Bountyland

This is a short(ish) story set in a new Wild West. I hope you enjoy — any polite thoughts or feedback appreciated.

Want to make your fortune? Go to Bountyland. It’s mean, dangerous, and filled with the most despicable characters this world has ever seen. Of course, in a place as odious as this, those who dare to set up business there can make a pretty penny. If they can survive, they thrive.
G. J. Anderton’s General Stores was thriving, so much so that I now had several branches in Caruzzo, Scorpion City, and Dreadnought. Well, I once had several branches. It seems my business grew too big, too fast, and was noticed by Queen Sabine. You really don’t want to be noticed by Queen Sabine. Her territory stretches to about a third of Bountyland, about 90,000 square kilometers. You don’t get that powerful without being a truly evil piece of shit.
This evil piece of crap sent her troops along one day to simply take my stores from me. It was a coordinated attack, and there was nothing I could do about it. There’s no such thing as the police or laws in Bountyland. Not content with ruining my business, Queen Sabine decided she would go a step further and ruin my life. She put a bounty on my head.
As soon as I found out I knew I was in trouble. The bounty market is the key driver of the Bountyland economy. I’ve been on the run for three days now — pretty good going considering most Wanted get caught in just a few hours.

Baroness Forcade inhabited her quarters in the palace so thoroughly that even those who don’t believe such things could imagine her coming back to haunt the place one day. She could sit on the most basic chair and make it look like a throne. Not a single thing in her privileged life had ever got in her way, until she tried to expand her railway across Bountyland.
The rail network on the East coast was entirely sewn up by the Baroness’s empire. It was a monopoly without any threat of competition whatsoever. Not that there were many places to travel to or from, nor much of a population to use this service. But those who did always enjoyed excellent service and supreme comfort.
Forcade’s trains took just over ten hours to chug between what was once New York and Washington DC. Steam wasn’t a particularly fast way to travel, but it was now the only way to power a train. To get steam, you needed water. To get water in Bountyland, you needed access to rivers. Any attempts that the Baroness’s rail crew made to build tracks close to rivers were being met with violence.
It seemed as though someone didn’t want her trains to pass through Bountyland.

When I was chased out from my home by Queen Sabine I knew that I had to get far away from her territory. Most of those on the Wanted list make the mistake of remaining in the place most familiar to them, which makes it easy for the bounty hunters to scoop them up.
I chose to head west and north, the most direct route out of the most dangerous territory. I’d been on the run for 2 weeks now, which I think must be a record. Of course, the Wanted know that as soon as they get a bounty on their heads they only have a few more days left to live. Bounty hunters don’t really do the whole ‘dead or alive’ thing — those who pay their wages want to be rid of a nuisance, and the bounty hunter finds it much easier to transport a corpse than a whining Wanted who needs to be kept fed and watered.
Fleeing from the bounty is the easy option. Facing up to whoever has set the hunters upon you inevitably means death by some sort of medieval torture. Much better to run and face a swift, more humane execution. Unfortunately there are a few bounty hunters out there who take pleasure in the whole torture thing. The very worst of these are those who do their job more for the torture than the money.
It was just my luck to run into one of these sadistic bastards. Skull was a notoriously evil hunter. If anything could make a Wanted hesitate about fleeing it would be him. His specialty was keeping a victim alive through many days of torture. He was so thoroughly wicked that I believe his parents must have been truly despicable people and may have actually named him Skull at birth.
Just a few days into my flight, I was camped out for the night beside a rock in hills on the edge of a desert. This land is full of ruins and so it was easy to grab some useful scraps along the way — a sheet for a roof, a bottle for water (from many decades and various wars past. Yep, that plastic really isn’t particularly biodegradable), and an old broom handle. I had whittled the latter into a sharp point using a piece of flint (the flint I also took as it was great for starting fires). Now I had a weapon.
Skull had:

• 1 revolver
• 2 sawn-off shotguns
• 14 types of knife
• 5 grenades (I have no idea how he managed to find those)
• 1 melon baller

I don’t want to know why he had a melon baller. When I heard him at my camp it was the guns that gave him a particular advantage. Luckily I had put the balance less in his favour by occasionally, and subtly, doubling back on myself then waiting to see if anyone was following. Sure enough I saw Skull following my original trail.
So, my life expectancy had probably just dropped to a few more hours. Oh yeah, that’s right, I had a couple of days of torture to look forward to first. A dilemma such as this tends to focus the mind. I immediately thought of the place where I’d planned to camp tonight. I then thought of the large rock beside which I had planned to sleep. I then thought about how I could get back there before Skull.
To say I’m exhausted would be an understatement. I had to run through that desert at three right angles to get ahead of Skull. I ran directly away from the trail we’d both been following, I then turned 90° to parallel that trail, I then turned one more 90° to return to the trail, hopefully ahead of my pursuer. So yeah, I’m pretty exhausted. Pretty terrified too. Skull is now standing right next to my bed with the most terribly, sadistic grin you ever did see.
I may have had a bit of a grin on my face too, particularly when I put my back against a boulder and started to push. Skull hadn’t seen me crouching on top of that rock beside which I’d laid out my bed. He had been too focused on the figure that was lying beneath a bedsheet. He hadn’t, until the very last moment, seen the boulder which had been pushed off of the ledge above him.
It was hard to say whether the resultant snap and squelch was sickening or satisfying. Maybe both. I was too busy hurrying down to where I’d set out my fake camp to think about that. In my right hand was my rudimentary spear, ready to finish off Skull if necessary. Thankfully the boulder and gravity had done the job. That bounty hunter wasn’t going to be collecting any more rewards.

