Snippet #2251280

Daniel Shay

The jerk reaction in his muscles at the sensation of being immersed in the hot water came without warning. It had been some time since he'd been able to ease himself into a proper bath and allow his body any true relaxation and luxury. Then again, it had been too long since he'd seen a town the likes of Fort Trinity and its bustle, growing with every year under the watchful eye of ranchers who eyed their cattle like dollar bills and gangsters who eyes the citizens of the town the same way.

"I wouldn't take insult where a man didn't mean any," he said as he slid down, the spasming muscles in his fire firing off sharply a few times before succumbing to the relaxation the hot water provided. Daniel had all the appearances of a strong man but most of that strength seemed to have been twisted and knotted up into all sorts of balls and kinks in his back and legs that a night's rest and relaxation would go a long way to restoring. "Just meaning that there'd be more'n a few happy to share a few drinks and a few tall tales with less...well...delicate company."

The soap and water began to wash away layers of the trail, layers of the past, and layers of the life he'd left behind on his way to Fort Trinity. It did a number to lighten the color of his skin, but not as much as one might expect. His features were soaked in the sun and carried the color of a man that knew the outdoors better than a roof over his head.

"Sulphur Springs was the last place I really stay for more'n a day. Mt. Pleasant before that." The trail he described painted the picture of a long ride from somewhere back East and, given his lack of descriptions along the way, it would seem that the man pressed his luck with a hard pace and hard ride to get here very quickly, even if he wasn't too forthcoming on the reasons why.

Still, he felt relaxed and more of a man than he'd felt in weeks at this point. Maddy's gentle company, her easy demeanor, and shelter from the cold rain were doing wonders to breathe some life back into the tired shell he dragged into the saloon earlier that evening. He suspected that this was just another night for her, another customer, another couple of dollars that she would be able to square away for whatever it is that drove her to living and life just like the rest of them, but that didn't mean that she didn't do her job well. For a moment, the rider was able to put everything else away for a few minutes and just accept the reality of things. No fiction, no need to pretence or games. It was what it was and there was nothing to fear or feel ashamed of.

"I met with some ol' boys in Tennesse who told me that Doc McAllister had come out this way a few years back and I felt oblige to track the man down. Got an old score to settle with the man. Closer I got, the more I kept hearing about this 'Gentleman' fella that everybody keeps talking about. If half what they say about the man is true, I'm a'thinkin' that maybe the Doc's got his hands full six or seven different ways that might need an extra pair of eyes to make sure he doesn't end up with a knife in his back or hangin' from the end of a short rope."

The story he'd heard on the trail about the man hanged while his house burned was still with him. He'd seen the rubble of the structure on his ride, but thankfully someone had already taken care of the body by the time that he rode by.

"Some men live by the fear they can build up in others. Way I see it, they're probably even scared themselves a little more and maybe need someone to remind 'em what it feels to bleed just a little."

He closed his eyes and leaned back for a moment, allowed a sigh to release the thoughts from his mind for a moment.