"All right that's yer choice, but ya only get one.  Ya'll know much 'bout who these folks are?"  Kate handed him the paper as she turned out the body of Bill Spawn.

O’Folliard accepts the note from Kate and scans it, frowning. Looking up at the outlaw, he says, ”Andrew Roberts...they call him Buckshot Roberts. He’s a bounty hunter. One of the best in the territory. He never stays in town. Always camps out in the foothills north of Lincoln.”

“He’s a little scary lookin’. Thick beard. Scar under his right eye. Supposedly a hell of a shot with a rifle. Some say he was on that wagon train that went up the Capitan Mountains. Him and Mr. Murphy were the only ones to survive.”

“Kinney’s an outlaw. Ain’t scared of anyone. He’s rustled a fair number of Mr. Murphy’s cattle. Been around this part of New Mexico for several years now.”

He nods. ”Billy and the Regulators, they’ve got warrants for both of these fellas. Judge Wilson told us they’d both had a hand in killin’ John.”

"I need ta yammer at this Roberts character.  But we also need ta round up that posse the Ranger's put together."  Kansas Kate explained.  "But first, first, we gotta hide these bodies.  Murphy thinks ah'm dead.  We gotta keep him on edge as long as we can.  An..."  She smiled.  "Ah got me an idea.  Oh ah got me an idea."

”I can care for the these,” Roving Wolf offers, indicating Graham and Spawn, “I will speak prayers over them, so they cannot be raised as the dead that walked in Lincoln were. I will make certain they remain at peace.”

”What is it you’re thinkin’, ma’am?” O’Folliard asks, ”I know I’m one of a bunch of folks who’d like to see that bastard buried.”

"Listen, we have to keep Murphy confused as long as poss'ble.  Graham and Spawn rode out here ta kill O'Folliard, so that's what's gonna happen.  Except not.  Lucky fer us, they's a man an' a woman an' so is we.  Switch yer clothes with Spawn.  Chief, yer gonna take Graham away after ah'm done with her.  Ol' Billy Boy here, ah got me a use fer him.  This won't fool a Pinkerton, but if'n they don't come right away it might leave 'em head scratchin'."

Shabbakasha nods, moving away from the scene to the thin trail that leads to the cave that was O’Folliard’s hideout. There, he crouches down, keeping watch on the approach.

O’Folliard pulls Spawn’s body to a dense thicket of pine nearby, emerging a few moments later wearing the dead man’s clothing, his own garments now on Spawn. He rolls his shoulders in discomfort. “He was almost a head taller than me. Heavier, too. This shirt and jeans are pretty loose.”

Graham’s shotgun is a Double Barreled model.

Range: 12/24/48, Damage: 1-3d6, ROF: 1-2, Shots: 2, +2 to Shooting

Spawn has fifteen dollars in Confederate script, an IOU for twenty dollars to a general store in San Patricio, a Bowie knife, and a Colt Navy revolver with the trigger guard sawed off.

Bowie knife: Str+d4+1

Colt Navy: Range: 12/24/48, Damage: 2d6, ROF: 1, Shots: 6, AP: 1

Kate in the meantime had swapped threads with Graham.  She'd briefly considered leaving the woman indecent but she'd died too well for that.  She did keep her duster and her own boots though, using the duster to bundle all the useful stuff up.

"It's all right.  This here's just in case this here were a test of Graham's loyalty.  She gave up a lot of details.  Granted she were a'dyin', but she wouldn't'a done sech if'n she loved that bastard.  Look at us through a spy glass, we'll pass.  Won't persist long."

In a way Kansas Kate could appreciate that cap and ball Colt, despite the fact it can get you into trouble but it can't get you out.  Still, she'd keep it, if she got to waste another of Murphy's gang it could help confuse, and she had ideas about what to do with the knives.  She pocketed the rest, she didn't really want their money, but it might come in useful for her later.

"All right help me lift this asshole and carry his ass into th' cave. This might take some riggin'."

Assuming compliance, Kansas Kate moved the body of Spawn into the cave, and tried to set him up in a likely position.

"All right 'Folliard, yer gonna hate this part.  Ah need ya to hug him 'round th' waist like he has yer claim ticket real right so his top part stays more or less straight up.  An' cover yer ears man.  The straighter'n stiffer this is, th' more convincin' it'll be.  Not that it'll fool a careful lookin', but it'll sure as hell baffle."

Once Spawn’s body has been moved inside the cave, O’Folliard regards the outlaw uncertainly as she gives her next set of directions, but does as he is instructed, hugging Spawn around the waist, using his strength and leverage to keep the dead man’s upper body upright and essentially straight. O’Folliard squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the forewarned noise.

Kate didn't dally, but she took the time to position Graham's shotgun appropriately.  The proverbial "both barrels" point blank at Spawn's face ought to render a faceless, if not partially decapitated, corpse.

No idea if you want me to roll for that, basically, Kansas Kate is blowing Spawn's head off.  Well, a good chunk of it anyway.

The shotgun’s blast briefly deafens both Kate and O’Folliard, the weapon doing precisely what the outlaw had hoped, rendering Bill Spawn entirely unrecognizable. O’Folliard allows the gunhand’s body to slump against the wall of the cave, muttering a few words of prayer as he sees the horrific damage done by the shot.

Looking back at Kate, he says, ”So, they’ll think it’s me. Least if they don’t bother to look too close.” He nods gratefully. ”It’ll buy me some time, for sure. But I reckon they’ll wonder where Jesse Evans’ gang members disappeared to.”

