Chapter 26
The next town they arrived at was pretty much the same as every other one, but Rider was happy to be visiting a town. They had been on the road for a while and desperately needed supplies. Of course, they couldn’t carry too much with them. But still, a few groceries went a long way when you had nothing.
Their first stop was at the general store. There, they bought coffee beans, tinned food, sugar, rice, oats, and a couple of boxes of matches. The next stop was the dairy, where they got some fresh milk and cheese. Fresh produce wasn’t something they had often and wouldn’t last long, but for a day or two, they could indulge themselves. Their last stop on the mission to obtain groceries was the bakery, where they bought some fresh bread and round rolls.
Rider could not wait to eat a piece of fresh bread. It was such a simple thing and a staple food. It was something he ate every day back home, but since they were on the road, it was something that he missed terribly. Deadshot always said that he would get used to not eating the food he used to eat at home. Rider was not so sure about that.
Once they were done grocery shopping, they started the mission to gather information. Rider did not feel very positive and doubted that they would learn anything new. Deadshot kept telling him that they would, in fact, come across some information at some point, but it simply did not feel like that to Rider. It had been months, and still, nobody had any information for them about Quincy or his gang.
Like always, they went to the sheriff’s office first. The man was grouchy and not at all talkative, but once he learned who Deadshot was, he did answer the questions. Unfortunately, it was not the answers they were hoping for. He had not heard anything about Quincy for a long time. The last time he had heard anything about the man or his gang was a couple of years ago, and those were only rumors.
They went from shop to shop asking the owners if they might know something. Sometimes they stopped at the shops to see if they could gain information; other times they simply passed them by. Today was one of those days when they were feeling a little desperate. Most of the townsfolk had no idea who Quincy was, so they were of no help at all, and those who had an idea had the same answer as the sheriff. They had no idea where the bandit was or what he was doing.
Their last stop of the day was the saloon. The sun was still shining, although it was late in the afternoon, and the sky would soon start turning darker blue. They didn’t usually stay at the saloons for very long or visit them late at night. Deadshot wasn’t much of a drinker, and Rider was still too young to be enjoying the things such establishments offered.
Despite the time of day, the saloon was rather full, and some men were already clearly drunk. Deadshot, with Rider following close behind him, walked right to the bar, ignoring all the other men. Deadshot had told Rider once before that it was best not to engage in conversation with the men at the saloons. Rider had taken that information to heart. He was not looking to get them into any sort of trouble.
“Good afternoon,” the barkeep greeted them, his eyes glancing between Deadshot and Rider. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a whiskey,” Deadshot replied.
Rider did not say anything; he simply watched the barkeeper pour Deadshot’s drink and place it in front of him. They had visited many saloons during their search, and Rider had yet to see Deadshot finish a drink. Deadshot had told him that he simply ordered them so that the barkeep would be more willing to talk. Apparently, barkeepers were some of the biggest gossips in any town, and although people knew it, they kept on telling them secrets when they were drunk.
“You get many bounty hunters around here?” Deadshot asked.
The barkeeper shrugged. “Some.”
There was a moment of silence that passed between them. “Why, you looking for somebody?”
“Sure am,” Deadshot replied as he took a sip of his drink. “A bandit named Quincy Callaway.”
“Never heard of him.”
Rider felt like screaming. He was so tired of hearingnowherever they went. It was as if Quincy were some sort of ghost. Nobody knew he existed, and those who did had no information about him at all. It was extremely frustrating.
“There’s a wanted poster of him at the sheriff’s office,” Deadshot pointed out.
“There are many of those at his office. They don’t mean anything to me.”
Rider guessed that made sense. Up until his family was attacked, he had never paid any attention to the wanted posters in his hometown.
“All right, thanks anyway,” Deadshot replied. “We’ll just be on our way then.”
“Not so fast,” a voice said from behind them, and both Rider and Deadshot turned to see who was talking to them.
Behind them stood a tall, lanky man. He didn’t appear to be drunk, but he didn’t look like a farmer or banker. No, he looked like an outlaw. His hair was dirty, his beard untamed, and hisclothes were old. Behind him stood four more men, all looking similarly disheveled. Rider’s stomach twisted.
Deadshot placed a hand on his shoulder as if he could sense Rider’s unease.
“How can I help you?” Deadshot asked. His voice was rough and threatening, although his words were respectful.
“You can’t,” the tall man replied. “But I can help my friends by making sure you never leave here.”
The group of men all laughed, and Rider took a step toward the door.
“I don’t think so,” another man said with a chuckle. “You ain’t going nowhere.”
Rider froze where he stood. This was not good at all.
