like me, so I figured I'd keep her around a while and didn't want some no good horse thieves to think they could steal her. Wait.

I rode long hours for the next two days, purposely avoiding any civilization, chancing a shot at an antelope for food and filling some canteens I found in the crawlspace every chance I got. Sooner or later I'd have to come up with some traveling money, but for now a low profile and distance were my main concerns.

**

~Calo, Colorado/Oklahoma state line~

I still didn't know where I was headed, but I'd put a few hundred miles between the bank and me, so I figured the coast was probably clear by now. It had set in a few days ago that the gang was done and over with. I knew all but myself and one other were dead, and I couldn't even be sure the other guy, whoever it was, was still even alive.

I hated to leave the women like that, but they knew we might not come back each time we went out, and there was just no way I could find them without getting myself caught. At least not yet anyway.

As I rode I started to think about where I was going to go. I knew where I was going to get supplies and traveling money as I'd found a stage coach stop in the middle of nowhere and watched it a few days, noting the comings and goings. I figured I'd try my luck robbing one, hoping doing it by myself didn't lead to the driver and guard getting a hero complex which would lead to bloodshed. Theirs, not mine.

Even with all that figured out, I still didn't know where to go from here. North I'd imagine, since I was already traveling that way. I'd only gotten to see the Rocky Mountains once in my life, so I figured I might as well head that way. Wait! The paper Pardeen showed me!

'Wyoming cattle boom: many ranchers in the Laramie range are urgently searching for cowboys to keep up with their increased heard numbers...'

I guess I was headed to Laramie up in Wyoming, though I wasn't exactly sure where that was. I knew I'd hit Wyoming if I just kept heading in the direction I was already going, so I figured I could figure out where Laramie was when I got there.

As I waited for the stage to roll through I thought about life as a cowboy. I knew plenty of cowboys, especially with my time in Texas. I don't think I'd ever worked an honest day in my life, so I wasn't sure how I'd feel about that. I always wondered about 'going straight' as they say, and if there was ever a time do it, what with the gang all being dead and all...

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of wheels rolling along the hard packed, rut filled dirt road. I tied my bandana up over my face and drew a revolver, keeping it low by my side so they hopefully wouldn't see it right away. They didn't, and for some reason, the driver halted the team when he saw me. It's like he wanted to get robbed...

"Throw down the bank bag!" I called as I neared the coach.

"What makes you think we're carrying a bank bag?" The driver called back, his voice shaking with fear.

"I know damn well you're carrying a bank bag. You think I'd be dumb enough to rob a coach that wasn't?" I lied. I had absolutely no idea if they had a bag with them, but this was just a part of my usual stage coach robbing speech, since we usually did indeed know if they had a bank bag or not.

The shotgun guard, who was a good indication that they were indeed carrying money, since they probably wouldn't have one in this area if they weren't, decided he wanted to stop this and made a move to bring his shotgun up.

I really, really wished he didn't do that, but he did, and he didn't leave me any choice. Before he could even move the gun six inches, I brought my pistol up, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. He looked at the hole in his chest, the one that was quickly turning his blue shirt red, and slumped forward in the seat before he could even say anything. I'd hit him right in the heart.

Seeing this, the driver decided to become way more cooperative, and slowly turned in his seat to grab the bank bag from behind him before reaching out to hand it to me as I'd made my way up next to the box as he got the bag.

I took it and hung the strap over the saddle horn and swung down off the horse. Drawing my knife I made my way over to the six horse team that was pulling the stage and began to cut the harness straps, shooing the animals away one by one as I did this, never taking my eye off him or my free hand off my gun.

"So you can't follow me, and so you can't race to town and tell the law," I explained as I worked.

"I understand sir," he quivered from the drivers seat.

"Who are you gonna tell about this?" I asked, staring him down menacingly after I cut the last horse.

"N-nobody sir!" He swore on a shaking voice.

"Well you'll have to tell someone," I chuckled. "Someone's gonna ask what happened to the money and the horses when they come along."

