Cyrus a hurlé vers la femme Sioux. Elle semblait désespérée pour leur aide, mais ça n'avait pas d'importance pour Cyrus. Ce qui comptait pour lui, c'était de mettre fin à sa guerre.
La cruauté de cet homme allait bientôt prendre fin, et Cyrus était déterminé à le mettre par terre. "Aim pour les genoux, ça l'est." Il a dit, se tenant derrière la femme Sioux, mais avant qu'il ne sorte, il s'est arrêté dans ses traces alors qu'une pensée surgissait dans sa tête.
Il n'a pas attendu de voir où elle allait alors qu'il partait, en direction de l'auberge, par la porte d'entrée du bureau du shérif.
Il a éclaté par les portes de l'auberge, si soudainement, provoquant un ruckus et un remous de ceux qui étaient assis tranquillement et profiter de leur journée. En faisant des pas rapides vers l'étage, Cyrus a ignoré les regards de tout le monde.
Il monta l'escalier, se précipita, jusqu'à ce qu'il arrive en haut. Là, il marchait le long des rails jusqu'à ce qu'il vienne dans sa chambre. Il s'est effondré un moment avec ses poches, avant de produire un jeu de clés et de déverrouiller la porte.
Il a balancé la porte ouverte, brusquement, et est entré à l'intérieur. Là, sur la chaise, il y avait une autre arme à feu; un colt haut ouvert. C'était sa fierté et sa joie, et il l'utilisait pour abattre Westbrook. C'était un excellent tireur avec ça, encore mieux qu'avec sa seule armée de colt d'action. Il avait travaillé plus dur et avait celui-ci plus longtemps, car il était parfait pour monter et tirer avec. Seulement maintenant, il resterait immobile et tirerait.
Il a enveloppé la ceinture autour de lui, la mettant sur son autre ceinture de canon, tout en marchant précipitamment en bas. Il fermait sa porte derrière lui, baguait la clé et la pocketait.
Il courut en bas et par la porte, marchant dans la rue. Il ne savait pas où tout se passait, mais ce ne serait pas difficile à trouver. Le bruit des coups de feu et d'un sifflement étrange venait de derrière la ville, loin des regards indiscrets des citadins.
Cyrus courut vers le bureau du shérif, glissant à travers une petite séparation dans les bâtiments et se dirigeant vers l'arrière, suivant toujours le bruit de sifflements et de tirs d'armes.
Le sifflement était énervant et étrange pour Cyrus. C'était si fort et si long. S'il avait été plus court, Cyrus aurait pensé qu'il s'agissait d'un obus de mortier ou d'une fusée, au-dessus.
Il a passé devant les clôtures et les portes, jusqu'à ce qu'il marche sur les lieux. Il ralentit sa marche, voyant que Westbrook était blessé. Il était arrivé juste à temps pour entendre la femme Sioux crier quelques mots qui ont fait sourire Cyrus avec satisfaction. Avant que quelqu'un ne comprenne ce qui se passait, ses armes ont été tirées et tirées.
Des balles déchirèrent le corps de l'homme, tandis que Cyrus déchargea les deux pistolets en lui. Il s'agissait d'une vitesse de canons lents alors qu'il tirait sur un pistolet, tout en tirant sur l'autre. Il a tiré un pistolet et a coincé l'autre en avant, tirant un coup de feu après le coup de feu.
Il s'approchait de plus en plus après chaque balle, s'assurant que chacun atterrissait dans ses taches potentielles et déchirait cette abomination. Avant qu'il le sache, il avait traversé toutes les balles et il a entendu les bruits décevants de clic.
Un éblouissement a été collé sur le visage de Cyrus alors qu'il regardait les résultats de ses coups de feu. Il a laissé un faible grognement vers l'abomination, avant de vider les cartouches de chaque pistolet et de commencer le processus de rechargement.
"On se voit en enfer, Westbrook."
Name: Cyrus Pendleton
Age: 45
Nationality: American, English and German descent.
Profession: Bounty hunter, quick-draw, ranch hand, cattle rustler, and sometimes farmer.
Appearance/Clothing:


He's 6'1". He's very strongly built, and can take a good beating. His hair is light brown, with hints of gray. His eyes are blue. He has a lot of hair covering his body(who the fuck "man scaped" in the old west? Nobody. That's who. Yes, I know that means hairy women, too).
