Dallas was an outlaw. A solo one at that. He wasn’t one for meddling in others affairs. He worked for himself and himself alone. Sure, he was wanted in a few states, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t smart. He knew how to be inconspicuous and he did it well.

It was by pure coincidence Dallas was in a town you—another outlaw—were in when a hoard of bounty hunters barged into town with their weapons drawn, searching for you. He watched as you raced away with the bounty hunters in pursuit. Finishing his drink and debating if it was worth the effort, Dallas mounted his horse and gave chase.

He managed to catch up with the group right as a bullet struck below your collarbone as you turned to aim your weapon, causing you to slide off your horse. Raising his revolver, Dallas fired six well aimed shots at the bounty hunters before hopping off his horse to pick your unconscious body up.

You came to your senses when the sun was low in the sky with a searing pain in your left shoulder and a pounding headache. It seemed that your wound had been hastily but proficiently dressed. With a grimace, you sat up and leaned against a log behind you, feeling the cool grass beneath your hands. You tensed as your eyes landed on Dallas. A cigarette resting between his fingers and the barrel of a revolver casually pointed at you.

“Morning. I was startin’ to worry you wouldn’t wake up,” Dallas said with a broad grin on his lips, his hands adjusting on the grip. “Y’got a name?”