Death Whispers In The Wind

Chapter 2

Castor would habitually wear the same pair of midnight-black leather-bound holsters, where both we're strapped incredibly snug and tied firmly to each leg and each holster carried Castor's most important asset, his trusted duo of sleek and stylish ivory-handled, custom-finished 1867 Smith&Wesson, silver-plated six shooters, they were purely a thing of beauty, two guns crafted into a masterpiece of weaponry, they were beyond intimidating and something you truly had to behold. 

Castor's once golden days of bounty hunting made his guns instruments of death the moment he wielded one, regarded as the best in the business when it came to his profession and Castor always took his work very seriously. On any given week, he could acquire a wealth of contracts on Monday and then go to work, he'd begin to systematically sniff out his suspects or bounties while tracking them and usually in his pursuit, be right on their heels by around Wednesday or Thursday, what followed would be their inevitable capture or death if one were to resist arrest by Friday. Castor preferred to have each one of his contracts finished up by weeks' end and when he did so, he'd collect the bounty on every single one of those completed contracts the following morning on Saturday and therefore, somehow still afford Castor most of the weekend to enjoy at his leisure. This was a blessing and a curse for Castor, he enjoyed the free time away from work and the stresses of bounty hunting, just as long as he was doing something with that free time.

With the weekend and a new pocket-full of cash at his disposal, he'd normally feel the need for a distraction with some form of entertainment, whether it be an intimate visit to "Madam Pleasure's" burlesque house or a ticket to the local theatre to see Dante Alighieri's play, "The Divine Comedy". Eager for any kind of diversion that would help Castor forget the constant void in his life, every once in a while he'd buy a book, as he loved to read or perhaps use some of his cash and purchase a new gun or rifle that he could spend a few hours performing trick shots with a crate-full of glass bottles around his home.

Mostly though, Castor usually just spent this time cleaning his guns, a mundane process that he found oddly relaxing, this became fairly customary when he had too much time on his hands. The life of a Bounty Hunter was lonely and the more Castor had time to think about it and reflect on his childhood and life, the more he felt the growing need for change and yet, initially he tried to ignore these feelings as he didn't know what to do with his life if he weren't a Bounty Hunter. How could he possibly change? For awhile, he just thought it was best if he didn't have time to think about it, that's why the diversions were so important.

But he could only ignore it for so long and eventually Castor realized bounty hunting had become unrewarding to him and regardless of the pay earned for his work, which the money was outstanding, had now left Castor feeling empty. After all, Castor thought what good was the money, if you had no one to enjoy it with.

Castor's line of work as a bounty hunter had basically chosen for him a life of solitude, during this time he had no companionship aside from the occasional jaunt with a prostitute. Castor had no one to spend his life with, nothing to keep him company but the two magnificent guns that he'd claimed in a brutal and tough, but hard-won gunfight years ago and were now his most prized property. The pair of revolvers had saved his skin numerous times when he found himself in dangerous, oftentimes unlucky situations that should've left him all but dead. These guns were his only real and tangible pride and joy in life. He desperately sought to change this aspect of his life, especially when he realized, quite alarmingly that he'd developed an unhealthy infatuation with his guns, noticing his constant desire to clean and re-clean them. All this time by himself was making him go fucking crazy.

Castor had been using these revolvers and only these for decades that now these guns were looked at almost as a myth unto themselves and had somehow quite strangely in someway developed and attained a certain legendary status throughout the years, centered mostly around hyperbolic folklore that spread amongst the townsfolk of Huxebee Creek and throughout the majority of the state of Texas. It was easy to see why and almost impossibly difficult not to be enamored with his two beautifully polished and immaculate-looking revolvers that had killed and laid waste to countless outlaws over the years. The guns made it seem as if Castor were impervious to any amount of danger, a perception that made him come off invincible, which in truth wasn't really practical at all. These were his first and last preferred choice of weapons as a bounty hunter as well as his current role being the town Sheriff of Huxebee Creek, a position he'd hold for nearly 30 years.