Ballad of Dell Jennings ~RED DEAD REDEMPTION~

Hoagy Macintosh

"Answer me this."

"How do you know Ernest Larson?"

"I occasionally work at his stables when money is tight."

"So besides, working as a stable hand, you also steal horses for him, right?"

Dell eyed the revolver on the table, the polished silver glimmered in the afternoon sun, "Yes sir." She answered glancing up at the manicured man across the table, "It paid well enough to keep food in my belly and my horse healthy."

Realizing her error, she closed her eyes, wishing for time to rewind a couple of moments, unable to believe she called the albino Arabian her own. There was a shift of fabric behind her back the stretch of whiskey grew more potent as a hot breath fanned across her bare neck, she suppresses a flinch.

Her heart pounded her ribcage as another voice chimed in "Your horse? Did you hear that, Dutch? The boy thinks the horse is his."

& & &

Her Granddaddy once told her a woman cheated is as dangerous as a rattlesnake lying in wait, concealed by the tall grass. Eerily patient for its victim to unknowingly fall into the readied trap, striking with fangs drooling poison as the dagger-like teeth pierce the skin and sink into soft flesh underneath.
Dell felt like that rattler, storming away from the stables after her conversation with Mr. Larson. Her rage burned like acid in her veins, ready to consume her entire body if she, for a second, lost an ounce of self-control. She felt eyes staring at her as she stomped towards the saloon, the townsfolk of Underwell probably hear her outburst at the stables and began gossiping about the dirty, wayward boy walking into the town like an irate tiger.

Dell wanted to curse every last one of them to Hell.
The saloon, the only one in Underwell, appeared into view as the young thief approached. The white Arabian, Dell stole a week-and-a-half prior from a Hoagy Macintosh, stood patiently at the hitching post, awaiting her arrival.

Feeling some of the anger vanish from her bones as she flashed the stallion a tired smile "Hey there, Count" The stallion, Dell recently named The Count for his elegant appearance and his bratty stubbornness, reminding the young girl of a snobby nobleman, let out an annoyed huff as the young girl sluggishly approached. Finally deflated, she wrapped her thin arms around the thick neck of the horse, seeking out some comfort from the equine after her shitty morning with Mr. Larson. Dell buried her face into the snowy mane of the stallion, feeling The Count's trapezius move underneath her embrace as the silky hairs of the mane gently tickled her face, she felt a large cold nose press against her ear, puffing warm air into its canal.

The young thief smiled at the Arabian's display of affection, despite the horse's unshakable mentality regarding Dell's obedience training, she truly adores The Count.
"Hey Boy! Are ya gonna cuddle ya damn horse all day? If so, move it! I hav' a business t' run," The Saloon owner barked from the door, scowling. The elderly man watched an embarrassed Dell jumped back, her face warmed as she muttered a quick apology, the owner just crossed his arms, scoffed at the young thief's disheveled appearance, before disappearing into the saloon.

Dell glared at the back of the elderly man, wishing that all his whiskey tastes like shit before turning the matter at hand. She decided that it would be best to leave the county for a little while, she heard through the grapevine, some sheriff in a neighboring town was hot on her trail. Although moving on to another county was already in her plan, she actually pinpointed a bustling town North of Underwell, known to be a vacation hotspot for wealthy city-dwellers escaping the chaos of a metropolis for a few weeks. But that bastard, Mr. Larson put a hindrance onto her plan, that money from the Macintosh theft would provide funds for room and board, and a spot for The Count in the northern town's stables.