"Yeah it won't hold up, no decent tracker or enny'one what knows ya too good's gonna fall fer sech.  Ah'm just a hopin' and a figurin' someone's gonna check on this piece of work, an' if they see Graham and Spawn-"  Kansas Kate replied pointing to herself and O'Folliard in succession.  "-ride out an' come 'n here and see a dead man in yer duds, they might not think 'bout it too much.  An' what yer askin', that's th' question.  We need ta figger that out, ah need to get this Roberts hombre, an' ah hate ta say this but we need to round up that Ranger and his hangers on, most specially that man Cooper."  She sounded a little bitter admitting it, but she wasn't stupid.

”A Texas Ranger?” O’Folliard says, blinking in surprise, ”Y’know Billy doesn’t think any of ‘em can be trusted. Says they’re all in the pockets of those rich friends of Murphy’s over in Santa Fe. You really think this one’s different?”

Shabbakasha returns from the approach to the cave, leading two horses, a bay and an appaloosa. ”Their horses,” he explains. ”The forest is quiet. No one else is coming. For now.”

”I think I need to get back to the ranch. Let Mrs. McSween know all that’s happened.” he says. Looking to Kate, he asks, ”You wantin’ to take a fast ride straight through Lincoln?”

"Feller, you can't trust me.  This ain't a barn raisin', it's a damn war."  Kansas Kate stopped herself, that was more harsh than she intended.

She considered his question.  "Ah don't want to none, no, but ah reckon ah might not have a choice.  Fine, get back, get every'un ready.  An' fer God's sake get the chitlins th' hell out of here."

She looked to the Wolf Who Walks (Not accurate but Kansas Kate called things what she wished) and nodded to him.  "Well, ya done yoked yerself a new hoss.  Tain't much but mebbe yer a little more even wit' th' white devil Murphy.  'Folliard will need one ta get, ya'll make that other one vamoose now.  Hates ta send ya packin', but ah reckon ya does yer best that way.  'Sides, that body an' that horse gotta go somewhere and th' sooner th' better."

Roving Wolf smiles and nods. “I will find you again soon,” he assures the outlaw. “Be careful. Murphy has eyes that are well hidden.”

He loads Graham’s lifeless body onto the spare horse, then mounts his own, quickly disappearing among the piñon trees.

O’Folliard climbs into the saddle, silently checking the bullets in his revolver. ”I sure can’t thank you enough for comin’ to save me, ma’am,” he says, holstering the firearm. ”I’m plannin’ on followin’ you, least as far as Lincoln. Which way?”

"Don't thank me ah put you in this position, and ah ain't smart enough ta talk yer dumb ass outta gettin' yerself kilt."  Kate guessed as she saddled up, stuffing some of the extra items into the horse's tack.  "Reckon let's try their backtrail a little ways an' look fer a good place ta cut off fer town."

The pair ride down some of the rarely traveled trails that twist through the county, each overgrown path bearing a forgotten story, having served some needed purpose long ago, well before the recent troubles. Kate and O’Folliard encounter no one as they weave through the tall pines, the wind and occasional birdsongs their only companions.

Eventually, one of the trails leads to the eastern end of Lincoln, bring the two riders in from the south. Looking ahead, Kate can see that, for the moment, the town’s Main Street is mostly empty. Dr. Wood is smoking a pipe at the front door of his office and Señor Sanchez is sweeping the porch of his saddlery.

And seated on the porch of Wilson’s Saloon is a tall, broad shouldered man, the apparent pugilist of Jesse Evans’ crew, watching the street as he sips a glass of beer.

”That’s Nicholas Provencio,” O’Folliard tells Kate quietly.

"Huh."  Kansas Kate remarked dryly.  She did some quick calculus in her head, but put it back.  She had some ideas about how to proceed but unfortunately she needed to consider the possibilities here.  "Recon he's lookout fer th' others?  Also, ya'll don't happen ta have a lariat?"

15:48, Today: Tom OFolliard rolled 4,1 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,1.  Notice.

”Looks to me like he’s just killin’ time,” O’Folliard says, ”Seems too relaxed to be on any kind of serious watch. I’d reckon that isn’t his first beer of the day.”

“But...if he caught sight of us...from a distance, he might tell Evans and the rest of that crew that he saw Dolly Graham and Bill Spawn ride past, and they seemed just fine. Alive and well.

He draws the well used lariat from his saddle and passes it to Kate.

"All right let's ride down the way for now then break off just beyond town.  Ah ain't gonna get 'im if'n ah can use 'em fer tha' moment.  But ah might use this later."

Kansas Kate wasn't entirely sure how this ploy was going to go down, she was making it up as she went here.

The two riders take a path along the periphery of Lincoln’s Main Street, meeting no one along the way. Provencio, his attention primarily devoted to the glass in his hand, glimpses the pair, and gives a brief, friendly wave, before taking another sip of his drink.

Reaching the western end of town, O’Folliard turns his mount northward. ”I’m headed to the Tunstall ranch. If I need to find you later, how would I do it?” he asks.

"Beats the hell out of me, but ah'm gonna need more'n just my ass.  Reckon if'n ya find a posse ya find me.  Worse comes ta worse ah'll head to Tunstall."  Kansas Kate answered him.  "Ah think that idjit bought it.  Now go on, git."

”Yes’m,” O’Folliard answers. Tipping his hat to the outlaw, he rides out into the fading afternoon, leaving Kate alone with the long shadows of the wilderness.

OOC: This seems a good spot to halt, unless Kate has other business she needs to pursue, prior to joining the rest of the posse over at the Thornton-Curry.

Works for me.