Fanfiction based on the History Channels Hatfields and McCoys.
[Book is a rough draft - needs heavy editing]
Chyna is a young ex-slave girl, she had been property of the McCoy's but now that the Civil war has ended she is free to go. After another n...
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Chyna's eyes fluttered open as the wagon came to a slow stop. Cap sat next to Buckweet in the wagon's driving bench. His gaze icing over and his jaw clenched tight as his fingers curled stiffly around his riffle in the frozen air.
On the second night of the trip, the dawn was creeping slowly into the sky. In the dim light of the dying night the sound of hooves crushing twigs and foliage came from all sides.
"You c'ain't be serious..." Cap thought as he exhaled and cocked back the hammer of his rifle.
"Well, we might have us some fun, Sal. Hope you're good 'an ready for it." Cap murmured.
Chyna rubbed her eyes and wrapped the children under her arms. Her eyes landed on Clint who carefully shifted to sit near the Wagon doors. He shifted open the window, "Pst, you boys hear that?" Clint whispered.
"Yeah, loud as indun drums," Cap muttered back.
Clint reached for his pistol tucked within his pants and drew it.
Chyna frowned deeply, "Same thing what always does." She whispered. Chyna moved the sleeping children to Chastain's side. "They may be safer with you. " Chyna warned. Chastain's brows knitted together tightly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Chastain questioned.
"I gotta bad streak with keeping people I care 'bout safe." Chyna spoke mournfully.
"How many?" Clint asked Cap.
"Don't know yet." He replied quickly.
The sky slowly turned from it's deep indigo to a murky purple-tinged gray as the last of the brightest stars worked to light up through the winter clouds. The snots and soft neighs of horses drew closer.
"No use in hidin' we know you're there," Cap called out dryly. "An' it'd be better for you if you could jus' turn tail now and go back to where you come from." He warned.
Buckweet's eyes cut to the side where a rider exited from the trees on the narrow path. his shotgun trained on the wagon and his face covered in a cowhide mask with fierce leather teeth. A clown painted scowl across the rough leather.
