“Oh, this is humiliating.” Gene whined, writhing in the ropes as you threw him onto the back of your horse. Almost immediately, you could tell he was the talkative type. You hated those.

As you spurred your horse forward, he continued to squirm a little, clearly uncomfortable. Not that you’d untie him, of course. Gene was a high target bounty.

Nobody cared of his past social status, and he knew that better than anybody.