Baroness Forcade held in her left hand the latest Bountyland Wanted list. In her right hand was another list, containing the names of the best bounty hunters in that territory. Her advisors had, as usual, been useless, and so she had developed her own plan for making progress on her coast-to-coast railway.
This project had, so far, taken several years. The track between New York and Chicago had been bombed to pieces. With nothing left to salvage her engineers had needed to start from scratch. Luckily the line from Chicago and Kansas City was more intact, not that there were many people living in the latter any more.
Kansas, Colorado, New Mexico. These old place names now had little meaning. They formed a part of Bountyland — that violent territory between America’s East and West coasts. With dusty, dangerous and rutted roads being the only way to travel, not many people travelled from one coast to the other any more. In fact, so few people crossed the continent that it was easy to forget there was much of a population on the other side.
The Baroness knew, however, that a lot of people still lived on the West coast, in what remained of San Diego, Los Angeles and San Francisco. There may even still be a sizeable population in Seattle, but with communications being non-existent it was hard to be certain. Forcade also knew that by linking the two coasts she would help this land to recover, and increase her fortune and influence exponentially.
This grand goal could only be realised by the slightly less grand goal of completing the track, which could only happen by the fairly grand goal of taming the territory it went through, something that would be helped by achieving the goal of employing someone who knew that area, which would only happen if she succeeded in the small goal of finding that person.
“Capability Scott,” the Baroness said, while studying the bounty hunter list, “bring him to me.”

Compared to Skull, Cooper Powell was a kitten. Well, if a kitten had the goal of giving you a swift and painless death. What made Powell dangerous was her intelligence. She had been stalking me before Skull had picked up my trail. She had even known about my doubling-back trick.
I expect that she had been waiting for Skull to find me so that she could then pounce and take his prey from his jaws. Once I had despatched Skull, however, I had made her job much more challenging, and not just because I’d taken all his weapons (and the melon baller — who knows when I may need to make a fruit salad?). I was, after all, much harder to track than him. I’d suspected that there was more than one hunter on my tail. Of course there was — that bitch Sabine had put a rich bounty on my head.
With Skull gone I knew that I had to change my tactics. The bounty hunters would expect me to use this technique again, and so I decided to stop walking in a straight line and doubling back on myself. So far I’d been heading straight out of Bountyland, but now I was going in a slightly different direction. Running G. J. Anderton’s General Stores meant that I got to travel extensively through the territory, I therefore knew that there was a ranch nearby.
Where there’s a ranch, there’s horses. Where there are horses, there are rustlers. Unfortunately for me that meant that the ranch I had in mind was heavily guarded. I didn’t have time to conduct a recce — the bounty hunters were sure to be right behind me. Instead I just relied on my instinct and went in head first.
Night time thefts are expected. Thefts when the sun is setting are less so. When I approached the ranch — set in a wide valley with a cute stream trickling through — I knew that I could use the setting sun to my advantage. I changed my angle of approach and walked away from the sun towards the barn where the horses were secured. It would be next to impossible for anyone to see my coming with that glare in their eyes.
When I was circling the ranch I had hidden one of Skull’s grenades under a rock and pulled the pin all but a little way out. I’d then unthreaded the bedsheet, tying one end to the pin and unravelling the rest as I walked. I found a ditch to hide in then waited for my moment.
Sure enough, about an hour later, I saw a figure following where I had walked earlier. They hadn’t yet spotted me, but in just over a minute they’d be right on top of me. Now, though, they had noticed the grenade I’d left behind. I pulled on the thread and hoped.
It caught on a twig and snapped. Damn. Not only that, the twig had also snapped, which caused the bounty hunter to look up and reach for the gun. In that moment of adrenaline they forgot the grenade, shuffled forward and…bang. Another one down. I didn’t have the luxury of going over to check my work. The cacophony had alerted the ranch hands and some of them were rushing over to see what had happened. This was my opportunity.
Relying on the fact that they were distracted, I sprinted to the barn. There was just one ranch hand who had stayed behind, and she was quickly hushed into silence when she saw the wrong end of a sawn-off shotgun. I selected the healthiest looking horse, prompted the ranch hand to saddle it up, then tied her up and gagged her so that I could add on a few more minutes to be escape before the rest of the ranch had realised what had happened.

“Mr Scott?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Capability Scott stood before Baroness Forcade with his wide-brimmed hat in his hands. He was afraid of nothing, but felt just a little intimidated being in the presence of this powerful woman. His stubbled, weather-beaten face, dusty old clothes, and scruffy black hair looked out of place in the Baroness’s opulent drawing room. He didn’t belong here, but the lure of a incredibly generous reward couldn’t be resisted.
“How was your journey over here?”
“Just fine ma’am, your train was most comfortable.”
“I’m glad to hear it. It’s actually my trains that have given me cause to call you here. You’re the best bounty hunter out there, I understand?”
“I’ve caught the greatest number of Wanteds, so yeah, I guess you could say I’m the best in that regard.”
“Modesty has no place here Mr Scott. Now I have a little problem in Bountyland. My engineers keep getting themselves killed trying to route my rails near water. Now, I need someone who knows the area, and who can figure out the best way through.”
“I appreciate you asking me out here ma’am, but I ain’t that person. Sure, I hunt in Bountyland, but I don’t know nothing about railways.”
“I know, I’m not asking you to help with that. I’m asking you to find someone there and bring him back to me.”
“Oh. Well that I can do.”
“Good. His name is G. J. Anderton.”

