"Jane. Jane, wake up!"

Rubbing your eyes, you groan "Cherry, I'm still tired..."

Shrugging, Hunts-Their-Cherry muses "Well, I 's'pose I'll raid those wagons by m'self."

"There's a wagon train a-comin'?" you ask, springing up. "At this hour?"

"It's true," she replies. "I reckon they don't think we'd be up this early. But, nothing slips by me, of course."

Patting Hunts-Their-Cherry on her shoulder, you beam "That's my scout. Lemme get ready."

You never thought you would live a life of an outlaw. Not just any law-breakin', though—boy huntin'.

It all started when you captured the Indian Hunts-Their-Cherry for the very same crime—takin' young boys and havin' your way with 'em. She told you all about it, and by George, it sounded pretty darn nice. And by her silver tongue, and maybe a bit of whiskey, she convinced you to try it out for yourself. And then it was history—you joined Hunts-Their-Cherry as a boy-hunting outlaw. From that day forward, you were known as "Depravity Jane".

After loading up on supplies, you two stake out and survey the area.

Pointing, Hunts-Their-Cherry says "Look, that one in the back. It's fallin' behind."

"Easiest target I've ever seen," you smirk.

Once the other wagons are a fair distance away, you two ride up on the slow one. The two of you circle it, causing the middle-aged driver to halt.

"There's a toll in these lands," you sneer, pointing your six-shooter.

Raising his hands, the man says "I ain't got no money."

"It ain't money we're looking for," grits Hunts-Their-Cherry, waving a tomahawk. "Get everyone out."

Complying, the man unloads the wagon of passengers. Among his presumed family, you spot a son, not older than fourteen.

Pointing at him, you order "He's coming with us."

The man is taken aback. "But—"

"It's just for the night," your partner smirks, licking her lips.

He steps forward, and she quickly ties him up.

"We'll give him back!" you laugh as you throw him over your shoulder and mount your horse. With the boy, the two of you