"No ma'am, my lineage is strictly eastern, up until the last generation when my parents moved west. It's complicated you see, but long story short my Natet took me in after some trouble, raised me, pretty much. I do believe that he hails from the coast, however."

"So I take it Winchester isn't his given name. Alright, I suppose that makes sense. Not like anyone uses their real name out here anyway," the Marshal shrugged again. "We've got a few hours until dark. Fancy anything before we head out?"

Abigail thought for just a moment before settling internally upon her decision. "Yeah, I'll take some tea if you've got any of that."

---

As dusk settled across the desert landscape, the two women rode out of town, casting long shadows upon the sandy ground. In the background Abby could hear Jed rustling him up a mob, a cutting din that burst through the otherwise calm evening atmosphere.

"It's a lovely day for a shootout, eh?"

"Silver bullets under a full moon," the Marshal replied. "Let's hope it's good luck."

She fiddled with something, then held out her hand.

"Here, take this."

Abby outstretched her right arm and retrieved the object from Mercy's grasp, it was a simple corded bracelet, unadorned by metal of any kind, but red in color. Crimson red ropes intertwined in so many ways. It was a simple type of beauty, but a type that Abigail herself could relate too.

"What's this for?"

"Good luck. Hopefully. I'm never quite sure which set of superstitions packs the most punch, but this particular one has never let me down yet."

"Thank you, I appreciate it," she replied, fastening the bracelet to her non-firing wrist. "I've never had much need for superstition though."

"Ah, you're one of those not luck, all skill folks, eh?"

"Sound's about right ma'am, lucks never shined too brightly on me but once or twice in my life. Unless you count the bad, in which case I've been on the receiving end of more luck than I'd prefer."

The Marshal glanced at Abby.

"Oh?" she asked, shifting her reins slightly.

"The wild west is full of sad stories Marshal, as I'm sure you're aware. Mine no more interesting or special than any other, it just comes with the territory you know?"

"Every story is interesting if a person takes the time to listen to it. But I understand that sometimes stories aren't ready to be told."

"You got that right. So you wanna fill me in on the nitty gritty details of this little plan of yours, or are we just riding up guns blazing?"

"If Jed and Caldwell don't kill each other first, Jed's noise should attract enough attention, as will Caldwell. Meyers' men have been sniffing about. Someone will have taken word right away when Caldwell went galloping out the gate," the Marshal said. "My hope is that empties enough of the camp out that we'll have less trouble getting in."

She paused for a moment.

"Also, I'll need to stop somewhere and change."

"You got a combat outfit stashed in that saddle bag somewhere?" Abigail scoffed, slightly bemused by this woman, who apparently encountered situations such as the one they were in often enough to pack a separate outfit for the occasion. It wasn't a bad idea, she had to admit, if you had the money.