Butch rode in, looking around what was left of his battered, fire eaten house. He'd been at the local tavern the night before, and he decided to occupy a room in the tavern for the night. That morning, he heard that his spread was raided and burned by outlaws. In a panic, he rode for his land on the edge of town. He hoped that his wife and children found a way out and fled, but he found that they didn't, as they laid in the ashes of his spread. He looked through the rubble that used to be his bedroom. In the rubble, he found his tin box. He picked it up gently, careful to not break it. Like it was a baby, he cradled it back to his old brown horse. He opened it and found that some of its contents were no longer there; all that was left was a picture of his family and a fraction of his savings. He found the remains of his barn and grabbed a shovel. Luckily, most of the trees on the homestead were spared from the flames. He went to the biggest, oldest tree and began digging holes under its shade. As he dug, he thought, "Why would anyone know? How would they know?" He shook his head and swallowed his emotions. This was no time to worry about that. He was digging his family's grave. Once the holes were a good depth, he carefully laid them to rest. He put the family picture with his wife, and started the task of covering them with soil. He left the nameless grave with his savings, some guns, and a bottle of liquor. He sat tall, and rode into town with a cold facade. He ended up hitching his horse and going into the general store. There, he used most of his savings to buy cheap ammunition and stale leftover biscuits and jerky. He knew exactly who did it, and he was going to get the revenge he should've gotten years ago.
He rode from New Mexico to Texas, the state in which his past lay. He never thought he'd worm his way back there. His past is coming back to bite him now. Livid, he went to his hometown. The journey was rough, but he made it. He went down to his old favorite saloon, The Rotten Coyote. He has no idea why it was named that, mostly because he never bothered asking. He trudged through the filth and mid-day drinkers to get to the barkeep. It's the same guy, and he looks as old as ever. He slinks up to the bar and asks the keep,"Hey, where's Kid Dunigan?" He chuckles and responds, "I thought you left 'em, why you wanna know?" He smirks, "Dunigan got me a job, jus' he didn't tell me where he needed me, he's still a stupid kid after all this" The barkeep looks around before speaking in a hushed tone, "Rumor has it, him and the Deviney-Dunigan Gang are holed up in Arizona" Butch puts a couple of dollars on the table, "Alright, they're in the old place in Ash Grove, same as the last time" He gets up and starts to leave, "Thanks, I'll get ta' chasin' em now"
He unhitched his horse and took it down to the general store for more food. He managed to haggle the prices and get some good stuff for cheap. He left the town penniless, and rode west to Arizona. As he went on, he noticed that his horse was weak, and that it's health was deteriorating fast. Dread hung over him as he practically waited for his horse to die. Butch spotted a town not too far ahead, so he took a detour there. He was gonna get a new horse.
He put his bandana over his face and hitched his horse for the last time, it was next to an average looking painted horse. The horse was bare-backed and seemed to be a peaceful horse, making it a prime candidate. He looked around and found a good exit with cover. Quickly, he moved his saddle and bags to the other horse. Almost immediately after the saddle touched its back, it started struggling and bucking. No wonder it was bare-backed. He struggled with the horse and somehow mounted it. The saddle, however, wasn't secured. He used his inner legs to keep the saddle on the horse as he forced it to leave the town. Sure, he got bucked off a couple of times, but the horse tired itself out.
< To be continued \/\/||
