Scar knelt down next to the human woman’s body. It was face-down in the dirt, arms splayed out to either side, with a bullet wound and a stain of mostly dried blood in the back. The dead woman’s face was turned toward the centaur as she examined the ground around the corpse. There was a single set of tracks around and near the woman. They were difficult to discern, because whoever had made them had spent at least a few seconds trying to brush them away, but had done a poor job of it.

“Is it her?” Hedge asked.

Scar resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was a stupid question, as though it could have been anyone else. “If the wanted poster artists in New Progress are as good as they say they are, it’s her.”

“Anything else?” The lead Ridder asked her.

Scar climbed back to her hooves, and pointed at the tracks, tracing a line back the way they had come. “He killed her here, then went back down the path, all the way back down to where we found the acridian sign.”

One of the other Ridders, a cocky man named Rope, shook his head. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would he come all the way up here to kill her?”

Scar scanned the area again, biting her tongue. The reason was clear to her, as were the second set of tracks she didn’t mention to the others, the tracks that stopped in the bush at the edge of the clearing. The tracks of a small human.

“A better question,” said Breeze, the other female centaur along for the Rid, “is why he would kill his own wife.”

Hedge scoffed at the question. “Because he’s a greedy son of a nightstalker, that’s why. He killed her for the same reason he killed his other three partners since this Rid started. They were slowing him down and taking his share. What did you expect? He’s just a bandit.”

Scar’s lip curled slightly into a sneer. One of the bad ones, she added to herself.

“I just don’t understand why he’d go so far out of his way,” Rope pressed. “I mean, there were only five in his crew, right?”

“As far as we know,” Hedge confirmed.

“We haven’t seen signs of anyone else joining up with them,” Breeze agreed. “Five were reported at the bank, and we’ve only seen tracks for five acridians.”

“So,” Rope said as if walking children through logic, “if there were only five including Kyrick, and he had already killed off three, why would he bring his wife all the way out here? There was no one left to hear the shot anyway.”

“Are you suggesting that somebody else is killing off Kyrick’s crew?” Hedge asked.

Rope shrugged. “Could be, I guess. I’m just saying it makes no sense.”

“The tracks around the body are Kyrick’s,” Scar said matter-of-factly.

“Can you be sure of that?” Hedge asked.

“Can’t be sure of anything in the Waste,” Scar said. “But these tracks have been at every body and every campsite we’ve seen. So, as long as your posters didn’t mix up Kyrick with one of his men, it has to be Kyrick, because his men are all dead.”

Hedge nodded. “Alright, then. Breeze, take a note. Add four counts of murder onto Kyrick’s charge. We’ll see he answers for them, too.”

“And stealing from Ridders,” Rope grumbled.

“What do you mean?” Scar asked.

“These bandits were wanted alive,” Rope said, shaking his head. “No ‘Dead or’ on this one, rookie. So every one of these bandits Kyrick killed is a bounty we can’t collect.”

“We’ll get some consolation,” Hedge assured him. “Besides, it’s Kyrick they want. His Rid’s worth more than all of theirs together.”

Rope smirked. “Well, then, let’s get going. This one’s taken too long as it is.”

“Hate to admit it, but I agree with you,” Hedge said, glancing in the direction of the sun, which was working its way toward the horizon. “We only have a couple hours of daylight left. Leave her body for the scavengers. We need to make time. North it is then.”

“North?” Scar asked. “Why would we go north?”

“That’s the way the acridian tracks led from the camp, remember?”

“One set, sure,” Scar said. “But not the right one. Kyrick’s heading east.”

“East?” Rope scoffed. “There’s nothing east but flat open Waste and prairie. North, he can be in the hills already. Easier to lose pursuit, and he’s gotta know we’re on his trail by now.”

“When he killed the woman, he probably just sent her acridian off, to confuse us,” Breeze said.

“He did exactly that,” Scar agreed, “but he sent hers north.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Hedge said. “Look, Scarlet, you’re a good tracker, to be sure, but you’re also inexperienced. I’m sure you want to leave your mark on your first Rid, but Kyrick rode north.”

Scar shook her head. “The north-bound acridian’s tracks were farther apart, like it was running, and…”

“He is trying to make a get-away, you know,” Rope said with a roll of his eyes.

