Part One: The Farmer's Boy

A half-sumarized version of Samuel's life from birth to age 16.

This story includes mentions of physical child abuse. Proceed only if you're comfortable reading such topics.

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Born in a big town in Indiana, Samuel Tilley's family had been very poor. The death of his siblings due to different diseases left his parents in a helpless situation. Although they loved their children very much, they spent nearly all of their money trying to save the ones that passed and feared their remaining kids wouldn't have much luck, either.

So the only option that remained was to sell them for dirt cheap. There isn't a lot Samuel remembers from this time, not even his parents' love for him. He mostly only recalls the coldness of being abandoned and sold off, and as such, he doesn't think of them very fondly anymore.

Just as he'd never see his parents again, he was also quickly separated from his siblings. They were all bought up by different owners. Samuel, who'd been six at the time, was bought by a traveling farmer in hopes of getting a kid to herd his geese. Things didn't go quite as planned. The old gander had swiftly made a pussycat out of the poor boy, and he was eventually sold again.

The next farmer wanted him to milk her goats. A kid no bigger than a housecat lowered its head, Samuel cried, and an entire bucket was wasted to the dirt. Most importantly, he was sold again.

A few owners down the line, and a hunter handed him his gun, pointing at a foraging flock of ducks. He was so captured by their beauty that he refused to shoot. Eventually deciding the child was useless, the hunter, too, sold Samuel off.

Nobody else remembered his 11th birthday when he soon found himself on the farm of one old man. His only job was to feed the horses. Although he also failed this job from time to time, he started to become very close with the animals. On occasion he'd ask the farmer if he could have his own horse to name and ride on, but all he ever got each time was a firm no and a knock to the head.

Eventually a new horse was born on the farm that was sickly from the start. The mother horse had died during the birth and it seemed the white-coated filly didn't have that long, either. As such, the old man planned to put it out of its misery. Samuel begged him not to, and after some time, he begrudgingly let the child keep it as his own responsibility, feeling it probably wouldn't last long anyhow.

Named Sandy for the tan color of her mane, she ended up surviving thanks to Samuel's care. He gave her milk from a bottle and she quickly imprinted on him. By the time she weaned, he'd sneak her some kernels after every feeding and she followed him around like he was her mother. And much to the farmer's regret, the horse started to grow up strong. A deal was a deal, though, and he was sold to the next farmer along with Sandy in the package.

The next owners were a bit nicer. Since Sandy was too young to be able to ride yet, Samuel would play games where they both ran across the field as soon as he had the free-time. While these games would start making Sandy stronger, Samuel himself would grow an affinity for running. For just a moment, life seemed good for him. He had an owner that didn't yell, a warm roof under his head, and most importantly his horse. That was, until he and Sandy were pulled up to the gate of an egg farm.

Their new owner was a massive, hulking man who rarely spoke, mostly shouted. The first thing he did was lock Sandy up in a barn before sending the poor boy to collect eggs from the chickens. It was still a job he did begrudgingly, but he'd gotten more experienced at it by now. Still, he missed his horse dearly. The farmer would only let him see her every once and a while, just for a touch on her face or gentle stroke of her mane, before sending him back to work. Sandy herself stayed locked in that barn, not allowed to run out in the field like she loved to, and whinnying sadly every night without her favorite company.

Once every week, the farmer would send him off to sell the eggs downtown. They didn't live far from the city, but the walk there was long, especially when dragging a full wagon of egg cartons. Afterwards he'd bring the money they had made right back to give to the farmer. Sometimes, however, the profits weren't to his liking. For one reason or another the eggs didn't sell for as much, but whatever the case was, he'd consistently take his anger out on Samuel. He'd beat the boy with whatever he had, sometimes even with just his bare fists. Samuel's body was soon covered in bruises, and he became terrified of the farmer.

From then on he did whatever he could to make his work satisfactory. He collected eggs as fast and thoroughly as possible. He kept the coops clean nearly all the time. But as far as selling the eggs went, all he could do was dread the day when his owner would drop all the cartons in that rusty old wagon and point his thick finger in the town's direction.