"Well, yes, I suppose," he stammered.

"When they ask, how are you going to describe me?" I asked.

"I-I won't sir!"

"You'll have to driver. You'll have to," I said evenly. "And being as you didn't get a good look at me, I'll help you out. I'm five foot six, a hundred and twenty five pounds, I've got long blond hair, and a full beard that goes halfway down my chest."

"Y-yes sir, that's exactly what you look like."

"I was wearing all grey and brown clothes and didn't have a hat," I said. Obviously I looked nothing like what I was describing. I was just telling him what to say.

"Yes sir I understand."

"How many passengers are there?" I asked. I'd kept my eye on the door and windows to the stage, but hadn't saw any movement.

"None sir, this is just a money run," he stated.

Not believing him, I used the barrel of my pistol to pull back the curtain of the window, and sure enough he was telling the truth. The coach was empty. Thank god. Only one whiteness.

"Then you can go ahead and tell them there were two of us. Make up a fitting description of the other guy," I instructed.

"Yes sir, I'll do that sir," he said, his voice holding hope that he was going to get out of this alive. He was. I didn't like to harm innocent people.

"Do you have a family driver?" I asked.

"Y-yes sir," he said hesitantly.

"If you tell anyone anything other than what I've told you, do you know what happens to them?" I asked, a tone of violence and warning in my voice.

"Please, I won't tell anyone anything other than what you've said," he pleaded.

"I'd assume you've got kids mister," I wagered. "If I find out the law is dogging me with an accurate description, I'll come back for you. Killing don't bother me none, as you can see. Hell, I like to kill the little ones the best. They scream the loudest. Do you want to watch your kids die mister?"

"No! Please God no!" He begged.

"Then tell them what I told you, and they'll be just fine," I assured him. Obviously I would never in a million years do anything I'd just said. I may be a bad man, but I'm not a monster. I was taking a chance letting him live, so I figured I'd try to put some fear into him to help assure he didn't squeal.

I didn't say anything else as I swung back onto my horse and road across the plain to the south east. I figured I'd go ten or twelve miles before cutting back north, maybe less if I could find a stream to ride in for a spell to help cover my tracks.

I counted the money while I rode before discarding the bank bag. Three thousand dollars! That was more than enough to get me to Laramie. I always felt like shit after threatening someone like that. It just made me feel like a bigger low down piece of garbage than I actually was.

**

~Near Fort Collins, Colorado~

I'd hit a town a day after the stage robbery and stocked up on supplies. Nothing more than I could fit in my saddle bags in case I had to ride hard for some reason, but while I was there I picked up a paper and read about the robbery I'd committed.

The driver had kept his word and described me terribly wrong. Said I had a partner with me too. The best part is, he said the partner was a woman! I was definitely in the clear, though I did feel bad if there was something poor sap out there who looked like the description he gave. He now had a dodger out on him for a five hundred dollar reward, dead or alive. I definitely missed the days where you could rob a stage and barely get any money on your head. The world was changing, and I was looking forward to going straight and leaving that life behind more and more.

I figured I'd need a new name. Jack Margrave probably wasn't really known in these parts, but you never could be too careful. I was honestly surprised I'd made it as far as I did using my given name. Outlaws like me usually changed their monicker every year or so at least.

Brad Phillips. That's what I'd go with. It's the kind of name people forget. It's a name I can easily remember as Brad was my dad's name, and Phillips was Clay's middle name, just with an added 's' on the end. I kind of liked it if I was being honest.

The trail was getting tiresome, and it was always lonesome. Luckily someone was able to give me directions to Laramie when I stopped at the last town, so I now knew where I was headed, and I knew it wasn't too many days away now. The longer I rode the trail the more three hots and a cot on some ranch sounded better.

**

~Copper Creek, Wyoming~

I rode into Copper Creek, a small livestock town about twenty miles from Laramie, right around noon. The first thing I did was check into the Copper Creek Hotel, launder my clothes, and pick up a paper to check and see if there was anything about me in it, which was unlikely this far north.

