Thread: Bound to Grace

The chaos erupted around the coach in a flurry of dust brought on by the riders horses. Their hooves clomped upon the ground as they were reigned in to slow their galloping pace. More gunshot erupted, the sound of lead hitting wood and, in some cases, metal, creating a cacophony of discord. As the riders road near the windows, their howls and cries could be heard from within. Savage war cries, whoops and hollers, as if it were Native Americans. One familiar with those tribes in the Indian Territories might be curious to these cries now, not being authentic. As if in part of this ruse, the even fired bows in at the windows. It was obvious there was no intent at robbing the coach, but at all out bloodshed. There was a whinny from the coachs horse and then it too went silent, the coach lurching against the animals now dead weight. If the coachman was still out there, he was making no present protest to the situation or was too busy retaliating. Good hearing would certainly be keen to realize if he was there, he wasnt returning fire. All the gunshots were coming from the savage riders attacking the coach. The elderly woman broke into that symphony of madness with a scream as a bullet cut into her husband killing him near instantly. Even as she was moving over him, to try and push him to the floor of the coach perhaps in competition with Joanna and the child for that one seemingly safe spot the window erupted in ten thousand shards of glass, catching rainbows off the sun and filling the inside of the coach with its splendid glory. Against this whirlwind of light was the arrow that had shattered the window and had penetrated the woman before she could give any real aid to her husband. Much the same, it was a clean shot as the bullet that found the elderly man and the two crumpled over together in their seat, no longer breathing. There was a moment of silence as the attackers outside were perhaps regrouping but that moment too was broken when a louder weapon fired a report from somewhere in the near distance. Marshall Allen had heard the initial gunfire of the faux Native Americans, spurring Star into a race to see what had been going on. Reluctant to get involved in real situations like this these days, he paused a moment to observe what was happening on a nearby hill. However, seeing the stagecoach under attack and the horse fall, he was inclined that this was part of his fare. Despite his uncaring attitude towards the people he was employed to see to safety, he still cared enough about the money. Unslinging his Packmaster from the saddle, he took a moment to brace himself against Stars neck and take aim with the long scope of the weapon. That moment pause and the moment to take real aim in the end would cost him that reward by Mr. Steve Campbell. Presently though, his concern now was dealing with the attackers and then getting to the coach. It wasnt hard to drop the first couple of riders, until they realized his location and took cover around the coach. None got off their horses, least they become trapped by whatever gunman or men was out there. Elijah was hidden amidst the natural terrain and it became a brief holdout but after a couple more of the outlaws dressed as Native Americans the remainder turned tail and fled. Giving them enough time to leave, accounting for possible flanking or a return, he nudged Star out of the brush he had found and cantered back down towards the main coach trail, letting the hooves of his horse scrabble lightly on the slip as he made his way down to investigate the coach. He was in no hurry at the moment, keeping an eye to the horizon and any possible return of the outlaws.