“He can’t move that fast,” Scar said.

Hedge squared up to her. “Why not?”

Scar glanced over to the bush where she had seen the second set of tracks, and hesitated. “He’s got the coin,” she improvised. “It wouldn’t do him any good to lose it in a fast ride, or exhaust his acridian…”

“He could rest his mount inside of two hours from here,” Hedge said, “if he made the hills. To the north.”

Scar took a deep breath. “Listen, the north-bound acridian’s right-leg tracks were sporadic, right? Like it was trying to avoid something, like unattended reins, for instance.”

“They were also heavier,” Breeze said, “dug deeper into the ground. Like it was carrying Kyrick’s weight, and all that coin.”

“Or,” Scar shot back, “all of the other equipment they’ve had since leaving New Progress, the equipment that has mysteriously vanished. Remember?”

“You’re reaching, Scarlet,” Rope said.

“We’re losing daylight,” Hedge added. “Look, we’re going north, and that’s the end of it.”

“Fine,” Scar said, setting her jaw. “Then you can catch up with me after I’ve found Kyrick, because I’m going east.”

“This is no time to be obstinate,” Hedge said. “You can do what you want, Scarlet, but it’s a bad idea to go off alone in a Rid.”

“Or in the Waste, for that matter,” Breeze added.

“And technically, you’re giving up your share by leaving,” Rope said.

“Trust me,” Scar said, glaring at Rope. “I’m not the one losing the share. You three are.”

“Do what you want,” Hedge said. “We need to move. If you realize you’ve made a mistake, feel free to catch up.”

“Same to you,” Scar said.

Rope said something under his breath as the three other centaurs turned and galloped north on what Scar was certain was a false trail. She shook her head, checked her gun at her waist and the pack slung across her back, and galloped down the path to the east.

It had been dark for several hours when Scar came across the cabin with a single light flickering in the window. She had galloped as hard as she could from the time she separated from the other Ridders until twilight set in, and then she slowed down. The trail would be significantly more difficult to follow in the dark, but that was only one reason she wanted to slow down. Ridders, and centaurs in general, had an unfortunate tendency to announce their approach by the thundering of hooves on the hard ground, which made it very difficult to sneak up on something.

And, moving painfully slowly in the darkness, that was exactly what Scar was trying to do now.

Just before sundown, the tracks of the eastbound acridian turned north, where the foothills started. Silently, Scar scoffed. The others had moved north under the assumption that Kyrick could have hidden in the hills, apparently either forgetting or not knowing that the hills were only slightly further away to the northeast. Scar had proceeded slowly as the hills became more ragged and more wooded, a perfect place to hide.

The cabin had been the last proof she had needed that she was right. Outside, Kyrick’s acridian was tied up to a hitching post. It noticed Scar approach, but did not seem bothered by the centaur’s presence. The young Ridder smiled. She had always had a rapport with the insects, even as a child. When she and the other kids had first run away, and eventually been found and taken in by Jackie DeCoeur, Scar herself had rounded up the acridians for the other kids to ride. She had always felt a pang of regret that she herself would never ride one. As the saying goes, centaurs don’t ride, they rid.

Peering through the window, Scar set herself to that very task.

She had never seen Kyrick in person, but she knew him instantly. From the scraggly hair to the unshaven face to the rough setting of his jaw, she knew him. The wanted poster artists had earned their pay with this one. There was only a small light from inside, a single lantern burning, but Scar could make out the bandit as he sat hunched over the only table in the room, counting out coins from the bag and drinking whiskey straight from a bottle. Scar noticed, with a slight smile, that his gun belt was lying on the table next to the bag.

She watched him for a long time, waiting for him to do something other than drink and count his stolen money. The rest of the room was sparse, with only one door in the back, which was shut tight. More than once, Scar was gripped by the urge to burst inside and finish the rid, but every time, she resisted. Jackie had taught her better than that. The man’s guns were no more than a foot from his hand, and even a drunk man can take a lucky shot.

