Caked in dung and warm to the touch, Susie cleaned her horse's hooves with a careful precision. She stared out across the plains and wondered where Lorenzo was now. Long and hard, he had set out on a journey which could only lead to death. Wondering whose death it would be, an eagle wheeled across her vision as she sat, lost in thought. She stood up and patted her horse's flank, tail flicking away a cloud of flies. Four newly-cleaned hooves planted firmly on the ground, Susie hoisted herself up onto the animal's back and prepared to face the journey ahead, unpredictable and full of danger. She dug in her heels and the horse responded. With an enthusiastic whinny, she felt him find a comfortable rhythm and then, tired but determined, the miles flew away under her.
Dead or alive, she would find Lorenzo before he found her, cowering in some bar, most likely, like the worm he was - paint flaking, full of cheap beer and cheaper girls. Desperate and amoral, she would recruit whatever lowlifes she could find and, following her blindly, guide them to him. Smashed off their hinges, she would lead her hired guns through the saloon doors and, playing cards like a man with years left to live, she would see Lorenzo sitting there. Spitting hot metal, he would see her gun barrels flare for a moment and then, falling to the ground in a bullet-riddled heap, she would know that he was finally gone.