Standing there, was William Davie, which is a face that could barely be recognized only by the wanted posters across Florida. He was not well known in this territory, nor Northern States, but among the south, he was a outlaw, a bandit, a ruthless killer. He barely heard the running steps approaching him, his eyes darted into that direction. He spun his revolver before holstering it. He sighed, recognizing the traits of the figure running to him, being able to identify her red hair, her dress, and other characteristics.

	"Hey!" He yelled in a raspy voice. His tone ringing out with aggressiveness, almost ordering her to stop running. He sighed once more, glancing down at the deputy below his feet, staring deeply into the gone eyes of the corpse. He knelt down, before using his fingers to close his dead eyes. He stood up, gazing back at the running figure, before spitting on the ground. "God damn it." He said, partially annoyed, mainly due to the fact that he has to explain his whole life's story to the lady, potentially. Or maybe he could make up a story. But he wasn't one to do that, was he?