Staring up at the star littered sky, a fire crackled in the middle of the make shift camp they had set up. A haze of dark smoke billowing up into the night air. Although it wasn't necessarily cold the company of a fire at night time was comforting as many travelers had found years before. The heat of the summer day had baked and worn Richie down into a mess that he was now, laying up with his hands behind his head, sleeves rolled up his arms darkly tanned from the bright sunlight.

Richie's mind was filled with thoughts of his previous life, he'd been pondering this a lot recently even though he was now happy with the fortune him and the rest of the gang had acquired he was unsettled by the fact he would never be able to live his life without being on the wrong from one thing or another. Thoughts of his humble childhood back on the ranch tending to animals haunted him often: especially at night time when he had a chance to sit back and think to himself.

Richie had convinced himself that from hours of riding through land and hours of staring at the stars deep in thought had made him some what, a philosopher. This was a humorous thought as if anyone really knew what flooded Richie's mind, they'd probably be in hysterics at his perception of philosophy.

It was a long day, and it seemed to be shaping up for an even longer night. Coyote stood by his horse, brushing him down and taking care to plait its mane. He ran a hand down the creature’s neck, patted him and then lightly hugged its muzzle when his stallion butted against him. Coyote was often found by his horse, and his lean figure was constantly on edge, always looking towards the horizon. The native man allowed none of his thoughts to play on his face. His thoughts, like his secrets, were kept close to his chest. With one last pat to his mount’s neck, he turned and returned to the campfire. He sat opposite from Richie and looked away from the flames. He thought, according to his upbringing, that it was never a good idea to look directly into a fire. It would only encourage the flame to leap and spark where it shouldn’t.

He was a superstitious man, and he believed in the Native ideals, despite the cross that he wore around his neck and the rosary that was in his pocket. It was the same rosary that he pulled out and ran his rough fingers over, as he counted the beads. To some, it would seem like he was saying the Hail Mary, or praying for forgiveness for whatever sins he or the gang had done that day. What few knew was how badly he wanted to throw the rosary into the flames and watch as it was destroyed. He had nothing against the religion, but he detested it for what it had done to him, and what he had become.

The Old Coyote, mostly just called Coyote, pulled his long hair away from his neck, twisted it to the side and braided it quickly. It kept out of his face easier when it was braided. He stretched one long leg out in front of him and pulled the other close to his chest. The soft leather of his pants provided him with ample protection from any errant stone that would seek to scratch or rest uncomfortably against his leg. He didn’t move to unroll his sleeping pack. He settled in to watch the life that was beyond the fire. He didn’t seem to make conversation. Not when Richie was so deep in thought. He wasn’t one to pry, or speak unnecessarily. He kept quiet. He kept to himself. He acted with the gang, as they did their business, as illegal as it was. He wouldn’t find a job elsewhere because of the color of his skin and his history on the ranch.

A faint howl of a coyote sounded and it jolted Coyote from his thoughts. He concentrated on it, allowed the sound to waft over him and relax him, as he finally lay back on the cool ground and looked up at the stars. He located the area where it was believed his ancestors walked. The thought of his people there comforted him, and for a while, he was content to remain in silence.

Clay laid up against a rock while sitting on the ground near the fire. He placed the hand-rolled cigarette between his lips and took a deep drag, exhaling a stream of smoke into the desert night. He stared at Coyote. He had only known him for a short time but already didn't like him. Clay never cared for Indians. He didn't trust them and made a point to always keep an eye on him. He didn't say anything but wasn't keen on the idea of letting an Indian coming along.

He did like Richie. He only met him recently but thought he was friendly enough with a good head on his shoulders. Clay didn't like many people and considers no one his friend but he could tolerate Richie so far.

"At sunrise I say we head into town and see what's going on. Check the place out. See what they have going on over there. Besides, I could use some whiskey and a warm body. Wouldn't hurt to win some money at poker while I'm there. Then we can scope the joint out and see what kind of bank or rich people they have living there."

Clay took another long toke and stared up at the star-filled sky.

Richie tilted his head slightly towards the direction of Clay, thinking to himself slowly for a few moments before issuing a reply to the man, Richie of course liked the idea, and the slight hope of getting his hands on some strong alcohol was something that he longed for willingly.

"Sure, could do with a drink 'n all I'll say." He chuckled to himself his eyes returning to the sky above him. "The town shouldn't be too far from here, I saw a small ranch not too far back in the afternoon, must only be a few miles from here." Richie continued on with a dull tone in his voice. His thoughts weren't really set on where they were destined to go in the morning, he was preoccupied with his troubled thoughts of the law catching up with them, many a night he had woken up to the sound of a twig snapping, thinking it was finally the bounty hunters catching them; only to find it was one of the horses moving around restlessly.

