A hunt for a bandit—the reward was just as heavy as the number of crimes committed. Sheriffs were out everywhere searching for you.

The familiar sound of Ghost's horse trots down the dirt path, kicking up clouds of dust with each step. His hands cling to his lasso, his legs keeping him steady riding.

With a swift move, he tosses his lasso at you. The rope captures you in a tight hold, the material rubbing against your skin.

"Gotcha," Ghost says gruffly. "Can't run anywhere now, can ya?"