Houston had made himself at home temporarily in a small tent set up on the outskirts of the baron’s last working mine. The old man was reading through a mess of reports, strewn across the desk he was sitting at, made up of two barrels and a plank of wood. They were given to him by Gravel, who seemed to be growing more pale by the second as time went by.

The baron flipped through the papers, his mood growing worse with each declining number he read when a cough escaped his dry lips. A few more followed, until Houston erupted into a mess of choking and wheezing.

Radcliffe then made his way inside, lifting the drape of the tent’s entrance. “Mr Houston, I-?” The assistant saw his employer coughing. “Sir!” He rushed to Houston’s side as the old man started to come out of his fit.

Houston stayed hunched over, heaving haggard breaths after his choking.

“Are you all right, sir?” The spectacled man dared to ask as he reached a caring hand towards him.

“Don’t touch me!” Houston retched himself away from Radcliffe’s reach.

He went to wipe his mouth with his handkerchief, only to see it stained with something that would shake even the coldest men to their core…

Blood.

The baron went to dip his finger into his lips. He brought it to his vision to see a drop of red on its tip, making the old man growl in frustration. Wiping the rest of the blood from his face, Houston turned to his assistant, who stood patiently waiting for his employer to address him.

“Well, what is it?! What do you want?!” Houston barked frantically.

Radcliffe took a moment to clear his throat, allowing the moment to pass before speaking. “…He’s here.”

The angered expression on Houston’s face fell into one of shock the moment the words came from his assistant. The baron took a moment to compose himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath through his nose. “Alright, then.”

The old man started to pick himself up out of his chair. Seeming to have read his mind, the spectacled man had already fetched for his employer’s hat and cane as Houston stood. Once he took his items from his assistant, the old man allowed Radcliffe to open the drape for him, the baron heading outside to meet with the one he had summoned.

Houston’s cane clacked against the gravel on the ground as he made his way outside. Radcliffe followed the baron close behind when both were met with the sound of hooping, hollering, and the galloping of a hundred hooves. They looked to the distance to see a small army’s worth of men riding on horseback, all shouting and yelling in glee like wild animals gone rabid.

However, the one leading the band of bandits remained silent, as he led the party towards the baron and his assistant before wooing his horse, and his men, to a stop. Houston and Radcliffe looked up to the man before them, each of them having the feeling of resolution and caution churn in their stomachs.

He was as dirty and mangy as a man could get, an air of danger and depravity coming off of him like a foul stench. He wore a tattered brown cutter hat, with a matching coloured and ruined duster coat, pants and leather boots. He held the reins of his horse with a pair of wool gloves over his hands, the nubs of the fingers worn off to reveal his chipped fingernails. A mane of greasy blonde hair ran down the back of the leader’s head, looking as stained as the teeth in his devil-may-care grin.

But what stuck out the most about the man, was the number of vile, disturbing scars across his face.

“Evenin’, Houston.” John Carver tipped his hat to the old man.

“About time you showed up, Carver!” The baron reprimanded the outlaw sternly with a thump of his cane.

“Apologies for the late arrival.” Carver dismounted his horse and made his way over to the old man and his assistant. “That telegram you sent me took a lil’ long to reach me. When the deliveryman finally showed up, I figured I’d teach ‘em a lesson ‘bout showin’ up on time. But, when I read yer note, I figured it was urgent, so…” The scarred man patted the bowie knife strapped to his belt next to his gun, his sinister sneer growing a little wider. “I had to go and cut his lesson short.”

Houston got the message loud and clear, well aware of the outlaw’s ruthless reputation. Whenever he needed someone to disappear, or when the need to send a message to someone arose, Carver was the one he could count on the most. There was no task too insidious for him to do… and none he didn’t relish in.

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“So, some of your miners decided to drop their shovels, did they?” Carver chuckled. “Musta got tired of diggin’ for scraps.”

“Mr Houston pays all of his workers more than enough for their labours.” Radcliffe was quick to come to his employer’s defence. “Iain’t that why you're here in the first place?”

“I don’ need to get paid none to do what I do, fancy britches.” Carver stepped up to the spectacled man, sinister smile still in place. “Don’ need to get paid none to enjoy it, neither…”

The assistant and the outlaw stared each other down, waiting for the other to give them an excuse to do something.

“Mr Carver!” Houston snapped his cane, drawing the two men’s attention. “I did not call for you to pick a fight with my assistant. You are here to get my workers back to work!”

“Right’chu are, Mr Houston!” The scarred man agreed, stepping away from Radcliffe, the spectacle man composing himself by adjusting his glasses. “So, let’s go bust us up a union, shall we?”

Houston had had quite enough of Carver’s theatrics, as he turned on his heel and led the way towards the mine.

