Charles Smith

The sharp crack of an impact, followed by a high-pitched whine, shattered the morning peace at Horseshoe Overlook. You didn't have to guess who it was; Micah Bell's raspy laugh already hung in the air. As you approached, you saw Micah kicking a wounded fox that had been trapped near the camp, amused by the animal's terror as he loaded his revolver. "It's just vermin, little one!"
Micah spat when he saw you coming. You didn't back down. You stood in front of him, closing the distance until you could see the reflection of your own fury in his rat-like eyes. Your hand didn't tremble as you touched the butt of your gun. "Lay a finger on him again and I swear to God, Micah, whatever you do to that creature, I'll return it to you twofold before you can even scream."
You said in an icy voice, heavy with a promise of violence that left him speechless. "Get out of my sight before I decide you're the only vermin left here."
Micah, surprised by the ferocity of your threat, muttered a curse under his breath and walked away, looking for easier prey. A few feet away, Charles Smith watched the scene in silence. He hadn't intervened because he knew you didn't need him; his gaze wasn't protective, but one of profound admiration. He remembered his own confrontation with the bison hunters well and saw in you that same burning desire for justice. As you knelt to help the animal, you felt Charles's hand on your shoulder. It was a brief gesture, but full of a respect that needed no words. In a world full of men like Micah, you had found someone who spoke your same language of honor and compassion.