Finally, though, the man gave her the chance she needed. Swaying slightly, Kyrick pushed himself away from the table. He glanced briefly at the window as he did, but Scar had already moved out of the way, anticipating his movement. When she dared to look back in, she saw Kyrick standing in the corner of the room, relieving himself into a small pot there. Scar readied herself and shot one more quick look at the table, verifying that both of the man’s guns were still in their holsters. Then she counted to ten, hoping it would be long enough for the man to finish his business but not long enough to make it back to the table. Satisfied, she approached the door, reared up, and with her two front legs, kicked the door completely off its hinges.

Kyrick flinched almost like he had been shot at the unexpected noise, and turned around to see Scar, practically filling the doorway, with her pistol leveled at him. He looked her up and down a few times, paying particular attention to the scars covering her face and arms. He took one step toward the table, but the moment he did, the centaur pulled back the hammer of her gun. The bandit, wisely, froze.

“Kyrick Peel, you are under arrest for bank robbery, acridian theft, and murder. You can come with me quietly, or stay here,” Scar smirked, “silent as the grave.”

“Well, ain’t you big talk,” Kyrick sneered. “You Ridders are all the same, only tough when you got a gun and I don’t. You wanna duel? Then let me grab my gun, and I’ll oblige.”

“Is that what you told your men, Kyrick? Is that what you told your wife when you gunned her down in the back?”

Kyrick spit on the floor at her feet. “That’s all any of them were worth, ‘specially Ann. I hope you Ridder’s didn’t bother burying her. She wasn’t worth a threadbare blanket on a cold night, let alone six feet ‘a earth over her.”

Scar clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on her pistol. Kyrick seemed to notice, and smiled. “Don’t like it? I bet you’re worth even less.” He put up his hands, forming fists and beckoning her to come at him. “You wanna take a swing, you just try, saddlestock.”

Scar’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Come on, you yellow lizard-lick. Put your gun down and fight like you deserve that badge!”

Scar stared at him for a long time and then, slowly, pulled the hammer of her gun back. She slid the cylinder to the one empty chamber, a habit she had picked up from Jackie, and, with the gun safe, she looked over to the table and tossed her gun onto it.

In that instant, Kyrick was moving. He bolted ahead, straight at Scar, and, fists balled, struck her as hard as he could across her jaw with his right hand. Scar continued to look away for a moment, then slowly turned back to the bandit, who was staring at her in disbelief. She scoffed at him.

“I know a twelve year old Nog girl who hits harder than that,” she said. Then she brought her own right fist back, preparing to strike. Kyrick readied himself to block, but Scar, with her right arm cocked, brought her left fist up, catching Kyrick completely unprepared. The punch lifted Kyrick off the ground and spun him around. He collapsed to the floor and did not move.

When she was sure the man was unconscious, Scar reached up and started rubbing her jaw. It had been a good punch, and it hurt like hell, but Scar hadn’t wanted Kyrick to see that. Jackie had always said that you can really get into someone’s head by acting like their punch didn’t hurt. If they’re too busy thinking about their punch, they don’t have time to think about yours. Scar said a silent thanks to angels she knew weren’t listening that she had gotten such a good education at the Ranch.

Working quickly, Scar reached into the pack strung across her back and pulled out a length of rope. She knelt down next to the slumped form of Kyrick Peel, checked to make sure he was still breathing, and then set about tying his arms together. That was when she heard a sound that nearly stopped her heart. It was the sound of metal, like that of a revolver, being pulled across a wooden surface, like a table. She glanced up first to the door at the rear of the room and found that it was no longer closed tight, but was, in fact, wide open. Then she glanced toward the table, and cringed.

A young boy, no more than ten, was standing there, wide-eyed, holding Scar’s gun.

The boy looked her in the eyes as tears were coming to his. “Are…are you gonna kill my pa?” He asked. He was pointing the gun right at Scar’s heart.

Scar shook her head. “No, I’m not going to kill him.”

The boy’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

Scar nodded. She knew the boy was here. She had seen his tracks, although they were scarce. Undoubtedly, his father and mother had carried him more than had him walk. If the other Ridders were aware of the boy, they had never let on. Scar knew. She had just hoped he would sleep through her confrontation with Kyrick, which was the primary reason she had been willing to set down her gun. It had, sadly, not helped.

“You know what your father’s done, don’t you?”

The boy nodded.