During this time, though, he picked up on conversations his owner had with a bounty hunter in the area. They were good friends, and he visited often, telling stories of sly bandits and epic chases on horseback. When he went back to work, Samuel would fill his head with those stories, imagining himself as the world's greatest bounty hunter lassoing lowly thieves with Sandy and collecting hundreds in rewards. It made him feel a little better to believe that there was a better life somewhere full of excitement and adventure meant just for him.

Well, one day, he got a little curious, and found a pistol in one of the farmer's hutch drawers. It was a little scary, of course, but he was mostly fascinated by the weapon. To him, it was exactly like all of the bounty hunter stories. Whoever held one was obviously somebody to respect. When he was certain that the farmer couldn't see, he snuck the gun into his pocket before going to work. By himself he pretended to fire it for a minute or two, sneaking around the chicken coops in his sheriffs and outlaws fantasy.

The next day, the farmer wanted him to take the eggs to town again, and Samuel impulsively snuck the gun with him. Although it was a day he was afraid of, he tried to distract himself by staring at the gun on the walk there. It didn't help a whole lot, and by the time he arrived in town he had to hide it away again.

The egg prices had already steadily dropped up until this point, only raising the frequency of his beatings. This finally culminated into one of the worst days of his life when, just by his luck, the eggs he worked so hard to collect that week went for practically nothing. His sores suddenly hurt all over again as he imagined what he'd be in for when he got home. If there was any day that his owner would kill him, it would certainly be today.

He didn't want to think about it, much less face it. And as the saying goes: desperate times called for desperate measures. Anxiously trudging his way down the road leading to the farm, he spotted an elderly woman all alone. She had a fancy dress with a hat to match, and her shiny jewelry also spoke of her wealth.

Almost instinctively his hand reached for the gun. He didn't want to do it. He'd always thought of his future as one fueled by justice and doing what's right. And yet... What if the outlaws weren't all bad? What if they too were up against the wall, with nowhere to go but the long dark road?

It all happened so fast. He went up to the woman, drew out his gun, and pointed it directly at her. "Give me all of your money, or I'll shoot! Now!" She gave him a very sad look at first. As intimidating as he tried to make himself appear, the gun trembled in his hands and his breath was shaky and rapid. He was still just a terrified kid at the end of the day. Nevertheless, the old lady had no other choice but to hand over what she had. For Samuel, however, it was more money than he'd ever held in his life up until this point. And at only 16 years old, he had finished his first theft.

The guilt followed him all the way home, but by the time he showed the farmer the money, it was gradually beginning to fade away. "Look, I think the prices are going way up now!" he said in an attempt to alleviate suspicion. It was good this time that the farmer saw him as nothing more than a weak child with hardly the willpower or intelligence to steal candy from a baby. In fact, for the first time in ages, not a finger was laid on him. As soon as his owner disappeared, Samuel went out back where he'd hid the gun in some weeds, quietly returning it to the drawer from which he found it.

He could've easily sworn from then on to never touch that gun again. By doing so, he knew he was giving in to his fear, all while playing with a fire that would surely come back to burn him. But he also knew that there was no going back from it now. In handing over the stolen money, he'd set a standard for the cruel farmer.

A week passed, and the day to sell the eggs came once more. Again, he snuck the gun along with him, and this time he cornered a young businessman on a wagon. The weeks began to turn into months, and each time he robbed someone new, all the while the farmer being completely oblivious to the secret borrowing of his gun. In some ways, it was quite easy, and Samuel finally felt like he was living a normal life again. The fear and guilt slowly began to melt away all the while, and he could almost forget about the risk he took every week, slowly increasing with each new person he stole from.

That being said, the bubble was sure to pop one day. It was a sunny afternoon like any other, and Samuel was once again sent to sell the eggs. As always, he brought his gun, already thinking about his next victim. Little did he know, however, word had begun to spread around. The sheriff of the town had figured out the pattern of his crimes, and this time he was already waiting for the thief with a small group of other officers.

One moment he was just a boy again, casually pulling his wagon of eggs through the town to sell. The next moment, four men suddenly pounced on him, the leader of them pinning him to the ground.

"So, you're the young man who's been mugging everyone in town, huh? I expected you to be a little bigger. You're under arrest."

