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Texas was blistering hot, in a way that Park Bokyung had never known in Korea or in western Washington. He'd been traveling for four days, exhaustion starting to set in. The horse he had was a skinny thing--bought from an Arapaho tradesmen when he'd crossed through Colorado for more than Bokyung had really been able to spare, but it was a resilient thing. He could commiserate with that.

He came into a small town, unsure what it was called or where he was on the map. It didn't really matter. He wasn't near enough the Rio Grande to really orient himself. Just passing through scrub and sand and a hundred miles of blue skies in every direction.

People were staring. Bokyung was used to that, and so he paid it no real mind. He approached the boarding house and left his little Arapaho mustang at the post as he went in and inquired for room. The matron at the front said there was none but to try and saloon, as it might be more to his style. He highly doubted that, but unhitched his horse and went over to the saloon instead.

It was an effort to ignore the stares. Hadn't any of these men ever seen an Oriental before? There were rail tracks laid not too far from here--he knew from crossing them--which meant they must have seen some variety at some point. Unless it was a rare track laid by Irish and Germans. But Bokyung doubted that.

The music in the saloon did not stop when he stepped in. Nothing did. That was certainly preferable.

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Ted - Big Ted, apparently - obliged holding Bokyung while Goodnight verified it was indeed him by sight, and continued holding him while they waited for the sheriff, who provided a pair of cuffs and a key.

"Trust me," he said soft and low as he got the cuffs in place around Bokyung's wrists. "You wanna ride outta here with me rather than get chased down by them."

Bokyung was silent. He did not want to ride out with this warrant office. He did not want to get back on a horse. He was exhausted, sore, hungry--he wanted whisky and a bed and a cigarette.

And now he was going to jail. Or worse.

He stayed quiet, and the cuffs went on his wrists. He didn't fight, but he was overly complacent, that dead-weight sprawl on his body still in place. He looked up at the warrant office with venom written across the line of his eyes.

"Teddy, our friend here does not seem to be in mind to walk - you mind getting him up on his horse for me?" Goodnight passed money to the big man and headed out of the saloon. He saw the tired mustang, the only horse that looked like it had been out recently, standing by his own patient mare. Ted got Bokyung back in the saddle while Goodnight took the mustang's reins and mounted up himself.

"Make sure you get everyone in there a round, with my gratitude."

Goodnight stayed quiet for the ride out of town - it was by no means a long ride - and he waited until they were out of sight before he stopped the horses and turned to look at his captive.

"You speak any English? I need to know if you're understanding me right now."

It was not at all dignified to be lifted into the saddle on his horse. Just to be obstinate, he subtly snapped his teeth toward the big man, Ted, and sneered a knife-point smile at him when he jerked away in startlement.

They rode. Bokyung sank his weight into the saddle so he was not disturbed on the way out of town. He did not look at the warrant officer, acted like he didn't understand him when he spoke. He had learned not to speak to sheriffs in his travels, and why should a warrant officer be any different.

"Alright then," he sighed. "I tried that the polite way. I heard you talking at the bar - I know you at least know what I'm saying. It takes something to be ready to take on half a saloon bare handed. I must admit I admire the attempt. And if you are that sort of person - brave enough to face down some hick assholes - then I am interested in knowing you, and interested in tearing this," he made the folded up warrant reappear from his pocket, "up and leaving it in the dust. But that's up to you."

If Bokyung was honest, he didn't actually know what the warrant was for. He'd heard it bandied about a couple times, that there was a steadily growing price on his head--the last he'd heard was one hundred dollars, not bad for a chinaman. He eyed the paper, curiously but surreptitiously. He didn't think he was feeling complimented by the warrant officer's point about him taking on the saloon.

"Up to me, how?"

"Well, there is a decent bounty on your head and I wouldn't mind claiming it. That way the law thinks you're dead and you have one less thing to worry about out here. If you can stand riding with me a while then half of it's yours."

Half was better than nothing, and Goodnight liked this young man's pluck. Maybe he'd get the story behind the warrant out of him on the way to collect.

Bokyung snorted and looked away again. He didn't really have much of a choice. Shackled, reins out of reach, in custody of a warrant officer. If he was careful, and slow about it, maybe he could get his knife out of the saddle bag behind him. But it wouldn't cut steel.

"I'm not interested in your white money," he said. "So you might as well kill me."

"See, there's where I think you're wrong, lying, or just delusional. You might not be interested in it, my friend, but you need it judging by that sad pony you're on." Goodnight lifted an eyebrow, daring him to argue. "And when's the last time you ate? And I think I've already established that I don't want to kill you."

Bokyung scowled and said nothing. There was no point in it. Whatever this white man was on about, here ended the sad run of Park Bokyung from Korea to Washington to Texas. He'd spent so much of his remaining money on the horse, and now he was being insulted about the horse.

He dug his heels into the side of his mustang, and the horse skittered a little bit.

