1935 [UKUS]

Introduction

A.N.
Yes, this was set during the slavery, and it's not a good thing, I know. That's the whole point tbh. But this wouldn't show most the brutality during those times, and a fictional character getting involved in them. Well, not quite. There will be prostitutes and stuff, and yeah, they would interact with him, but not as to have something big to do with them.
I'm saying this because I know some people take slavery very seriously (and everybody) should), and I do too as well. This story would be mainly focused on the civilised part of America's government and their lengths of, well, greed. Kind of. Something. Idk. But yeah, just to remind you.

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1935, Southern America

"Don't you want an apple?" I ask my horse as I peer at his face, and as he trots down the dusty, dirty horse tracks. As soon as I asked the question, he huffed and shook his head, so I guess that's a no. I sit properly on the saddle again and shrug as I whip the reins and my stallion trots a bit faster.
Blackwater. That's my destination. It's on the other island, but it's still reachable. You could either ride your horse to the bridges, or to the train tracks. Both are risky, anyhow. The bridge is old and rotting and is between a very deep, bottomless cliff. The train track is high off the ground, and in the middle is the river. It's also narrow.
I've tried to find any other way, and now I'm lost. But recently, at a small town I stayed for the night into, I heard that there's indeed another way to Blackwater. It's on this town called 'Armadillo'. Apparently, it's a new place and I haven't discovered it yet. I've tried finding it in maps, but I couldn't. Why wasn't it in the maps?
I still ponder on the thought, blankly staring at the back of my horse's neck, and I didn't even realise it's already dark until someone called out for me.
"Lad! Lookin' pretty lost, aren't you?" A man sitting at a basic camp called out. I stop my horse and turned to look at him. I blink and started taking note of his features.
Tall, almost as tall as me, with a fair skin glowing in the gloom of the bonfire, emerald eyes, thick, fuzzy eyebrows. He's dressed in a blue vest and white shirt with a black tie. A duster coat is laid down on the ground beside him.
"Where are you headed to?" He asks again. I pondered on him for a minute, debating whether or not I should trust this man.
"I'm a trustable man." He said, as if reading my mind.

Well, he does seem so, so why should I not?

"I'm headed to Armadillo," I say and look around just in case someone is near enough to hear. Thankfully, nobody is and i look back at him. "I'm actually headed to Blackwater. My family is there," I add and he nods and hummed in response.
"You do look a tad familiar to me . . . But anyways, what was it? Armadillo? Yes, Armadillo," he blinked the dust off that just got into his eyes and rubbed it off.
"What an interesting lad," he says and pressed his index finger's tip against the soft ground.
"You're here." He said and made a pretty big dot on it.
"Your destination is Armadillo. If you go back from the way you come from," he trailed off and made a long line down below the dot, "and see three tracks, two on the left, one on the right," he trailed off again and drew three more lines. Two lines on the left that meet at one end and separate from the other, and one diagonal on the right, "you must take the right one. There's a small hill - the smallest and only hill you will see on your way to Armadillo, and you must go behind it. Behind it are trees, lots of them, and dead, even, but you will find a passageway. A rocky passageway. It's got no turns and all that, it's just that, and it will lead you straight to Armadillo." He finished off his small map as I watch and listen attentively.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Most definitely. I've got a drink there once. But travel tomorrow, it's late. Plus, your horse is tired. Poor thing." The weird speaking man said as he pitifully looked at my horse who's looking back at him.
"I think I've got bread and tobacco left. Join me." He shifted and sat closer to the fire. It is indeed late and is getting chilly. I might as well accept his offer.
I went and trotted Mai nearer to the campsite and unmounted. I sat by the far beside him and I removed my accessories - my hat, my bandana and all that. I put them on a pile somewhere and I lay down, my fingers intertwined and above my stomach.
"How come you know all of America?" I suddenly asked and turned to him. He seemed surprised as well because of the look on his face.
"That's an odd question."
"That's an odd answer."
"I- it's because of reasons,  alright?"
"What reasons?"
"I wouldn't spill information unless you tell me your name. Arthur Kirkland, nice meeting you." He put his open palm up as a form of handshake and I shook his hand with my left one.
"Alfred F. Jones. Bounty Hunter."
"Traveler."
"Great, now how come you're better than a map?" Arthur sighed at me and looked back at the fire.
"You're persistent, aren't you? Fine, I'll tell you."