This horse had been the right choice, even if getting it had been a dangerous endeavour which had set even more people on me. It was an Appaloosa — fast, tough, and covered in ginger spots. Hey, I guess it was like me in that regard. Sadly my ginger hair meant that I had fair skin, which wasn’t such a bonus out here in the sunshine.
A galloping horse will kick up dust that can be seen from many miles away. I just had to make sure that I put in enough miles that this wouldn’t matter. I’ve no doubt that other bounty hunters will now have also taken to horses so as to keep up with me.
I wondered who it was that had kicked over the grenade, but then realised I didn’t care. Every single one of these bounty hunters was out to kill me, it was either me or them. Taking stock of my situation I’m amazed at what I’ve achieved — almost 20 days on the run, two bounty hunters killed, a decent stash of weapons, and now a fast means of transport. Maybe I’ll actually get out of here alive.
I know, I know. I shouldn’t have tempted fate. Sitting here now in this makeshift camp I’m feeling particularly on edge. The closer I get to freedom, the more I think that I’m gonna reach the end of my luck.
Sure enough, I was alerted to someone approaching by the length of thread I’d retrieved from the ranch. I’d laid this thread out in a large circle around camp, in one part delicately balancing two stones on top of each other and the thread, and on top of these the metal stirrups from the saddle. When someone stood on the thread it pulled those stones over and the stirrups were sent clattering down.
In an instant I was out of bed and sprinting into the darkness. The bounty hunter hadn’t been expecting this, which meant that they hadn’t been able to raise their gun in time to get an accurate shot off before I was swallowed by the night.
They were, however, expert at their job and immediately set off after me. I’d got a glimpse of their handsome face in my campfire before I fled. It was Knight, and I was now certain I had just minutes to live, if I were lucky.
Like Cooper Powell, Knight was smart. He had no doubt been in dozens of situations like the one we were now in — the prey thinking that they can blend into the safety of darkness. But Knight hadn’t grown rich by losing Wanted in the darkness. Employing tracking techniques which had been used in this land for thousands of years, he was instantly on my trail.
In this particular instance, though, night gave me an advantage over Knight (ha!). He could see where I’d been, but he couldn’t see exactly where I was until he was right on top of me. And I was right next to a hole where I’d earlier buried a couple of revolvers and a knife. Luckily I only needed one revolver — a well-aimed shot to Knight’s heart was all I needed.
In the dead of night that shot sounded particularly loud. I hurried back to camp, gathered up my few belongings, and headed out into the dark.

The bounty hunter Capability Scott was, at that same time, thoroughly enjoying the hospitality on board one of Baroness Forcade’s trains to Dreadnought (what had previously been known as Newton, Kansas). That was the end of the line. It was just inside of Bountyland and the railway in that area was heavily guarded.
“Another whisky, sir?” asked one of the dining car attendants.
“Sure, why not?” Scott slurred.
There were just a few other passengers in the dining car, which was painted a rich red and featured soft leather seating. Most passengers had disembarked before reaching Kansas City, those few who had continued on were hardy traders, preachers and settlers — all either foolhardy or desperate enough to seek some sort of success in this violent territory.
Scott finished his whisky in one go, then stumbled out of the dining car and along a corridor that was swaying as much from alcohol ingestion as it was from rickety track. His cabin was large enough to accommodate a double bed and wash basin. The bounty hunter splashed cold water over his face and lay fully clothed on top of the bed.
The next morning he awoke at dawn, an experienced drinker with zero hangover. Enjoying one last taste of Forcade’s hospitality in the form of a plentiful breakfast, he stepped off the the train shortly before noon.
He had been to Dreadnought once before. It was a town about as civilised as possible in Bountyland, which is to say it was troubled by Queen Sabine’s hooligans only once a month or so. Scott usually stayed away from towns and cities, preferring to spend time alone out on the prairie or in the mountains.
G. J. Anderton’s General Store was a smouldering wreck. Soon after the owner had fled, Sabine sent her troops to plunder his stores and leave nothing behind but smoke and ash. Scott could see that this had revealed the ruins of an old building on top of which the store had been built. Those old steel girders were considerably tougher than the scraps of wood which the buildings of Bountyland tended to be made from.
There was only one place in town where he knew he’d be able to find at least one ex-employee.
Even at noon the bar was full of drunks. Scott told the barman who he was looking for and, noting the overall threatening appearance of the bounty hunter, the barman quickly pointed out a sozzled man wearing a dirty white hat, followed by a cliched “We don’t want no trouble here mister”.
Scott ignored this, grabbed the man with the whiteish hat and dragged him into the sunshine. No-one dared protest. White hat blinked in the sudden brightness.
“I…what I do?”
“Nothing, yet, but you are gonna give me some information.”
“What information? I didn’t do it!”
“Didn’t ya? We’ll see. In the meantime, I need to know about Mr Anderton. Where’d he go to?”
“My boss? I don’t know.”
This was answered with a swift punch that took white hat by surprise, but otherwise did little damage. Scott was an expert puncher, knowing exactly how much force to employ. This was just a warning shot.
“Honestly! One day I was working and Sabine’s troops come in and throw us out. That’s all I heard about Anderton’s bounty.”
“But you met him before?”
“Sure, I knew him.”
“So where’d he go?”
“I don’t know!”
The punch this time was a little harder and would leave a bruise. White hat took a little longer getting to his feet and used this time to think about what information he could offer to this menace dressed entirely in black.
“Wait, wait…OK, well Mr Anderton was a smart man. He talked about how, when he was wealthy enough, he’d be wealthy enough retire to go south and retire away from all this.” White hat gestured at the street, which was the most ramshackle collection of gravity-defying cabins you ever saw, tied together by a ‘street’ which was in fact merely a thread of desert that had found its way into this shantytown.
“So you think he’s gone south?”
“That’s what I reckon. But he wasn’t able to go with any fortune — he was chased away so fast.”
“And where did Anderton live?”
“Er, he had a place in Rattle, outside of what used to be Trinidad. A few days further west from here.”
Scott looked into the drunk man’s eyes and so only honesty. He grabbed the man by his jacket and threw him back into the bar. The bounty hunter knew where he had to go. North.

Should the day have ever come when I needed to flee for my life, I made sure that everyone knew that I dreamed of one day heading south. Hopefully that would have put a few of the dumber bounty hunters off my trail.
The truth is that I craved a life in the mountains to the north, so much so that I’ve buried a part of my fortune beside a tree in a forest on the edge of Bountyland. If I can get to that, and get halfway into what used to be Wyoming, I’ll be safe.
I’m now just past the old city of Denver. Nothing there now apart from crazed gangs that even Sabine steers clear of. I can still see the lights of that city event though I’m miles away from it. Well, not lights, but bonfires.
It’s first thing in the morning and I’ve somehow survived another night. Amazingly there were no attacks and I managed a full sleep. A few days have passed since I killed Knight. During that time a bounty hunter called Keith sneaked into my camp, moved all my guns and knives out of reach, then thrust aside the sheet I was sleeping under so that he could stab me with precision.
Well, there was no way in hell I was going to be sent packing from this life by someone called Keith. What Keith (Keith!) didn’t know was that the pole holding up that sheet was my trusty, pointy broom handle. When he began to crouch down to precisely murder me, I grabbed the pole, turned it around and let Keith’s own weight do my work.
That was probably the most messy kill I’ve had to do. Poor Keith took a few hours to die. I was kind to him during this time, even though he had been trying to profit from my death.
In direct contrast, whatever it was that came out of the night, it knocked me unconscious in a split second.