Goodnight kept good hold on the reins, though, and his own horse didn't budge. Worst that might happen is Bokyung would unseat himself. "I'm trying to propose a business proposition here. One of mutual benefit. But if you need time to think about it we can just start riding."

Bokyung sneered a little bit. Business proposition. More like horseshit.

"You think," he growled, low and slow, "that throwing that piece of paper away will change things? Even if you said I was dead, someone would see my face again. And then what? Not so dead anymore."

As if he hadn't tried. As if he hadn't been running long enough.

"I think you severely underestimate the white man's prejudices, despite your intimate familiarity with them. I could help you with that, too, if you were so inclined."

Goodnight shrugged. "But you're right, if I were to just tear this up and let you ride on out, there would still be some people hunting you down, one of them probably a good friend of mine. That should not give you any comfort."

The fact that there was any number of persons, friends of this warrant officer or otherwise, that may or may not have been hunting him down did not, in fact, give Bokyung any comfort. And he was a little insulted, honestly, that this warrant officer thought he needed assistance in navigating any variety of prejudice.

But he rolled his eyes, and said, indulgently, "So, what. You graciously inform whoever that I'm dead, collect your money and--have me in your debt?"

"Once we get the money you can go on your happy way," he answered. "I certainly will not keep you beholden to me." Goodnight sat up straighter since it sounded like they might actually be getting somewhere.

Bokyung rolled his eyes. He most certainly would. There had been more than his fair share of 'helpful people' from Washington to Texas. Bokyung was not foolish about these sorts of arrangements anymore. First it was a ride into town that he couldn't afford, then it was a meal he desperately needed but wouldn't ask for, and then he was leaving town, urgently, before he ended up traded out to the local chain-gang of railroad workers, under the yoke of indenture again.

But, curiously, he asked, "How much am I worth these days?"

"Since you've been on the run so long the numbers are racking up. It's three hundred now, so that's a hundred and fifty to you if you see this through with me. I'll cover expenses on the way since you'd be saving me considerable effort in cooperating."

A hundred fifty. He's indenture had been for less than that, had only grown from its original amount. He'd seen the ledger. He'd burnt the ledger. He did not say a breath of that.

Instead, he said nothing at all for a moment. It didn't matter what this man said, there were three results here: he became his debt-slave, he went to jail, or he was shot.

Quietly, he asked, "Can I have these shackles off, at least?"

"Yes, I was getting to that part." Goodnight got the key back out of his pocket. "Please don't make me chase you down. It's hot and I am tired." And he'd given up a bed for the night, but he supposed the bounty was worth it. He moved closer so he could unlock the cuffs and gets a bit of distance as soon as Bokyung's hands are free.

Just in case that good will only lasted as long as his confinement.

The warrant officer still had the reins, and Bokyung didn't ask for them. He just looked sullenly off to the side, rolling his wrists and ignoring the way that the man skittered away from him like he was dynamite. Bokyung was used to that by now.

Deadpan, he proclaimed, "It's rude to not tell people your name, when you already know theirs."

The delivery startled a laugh out of him. This was going to be an interesting ride.

"Suppose you had no cause to hear it earlier. Goodnight's my name. Goodnight Robicheaux." He tipped his gray hat politely. After a moment's consideration, he tossed the mustang's reins back to Bokyung. "There now." He turned his own horse west - they had better chances of this news being reported if they hit one of the cities, and their options were to go deeper into Texas or California. Goodnight preferred his chances - and Bokyang's - out west.

Bokyung caught the reins and, for a moment, contemplated bolting. But if this Goodnight-whoever decided he really was worth this bounty, he did not put it past him to shoot the horse out right from under him.

He did not, particularly, like the idea of heading west. He might not have come from California, but all those states were roughly the same when it came to dealing with his kind, and that was to say, they weren't a hell of a lot better than Texas.

But he supposed, once he'd played dead for show, maybe this warrant officer might agree to heading east while Bokyung worked at paying off his debts to him and earning that hundred fifty dollars.

"Now that you're feeling more conversational, are you hungry?"

Even as he asked Goodnight loosened the saddlebag resting by his right knee. He drew even with Bokyung and offered it over. Inside he had a few biscuits left and some salt pork. He had every intention of getting more of both before skipping town but he could make due if they didn't hit somewhere civilized in the next day or two.

Bokyung was starving. He didn't say it. He peered into the bag and took out some of the tack and an equal size portion of the pork and ate them slowly. When was the last time he'd ate? He couldn't quite remember, but it had tasted about like this.

"Go on and finish what's in there if you're so inclined. I've got more to work with when we stop." Goodnight couldn't recall how close the next town or settlement was but he had enough packed away to keep the two of them moving at least through the next day. With luck he'd be able to supplement with hunting if it came to that.

He let the silence stretch a bit while Bokyung ate.

"What exactly are you running from?" He asked after a few miles passed. "The warrant only lists the charges and that's hardly a story."