The mare's hooves beat on the ground, kicking up a billowing cloud of dust that stretched out as far as the wind would allow. Not that there was much in the way of wind, there never really way out in the desert. Santa Fe lie behind Emma, and she was driving on for Tucson. There would be an outpost of Marshall's in the slightly larger town, and perhaps she could pay someone to come into the desert and help her search.
As Tucson loomed ahead, Emma pulled up the reigns around her horses's neck. The mare whinnied, stamping her feet into the ground at the abrupt change of pace. Old shoes clopped and clicked on the stone streets. Compared to what Santa Fe was becoming, Tucson was a dilapidated ruin. Emma rode past simple brick buildings and a few of the native adobe huts that served as houses. There was a. Livery, and a Marshall station situated not too far from a large brick building that served as a saloon. The wooden doors swung outward and Emma did not miss the man who fell backwards out of them. She imagined that if she got close enough, he would have reeked of booze and probably tobacco. Casting her eyes down as she rode past, Emma pulled her mare to a stop just outside of the law office. Dismounting gracefully, she smoothed out her skirts and adjusted her hat on her head. With a small bit of coin in her pocket, Emma strode in to the building, fully expecting to get what she was seeking.
Not to her surprise, the man wearing the US Marshall badge was nothing more than a geriatric drunk well past his prime. It seemed that no one of worth wanted to have anything to do with this God forsaken part of the country. Coughing, the man sat up and adjusted the badge that was perched on his vest. Leaning forward, cloudy eyes peered over scratched spectacles almost disapprovingly. "Is there something I can help you with! young last?" His voice was parched like someone who was well past dehydration, just another fact of life in the dusty West.
Settling a couple of silver coins on the desk, Emma narrowed her dark eyes warningly "I need a man, someone who knows the desert. I don't care if it's a native or the village drunk. I'll pay handsomely for someone who isn't a Marshall, seeing as how none of those in your noble branch of government have kept even a single promise they had made to me," The insult was far from subtle, as she waited for the man to comply.