Cyrus a hurlé devant le shérif comme il l'a tenu sur le corps. Il s'est tenu un moment maladroit avec un peu de sueur dans le dos. Il soupira et s'appuya sur différentes jambes, avant d'entendre ce que l'adjoint avait à dire. Cyrus sentit un frisson courir dans sa colonne vertébrale, comme il a donné à l'homme un éclat. "Non, enfer non!" Il s'est exclamé et a laissé tomber le corps.
Il a regardé le shérif et l'adjoint alors qu'ils se livraient à la conversation sur la disparition. Son visage semblait former un éblouissement. Ce n'était pas tous les jours que la preuve d'un meurtre était juste arrachée, et cela pouvait signifier que sa prime était perdue.
Cyrus est passé, suivant le personnage féminin qui venait d'apparaître sur les lieux. Ils braquaient de la poussière dans les rues, faisant une agitation régulière vers le bureau du shérif. Cyrus était tout près derrière la Sioux, alors qu'elle entrait dans le bureau. Ils sont venus à l'arrière de la pièce qu'il avait mentionnée, et là il l'a vu.
Avant lui, il y avait une chambre vide, avec seulement quelques gouttes de sang. Ce n'était pas assez pour les blessures par balle que Cyrus avait infligées à l'homme. "Fils de pute." Il s'est exclamé en arpentant la pièce. Dans la fine couche de poussière enrobant la farine, il n'y avait qu'un seul ensemble d'empreintes qui sortaient de la pièce et qui n'appartenaient pas à la femelle Sioux. "Tu dois me chier."
Il grimaçait et criait à la pièce, comme si elle lui avait fait le mal. "On dirait qu'il n'est pas mort. Je vais devoir le mettre à terre, encore une fois, jusqu'à ce qu'il reste à terre." Il a grondé. Il détestait Westbrook dès qu'il l'avait rencontré, et n'était pas d'humeur à s'occuper de lui vivant encore. Il savait un peu de son passé, ayant entendu dire qu'il avait été soupçonné d'avoir tué gruyeusement plusieurs enfants lors d'un incident. Il n'a jamais pensé qu'il rencontrerait un ancien soldat de l'union qui était si psychologiquement dérangé, qu'il s'était bien débrouillé et qu'il avait perdu toute sa famille à la guerre.
La guerre avait pris une grande partie de ses rêves et aspirations avec sa perte du côté confédéré. Il avait pensé qu'il n'avait besoin que de sa femme et de ses enfants, mais il les avait pris. Son père était mort si tôt dans le conflit. Le Missouri avait éclaté dans le feu et le sang, et il avait été renversé. Il avait fait tout ce qu'il pouvait pour passer à autre chose, mais il semblait continuer à le suivre. Cette fois, il venait après lui sous la forme d'un homme qui semblait refuser de rester mort.
FYI: Tous les indices ont été fournis par le GM pour que je poste.
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.