He wears corduroy work pants, with suspenders. He'll wear either a dark blue or a dirty stained white pullover three button shirt. He usually wears red long underwear(onesie) underneath everything, if the weather permits. He wears two gun belts if the need arises(because he has two pistols). He wears black leather boots that go up just below his knees. He wears the same kind of hat in the picture. He'll sometimes wear a blue wool vest and/or a large black trench coat(weather dependent). He wears a earthen gray thin cloth scarf(it looks like a shemagh).
Combat skills: A fairly good marksman with the rifle. He can hit a man or beast at 100 yards with his Winchester rifle. He excels in close quarters with his pistols and can outdraw a lot of people. He can pistol shoot and horseback ride at the same time, able to be at a full gallop and still hit a target at 20 yards. He can street brawl and can use a lot of inordinate objects to his advantage. Usually when hand to hand fighting, or knife fighting, he'll take hits just to land better hits. He can go punch for punch with anybody. He lacks finesse in any fighting style.
General Skills: Horseback riding, hunting, trapping, tracking(learned from guerrilla war fighting during the civil war and bounty hunting and from when he was a sheriff), fire making, a little bit of bushcraft, and he can go a good distance on his own two feet with a rucksack.
Languages: English. Can read latin and english.
Weapons: Winchester rifle chambered in .44-40 winchester. A single action colt army, chambered in .44-40 winchester. A colt model 1871-72 open top, chambered in .44 Henry rimfire. Bowie knife.
Possessions: Clothes. A draft mustang. A few hundred cartridges dispersed between his saddle bags and rucksack. About 60 rounds between his cartridge belts for his two handguns. Each cartridge belt has 40 loops for 40 rounds. He uses the same rounds from his pistol for his rifle, so the one belt for his colt single action army and his rifle. He lets his other handgun hang from his saddle, using it for when he is riding and firing(not all that often). He also has an assortment of items for living on the trail. He has a small pipe, but he'll usually roll a cigarette. He has plenty of tobacco.
Personality: He usually comes across as a very content man, but troubled from his old life. He can be bitter at times and often has flashbacks from the horrors he's witnessed and the losses he's had. He is generally more of a gentle giant, but he has a fiery temper. He's wise from years of experience and will beat anyone over the head with his wisdom, as he's tired of losing people. He is something of a Christian man, but being on the move doesn't always make one out to be devout.
History: He was raised in Missouri, growing up on a farm. He mostly just worked the soil and grew edibles with his family. He started dating a girl when he was a 20 year old man. She became the center of his world. She finally bared a child for him, but it being out of wedlock. His family nearly ostracized him, but he went ahead and married her. When the civil war came, him and his family were first unconcerned, but they took up sympathy with the Confederacy. Cyrus's father was part of the Missouri State Guard, and got killed in the first year of the war.
Cyrus didn't follow his father's footsteps, instead, journeying to Tennessee and joining up with the Army of Tennessee in 1862. His wife had agreed to it after much coaxing. He became a cavalryman and learned to be a very good one. He knew and lost many friends during the war and invested a lot into the war of secession.
He ended up fighting at the Battle of Bentonville and was one of the 90,000 surrendered by Johnston to Sherman. He was bitter and disillusioned after the war ended, but he was content going back to his wife and child. However, he returned home to a vacant plot of land, except for two graves. His wife and child had died months before the surrender, killed by some band of the numerous units of Redlegers and Jayhawkers.
He went into a very bitter place after finding their deaths, never having been able to say goodbye, or anything. With that, he became a drifter, until he settled in a mining town in the Dakota territory. He stayed there a few years before becoming a deputy and then the sheriff, after the retirement of the old sheriff. He was a great sheriff, settling down and beginning a love affair with a single mother who had just moved there. Everything seemed peaceful, until his town was set upon by a gang of bandits. The bandits began harassing and stealing from anyone. They almost got control of the town, until Cyrus took on their leader in a duel and gunned him down in the streets. It seemed like everything would be alright, until the town was burned to the ground by the bandits.
His girlfriend was killed in the ensuing chaos and he left the town, not waiting to see whether or not the town recovered. He needed to leave and drift again. His mind was not right for settling down again.