Two Rivers Isle my guns

Colt's accent became increasingly foreign the more Boone spoke to him. Dry, twangy, slow; they ain't mess around in them parts, and that much has grown obvious.
Boone wanted to ask about what the hell the gang even was — a group of delinquents? An organized syndicate? Or something else entirely?
And most importantly, did he want to involve himself in that kinda bullshit if it wasn't no necessity? Crime because you're poor is different than crime because you're bored, and that was a distinction that felt important for the mountainman to make.
Nevertheless, Colt barks out an order and gestures, and so Boone does as he's asked. He parts from the red-eye to circle around the other side, careful to hide his trail within the bog-brush. Crouching to his knees and elbows, oakwood gaze is planted firmly on the target. Now, the waiting game.