<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/e/e4/Natehunter.png/437px-Natehunter.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Nathan Hunter<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Senior Deputy (Law Dogs)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 2nd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Night<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Camp Gǒu<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Margeurite, Closed<br/><hr/>Nathan watched from the hidden recess he'd spied on the camp from over the last two days.  He'd run out of water yesterday, but managed to fill his canteens when he'd skulked through the camp, and the knife wound he'd gotten from his efforts a day and a half ago still ached in his side.  He'd set the fuse beneath the adobe structure – once the foreman's office, before being converted into ghost rock storage – a day and a half ago.  The guard's body had been the one who discovered him loosely burying the fuse as best he could.  He'd kept from crying out when he'd been stabbed, then wrestled the man's blade from him before plunging it into his heart.  It had been true agony to drag the man away from the camp, and even with the hard-packed earth leaving few tracks, the paranoid Chinamen had discovered it just hours after he'd hidden the body away.<br/><br/>He'd limped back to his recess and settled in – he had a powerful eyeglass given as a gift by Chairman Hardinger, and he'd spent much of that first day determining exactly where her tent was, the rotation schedules of the guards, deciding when would be the best time to risk as little loss of life as possible.  He'd spent two days in a crevice so small he'd had to wedge himself in, his side aching from the blade, the sun beating down as he did his best to carefully ration the meager water he'd taken with him.  Ergo dank most of it – his horse was a loyal friend, and he knew the steed would need its own strength to carry them back to Gomorra.  He'd been gone for three days, and by the time they returned it would no doubt be a week.  He could smile to himself whenever he pictured the grouse on J.P.'s face.<br/><br/>He was not looking forward to the lecture he was going to get about risking Kang's wrath over an ivory skinned socialite.  J.P. didn't share his regard for the fairer sex, but after the beastly manner in which he'd forced himself on her after a promise to save her – he'd throw his own life to the Maze Dragons if it offered a scrap of redemption.<br/><br/>He'd worked enough security himself to know that when ghost rock went missing how they'd secure it, and the only building with solid walls had been the logical choice.  He'd drawn off the two guards with gunfire and then lit the fuse, running as best his injury allowed in the opposite direction and trusting in the noise and chaos to cover his escape.  Providence had been with him, and he'd felt a pang of relief that he hadn't had to take a second life to secure the woman's release.<br/><br/>He had no idea what had taken the life of the second man.  He was a stranger to the rampant paranoia of the work camp, although he knew every one of the men who worked Kang's camps had gotten a death sentence of some kind from the Qin Empire of China.  Kang's noble status in China had allowed him the choice to take them in bondage, instead – and most had taken the long trip overseas over a public beheading.<br/><br/>He watched the tent through the looking glass, groaning to himself while he waited for her to emerge.  Then she was out, scurrying for all she was worth, and he blew a breath of relief, noting Rooster emerge from the other side and go running towards the flames.  She moved fast – he was surprised how quickly she could run, and winced at the sight of her bare feet, the gentlemanly part of him concerned for cacti and sharp rocks.<br/><br/>He shook his head at his own foolishness.  The woman'd endured unknown horrors, and he was worried for the state of her soles.  He gave a quick, sharp whistle, puling himself up and out of the recess.  Ergo  came running towards the sound of the whistle, and he pulled himself up into the saddle, gritting his teeth through a flare of agony as he strained the wound at his side.  He rode down the hill towards the gully, the black mare and his own dark clothes casting long shadows.  The horse ran lightly, a shadow passing through other dancing shadows, as he rode down hard on the damsel.<br/><br/>He came up behind her as she ran, the horse's hooves making good time to outpace the eerie light of the ghost-rock fires.   He called her name, his voice hoarse and parched from lack of water, then cleared his throat and tried again.<br/><strong><br/>“Margeurite!”</strong><br/><br/>He kept the horse at a gallop, leaning low in the saddle and extending an arm.  He balanced on one stirrup and then swooped her up, biting back an unmanly gasp of pain in his side as he hauled her up, swinging her onto the saddle behind him, the horse's powerful flanks setting a harder pace as he urged it onward.   He stole a glance over his shoulder at her -disheveled and dirty, clearly the victim of another round of baleful abuse, his eyes softening at the sight of her.