“You were there, weren’t you?” Scar asked, trying to keep her voice as soft as she could. “You were standing in the bushes when…”

She did not finish, but the boy nodded. He was crying freely now. “He killed Mama,” the boy said.

Scar lowered her head. She had guessed what the tracks had meant, but she had hoped she was wrong. The boy had seen his mother and father walk off from camp, and followed them. And then, in the darkness, had watched as his father pulled the trigger.

“Your father didn’t know you saw it, did he?”

The boy shook his head.

“I’m so sorry,” Scar said, and reached out. The boy gave her back the gun without question. Scar slipped it back into her holster, then reached out again and took him by the hand, pulling him in for an embrace. “I’m so sorry that you had to see that.”

“Pa would have killed me if he knew, wouldn’t he?”

Scar stroked the child’s hair. “I hate to say it, but probably.”

“He killed Ma,” the boy repeated. “He killed his friends, and he would have killed me.” He shifted, to look Scar in her eyes. “Why aren’t you going to kill him?”

Scar stared at him for a long moment, wondering how she could answer him. Finally, she sighed. “My name’s Scarlet, but my friends call me Scar. What’s your name?”

“Kid.”

“Kid?”

“That’s all Pa ever called me, and he got mad if Mama ever called me anything else.”

Scar considered. “Well, you can go by Kid if you want, or maybe someday you’ll find a name you like better. Either way, Kid, you asked me why I’m not going to kill your father? Let me ask you a question. Why don’t you?”

She pulled her gun out again and, carefully positioning the boy so that he was facing Kyrick’s back, she handed the gun to him. He looked at the gun first, and then at Scar, and then back at his prone father. For a while, it looked like he was going to pull the trigger, but eventually, he lowered the gun and shook his head.

“I…I can’t.”

“Why not?” Scar asked as she took the gun back.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just…not easy.”

Scar nodded. “It’s not supposed to be easy. When killing gets easy, you become, well, you become like him, you know?”

Kid shook his head. “I don’t want to be like him. But I don’t…”

“You don’t want him to get away with it?”

The boy nodded.

“He won’t,” Scar assured him. “He hasn’t. He’s caught now. And believe me, Kid, he’s going to suffer for what he’s done. Do you know how I know?” The boy shook his head. “Because I’m going to make sure of it. He’s going to jail for a long time, probably the rest of his life, and he’s got no more friends to try to spring him. And I’ll be checking up on him, just to make sure he’s as miserable as he’s tried to make everyone else.”

The boy nodded, but did not seem happy about the idea.

“You’re wondering about what happens now, aren’t you, Kid?”

He nodded.

Scar was about to continue when she heard the faint sound of thunder coming from outside. After a moment, the sound grew clearer. Hooves. An educated guess told her that it was three sets of centaur hooves heading this way. She did not have much time. Putting away her gun, she started digging through her pack again as she spoke.

“Kid, do you have any other family?”

“No.”

“Tell me, have you ever heard of a place called Red’s Ranch?”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

“But, I know it’s just a fairy tale. Red Jackie’s dead. Mama read about it in the paper.”

Scar smiled at the boy. “Red’s Ranch is a magical place, sure, but it’s no fairy tale, and Red Jackie is very far from dead.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Do you think I could ever…”

“Of course you can, and I can get you there.” Finally, Scar found what she was looking for, and pulled a red ticket out of her bag. “But you need to do something for me first, and it is going to involve you keeping a few promises for me. Can you do that?”

Kid nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay,” Scar said. The other Ridders were getting close, so she leaned in and pressed the ticket into the boy’s hand. “First, until you get to the ranch, never tell anyone that I even mentioned Red or the Ranch. Can you do that?” Again, he nodded. “Second, if any of the other Ridders ask, you have an Aunt in New Progress who will take you in, okay?” The boy looked confused. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you to the train station myself, but they have to think you have family, or they’ll try to put you in an orphanage, and Red would never forgive me for that.”

Kid nodded. “I can do that.”

“Last thing,” Scar said, grinning. “You have to promise me that you’ll tell everyone at the Ranch that I miss them like crazy.”

The boy smiled. “I can do that.”

Scar hugged him again, and then stood up. “Good. Now remember your promises, and whatever happens, don’t lose that ticket.” Scar smiled. “I only have a couple dozen.”