"How do I know you aren't going to kill me? Isn't that what you Dusters do?" His revolver was still on Chum'tai's chest. His face sweating in the sun again.
"We do, and we do well," his eyes turned back to the corpse. "But I need you, and you owe me, and I'll explain the rest on the way back. Does that appease you, Jacob?"
His head pounded. there was swelling for sure and maybe even blood dripping down his neck. That or sweat, his head to numb to tell. But he did save his life. The red pole still dripping blood of the Outcast, and it began to pool at the base. He was also very intrigued on how he knew his name and his community. Questions needed answering.
"Prove you're a duster and I'll take you. Fail," he pulled the hammer of the revolver to the rear, "and you die."
Chum'tai's lips curled to one side. He stepped to the corpse and took the pole into his hand.
"You might want to move."
Sixxer leaned up on one arm and pushed himself away. The hooded man waited till he was a few feet away before causing the pole to turn into a pile of dirt, allowing the giant to collapse to the concrete.
"To the west, yes?"