Faraday can't help the snort of laughter he lets out, tired as it is.
"Jack Horne might tell you it was fate that led Sam to me," he says, weaving his usual wry humor into his voice – the voice he uses when he's spinning a yarn at a card table, "but our paths crossed entirely by chance. I could've been in any town that day, but I just so happened to be in Amador City."
He still isn't entirely sure if it was good or bad luck that brought Sam Chisolm to Faraday's proverbial door. If they hadn't met, then Faraday wouldn't have been shot full of lead, wouldn't have nearly blown himself to kingdom come. In short, it would have saved him a great deal of agony. But on the other side of that coin, if they never met, Faraday wouldn't have thrown his lot in with these mismatched men, wouldn't have folks he would trust with his life, wouldn't have found something greater than himself worth fighting for.
If he hadn't met Sam, he wouldn't have met any of the others. And a part of him thinks ending up as stitched together as an old rag doll was worth it for that alone.
He peers at Vasquez again, thinking over the other man's suggestions. Decent enough ones, he supposes; he's none too fond of the cold, either, which was only bound to get worse as the months go by. As he's thinking it over, though, he asks carefully, "What's wrong with Texas?"
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"Jack Horne might tell you it was fate that led Sam to me," he says, weaving his usual wry humor into his voice – the voice he uses when he's spinning a yarn at a card table, "but our paths crossed entirely by chance. I could've been in any town that day, but I just so happened to be in Amador City."
He still isn't entirely sure if it was good or bad luck that brought Sam Chisolm to Faraday's proverbial door. If they hadn't met, then Faraday wouldn't have been shot full of lead, wouldn't have nearly blown himself to kingdom come. In short, it would have saved him a great deal of agony. But on the other side of that coin, if they never met, Faraday wouldn't have thrown his lot in with these mismatched men, wouldn't have folks he would trust with his life, wouldn't have found something greater than himself worth fighting for.
If he hadn't met Sam, he wouldn't have met any of the others. And a part of him thinks ending up as stitched together as an old rag doll was worth it for that alone.
He peers at Vasquez again, thinking over the other man's suggestions. Decent enough ones, he supposes; he's none too fond of the cold, either, which was only bound to get worse as the months go by. As he's thinking it over, though, he asks carefully, "What's wrong with Texas?"