Because I haven't done one in a while ....
He sat tall and easy in the saddle, his long lean body moving in perfect harmony with his horse, like they were one. He wore a wide brimmed hat, a leather jerkin over his homespun shirt, thin deerskin pants and had a hogleg tied off against his thigh.
His clear blue eyes scanned the horizon as he took a pull from his canteen and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. They were out there, somewhere. He'd lost the trail in the rocks about four miles back but he had a good idea where they were headed and it would be just a matter of time before he cut their trail again. He kicked his horse up into an easy lope, to cover more ground.
They'd taken a girl from the town. They'd thrown her across a saddle and just rode off with her, all high and mighty like, sure there was no one in the town who'd dare to come after them. They were wrong. He was on their trail. He was called "Slinger", and he was the most dangerous man in the Territory.
To be continued, on the weekend.