This was the furthest north that Campbell Scott had ever needed to travel in Bountyland. That was because the Wanted never made it this far. Anderton was clearly an exceptional individual, Scott could see why Forcade was so interested in him.
The Oglala Sioux had, over the years, begun to reclaim what was once theirs. They weren’t prepared to let the white man rule over them ever again, and became a force that no-one dared to cross. Although they respected Queen Sabine, they were in a perpetual war with her on their borders. It was in this area that Scott now travelled.
He really didn’t want to be here. If he were seen by the Sioux they would hunt him down and show no mercy. But Anderton must have passed through this way — it was the best route between Rattle and the north. Scott was convinced that this smart Wanted would have made it publicly known about his desire to one day flee south so that, should he ever need to escape, those who hunted him would look in the wrong place.
At the end of a long day, within a cluster of trees, he found the Wanted’s camp.

My head feels as though something has got inside it and is pressing all the pain receptors. I’ve thrown up twice already. Luckily this carriage has open bars I can stick my head through. Unluckily that means I’ve no protection from the sun, which is making my headache considerably worse. The bumpy track isn’t helping either.
Cracking open an eyelid, I peek at the person steering this carriage. They’re loosely holding the reins which are tethered to two sturdy looking horses. What may have once been a white jacket and trousers are now the dun colour of the prairie. On either hip a holster with shiny guns. On their head a brown Stetson. Why am I not dead?
I groan and my captor looks around. Cooper Powell. A wicked grin spread across her tanned face, displaying a not-quite full set of teeth. I then notice the dirty blonde hair tumbling out from beneath her hat — hard to see when it’s as caked in dust as the rest of her attire.
‘Oh good, you’re still alive.’
‘Why?’ I manage to croak.
‘The hell I know. All I know is I’m gonna get paid a fortune for bringing you in.’
‘Who?’
‘Who? Who else would want to fetch you in? Queen Sabine, that’s who.’
Powell delighted in the dark look that crossed my face and cackled maliciously. Now I wished that one of the bounty hunters had killed me.
‘Water?’ I asked, a dumb animal wanting at least some comfort before meeting its end.
The bounty hunter tossed me a canteen and I tasted river water. I figured that we had maybe 5 days on the road before reaching Queen Sabine’s palace in Scorpion City. Maybe I could convince her to let me go in that time.

We’re now just outside of Scorpion City. Turns out that Cooper Powell is a pretty mean captor. I freeze at night, boil during the day, eat stale bread and drink filthy water. Once again I’m facing (what I hope is) imminent death, but this time I would actually welcome the massive relief it would bring.
A gang of Sabine’s riders come out to meet us. They subject me to an onslaught of abuse before leading Powell into the city. This is a mean, fear-ridden place. Everyone I see doesn’t dare look up when we pass. Sabine clearly rules with an iron fist.
At the centre of the city is a cluster of buildings slightly more sturdy-looking than the others. In other words, they’re built from sandstone rather than sun-bleached wood. One well-placed match and a light breeze would destroy this hateful city in hours.
Queen Sabine’s ‘palace’ is actually kinda nice inside. Rugs hang on the walls, there are some almost intact sofas, there’s even an unnecessary number of throw cushions. Through an open door I see a barn filled with some sort of wheeled contraptions. Her throne room (I have to try hard to stop myself laughing when I learn she has a throne room) feels nice and cool compared to the desert heat outside.
I’m left to wait for a few hours until she at last enters the room and sits upon a throne which is the stuff of fantasy writers’ imagination. Sabine is tall, pale white, and pinch-faced. She’s squeezing onto her throne and looking at a piece of paper that a fawning, scrwany advisor has just handed her. At last she notices me.
‘You just refused to die eh Anderton?’
I have no reply to this. My plan is to say as little as possible. Of course, as soon as I’m threatened with torture that plan will quickly unravel.
‘I know my territory pretty well,’ Sabine continues, ‘and I gotta say, I’m impressed that you almost made it outta there. Now, according to this notice I just read, Baroness Forcade is starting to encroach on my land with her damned, civilising railway.
‘We can’t be having civilisation now, can we? Look at the trouble that got us into last time. No, carefully managed anarchy is the way forwards, but only when it’s managed by someone careful like me.
‘I understand that you know where Forcade is planning to run her line. You’re gonna tell me exactly where that is, and I’m gonna go there and get rid of those engineers once and for all. Map?’
The advisor bowed and scraped his way across the room and handed Sabine a large map of her territory. She glanced at it and then handed it to me. I was given a pencil by the advisor and told to start drawing a line of where I thought the railway would pass. This done, I handed it back to Sabine.
‘Good, maybe we’ll just kill you instead of torturing you first. But obviously we gotta check if you’re being truthful first. My riders are gonna go out there, kill a bunch of engineers, send a few of them back to Forcade nice and maimed. But if they don’t find anything?’
Sabine didn’t need to finish that though. The thin-lipped grin which spread across her large mouth was all I needed to know. A couple of guards grabbed me roughly and dragged me to a cell at the back of the palace. Compared to Powell’s wagon this was luxury.
How do I know where Forcade is planning to build her railway, I hear you wonder? I don’t. That night when Powell captured me I’d already been found by Campbell Scott.

