“Who are your friends, Mr. Dean?” Whitechapel asked, waiving his gun towards the group.

“Nobody, just a dim witted couple that I made a deal with if they help me out. This here is Adam his and his wife, Anna-Bell” Samuel answered back, sizing up the gunman on either side of them.

“Oh yea, what was the deal?” Whitechapel called down, still on his rock.

“That he wouldn’t kill us if we helped him.” Adam answered back, glaring at Samuel, taking exception to being called ‘dim whitted’.

“Huh,” Whitechapel said under his breath. “Well, you must be a gunslingers of some sort, so throw down your guns, you too, Samuel.” He said as he climbed down from the rock.

“We have no guns, sir. We are not gunslingers, just simple farming folk who have no need for firearm’s when off the farm.” Adam said, looking down from atop his horse at Whitechapel, now standing on the front of the three of them.

“And my guns are heirlooms. I would rather not throw them in the sand. I would appreciate it you would allow to me give them to these kind folks for the trouble I caused them?” Samuel unstrapped the his guns from around his waist, wrapping the belt around the holsters. Whitechapel kept a close eye on him, his trigger finger ready to fire at the slightest movement from Samuel that made him uneasy.

“Adam, Anna-Bell,” Whitechapel said, still eyeing Samuel. “Can I trust you? After all, I saved your life from this cold blooded murderer. If I let Mr. Dean here give you his guns, you and your wife will be free to go.”

Adam nodded his head, relieved.

Samuel handed his guns to Adam, giving him a smile and a nod as he did as if saying sorry for all the trouble. As Adam took the guns he noticed a design on the leather belt, where the eyelets were. It was the same design as on the Dirrender – a skull with roses as cross bones, only this design also had a rising sun in the background. Adam wasn’t sure what it meant, but next to it were other pictures engraved in the leather. Next to the skull was a picture of a horse with a small child mounted atop it and the name Skinfaxi, then a coffin with a date below, and so forth, all the way around to the other end of the belt. The last picture, freshly cut into the leather right next to the buckle was a simple heart shape and a name inside – Mary.

“Before you go, Adam, do me a favor and empty that there pistol of all its bullets. Don’t want you getting any ideas, now.  Who knows what kind of lies, Mr. Dean here, has has filled your head up with in the short amount of time he has held you as a prisoner.” Whitechapel smiled as his aim drifted over towards Adam.

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