The click of the hammer pulling back made him smile. He'd got them then, and he knew it. They, of course, suffered from the natural misapprehension that they'd got him--or who they thought he was, a rich merchant traveling to see his squaw far out of town. He wondered what Frozen Deer thought of this whole scheme. She'd shaken her head at the incomprehensibility of the things he'd found important when he explained what he was doing. The bandits hadn't killed any of his kin or family, they hadn't killed the buffalo he hunted. She understood why he'd do it for the money, but part of what her job was was making sure that everybody had a guilty feeling when they took that as a reason for doing anything. And she knew that he'd see right through the shaking of her head. He'd been apprenticed to her for almost ten years, now, since he wandered into camp as a boy of a hair shy of fifteen, blood on his hands--

Inspiration: "Wind It Up" - Barenaked Ladies
Story Potential: Medium
Notes: If I *did* write it, I'd have to get rid of the Native American stuff--I'm so unqualified to get the culture and the mores and the mysticism and work it properly in with the sort of urban fantasy/new weird/western that this is.