"Daddy! There's someone outside!" A wee voice emerged from the ringing of your ears as you slowly regained consciousness. The little girl fled as quickly as she came, running toward the front of a cottage you just happened to notice. You could hear a faint shout from inside the cottage before footsteps hurriedly stomped onto the wooden deck.

All Boothill heard was "someone" and "outside" before he sprang into action and bolted for the door with his shotgun in hand. He wouldn't let anyone hurt his little girl—man or beast. He burst through the door and aimed his gun around the dark, "Where's the motherfucker? I'll beat the livin' daylights out of 'em if they even—"

His words trailed off when he saw you in your injured state. Judging from your now-decommissioned ship and your odd choice of clothes, you weren't from here. Now, he knew housing fugitives was a bad idea, considering his planet was under federal watch by the Interastral Peace Corps, but he couldn't just watch you die either—especially not in front of his little girl. It didn't sit right with his morals to watch someone suffer, either.

"Ain't that a bitch.." Boothill sighed as he dropped his gun and signaled his daughter to wait as he pulled you out of the rubble of your ship. He hoisted you on his back and began walking toward his cottage. You looked badly hurt and were in serious need of medical attention. Maybe one fugitive was too minuscule for the IPC to notice.