A/N: Who wouldn't want to see Pirates of the Caribbean as a Western?

"Pa, we almost there yet?" Young Miss Elizabeth asked, looking out the window of the stagecoach. The flat featurless landscape rolled along quickly, the six horse team panting witht he effort. Dust thrown up by their calvery escort clouded the view before the coach and behind. Only with a small breeze could she discern the rolling mountains that breached the horizon. Her bonnet tugged at her hair, trapping the dust in her face.

"Not yet. Private Gibbs, how close are we?" Her father, Wetherby, called out. His voice brought an older man with mutton chops riding up.

"Not far, sir. But ye'd best keep quiet, outlaws and Indians have been heard to skulk 'round here." Gibbs warned, casting his eyes around anxiously.

"Indians and outlaws!" Elizabeth exclaimed, suddenly rapt with attention.

"That's enough Gibbs, back to your post." A commanding voice ordered, sending the man to slow his horse and go back to the rear guard. Captain Norrington, his calvery uniform starched and pressed despite the dust, lounged in the seat across from the Swanns. "There haven't been any Indians around here of late and every outlaw's been hightailing it out of the area, besides, all they deserve is a rope around their neck and meeting with God." He languidly replied, casting his eyes out the window. Elizabeth huffed and tried to see farther out the window. A stiff breeze suddenly blew, allowing her to glimpse the horses of the lead guard and a large dark object tot he side of the road. A small part broke off, desperately trying to move away. Elizabeth gasped, she knew what that was.

"There's a boy! There's a boy just off the road!" She cried pointing. Norrington snapped to attention, jerking his head right out the window.

"STOP!" He bellowed, sending the stagehands whistling to get the team under control. As soon as the coach had stopped he was out the door, marching towards the boy. Elizabeth could now see that the large object was a wagon, turned over on its side. The horses that would have pulled it were gone and several men lay dead around it, guns in their hands.

"Elizabeth, don't look. Here, watch him." Her father said, laying the boy across Norrington's seat. He breathed shallowly, a dark wound on his head. His eyes suddenly snapped open and he gripped her hand, bruising her wrist.

"It's fine, my name's Elizabeth Swann." She whispered, looking down at him.

"W-Will Turner." He responded before lapsing back into unconsciousness. He clutched a battered bag, which she gently pried from his fingers. Reaching inside she pulled out a long necklace, the kind a woman might wear. A lone coin, emblazoned with a skull and strange designs, dangled as a pendant. It looked like something an Indian might wear, but he was far to light for an Indian.

"You're an outlaw?" It came out as almost a question. She stuffed the necklace into her bodice as the men came back.

"Has he said anything?" Norrington inquired, sliding next to Elizabeth. They would have to squeeze to fit them all in the coach. Her father returned, glaring at Norrington. The man nodded, scooting away from Elizabeth and letting Wetherby sit between them.

"His name's Will Turner, that's all I found out." Elizabeth replied, touching her bosom to check if the neckalce was visible.

"Is Gibbs right, was it a gang of outlaws?" Wetherby whispered to Norrington.

"No, most likely a rouge band of Indians." Norrington responded, waving for the coach to move on. Elizabeth sighed and returned to casting her glances between Will and the window. She gasped, seeing a band of horses running along, desperate to get out of the calvary's range. Outlaws!