Dan Evans

Ben's eyes narrow as he surveys the familiar terrain, placing the coach and its entourage in his mind's eye.

Two flankers.

Driver's second.

Driver.

Converge on the Pinkerton.

And then corner Butterfield, make him pay. Figuratively and literally.

Then, noting Dan's expression and searching glance, Ben's lips twitch as he inclines his head toward a ledge that's served him well in the past.

Good coverage (especially now, with only the two of them), good vantage point.

With a click of his tongue, he urges his horse on.

"C'mon."