You've been riding hard since the ambush. You knew the canyon was a risky route, but it was going to shave a good four hours off your ride, so you took the risk. Plus, it was hot and getting hotter when you made the near-fatal decision. The canyon seemed like the best choice at the time.
But the US Marshall was ahead of you. If it wasn't for that startled rabbit, you'd be in a long pine box, and people would be pulling your "wanted" posters off their walls.
As it is, you hope to be gracing them with your face for a good long time.
It's no mistake you've been on the run for three years, when most of the gang fell in the first few months. You're fast and smart, and your winning smile (in addition to the remaining proceeds from the Western Savings & Loan) opens the doors you've needed to survive.
This time, it's the doors of the preacher outside of Yuma. Your "contribution to the church" was so graciously appreciated that he personally put you up in his tack room -- a fine place that smells like it has been host to many of your kind of patron.
Before dawn, you'll ride towards the Mexican border. Tonight, you're enjoying the smell of warm leather and a thousand near-misses.