Once my clothes were washed and I was satisfied I wouldn't be recognized here, I took a bath in the washroom of the hotel and made my way down to the barber shop, but not before taking off my cross draw holster and stowing one of my pistols. I also hitched the gun belt up a little so I didn't look so much like a gun fighter, but hell was that foreign and uncomfortable. I wasn't sure how the standard cowboys could wear it like that. I knew I'd have to practice my draw with the new holster setting to make sure I didn't lose any speed. You could still tell I was good with my gun, but at least it didn't quite look like I was an outlaw or sold my gun to the highest bidder.

Once the barber had finished giving me a haircut and a fresh shave I eyed myself critically in the large mirror he had over one wall. I didn't get to see my own reflection very often since there weren't really any mirrors available on the owl hoot trail, so it was slightly strange to see myself not marred by the rippling water of a creek, which was really the only other time I got to see my reflection since the women always cut our hair so we could stay out of shops like this one.

It was a shame I chose the life I did, because in all honesty, I was a decently handsome man, but no self respecting woman would want to marry up and have kids with an outlaw like me. I stood about six foot even and weighed in at about a buck eighty. Very little of my weight was anything close to fat since sometimes eating wasn't the best on the trail. Years of "hard work" left me rather muscled, but not bulky. My hair was near black and cut at a medium length, not quite reaching my collar or covering all of my ears. When I kept it swept back under my hat it actually looked rather nice. I had a decently chiseled jaw and a rather thick mustache topping my upper lip. Yea I wasn't too bad looking anyways.

I had some money, but I knew living it up in the hotel and drinking it away in the saloon would make it run out rather quick, so I decided to ask around to see if any ranches needed some help. I figured if I was going to be a cowboy, I might as well start now.

Drinking my money away in the saloon didn't quite appeal to me, but I never said I couldn't get myself a few beers and try to enjoy my night. Plus, a lot of ranchers usually drank in saloons so that might lead me to meeting my future employer.

I chose the Grassy Meadow Saloon and made my way over there. Of the two saloons in town, this one seemed the most respectable, and if I was going to leave my past life behind I needed to not associate with the low life's that usually frequent the dingier saloon in towns like this. Trust me, I'd know.

The Grassy Meadow, upon first glance after entering, appeared to be the working man's saloon. Where a cowpoke or a laborer could go after an honest days work and relax with a beer and some good conversation. It didn't appear the place would ever get too rowdy, and that fact was helped by the fact that the saloon girls working there were just that, saloon girls, not the soiled doves you found in other establishments.

I felt out of place in the bar. I know my clothes were clean and standard in appearance, and so was I, but I still felt like trail trash, not belonging in a place like this, which as a man, I didn't, but in appearance, I didn't stand out at all.

I made my way over to the bar, hooked my boot over the rung at the bottom, set down a nickel, and asked the man for a beer. I really wasn't a whiskey guy. Yea I could drink the stuff, especially on the trail when you couldn't get a beer, but beer was my choice if I had my druthers.

"New around here guy?" The barkeep asked as he set the foamy mug in front of me.

"That I am partner," I answered, flashing him a grin. "Just rode into town a few hours ago. Bathed off the trail dust and now I'm here."

"Here to stay or just ambling by?" He asked. Usually I'd have been off put by so many questions, especially in a town we planned to do a job in, but that's wasn't me anymore, so I smiled at the man before answering.

"Here to stay, so long as I can find work that is," I allowed.

"Where ya coming from?" He asked. His questions weren't accusing but that of genuine curiosity and friendliness.

"Nebraska," I lied. "Then Iowa before that. Been kinda drifting for the last few years."

"Do any cowboying before?"

"Some when I was younger," I lied again. I was used to rustling cattle, not raising them, but my ill gotten experience with the critters did mean I knew my way around them, especially driving them.

"Well if you'd cowboy again," he began. "There'll be work a plenty for ya around here. Hell there's three ranchers in here right now looking for hands."