It went pretty much as Maura expected, he had left her more than enough hints almost since the first minutes of them meeting but...........because he was a real gentleman, he would not take her until she was ready, until she showed him with her own words and actions she would accept him. But now that it was all over, she had to admit that how good it had been did surprise her. He was not just enthusiastic, he had been without a doubt her best partner ever. Or was it that she just had needed it all so badly? She wasn't certain and it did not matter. They continued until finally both were spent, but the kind of spent that brought with it satisfaction and contentment, as if all was right with the world. Of course that was not true but while it lasted, it was incredible.

For awhile they lay in a quiet tender embrace, what was there to say? They had just communicated in a way that was beyond mere language. And depending on these next few hours or days or however long this pursuit turned out, they may well never experience what took place this night again? But it had happened and nothing could ever take this memory away from them.

Her head was against his chest as she glanced up at him and smiled, "You make it so very hard to be hatin' the English ye know?"

Lame humor but she could come up with nothing better at that peaceful moment.

As much to be treasured as the heat of union, was the warm glow of embers after.  There was contentment in that warmth.  In knowing that you had joined with another person.  Poured yourself out into them, and drank them up into yourself, and transcended all the myriad thorns of life's endless brambles.  At least for a little while, there was happy contentment in that.

Perhaps if the leaders of nations could lay contentedly in a post-coital heap, there would be less war and strife in the world.

"I don't know... if this is the fire comes of Irish ire, then may we long your wrath inspire."   He winked at her, a little 'har har' coming from deep in his chest as it was wont to do when he amused himself with one of his own jokes or turns of phrase.

It was a good night.  A fairly perfect moment.

And possibly the last he'd have for a long while.

A wise man had once said that the Moon was a harsh Mistress, but she paled and shrunk against the light of a dawn you never wanted to see.   The rising sun brought the end of quiet contentment, the end of sleep, the end of gentle dreams, and the renewal of a violent quest.  

A quick meal of day-old bread and bacon, cooked in a small cast-iron pan over a renewed morning fire.  A kettle of tea if she'd have it, drunk from a shared cup.   They'd shared much more of late, so Roland suspected that wouldn't make her recoil.   He'd packed light before lighting out.  They could only make a couple more days of this before they'd need to resupply.

Roland spent an hour on his guns, and hers if she allowed it.  Oiling and wiping down, cleaning lest any rust set in.  His practiced hands could do the work quickly, even in the field.

Then saddle.  Then horse.  Then the trail of the fiend they followed.

Words were few.  

But he did spare a moment to reach out, to caress her cheek.  To show her she was more than an evening's entertainment.

She'd touched him.  And though he quest was grim, one light had pierced the gloom of it.

Now there was the dawn.   And the march of horse's hooves.

And the uncertainty of a violent end for someone before the day was done.

Wayfarer

He certainly was a meticulous fellow when it came to the guns as he spent a good hour cleaning his and hers too even though it had not been fired. But she let him do so and contented herself with watching. Once they were ready to depart, they made certain the fire was extinguished, mounted their horses and headed in what they hoped was the right direction in their continued pursuit.

It wasn't long when they ascended a ridgeline where they could gaze down on below on some flat land and there was a dirt road too. A closer look and something was on the road, a heap...not moving. Both of them came to the conclusion at the same moment.

"A horse. That be a.........dead horse?" she ventured.

There was no sign of any human being within sight. And that horse could not have been there all that long for scavengers would have been at it during the night. Well, they had to investigate so down they rode.

It was a horse alright. The poor thing had an obvious leg injury, maybe caught in a gopher hole or god only knew what. Then it was shot in the head too. It's owner had at least done the right thing by the unlucky animal. Yet this sad scene also was a bit of good fortune for them.

"That's his horse!  I be sure of it," she had only seen him gallop off for mere seconds but the dapple on the creature was distinctive. This luckless beast was dappled.

As they came up on the position of the dead horse, Roland reached down and pulled his rifle from its saddle-scabbard.  

His Lancaster rifle had been designed for big-game hunting, with four high-caliber barrels, each designed to take out an elephant or a tiger if need be.  With four barrels, even a missed shot, or even two, would be survivable.  And firing at a charging animal was the sort of nerve-wracking confrontation that could cause even the very brave to miss a shot or two.  

But Roland had never been a big-game hunter.  He could fire a rifle, but he wasn't much of a marksman.  That's why he loaded his weapons with shot-shells instead of the high-caliber rifle rounds they'd been designed to carry.  The trademark Lancaster oval-rifling system wouldn't disturb the shot pattern the way normal rifling grooves would.  It made his four-barrel rifle into a good four-barrel shotgun, which was much more forgiving than a rifle was in terms of accuracy.  

Unfortunately, it was not nearly as long-ranged with that sort of ammunition loaded.   He could hit something within fifty yards easily.  Out to a hundred, maybe, with some luck. 

And nothing past that.

He surveyed the area, holding the rifle at the ready.

"I think you're right," Roland said as he slowly urged his horse in a slow circle, "but if he is on foot, forced to shoot his horse, and is a villain at heart..."

Roland's gaze toured suspicious foliage, large boulders, depressions in the landscape.

"he might be lying in wait for a better horse to come along.  One that he can liberate from its owner..."

Wayfarer

Roland was a bit nervous, he had his long gun out, and stared all about at the horizon and assorted terrain. No doubt concerned about an ambush and she couldn't really blame the man given the dirty rotten bushwhacker their quarry was. Certainly a man with no qualms to kill for a horse too.

"I think you're right," Roland said as he slowly urged his horse in a slow circle, "but if he is on foot, forced to shoot his horse, and is a villain at heart..." 

Roland's gaze toured suspicious foliage, large boulders, depressions in the landscape.