Samuel attempted to wriggle out of his grip, but it was no use. He panicked when he realized what this meant and the consequences he would face. Not just the consequences from his owner, but now from the entire town. So, as a last resort, he twisted his head and bit down hard on the sheriff's arm. In the moment of shock, he loosened his hold just enough for Samuel to escape. He ran as fast as he could without looking back, even when the guns began to fire and bullets flew by him and landed near his feet. In an effort to lose them, he twisted past the shops and wagons, pushed through the crowds of bewildered people, and finally disappeared through some tall grass at the edge of town. Only when he was safely concealed in a wheat field did he finally stop to catch his breath. He pressed his trembling body to the dirt for what felt like ages, but nothing broke the windless air aside from the buzzing of flies and grasshoppers and the screech of a nearby hawk.

The relief was short-lived, however. The reality that his life was as good as gone in this place was beginning to set in now. He continued to lay there for as long as he could, but before he knew it, the sun began to set. He had to act quickly.

It took him a moment to figure out where he even was, but soon he made it back to the farm just as night began to fall. There was still one thing that he couldn't leave without, but as he tried to sneak around, he was suddenly spotted by his owner who had been looking for him all night. At first, though, he attempted to lie.

"What happened to my wagon? And where's my money?"

"I-I got attacked on the way back... people came and- and they stole it all."

"Is that so? Then why didn't you just use my gun to defend yourself, then? That's right. I know you stole it. Now hand it over. Or did you lose that, too?"

Samuel froze, unsure what to say. For the first time in a long time he remembered how frightening the farmer could be. Even in the darkness, his boxy figure loomed over him. The world seemed to go very quiet, and he heard the grass crunch as the giant shape moved closer.

"Don't make me beat you."

He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, and his muscles clenched as his fingers slowly rolled up into two solid fists. Samuel finally began to back away, but the farmer only moved closer with increasing speed. Just when he realized there was no avoiding a punishment, his foot slipped on a stone in the dirt, causing him to fall onto his rear. It was then that he suddenly felt the gun in his pocket. The farmer drew towards him, grabbing onto his leg with the strength of a vise and dragging him forward. In a panic, he pulled out the gun. The farmer's other fist flew towards him anyway, and for the very first time, Samuel pulled on the trigger.

Immediately the larger man stumbled back, placing his hands on his stomach. He looked down before staring back at Samuel, the whites of his eyes glinting in the moonlight. For a moment, all the boy could do was stare back, struggling to process what he'd just done. Only when the farmer spoke did he finally fall back to reality.

"You little... son of a... bitch..."

Samuel half scrambled, half jumped to his feet as he started to run away. He didn't look back to see if the farmer was chasing him. The only thing on his mind was getting out of here. Yet he ran straight in the direction of the barn, having one plan from the very beginning.

As soon as he burst in, he came towards the stall where he knew she was tied up. The conditions in the place were terrible as ever, and yet the solid white horse must've been the most beautiful thing he'd seen. She was wide awake, her head held high as if she was waiting for him to appear. He must've run in a little too swiftly, however, for she whinnied in alarm at first, her hooves stomping at the dirty ground. Reaching out his hands, he gently touched her face.

"Shh, Sandy. It's me."

She fell quiet, her legs going still. He held her powerful cheeks for a moment longer, and when she seemed to realize who it was, she pressed her nose against his head. She probably wondered what he was doing up so late, he thought as he proceeded to untie her bridle from the fence.

"I have to get out of here, Sandy. We're both getting out of here."

Leading her out of the stall, he hesitated at the exit, staring out at the moonlight that showed into the barn. It occurred to him that he'd never rode Sandy before. She was never large enough and didn't even have a saddle. Yet, as he looked at her now, he noticed how much she had grown. They'd have to try it. He took the nearest thing he could find: an empty wooden crate, and dragged it next to her. Standing on top, he could just reach his leg over her back. At first she flinched, not used to the new sensation. But when he mounted that horse from then on, it somehow felt so natural for both of them.

He placed his hands around her neck, leaning towards her ear. "Run, Sandy. Run." Part of him expected her to forget the old command, but when she surged forward with a sudden new strength, he wondered why he ever doubted her. Hanging on as tight as he could, he let her lead the way.

And from that day forward, he was no longer just the no-name farmer's boy. He was Samuel Tilley, the outlaw.