‘Alright, calm down, I ain’t gonna kill ya.’ His breath stank of whisky.
‘You’re Campbell Scott? The bounty hunter.’
‘Yeah, that’s me, but for some reason someone wants to keep you alive and mess with Queen Sabine.’
‘They do?’
‘Yeah. Now stop sneaking towards that gun, come sit over here and fix me some chili.’
‘How’d you know I got chili?’
‘Smelled it a mile off. Next time make something bland. Where’d you get it from by the way?’
‘The chili? I got ingredients from a trader passing by here. He got a gun, I got 3 nights of food.’
‘You really are smart.’
‘Thanks. You’re really not going to kill me?’
‘Not if you do what I say. Now you’re mission, if you choose to accept it — and if you don’t I will actually kill you — is to get yourself captured by the next bounty hunter.’
‘Captured? How do you know they won’t kill me?’
‘I’m a bounty hunter ain’t I? It’s my job to know who wants which Wanted, and what body parts they’d prefer. Sabine never wanted you killed, she wanted you brought in because she thinks, ‘cos of all your travelling between your stores, you know where Baroness Forcade’s railway is likely to be built. Next time check if people are actually out to kill you before running away.’
‘But Sabine will kill me anyway. I have no idea where Forcade’s engineers are.’
‘Yep, I figured is much. This is why you’re gonna feed Sabine a lie. She trusts smart people like you, thinks that you make logical decisions. You’re gonna tell her that the engineers are here, and here, and here.’
At this point Scott had brought out a map and pointed at certain locations which were all in a straight line. These were the same locations I had just shown Sabine.
‘So she’ll then check where I’ve told her the engineers are, figure out I’ve lied, then torture me to death? Just kill me now.’
‘Alright, keep your panties on. Once I see her riders leave for one of these locations I’ll come get you out and bring you back out of Bountyland.’
‘Immediately? Those riders could be back within hours.’
‘Relax. I’ll get you out straight away.’
‘How can I trust you to keep your word?’
‘You can’t.

Sure enough, here I am in a cell, watching the sun set through the bars. It’s been 24 hours since I gave Sabine false information. Her riders could return at any moment with the news that I lied and there’s no sign of Campbell Scott.
Cooper Powell found me not long after Scott disappeared back into the night. I resisted the temptation to shoot my way out of trouble. Scott was out there watching and would put a bullet in my head without thinking twice. It turns out that would have been a good outcome for me.
A melon baller isn’t a particularly sharp object. Neither Powell nor Sabine’s henchmen had found it when they searched me. It was small and didn’t feel in any way suspicious. But this culinary tool was just about sharp enough.
In just a few hours I could conjure an elaborate fruit display, or rub through the rope tying my hands and then dig through the cell’s sandstone wall. I chose to do the latter.
That sandstone wall crumbled much more easily than I imagined. I was out of that cell in little over an hour. Now what? I wouldn’t survive another journey out of Bountyland. Even though it went against my instincts I needed to find Scott. I could be useful to Forcade.
A man as thorough as Campbell Scott would have followed Powell all the way to Sabine’s palace, which meant that he was probably still in town. I recalled the stench of his breath and started going from one bar to another. He would be somewhere with lodging attached, located between here and the trail back East. Let’s have a review of my style choices for today:
- Scuffed brown boots with a daring hole in the toe
- A natty pair of well-worn pants
- Last season’s casual denim jacket, teasingly ripped
- Eau de not-had-a-shower-in-4-weeks
In other words, I had the perfect camouflage for going into some of the roughest, most violent bars in Bountyland. People either assumed I was crazy or tough, either way they steered clear.
Campbell Scott was in bar number 12. This was a slightly classier establishment than the others — here they’d actually put sawdust was on the floor to soak up the blood from the regular brawls. A balcony with several doors opening off of it ran all along the top of the large room. Here you could find accommodating women (and men — Bounty land was very progressive in that sense) to keep you company for the night.
In hindsight, I’m grateful that Scott didn’t give a mirthful response when I threw the melon baller on his table, in what I hoped was a menacing way. Instead he looked up with a look that may have passed for respect.
‘Well look who escaped.’
‘Not bad huh?’ I sat down, uninvited. ‘You lied to me.’
‘Welcome to Bountyland!’ Scott replied and wheezed out a laugh. ‘Now what makes you think I won’t just take you right back?’
‘Two reasons: if you did then Sabine would realise you’d conspired against her. Plus, I can be useful to Forcade. I do actually know the best routes to run her railroad. Not only have I travelled across the land for work, I’ve now walked from one side to the other. I know the dangers, I know where Sabine’s troops are based, I know where the Sioux territory has expanded to.’
‘Did you tell Sabine the false information?’
‘I did. Her riders could be back any moment now and discover I’m gone.’
Scott looked serious for a moment. He looked up at the bar where there was an antique clock. Its digital face blinked 20:15. The bounty hunter finished his whisky in one gulp.
‘The train back East leaves Dreadnought in 12 hours. Dreadnought’s about a day’s ride from here. You’re gonna get caught by Sabine’s troops within a day-No-one can hide from her in Scorpion City for more than a few hours. Now, how can we get somewhere that’s 24 hours away in just half that time?’
‘Sabine’s barn. She had a vehicle of some sort in there. I imagine that’ll be fast.’
‘Reckon you know how to use it?’
‘Nope. But I guess that’s my only choice.’
‘I guess so too. OK, you get that vehicle and you meet me on the trail East.’
‘Why should I meet you.’
‘Because that’s the only trail outta here and I’d like to see you try and get past me.’

Returning to Sabine’s palace seemed foolhardy. Yet, as I’d seen, she and her troops were so confident in the power of fear they held over Bountyland that they thought that security only had to be minimal. Luckily for me, that meant that no-one was guarding her barn with the vehicle inside. That also meant I had a little while to figure it out.
The pile of wood and coal next to the four-wheeled contraption gave me a clue as to how it was fuelled. I then found the furnace into which this fuel was fed, figured out which levers made it go and stop, and, well, the steering wheel was obvious.
I placed some logs and coal into the furnace, found some paper and flint to get it lit. I checked that what I guessed was the boiler was full of water. The fire crackled and steam began to hiss, it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed. I had to learn how to use this thing first time.
It really was as simple as it looked. This lever made it go forwards, this lever made it stop. I didn’t bother using the latter when one of Sabine’s guards got in my way. People stopped and looked as the steam carriage chugged through Scorpion City. They must have been accustomed to seeing their queen parade through, and so seemed surprised when they saw scruffy ol’ me hurtling along.
Pro of riding a steam carriage: it’s fast.
Con of riding a steam carriage: it’s not particularly agile.
I expected Sabine’s riders to be just minutes behind me and so I chose the straightest route out of the city, not even pausing to look at the ruins of one of my stores. That was now a very different life.
Seeing Scott on the trail, some way out of the city, was actually a relief. I could count on him to hold off the riders if they got too close. He had a scarf covering his face right up to his eyes, and his black hat was pulled low.
‘I still wanna do business with these people. Sabine’s one of my best employers, I doubt she’d take kindly to me stealing her steam carriage and her Wanted, while killing her riders.’
‘Forcade must be paying you a lot of money.’
‘That lady sure is wealthy.’

