[spoiler]This is a series where I spin my dreams into short stories. For the sake of storytelling some elements are fabricated, but for the most part this is what I experienced. Enjoy.[/spoiler] “Why should I.” It was more of a resolution than a question. The candlelight burned like hellfire in the eyes of the rigid surgeon. He stared in unwavering contempt at the table before him. “He deserves to die.” My eyes scanned from the table to the surgeon beside me. I could feel his glowing scorn rise and fill the room like steam from an engine. “Yes he does, but not here.” I gently resisted. “He’s to get a proper hanging in Boston, if I can get him there in one piece.” “Who cares where he dies.” I had to respect the man’s steadfastness. I would hate to save this terror, even if only for a few days. “Listen,” I spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Me and my boys get an extra 200$ if we bring him in alive for a proper public execution. If you patch him up, I’ll cut you in. You ain’t saving’ him, only preparing the body.” We negotiated for a moment or two, the withered pain in his creased face never relenting as we came closer and closer to an agreement. We settled upon 50$. To him it was a significantly larger cut, but to the rest of us, barely a scratch to the true 1000$ extra we would receive. When the numbers fit, he picked up the knife. Two of my men cut away at the unconscious patients shirt, revealing the mutilated flesh within. It felt very strange seeing a body and face put to the name I had been chasing for nearly a year, and such a young one. The boy was no older than seventeen, his wiry build well-hidden beneath an oversized coat. It was hard to believe such a small frame could host such senseless rage. His naked chest was decorated with mangled bullet holes. The doctor advanced his knife towards the boy. “Wait.” I grabbed at the doctor’s wrist. “Aren’t you gonna give him something for the pain?” He turned his contemptuous glare upon me. “We’re a small town, mister. Ain’t got nothing to spare for a murderer.” I sighed and produced my wallet. I needed this boy in a state fit enough to stand on the gallows. The surgeon stopped me. “We both know this ain’t about money, mister.” Of course it wasn’t. What a coincidence that the Razorback Kid might find himself beneath the knife of a vengeful surgeon. Although, it could barely be considered a coincidence. Over the last two years he had terrorized well over 13 states, with plentiful victims left in his wake. I quietly stowed my wallet and allowed the doctor to proceed. There would be no hope of finding another qualified man without a personal grudge in this wilderness. He dug knife and fingers into flesh, pulling out shattered fragments of lead. He had only just begun when the kid came to. His breathing quickened to panicked gasps, he tugged at his restraints, rattling the cuffs on the steel table. “Stop…what are you…[i]Stop[/i]!“ He began the writhe against the knife, scraping his spurs as he raised his knees to protect his chest. One of my men grabbed at his boots and held him down. Razorback let out a guttural scream and slammed his bloodied blond head into the table. Another man wrapped his hand under under the kid’s chin and over his forehead. He wildly thrashed about but could not shake the surgeon. “You’ll kill him!” I exclaimed. All that movement could easily drive a knife through something important. “I won’t kill him.” The doctor raised his voice to be heard over the screaming. “But if he wants to make it more painful with all this ruckus! I won’t stop him!” I watched the wretched scene for a moment before turning to leave. I was not needed. The agonized howls rang through my head like church bells. I trudged across the dark road to lean upon a fence post. I rolled a cigarette and cupped my hands against the soft autumn breeze to light it. I would have to walk a mile to lose the boy’s screams. He called for his mother, failing to remember that she had been dead a long time. Though this was our first meeting, I knew the boy quite well. I knew that he didn’t like to drink when he gambled, and wears a size 10 boot. I knew that his name was Philip, but to his mom he was Clipper, and to the rest of the world he was the terrifying Razorback Kid. I knew that he never killed women or girls, and any member of his gang that did got their eyes shot out. He wears a kerchief to hide his scrawny neck, and though he prefers to stab, can shoot a bottle cap half a mile away. He smiles before he pulls his trigger. His horse, Pluck, could traverse mountains where others would snap their legs. I knew that he shot his father for strangling his mother, and I knew that before his gang filled him with bullet and left him on the floor of the local saloon, they would’ve killed their own kin if he gave the word. It felt almost cheap. This would be my biggest payoff yet, and I didn’t even have to raise my gun. What kind of disagreement could turn 16 men against their fearless young leader so fast, and anger them enough to forget the 15,000$ bounty for his body? Despite all the murders and robberies, I couldn’t help but feel bad for the kid. Sure, he pulls the trigger against anyone in his way, but when he was younger he only shot when he had to. Even took a couple bullets before he learned that others wouldn’t hesitate. He turned to stealing to stay alive, and he was too good at it to stop. He never got the same chance at life other boys got, and now his was soon to be cut short. I bet that if someone had shown him even a lick of kindness, he could’ve turned everything around. Kids are impressionable like that. Maybe it’s not too late. I flinched and dropped my cigarette on the dusty road. It had burned down to my knuckle. The kid still wailed. __________________________ It was nearly noon the next day as we prepared to depart. I left my guns on a chair outside. The kid still lay strapped to the table, sleeping calmly. Someone had procured for him a pillow and blanket. I suspected Ford, he was alway courteous to bounties on their way out. “Go saddle up” I told Ford. He stirred from his post across the room. “I’ll rouse this one.” The kid woke to my words. Ford brushed past me. I leaned against a cupboard next to the table. “We’re taking you to Boston. You’re to be hanged.” He blinked at me, unbothered. “Good to know.” I sighed. Already regretting what I had yet to do. I produced a small key from my waistcoat pocket. I lifted the blanket, revealing his left hand and wrist, glowing with raw wounds from the handcuff. I pressed the key into his palm and covered it again. He looked at me quizzically, but remained silent. I glanced at the shut door before speaking. “This is your second chance. You’re gonna hit me. You’re gonna get out of here, and you will never look back. You’ll live honest even if it kills you. I don’t wanna hear the name Razorback Kid ever again.” He made no answer. I continued. “You can fit through that window above you. Your horse is in the stable yard a little down the road. I suggest you ride east, we’d expect you to go west.” Recovering his wits, the kid fumbled with the key and cuff until it clicked. “But I warn you. If I hear you causing more trouble, if I catch any word of your stupid name, I will come for you again. You can be sure of that.” I leaned forward, he pulled himself up. “Go on. Hit me.” The kid grinned. “I’ll do you one better.” I found myself staring down the barrel of a .45 in his right hand. “A gift from your friend Ford” he smirked. “You bounty hunters are the kindest folk.” [i]bang[/i]