He looked at the two men standing around, they seemed each fair of character, he both didn't mind them either, Clay if somewhat a little too aggressive for Richie's liking at times. The other man Coyote, despite his race Richie was fine with him: although like many people Richie had been brought up to hate people of this man's kind, but being in this small group together and pulling crimes together had made Richie think differently about Coyote. He usually thought to himself, with out the forming of the group, he probably would of carried on being a more racist, but a clean man with no bounty hanging over his head. He guessed that both good and bad things (mainly bad) had come out of the formation of this group.

Coyote figured that he wasn't welcome. What, with all of the stereotypes that came with being an Indian he doubted that either of the men would tolerate him for very long, but for right then he was tolerated and he went along with what was going on. He was a man with community ingrained in his skin and family running through his blood. He had neither and was forced to look for substitutes, even poor substitutes like Clay and Ritchie. He leaned his head back and took in the mustached Clay. He saw that the man kept his eye on him, as if Coyote were some animal that was barely tamed. It irked him, but he hid it well. He figured that if things got to be too bad, Clay would be the first one to rat him out. Ritchie, he figured that the man would hold out for a little while but if push came to shove, Ritchie would sell him out too. The bounty on his head was steep. No Indian would get away with taking advantage of a white woman without there being some desire to come after him.

"Whisky and women," he shook his head. If that's one thing that is tolerated, it's a whore with an Indian. 'course, even the most lurid whore often calls foul after an Indian is with her. He ran a hand over his face and along his clean-shaven jaw. He'd much rather go from one ranch to the next and raid. He wanted to release he cattle, for he knew that beyond money cattle was the lifeblood of the west. "hate cattle," he grumbled to himself. That was a common statement from him, and one of the few sentences that someone could get from him. Then again, he hated Whites with a hellish passion. Anything to disrupt their way of life, he saw as a good thing. He found it vaguely funny that he was traveling with white men in order to do that but such was a strange twist of his life. "Whatever you wish to do," he said finally. He'd follow. He was good for intimidation, and he made a great scapegoat. He provided distraction. White men going into a club was one thing, even the poorest were more easily accepted than a degenerate Indian with barbaric ways and warpaint. Even though he only wore the warpaint if they were going onto a ranch. "If we're going to hit up a bank, we should wait till they get all of their money together to send out," he said with a grunt. "That way, they have all of their money in one place. I'd rather hit up the stagecoaches. We're more apt to not get shot there," he spoke at some length and through that proved that he could speak, and speak well.

Clay's eyes slowly opened as the bright morning sun assaulted his eyes. After lying there a few moments to wake up he rolls over and gets to his feet. Clay dusts his clothes off before gathering up his belongings. He then saddles up his horse and ties his bag to his trusted steed.

"All right," Clay said to his partners, "I'm heading out to the nearby town in thirty minutes. If you all want to ride with me that's fine. If you're going to stay here for a while longer you know where to find me."

Clay then walked the quarter-mile to a nearby lake, disrobed and waded into the chilly water where he began to wash himself. Instantly the cold waters woke him up. He submerged his head completely underwater to clean his hair. After scrubbing his body for a few minutes he exited the lake and dressed. Once finished he walked back to camp and mounted his horse.

"You ladies coming?" he said with a grin as he slid a cigarette into his mouth and lit it.

Richie hadn't been able to grab as much sleep as he would of liked to that previous night, his head was whirring with thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone and he was forced to ponder his future, now that the other men were up he was able to take his mind off of those issues that bugged him and try to focus on the long hot day ahead that would no doubt cause Richie to beg for a strong Whiskey which would essentially take his mind off of all things that ran through his mind.

"Hmm." He mused in thought while rubbing his scruffy chin that a new set of prickly stubble had appeared over night it had seemed, a hard covering on his youthful face, he brushed a slight dirt muck away from his forearm and started to trudge over to where his horse stood ; the reins looped over the branch of a low tree.

"Sure, I'll come I guess." He answered Clay as he stood up placing his hat on his head with both hands adjusting it to fit just right to ensure that the sun wouldn't shine into his eyes. He felt quite stiff and his back ached from the countless nights that they had slept on the hard ground, something he couldn't wait to stop doing.

"Give me a minute to saddle up Clay, you coming Coyote?" Richie asked looking over his shoulder once he'd reached his horse who was busy waffling down the grass on the ground that grew in great lengths in places. Richie took a look around at their campsite that they had spent the night yet and would only be too happy to bid it farewell and leave the hard bumpy ground behind.

Clay and his companions arrived at the small, dusty town a little before noon. There were several businesses along the main drag but Clay had his heart and mind set on one thing. And it wasn't long before he saw the Saloon sign hanging above the double-door.

Clay rode his horse up to a post near the saloon and dismounted. He grabbed the rope and tied his steed to the wooden fixture. He then marched up to the wooden doors and strolled. Without hesitating he headed straight to the bar. The bartender had his back turned and was grabbing something off the shelf. Clay rapped his knuckles on the bar. "Yo barkeep. Five shots of whiskey," he growled as he turned slightly to scan the rest of the bar.