When the sun rose the next morning I was so exhausted that only the adrenaline from being chased by dozens of bloodthirsty riders kept me going. Campbell Scott was an excellent marksman and had killed several who had got too close. The rest kept their distance, knowing that we’d have to stop at some point for more water and wood.
The closer we got to Dreadnought, the straighter the trail became. At one point we managed to get 15 minutes ahead of the riders and I pulled the lever to stop the carriage beside a small riverside copse. While I refilled the tank, Scott scavenged fallen branches, piling them onto the back of the carriage and tossing some into the furnace.
We left it just a little too late. Although we were back on the steam carriage before the riders arrived, it took the cumbersome vehicle a while to reach full speed. Scott therefore had to work hard at keeping them back when they surrounded us. Just as we were pulling away I felt something thud into my right shoulder. It now caused me great pain to operate the levers and so I just left them on full speed while I steered with my left hand.
Again we began to leave the riders behind. At one point they disappeared altogether and I guessed that they needed to let their horses rest. They no doubt thought that they could catch us up in Dreadnought.
‘How’s your shoulder?’ Scott said, looking at the bloody hole in my jacket.
‘Excruciating.’
‘I’m gonna take your jacket off, see if I can stop the bleeding.’
The bounty hunter was surprisingly delicate. He found a rag at the back of the carriage and tied it tightly around the wound. If I didn’t die of blood loss then some nasty infection would no doubt get me.
We roared into Dreadnought at 07:30. I knew a doctor in the town and so headed straight there. Scott looked anxious. We had almost an hour to wait until the train departed — an hour in which those riders could catch up.
The doctor treated my wound as if he were a butcher. Which he was. Water was boiled to sterilise a mean-looking knife, this was then used to cut through my flesh and dig out the bullet, as well as pieces of jacket that had been blasted in. Scott had generously shared some whisky from his bottle and so it was only mildly excruciating when the doctor/butcher sewed me up with a crude needle.
And now, we wait. We’re standing in Dreadnought station. Forcade’s train is here, the engine has been moved from one end to the other. The fastidious engineer is, however, refusing to budge until precisely 08:20.
‘OK, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Scott told him. ‘If Sabine’s riders get here they’ll do everything they can to stop this train leaving.’
‘Oh don’t you worry about that,’ the lanky engineer replied.
We found two cabins next to each other, towards the front of the train. Other passengers were beginning to drift out of the prairie and into the carriages. The train didn’t get re-supplied here — too risky to leave goods inside Queen Sabine’s territory. I therefore grew increasingly frustrated at the engineer’s refusal to depart early.
At ten past eight I thought that we may just make it. The approaching cloud of dust put paid to my optimism. Shortly after the riders appeared at the station. They dismounted their exhausted horses, and some entered the train at the rear while the others watched from outside, guns raised.
Steam began to pour out of the train’s chimney. It inched forward and then gained more and more momentum. This incensed the riders, a few of whom rode to the front and began to intimidate the engineer. He ignored them until the first shot rang out. That turned out to be a massive mistake on the part of the riders.
Each carriage had a small turret at the front which, up until now, had remained closed. As soon as that first gun fired the turrets open and, from inside, soldiers pushed out machine guns. Within seconds the riders were being sprayed with bullets and not a single one was left standing after a minute. Now there were just those who had entered the carriages to deal with.
The train was now hurtling along, gathering ever more speed. The soldiers inside the turrets climbed down ladders into the carriages and gunfights broke out throughout the train. Those few passengers who had boarded in Dreadnought knew the drill. They dived under their seats or locked themselves in cabins. Well, all passengers except Campbell Scott.
The bounty hunter marched down each carriage’s corridor firing his pistols at any rider he saw. Scott did the work of a dozen soldiers and, between them, they restored peace to the train before it had even reached full speed.

