Lawrence was a thriving town, thanks to the influx of men and labor from back east. Its main street was bustling with horses and carriages, families and the countless carpetbaggers looking to strike it rich. It was not an easy life to choose but nonetheless appealed to the victims of a war-torn country, looking to start over.

Guiding his horse through the crowd and traffic, Will made for the bounty office across from the town's largest saloon, the Alhambra. As it was nearing sundown, business in the saloon was beginning to pick up, the sounds of music and revelry filling the air. Paying it little mind, Will dismounted and tied off his horse then removed the bloody burlap sack from the saddle. Bystanders gave him a wide berth as he was known about the town; the ruthless bounty hunter who never turned down a hunt. Inside the bounty office, the proprietor was nestled behind his desk, papers and documents strewn everywhere. The acrid smell of tobacco hung in the air, which Will ignored.

He dropped the bloody sack on the desk, scaring the little man.

"Greedy and his boys. They're still fresh enough to collect payment." Will said simply, hooking his thumbs into his pistol belt. The little bespectacled man swallowed hard then looked in the sack, nearly vomiting.

"I don't suppose there is much of a point in asking why you have only their heads." He commented as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Will grunted. "Too many for my horse. Besides, all you need is the head anyways. Now, about I collect my five hundred and we conclude our business."

The man coughed and hurriedly went into the big iron safe.

"Y-yes of course, Mr. Slade. Here you are, five hundred. Say, there is another bounty just today, some fellows rustling cattle. Maybe you'll take an interest?" Will collected the money and pocketed the thick wad of bills. Then he tipped his hat.

"I'll get to it eventually. Either way, somebody will take them boys out. Just the way the world works." With that, he turned and left, spurs jingling along the way. Making his way across the street to the saloon, he noted the five tied up horses which wouldn't have been a significant thing. Except the fact their saddles were marked as U.S. Army, the Fifth Kansas Volunteer Regiment. Called Jayhawkers by the men who served in the regiment, and to the Missouri guerillas, they were the Redlegs for their distinct gaiters they wore.

His hands hovered at his sides as he walked into the rambunctious saloon, the drinks flowing the cards games running at every table. But that was no longer his concern as he scanned the room for the hated Redlegs, thinking there was only one reason for them to be here; him. Never one to hide from the things he had done, Will had made no secret of his service to the Confederacy, hell he even still wore the gray uniform and greatcoat. Even his distinct Colt Dragoon pistols, the Whitneyville models were as much a part of him as the uniform.

Yes, they were indeed here for him. Picking one of the empty tables in a darkened corner, he took a seat and immediately found the Redlegs. Dressed in army issue blue and red leggings, they looked as hard and cold as their reputation described them. Seated at round table, one their number came down from the second floor and spoke to their officer, marked by his slouch hat.

Nodding to his comrades, they stood up and went for the stairs, hands on the pistols at their sides. Will hesitated, realizing maybe they weren't here for him after all. Still, curiosity was now gripping him and he followed them, keeping his distance. Pushing through the crowd, he made his way up the stairs. Up ahead, the Redlegs were stopped outside one of the rooms, making ready to kick it down.

They drew their guns and kicked the door in, splintering wood. Three of them charged in while the other two remained outside. His mind raced; could they be grabbing another Confederate like himself? Or was he just in the middle of something, once again, he did not understand?

He made up his mind, and drew his Colts.

"Redlegs!" he shouted, getting their attention. The one closest to him raised his pistol but Will was faster. He fired, blowing the Redleg backwards as he fired a shot into the ceiling. Below, the crowd began screaming as they scrambled in a frenzy. The remaining one managed to fire but the shot went wide, punching a hole in the wall next to Will. Moving forward, Will fired and fired, plastering the Redleg against the wall in a smear of blood.

Next, he rushed into the room, pistols ready. The three men were dead, blood pooling on the floor. A wild haired woman, locks as black as night, wearing only a bustle and corset was standing over them, two small blades disappearing into contraptions on her wrist.

"You just going to stand there and gawk, or may I get dressed?" she asked in the drawl of Missouri. Embarrassed but nonetheless intrigued, Will holstered his guns and stepped back.

"Er..sorry, ma'am. Thought you could use a hand, seeing as how there were five of them." He said sheepishly.

She laughed, showing a row of perfect teeth and a small dimple on her right cheek. Kneeling over her trunk to take out a jacket and skirt, she slipped them as Will turned away.

"While I could have taken them myself, the help is appreciated. I don't supposed we are relations, given how you dispatched them rather…loudly." She raised a brow as she buttoned her jacket halfway, leaving just a hint of bare chest.

"If I had family like you, I'm sure I would know about it." he replied, thinking the remark odd. The woman drew out a pistol belt and secured it, along with a bandolier of knives that crossed her chest. Lastly, she tied up her wild hair, away from her heart shaped face.

"Then it is simply pure luck you showed up. What do they call you?" she asked

"Will Slade when their sober and 'bastard' when I'm fixin' to hunt them down." He tipped his hat, an affection of a lifetime ago. West Point had helped teach him to be a gentleman, but war and bounty hunting had stripped away most of his formalities.

"Made a name for yourself as of late, and before that I hear. You gave them Yankees what for. I'm Belle Starr and it is about time we get on out of here. Come on now, with me." She winked and hurried to the window, yanking it open. Climbing out, she sprinted along the slated roof and vaulted to the next building. For a moment, Will was stunned into silence.

She could do what he could.

Feeling the familiar "guidance" take over, Will followed suit and sailed over the alley below and landed like a cat, on its feet. Looking at him quizzically, she asked.

"Are you we aren't of relations? You strike me as the type." They continued running along the rooftop.

"Just somethin' I picked up a few years back, is all. Seems you can too."

"Call it free-running, Will. It's what makes us special compared to everyone else." Belle called back as she leaped to the next building, Will following a moment later.

"Well, what in the hell does it mean?" he asked, keeping up the fast pace.

"Not for me to say. My Mentor will be the judge of that." And she disappeared over the side of the building, landing in a hay bale. His heart skipped a beat as he sailed over the side, landing in the prickly hay.

"Seems you're a natural, then." Belle grinned as he hauled him up. Two horses were tied up at the end of the alley and Belle ran to the small brown mustang. Will found himself remembering his own mount, Stonewall but necessity dictated him to leave his trusty companion behind. He had never been a sentimental man but suddenly found himself saddened at leaving him behind.

Mounting up, he whirled his mount around as Bella took off down the empty street. When they were clear of the town and their pursuers, she came to a slow trot.

"Well, you can handle yourself that is for certain. Would you be interested in accompanying me further?" she asked sincerely.

"Depends on where you're fixin' on headin'." He replied. Bella chuckled, showing a row of perfect white teeth.

"Some friends would be interested in meeting you, Slade. We are always on the look for talent and I pride myself on having a keen eye for such."

"These friends pay much? A man has to make a living, after all." He said, ignoring her head shaking.

"Not all the world revolved around a profit."

"It does when it is the only thing I am good at. If not, then I will make my farewells then." He turned to leave. She tossed him a small bag, jingling with coins. Undoing the tie, he saw the familiar gleam of gold, newly minted from their condition. Satisfied, he tucked the bag away.

"Lead on, Miss Starr." And the pair headed off into the plains.