Gravel chewed at his nails, watching the gathering of Hauler and the miners as they continued to loiter in front of the open mine, when he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He turned to see Houston and his assistant, along with a few unfamiliar and unfriendly faces with him. Immediately having an idea of what they were here for, the foreman attempted to stop an oncoming disaster. “Mr Houston! P-Please, there’s no need for this! I can-!”

“Step aside, Gravel.” The baron didn’t even bat an eye in the stammering man’s direction. He continued on his way, with Radcliffe on his right side, Carver on his left, and the gaggle of outlaws following along behind.

Hauler was sitting on a pile of rubble, talking among his fellow workers when he caught sight of Houston heading his way. The union leader jumped to his feet when he saw the gang of unsavoury souls the old man had gathered. “What’s all this?!”

“This is what happens when my patience is worn thin, Mr Hauler!” Houston informed. “And now, you have a choice. You may continue to work under my jurisdiction, or you may do so under theirs!”

“So that’s your plan, huh? We either keep diggin’ in that mine, which might as well be our grave, or you sick yer dogs on us?!” Hauler clenched his fists with boiling anger.

“I understand that many of you have loved ones who are dependent on you for bringing home your wages, Mr Hauler.” Houston pointed out, an arrogant gleam in his eye. “And as such, you have no choice but to be dependent on me. So, Mr Hauler. I trust you and your associates will make the right decision…while I’m still being generous.”

In all of his years of mining deep beneath the earth, having to savour every breath he could get when down in the dark, Cole Hauler had never felt as trapped as he did now. He looked back at his fellow workers, all of them wearing the same nervous faces that he no doubt did himself, many of whom had families and loved ones counting on them.

The union leader tuned back to Houston and his gathered masses. He gently raised his gloved hand and took off his helmet, giving it a look over before coming to a decision.

“Mr Houston. I reckon I speak for all of us when I say…you can take your generous offer…

“And stick it where the sun don’t shine!”

Houston’s smirk dropped the moment Hauler’s words reached him.

“It’s a common thing on the frontier, Houston.” Hauler caught the bewildered baron’s attention. “Out here, you gotta adapt if’n you wanna survive. Somethin’ you don’ seem to know much ‘bout!”

The miners around Hauler broke out into laughter, something that Houston did not appreciate.

“An’ I reckon that you got more to lose than we do! ‘Least we can still find work, maybe even somebody who’d be willin’ to pay better, too!”

Houston’s grip around his cane tightened…

“Ya got nothin’ left, Houston! No mine, no money! The only thing you got to your name, is a big empty hole in the ground!”

The mining baron grit his teeth, seething with building anger…

Hauler turned to leave, giving the seething baron one last passing word. “We’re all leavin’ Houston. Leaving’ you exactly where you and your dried-up company belong… In the dust.”

With that, the giant miner tossed his helmet, landing it at the seething baron’s feet. The rest of the workforce followed suit, throwing down their helmets, gloves, shovels, and pick axes, letting the old man know that they were done with him.

Houston was furious. He watched as every man on his payslip began to turn and walk away. The baron could barely hear over his now anger as Radcliffe called out to the miners in outrage for them to return, while Carver chuckled while he rolled up a cigarette in his filthy hands.

The sight of Hauler’s large back retreating was enough to stoke his fury beyond boiling point, until finally…

“ENOUGH!”

Everyone, the miners the outlaw, Hauler, Radcliffe, and Carver, all stilled at the baron’s sudden outburst.

“I will not be talked down to, by a filthy, low-class peasant- hack…!” Houston’s rant was cut off by another violent coughing fit sneaking up on him. He bent forward as he hacked up more blood, Radcliffe coming to his aid almost instantly.

This show of weakness was enough to draw another round of laughter from the retreating miners, Hauler having a smug smirk of his own. Seeing this, Carver quirked an eyebrow, wondering how the man who hired him was going to handle this.

Radcliffe lifted Houston back onto his feet, a favour Houston did not appreciate. He slapped his assistant’s hands away while glaring daggers at the laughing miners, specifically towards Hauler. He bared his teeth like a snarling dog until he found his calm, taking a deep breath through his nose before speaking.

Hauler’s smile slowly fell away, having a bad feeling of what was about to happen next…

“Carver!” Houston turned to the scarred outlaw. “Dispose of them!”

“WHAT?!” Hauler cried out, the miners breaking out into a panic.

“And when you’re finished, toss what’s left of them into the mine!” Houston coldly concluded.

“With pleasure, sir.” Carver sneered, drawing his revolver while his cronies did the same.

Hauler and the miners backed away in fear of the approaching outlaws like cornered deer in the crosshairs.

Radcliffe looked between the miners and his employer with concern. “Mr Houston…?”

Houston coughed some more before he was allowed to speak again. “If I am to be left in the dust as he says, Thaddeus… I will at least take pleasure in knowing that I will not be buried in it alone!”