‘And how can I trust that you’re giving me accurate information?’ Forcade asked me.
Her train had taken us into the heart of New York. I’d never been here before. Although the city was mostly in ruins, a large part of it had been restored, and not just with bits of wood like in Bountyland. No, here they actually knew how to build with concrete and steel.
Forcade’s palace was three-quarters of the way up a particularly resplendent skyscraper. Luckily for her, only three quarters of this skyscraper remained and so, being at the very top, her palace had stupendous views across the city. I tried to concentrate on the conversation I was having, but it was easy to be distracted by the scene beyond the immense windows which surrounded the room.
‘I risked my life to come here and tell you where you should build your railway. I didn’t get shot in the shoulder for the fun of it you know?’ It was becoming increasingly apparent that I had little respect for authority. ‘Plus I did what you wanted. Sabine’s troops went to where you told me to send them. What was the point of that by the way?’
‘I wanted to split those riders up and ambush them. Payback for all the times Sabine has attacked my engineers. Hopefully now, with fewer troops, she’ll think twice about finding the actual route of the railroad.’
‘So it was a success then?’
‘According to the message I received earlier, yes.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘I’m going to send you out there. You can show my engineers what you’ve shown me. Spend a few months with them until they’ve completed the track through Bountyland.’
‘And I guess I have no choice?’
‘Oh you’ve got a choice. I’m not Queen Sabine. I believe in being fair. Which is why, if you accept this task, I’ll compensate you for whatever you lost after Sabine’s attacks on your stores.’
‘Wait…really?’
‘Really. Look at it from my point of view: the money I’m going to give you is but a drop in the ocean for my fortune. The help you’ll provide will get my railroad to the West coast. Once that’s done I’ll be richer than ever and can use the rail to start civilising Bountyland. Think of it as your revenge on Sabine.’
I didn’t need any more convincing. The baroness let me stay in her palace for a couple of weeks, allowing me to recover from my wound as well as to explore the city. Although my own small empire had thrived in the chaos of Bountyland, I much preferred civilisation. Chaos could never provide a decent cup of coffee anyway.
Forcade provided the only form of government in most of this anarchic land. As well as building a unifying railroad, she was trying to re-build democracy. Just a shame that the old statue out in the bay was no longer around to see it. Still, I had little doubt that she was a trustworthy person.
Campbell Scott had returned to Bountyland as soon as he’d handed me over to Forcade. She rewarded him generously. Even though he’d almost got me killed, and threatened to kill me himself, I actually kind of missed him. He was an honourable man.
The train I took back West followed the same route to Chicago but then split shortly after and headed straight to Denver. Forcade paid the Sioux a lot of money to be allowed to run her trains through their territory. Plus, every bit of land she gained in Bountyland she handed straight over to the Sioux. They respected her and benefited from the trade that the railway brought. It was about 50 miles beyond Denver that that the tracks came to a stop.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, the place where I’d been captured by Cooper Powell was not far at all from the end of the track. Yes, I was familiar with this land — not just from fleeing the bounty hunters, but when I’d travelled through here a couple of years back to hide my fortune.
Sabine had set up a number of forts through this area, knowing that she needed to show strength here against the Sioux and opportunists such as Forcade. On the map I’d given to the baroness I had pinpointed exactly where these forts were. Disembarking the train with me was an army of soldiers, ready to take out those forts one by one. I’d asked the baroness why the Sioux didn’t fight alongside her, and she explained that they refused to get involved with another white man’s war — that hadn’t ended so well for them last time.
On a small hill near the end of the rail track was a graveyard, full of workers who’d been killed in Sabine’s latest attack. Everyone here was jittery. Every mile of track that had been laid in Bountyland had been accompanied with violence and death.
A small village of tents had been set up. The soldiers replaced their colleagues around the perimeter, and I was led into one of the larger tents. Here there were tables spread with maps and some very concerned-looking bespectacled folk. I was introduced to one of them — a tall lady with wireframe glasses and grey hair.
‘Here, draw on this map,’ she said once I explained why I’d be sent out here.
I paused, shut out the noise around me, and tried to picture exactly where I’d seen those forts. Before long I was making little circles on the map. 30 minutes later I was done. A dozen circles formed a rough line across the map. This was the frontier of Bountyland, and where we were stood was just inside it.
‘You’re sure?’ the engineer lady asked.
‘Positive.’
‘Well alright then. Mandy, find this gentleman a nice spacious tent, and some dinner.’
A much younger woman guided me through the camp and found me a large tent situated in the middle. Inside was an actual bed on top of an actual rug. There was even a chest of drawers.
‘You’ll find showers over there, mess tent is over there. Meals are served three times a day, and you’ll find water barrels everywhere.’
After she’d found me some blankets Mandy disappeared back into her work. I took myself on a tour around the site. It was strange to see the tracks that had carried me all the way from New York stop so abruptly. But the halt of progress in that regard didn’t mean that the workers were sitting idly around. Instead they were shaping sleepers, forging iron, and undertaking dozens of other tasks in readiness for when the engineers had decided which route to take.
All of these workers looked healthy. Some even looked happy. Further evidence that Baroness Forcade was a good and decent person. I had almost made my mind up about her and decided to spend the rest of the day visiting Denver.

The tracks that ran out of the camp curved slightly north. Many miles ahead well-guarded surveyors were assessing the land, using maps copied from the one I’d drawn my suggested line across. In a day these well-organised workers could lay down almost 4 miles of track a day, aided by little steam trains which carried the rails from hundreds of miles away. It was a hugely impressive operation.
Every day the camp moved with the railhead. It was better for security this way, but meant a lot of time was wasted packing and unpacking. Another fort was defeated by the soldiers, then another, and another. Each time they beat back Sabine’s troops more soldiers arrived from the East to take up positions in those abandoned fortifications. This provided a line of defense for the railway that was creeping ever Westwards.
I’d been with the track-laying crew for 4 weeks now. Mountains and dense forests had significantly slowed progress, but the chief engineer and chief surveyor agreed that it would probably take no more than 3 more weeks to reach the line of an old railroad to the north west. This old railroad headed almost directly west all the way to the coast.
When we reached that old railroad Forcade had given orders to let me go. Not that I was in a hurry to leave, nor under any sort of guard. I was trusted, and I was also keen to see this endeavour succeed. With nothing better to do, I took to helping the workers dig out embankments, hammer in pins and fell trees. The work was particularly dangerous, when we had to work beside lethal precipices. But it was satisfying work and the chief engineer ensured I was paid as much as the other workers.
An enraged Queen Sabine managed to put together a fairly well-organised attack on a couple of the forts and railroad we’d laid a couple of weeks back. The Baroness responded by pouring in an overwhelming number of soldiers. Sabine knew that she’d more than met her match, and consoled herself with continuing her terror of a slightly diminished Bountyland.

