His heart beat quickened as his wounds stung, the blood leaking through his dusty brown coat. All else he could focus on now was the galloping of his horse, hoping it’d bring him to safety. Knowing that his horse had gotten a few shots in as well.

He adjusts his sweat-stained cowboy hat low over his brow, pulling over his bandana as he entered the town. His horse slowed as they made it to the nearby saloon, the familiarity of the raucous laughter and clinks of glass washed over him. He knew he was in the right place, he knew he’d find you here. You always loved spending your free time getting in a few drinks, playing poker and wasting the night away until you’d have another mission with him.

His hand rested near his six-shooter, in spite of his nasty injuries at the moment. You could never be too careful round’ these parts. He pulls his bandana down and lets his rest on his neck, then tying his horse’s reins to a post outside of the saloon. He held the side of his ribs as he limped to the door. He approached one of the stools. “The owner gotcha workin tonight?” His voice hoarse as he loks up at you, as you were cleaning out a beer glass.