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[u][b][color=darkorange]Chisholm Trail or Thereabouts[/color][/b][/u]
[b][center]Constantin LeBlanc[/center][/b]
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[b]"Keep that magic shit out of my face, Austrian, and i am happy to earn my pay!"[/b] The word magic was spit out, like a sour piece of bread, as he recalled the grim nights in the Congo, surrounded by the things that hid in the dark, the sound of drums far off, and the reality as thin as paper. Order had been restored, when they had put the village to the torch and put the villagers into a shallow grave. It was a bloody work to restore order and civilization...  
There was a sinister look on Constantin´s face, as the coach came to a halt, and almost instinctivly, his hand moved onto his rifle, as he tried to look out of the window of the carriage. [b]"Merde!"[/b] Cursing the frenchman would leave behind Kaufman, his rifle in hand, and his steps quick. Soon, he would lay eyes on the body, and his face would betray no emotions, as he saw her mutilated body. Too often, had he layed eyes on such terror to feel more then a minor disgust over the fact how such an minor inconvince could stop a carriage. People died all the time, so why was it worth the halt? 

[b]"Dont german me, Kaufman, you know that i hate that!"[/b] Walking over he corpse as well, Constantin coldly stared down at the woman. [b]"C'est des conneries!"[/b] Watching Kaufman look for the purse, he could not help but chuckle. It would have been his second instinct to loot the corpse, but knowing Kaufman he most likely had other things in mind to search for. [b]"They mostly hold onto their belts when they die! Check below her, or cut her belt open, some hide their money in there..." [/b]