It feels lonely up here. Having spent almost two months with hundreds of men and women, I’d finally left Forcade’s railway and I’m now walking back to where I’d buried my treasure. My journey took me along a narrow mountain path and at last I finally felt free.
These mountains weren’t familiar to me, but I knew the direction in which I had to go, and there was always a path leading me there. I also had the skills required to live off the land, and so the few days I spent hiking between the railroad and my treasure haul took very little effort.
When I had reached the edge of a forest at the foot of the mountains I sought out two sticks. One was thick and sturdy, the other a broke until its length was exactly the same as my height. This forest was familiar to me and I used it to guide my way out onto the prairie.
It didn’t take long for me to find what I had been trying to get to ever since Sabine had put that bounty on my head. A large rock stood out on the dusty grass. Into this rock, many years ago, I had chiseled out a deep indentation. I now swept out the detritus that had gathered in this hole over the years and inserted the thin, long stick. Now I just had to wait for the right time of day.
The time of year I had buried my treasure was the same time of year as now, almost exactly to the day. I had prolonged my stay with the railroad so that I could arrive here right on time. The sun was now at just the right place in the sky, not more than 30 minutes before it set. I followed the long shadow that the stick cast onto the prairie and, where it ended, used the strudy stick to begin digging.
This wasn’t a precise method, but it was definitely the safest to hide a fortune. It was getting dark before I found the box. This box wasn’t particularly large, but it was full of gold. This precious metal had once again become a vital commodity of the economy of this land. As my small grocery store empire had grown I had been subtly buying up gold, until I’d gathered enough to stash away.
From this point onwards I was very much on edge. I walked at night and camped out of sight during the day. Inevitably I found someone who was willing to sell me a horse and so my journey then became much swifter. Hopefully, in a few weeks, I would be in Seattle.

My great-grandfather was one of the survivors of that devastating war. Thankfully he and his tribe were based far enough away from Seattle when the first bombs hit the naval bases. The Emerald City bore the brunt of the first moves in that deadly game, over 100 years ago, but the Snoqualmie Tribal land remained unaffected. Well, at least until the first of the refugees started to arrive.
Displaying the sort of kindness, forgiveness and hospitality that had never been shown to them, my tribe took care of these refugees. They nursed the injured, and held the hands of those who had no chance of life beyond a few more days.
In the land above that sacred pool at the base of Snoqualmie Falls, the tribal leaders saw an opportunity in the vacuum of civilisation that had been created in one fatal blow. The Snoqualmie people began to reclaim what had once been theirs, they established new relations with the Muckleshoot, the Duwarmish, the Skykomish, and many more. These tribes collaborated and worked on restoring a sense of order to their blasted lands.
Seattle was isolated from the rest of the continent. Communications, roads and railways had been wiped out for hundreds of miles all around. The rest of once had been the USA and Canada assumed that there wouldn’t be much left there. And besides, everyone had enough problems of their own without worrying about some distant, devastated city.
Eventually the joint tribes from Seattle to Snoqualmie met the tribes from the Olympic Peninsula. Treaties were signed, peace was ensured, and re-building began in earnest. I had grown up with a sense of wonder about lands far to the south of Snoqualmie and, as a very young man, had set out to learn about the rest of this vast continent.
The Joint Tribes of the Pacific Northwest (or the JTPN as the government came to be known) had understood the value of commerce and had re-established an organised economy in the early days of their rule. It had taken them a while to restore democracy, and shortly before I’d departed an opposition party to the JTPN had gained power. I knew that money would inevitably dictate power, and wanted to ensure that it would never stand in the way of the JTPN’s good intentions.
Sure enough, when I rode into downtown Seattle, I saw a thriving commercial sector. Money had driven progress much faster than good intentions ever could and I was impressed to see buildings as sturdy as those I’d seen in New York.
Snoqualmie was a further day’s ride from Seattle, albeit a slow ride. I let my horse trot gently through the restored lands of Bellevue and Issaquah, so that I may fully assess the changes that had happened since I was last here. Compared to Bountyland, the region which had been nurtured by the JTPN was the height of civilisation. I only hoped that they had kept a rein on Capitalism.

The fortune that I had made in Bountyland went a very long way in Seattle. With it I was able to purchase Seattle’s ruined King Street station, as well as railroad land stretching hundreds of miles south, all the way to the communes of Portland.
The trains from a century ago were in such a broken state that it wasn’t worth restoring them. Instead I built a factory to create new carriages and engines. This was a slow process, but, within five years of returning to my ancestral land, there were four locomotives steaming up and down my tracks. Within another five years I was the king of trade and travel in this immense region.
My workers were paid generously, my profits were either returned to the community or invested into growing and maintaining the network. I voted to increase tax on myself and others like me. Out of the devastation of that terrible war had grown a place with no poverty, where everyone had equal opportunities, and where opposing views were fairly listened to.
On a sunny Snoqualmie day my assistant knocked on the door of my office and came with concerning news. Smoke had been spotted south of Athabaskan territory, in what had once been Oregon. I was not troubled. In fact, I was excited.
The journey to the old station of Kalamath Falls took 24 hours. My sleeper trains had been modelled on those I had enjoyed on Baroness Forcade’s railroad. I therefore felt well-rested when I arrived at the edge of my rail empire.
Soon after my arrival riders appeared from the south. My Athabaskan friends had provided a guard, but, again, I was not concerned. Sure enough, when the riders appeared in view, I recognised the person in the lead.

It gave me great joy to take one of my trains all the way to San Francisco, and from there directly East into Bountyland. My railway met up with Forcade’s somewhere on the edge of a Giant Redwood forest, in the land once known as California.
Having worked with her engineers for several weeks I knew that the gauge of her tracks were the same as those which had survived in Seattle. I’d borrowed the construction of her engineers’ techniques to construct my railway. That was why, when I was re-united with Forcade’s chief engineer that day in Kalamath Falls, my first words to her were ‘Thank you’.
Bountyland has undergone a lot of changes in the dozen or so years since I was last here. Queen Sabine has been chased away into obscurity. People no longer lived in fear. The Oglala Sioux had turned Denver and the land around it into a thriving community.
It was in Bountyland, where I had been taken to the head of Forcade’s railway construction, that my journey came to an end. Here a remote station had been built, and was now managed by a local tribe. Minutes after my train arrived, the Baroness’s own train arrived from the East. The railway on this continent had never been as well-coordinated as it was now.
‘Ever since I saw your name on that Wanted list I thought you were someone special,’ Forcade said, as soon as she saw me on the platform.
I smiled and we hugged. Two railroaders, two democrats, two reformers who had built the foundations of a new continent, meeting together as equals, both ready to continue the work of fully restoring civilisation to everyone.