His words married with her thoughts. Maura nodded.

"he might be lying in wait for a better horse to come along.  One that he can liberate from its owner..." 

"Indeed you could well have the right of it, to be sure. But what choice we got, we have to keep goin'. And rest our hopes on him still bein' that bad shot he's been so far," she saw no other way around it but to keep pursuing.

Nothing could be done about the horse, but the man had left both saddle and saddle bags behind too, he might run low of certain necessaries but he seemed to have at least taken a canteen with him, that is if he had bothered with one ever?

"Let's see if we can spot him now, we are faster than he is," Maura was actually encouraged about their chances now to catch this man.

The pair mounted and moved on. Every once and awhile they saw a vague imprint of a boot or in one damp place several footprints. It did not mean these were automatically from him but the damp impressions were certainly recent. Again most encouraging at least to the hopeful Irish woman.

The ground sloped upward as they rode up yet another gradual ridgeline. At the crest they looked down. There was a road and then not too far in the distance what appeared to be a farm or ranch. Could he have headed there? 

"If he is looking to be gettin' hissself another horse, might he be visiting that place over there?" she pointed.

They were probably compelled to at least check it out.

Every bush, every rock, every rise or ridge concealed an assassin.

Or, that was where Roland's paranoid mind dwelt as they continued their pursuit.   Fortunately, no shot rang out.  No lead death rained down.  It seemed that they were the hounds chasing the fox, and not the hunted party themselves.  At least... not yet.

But a cornered animal was surely at its most dangerous, and as they spied the Ranch, Roland's eyes were on the swivel just as much as his horse Ember's ears.   

He considered a quiet approach.  Getting the horses nearer before dismounting and moving carefully in on foot.  But part of him was concerned that the villain might kill another poor bystander.  If Roland moved so slowly and carefully that his caution resulted in some old rancher shot in the back of the head, then he'd be visited by that sight in his dreams for a long while.

"If he's not getting there by now, we'd best warn them about him," Roland agreed, and spurred his horse into a rapid pace.

Wayfarer

Now Maura had figured Roland would agree with her assessment and want to go down there but as he suddenly set his horse into a gallop in that direction, she was completely taken by surprise.

"What?" she blinked then muttered a traditional bit of Irish slang, "go away then" kicking her mare's flanks to try to follow.

The man was the first to arrive on the property with Maura gamely some yards behind. There was a moderate size one story farmhouse with it's chimney smoking, a window half open, both sure signs of it being currently occupied. Within a corral fence were a pair of what were most likely plow horses and an impressive black mule which brayed at them in their annoying pitch. There was a chicken coop, some chickens were already wandering about looking for food. And there was a barn too, doors wide open. Everything about the place said it was well kept up, a going concern alright.

Right now Roland was about fifty yards short of the house, about the same from the barn. If he pauses, Maura would join him in mere seconds.

OOC:  Your move :) Don't do too much though without giving me a chance to react for the inhabitants of the place.

With someone like Maura Walsh on this quest, Roland had to rush a bit if he wanted to be sure he was shot at before she was.

And so he didn't slow down until he had to, to avoid the possibility that she'd catch up too quickly, and the assassin might complete his hired work.

"Ho there," he called out, hoping to draw the attention of the dwellers at this farmstead... or perhaps to draw fire from the villain they pursued.  Either way, he wanted all danger to rest on the saddle of his horse and not hers.  "Is anyone home?"

He did not have his long-gun out at this time.  It was back in his saddle-scabbard.   But that would be a good thing if there were only innocent civilians at this ranch.  Seeing a man ride up with a rifle at the ready would be alarming.

It was less good if that woman-shooting assassin was already out here.  The range of Roland's pistol was not particularly formidable, having been originally designed to shoot only through the distance between a Howdah and an encroaching tiger.

Wayfarer

"Ho there. Is anyone home?"

Maura was just behind to his right as her partner in this personal crusade called out to see if indeed the place was inhabited, it certainly looked to be. She pulled up on the mare's reins. She and Roland did not have long to wait.

The farmhouse door creaked partially and a rifle barrel emerged, who was holding it was not clear.

"Hold it right there!"

A pistol now appeared poking barely out of the half opened front window too. And from their flank, a shout came from the barn.

"Got'em Pa!"

It seemed they'd riled up a hornet's nest of unwelcome. Question was were any of these three the man they were pursuing? Maura froze on her saddle, such dangerous confrontations were all new to her. One thing was for certain, if that assassin was part of this, giving up would be a death sentence. Emmett had sent that thug for one reason and one reason only, to kill her.

Roland was caught up short, and his face reflected his surprise.  

He had anticipated a possible assassin.  He had hoped to find the good people who dwelt at this farmstead. 

But he hadn't expected the phenomenon which now presented itself: The good people who attended this farmstead had him under the gun.  And worse- they might be the family of the very assassin he and Maura pursued.

But... that would mean the villain was a local.  A local who'd just murdered a ferryman.  A ferryman whom he must have known. 

Would even a very bad man murder a neighbor to escape a stranger?

Could the person they pursued truly be that evil?

"Good sirs," Roland protested, lifting his left hand very slowly, palm out, in a placating gesture.  His right hand stayed upon his saddle-horn... not too far from his holstered pistol.

Of course, Maura was right behind him.  Did she not realize he'd gone ahead to be ahead? 

Willful woman.  

"We are no threat to you.  We came to warn you that we found the ferryman shot dead, back at the river.  You are the first people we've seen since coming upon the grisly scene.  We feared some outlaw may be afoot, and came to make notice of it."

Time. 

He needed moments.

Moments to gather information.  

Moments to be sure he was not mistaking one situation for another.

Wayfarer