The Hideout

"It's still early, an' the gold carriage doesn't move until midday. Ah reckon if ah'm fast, ah can catch her at her den before she saddles up, and have her behind bars before they've finished loading the carriage." The weasel says, grabbing her hat and putting it on, then pausing as she walked to the door. "But just in case... you'd better be on that carriage." The weasel walked out to get her horse. Behind her, April sighed worriedly.

"Can do, sheriff... Stay safe."

An hour later, Texas arrived at the outskirts of Roxxie's hideout, a large, battered shack with an even larger barn nearby, meant to be a stable for Butterscotch. Looking around, the weasel could see the telltale signs of lights in the windows, as well as exceptionally large hoofprints leading to the stables, each one as big as her torso.

"Right... Roxxie in the shack, Butterscotch in the stables." She muttered to herself, dismounting and starting to creep forwards, planning out her approach.