"Men. You're all the same." The Marshal shook her head and mounted. "When we get there, might have you break of and stay on the crest of the lowlands to provide some cover. We'll see, though."

The three members of the west's smallest posse rode forth until they arrived where they meant to go.

"Still want me to break off and give ya some cover or what, Marshal?" Caldwell asked.

The Marshal studied the layout.

"They're most likely going to be south-sou-west from here. They won't need more than one lookout at that place. Fan out. You take the far right."

"You want to take the center? I'll go left." Jed drummed his fingers against the saddle pommel, impatiently waiting to actually get something done.

"No," the Marshal said quietly, dismounting. "Take the center. There's nothing to see in the center, so you can keep an eye on Caldwell. Shoot him if he does anything idiotic."

Jed mimicked her actions and climbed down off of Shelby, listening intently as he tied the reins to a nearby branch. He wanted to argue, but he had given his word that he would follow her lead. Jed yanked his revolving rifle off of his horse and slung it over his shoulder, "fine."

"Good." The Marshal moved the reins over her horse's head and began guiding him down toward the riverbed. She nestled the shotgun against her body, lowered, but still easy to fire at a moment's notice. The last time she had spent any good amount of time down by this river had been when Jed was a little boy. Back then, it had yet to be discovered by the larger bands, so it was a safe place for her and her friends to stash supplies and an easy landmark to meet up at. Then again, it had also been a great place to hide from posses in, too. The river was wide and shallow at this point, making it easy to cross, but it twisted and turned--two attributes that were rare to find together. The ground was craggy, with clifflike overhangs on both sides of the river. An underground stream also joined up with the river a bit farther down in the oasis, making it nearly impossible to cut off someone's water supply. The only thing that could force someone out of there was lack of food. She doubted that Meyer's men would be poorly equipped in that area.

They also had an army grade gun, too. She wasn't sure how to deal with that quite yet. Right now, she just wanted to get a good look at the layout, maybe even grab a straggler to find out what else there was to see. If she was particularly lucky, she might even be able to find Charlotte the first time through.

"Will do," Caldwell replied and moved off in the direction the Marshall had indicated.

Caldwell kept his horse to a slow walk and kept close to the cover of trees. It had been a long while since he had been on this sort of a mission. Before his gang got wiped out and the Marshal captured him, towns had taken to just opening their bank vaults and letting Caldwell and his men have whatever they wanted. It was easier than losing the inevitable fire fight. If he were to be honest, which he rarely was, Caldwell missed this sort of thing, the good old days when he'd had five men and three guns and needed to trick his way into a payday as often as he got it with force.

Once he was out of sight of the Marshal and Jed. Caldwell's inner weasel began to whisper into his metaphorical ear. The horse under him was a good one, strong, fast, and easy to manage. He had his gun slung over his shoulder and by now the only people who could hunt him down were a few miles away and getting further. He could probably be to the next town by the time they realized he was gone. Why should he risk his life to save the girl when the Marshal and Jed were probably just looking for an excuse to shoot him? And even if they didn't plan to backstab him, he could get killed by one of Meyer's yokels just as easily. It was stupid, playing a hero. What was he even thinking volunteering in the first place?

Caldwell almost did it. He nearly rode away off out of this story and into another, likely shorter and bloodier one. But he hesitated and remembered that Charlotte was just a kid, like the little sister he had had once, years before back in the city. She hadn't lived long enough to be remembered by anyone but Caldwell and these days he could barely remember her face. He couldn't bring himself to do it, to leave a kid to be tossed away and forgotten like that.

"You're a durn fool, Caldwell," he muttered to himself, but he kept on moving toward the camp.

The Marshal took her time, easing down toward the water but keeping out of sight. If anything went sideways, the horse would serve as both a shield and a getaway mechanism. She kept her eyes peeled, hunting for signs of life. As the got closer to the riverbed, the Marshal knew she would have to abandon her mount, but she waited until the last possible moment to do so. Right now, all she wanted to do was find Charlotte and get her way out of this mess: ride off and leave for greener pastures. She froze, mid-thought, realizing that there was someone near the water's edge. She guided her mount to the nearest tree and tossed the reins around a branch, then slowly made her way toward the water.

It was a female, her hair pulled back and wet around her face. She was obviously busy, and would be an easy target. Meyer had no use for women other than in bed, but then again, that sort of girl would start crying the moment she realized there was a gun pointed at her and give everything up. It worked well enough. The Marshal moved down and through the rocks, reemerging a few paces behind the woman. The Marshal racked her shotgun.

"Hands," she said crisply.

"You interrupted my bath," Abigail noted as she complied with the mysterious orders. Instinctively she looked for her weapon, which of course wasn't in its traditional place on her back. Instead it was currently resting against a rock, nearly five yards away from her current location. A tactile mistake to be sure, one that Abby made a mental note never to make again.

She had one thing going for her though, because in her left hand was a small mirror. This she used to spy a look at her strange assailant, the woman staring back at her wasn't particularly impressive. Short, Asian, that shotgun was worrisome though. "Nice boom-stick there short stuff. Do you know how to use that thing?"

"I usually prefer cutting people up nice and slow, rather than riddling them with holes, but sometimes a girl just needs to shoot something. Now, put your hands all the way up and turn around slowly, before you turn into one of those poor things."

Abby complied with her instructions, "you ain't gotta tell me that twice, ma'am." Then, she tested the waters a bit by taking a step forward.

"So, are we just gonna stand here all day. Or are you going to shoot me?"

"If I wanted to shoot you, I would have done it already. If you're nice and do what I say, I might let you alive to go back to your boys. We wouldn't want them to get all grumpy, would we?"

Abby smirked just a bit. If the woman assumed that she was some sort of a call girl, who was Abigail to tell her otherwise? "You should see those rascals. Now that Meyer is gone, them boy's are slobbering all over me."

She planned to milk this for all it was worth, using her sudden appearance of weakness to take yet another step closer. Which meant that the shotgun barrel was nearly within reach. "I didn't have a choice, Meyer took me away from my family one night. Never let me go."

"You're so pathetic." The Marshal rolled her eyes. "I don't really care about your life story."