Richard Jones Bell's Story

Richard Bell poked the tied up beaten boy infront of is feet with the end of his rifle, the boy groaned and tried to pull away as the broken ribs reminded him of his bad luck. Bell only laughed at the boy and kicked him in the side before turning to his gang behind him, hell they were almost as scared as the boy. One of the unlucky bastards would be blamed for leaving trails for this sorry execuse for a bounty hunter to follow.

'' Now y'all know I ain't the one to hold a grudge am I boys?'' Bell asked as he rested his bolt action rifle against his shoulder. While his eyes wandered over his gang he casually lit a cigarette that he'd kept between his lips. With a sigh he let out a puff of smoke and approach his second in command Cliff Baker. Baker was probably as smart as the rock he sat on but he made up for it with a muscular body, a taste for blood and a good swing with his club. Baker had never been much good with a rifle but Bell was the first one to tell him to just use is fists instead of wasting precious ammo.

'' Now Baker... Why don' you tell me about the incident again?'' Bell said as he leaned in and stared into the dull eyes of his slow comrade. Baker was undyingly loyal to Bell like a dog to it's master and if someone made his boss mad he would get mad too. Yeah...

'' Well Boss... Me an' One-Eye... an' Hans the German... an' the Withers brothers wus' just comin' back from Bullhorn.. You know the town Boss?'' After finishing the sentance the dull giant looked around for the men he mentioned but turned back quick after a slap to the head by Bell and a irritated glare.

'' Uh.. right.. Well Boss Hans said he had to take a piss or..'' Baker went quiet as Bell walked over to Hans and blowed smoke into the stocky german's face. In the gang Bell was judge jury and executioner and there was no such thing as a trial. The gang backed and formed a ring around Hans and Bell. Hans went pale and sweat started to form on his forehead, running down his dirty face. Bell remained quiet as he handed over his bolt action rifle to Jackson before taking off his duster which Jackson also grabbed. Bell started to pull up the sleeves on his red checkered shirt and stretch his arms. At this point panic struck Hans who had tried to remain calm to not draw any attention to his mistake.

Hans knew it was his fault for falling behind the others and talking to much in the Bullhorn saloon. He had caught the eyes of many unwanted people and the bounty hunter who had been cought in the area around their camp was one of them. Hans had closed his eyes as Baker forced him on his knees.


Bell wiped the blood from his knife on Hans' shirt as he stod up. The german wasn't dead but without eyes and tongue he wouldn't last out in the warm desert. Bell's crew knew to go back to their business of breaking camp as soon as the deed was done and Jackson hurried off like the others after returning the coat and rifle to Bell who had sat down on a stone next to the moaning bounty hunter. He brushed some sand off of his chaps before putting his duster in his lap. He let some smoke sip out from between his lips as he loaded one single bullet into his rifle.

'' You know this ain't nothing personal. But we just can't have a law-dog following our footsteps.'' He aimed the rifle to the poor man's skull and he flinched as he felt the cold steel press against his skin. Bell squeezes the trigger and splattered the boy's brains over the sands.

It was noon when the gang finally finished breaking up the camp and Bell told his men to get on their horses. They were heading for Splitcreek, that's the town the bounty hunter mentioned before he became vulture food. Bell was a wanted man but his face remained unknown and at worst he looked like a dirty bounty hunter or vagabond. His crew on the other hand looked like they were born in jail and if he wanted a quiet time in the saloon he was going alone and it was a fact the gang knew and accepted. They were ordered to make camp in a secluded place and meet him outside of town when he was done.

'' Y'all behave untill I come back ya' here?'' He said and put his spurrs into the side of his grey stallion ''Colonel'' and took off.

Morgan watched the stranger enter the bar, nodding in response to the strange soul who'd drifted in. He looked beraggled, scruffy at best, but a trip through the desert'll do that to you. He wandered over to a table, as if blown by an invisible wind, and sat down, immediately fixing his eyes on the table. A very pensive fellow, indeed.

He could've stayed to chat, but Morgan had already wasted the better part of the day in the Silver Spur, and it was high time he got back to his tidy little office and had himself a nap. He didn't hear any more gun shots, but that didn't mean it was over. More likely, Alex was just being careful with his bullets. Fingering the gun holstered in his belt, Morgan pushed his way through the double door of the saloon and stepped out onto the porch.

Alex's horse was gone, which meant he'd given chase. "Better you than me," he muttered, shaking his head. He himself had walked to the Silver Spur, as his office was only a few storefronts away on Splitcreek's main street, and he headed that way now. His office was in the opposite direction from the chase, which was good; he wouldn't have to listen to the racket of a showdown. Hopefully whatever low-life outlaw had ridden into town hadn't brought friends.

Headed for his office, Morgan caught sight of a new wanted poster that'd recently been put up. It was a woman this time. Uncommon, but not at all unheard of. "Wildcat Kate". He snorted, shaking his head. Well damn, she had herself a proper nickname and everything. For amusement, he looked over the other wanted posters, noting a certain "Richard The Bell-Ringer", among many other outlaws. Seemed there were new posters appearing everyday. He whistled through his teeth as he saw what "Mister Bell" was wanted for, scanning the long list of charges. A very grisly fellow, certainly not someone you'd want to run into on a dark night.

Reaching his office, Morgan headed up the two steps to the porch of the sagging wooden building and sat himself down in a rocker, his hand on his gun as he drifted off to sleep.

Riding on his grey stallion ''The Colonel'' Bell headed for the town of Splitcreek. His duster was in the saddlebags together with his rifle and another revolver. The town wasn't hard to spot in this godforsaken desert and when the buildings started to appear by the horizon Bell couldn't help but to smile and put The Colonel into gallop.

He slowed down just outside of town and let his mount walk in with a steady pace. He dismounted and tied the horse to a pole outside of something called The Silver Spur Saloon. Bell could smell the smoke of tobacco and the laughter of the people who had spent most of the day in there, but the drinks would have to wait. Bell had business to attend to for once and it didn't involve shooting, stabbing or robbing. He exuces himself as he almost bumped into an older man in a hurry to the Saloon. As he turned something caught his eyes, a wanted poster with his many names on it.

The Bell-Ringer.. My my ain't I the famous one He thought to himself as he casually grabbed the edge and tore the poster down. He looked it over as he walked down the main street looking for the doctor's office. The wanted poster wasn't that flattering and the drawing off him wouldn't be much for a bounty hunter to go for. The only thing showing under the wide brim hat was is eyes, the rest of his face covered by a handkerchief. He ust be doing something right if that was their best take on him.

His fingers wandered over to his six-shooter as he passed someone who looked like one of them lawdogs that always chased him around the wilderness. But he knew better then to have a shoot out at noon in a town by himself and his hand moved back to hanging by his side quickly. He touched the brim of his hat with his other hand as he passed the men, they gave the same salute back but their eyes didn't leave the scarred stranger. He clenched his fists and looked up in time to see the sign to the doctor's office and stepped up on the porch and eyed the fella sitting infront of it.

''Howdy. I reckon you're the doctor of this town?'' He asked and once again touched the brim of his hat as he leaned against the rail, placing both hands on his belt.

Morgan woke with a start, the rocking chair lurching forward as he straightened up. He lifted the brim of his Stetson, regarding the stranger daring to disturb his afternoon nap with steely grey eyes, and shifted in his seat, though he didn't bother to get up. He'd barely been asleep five minutes; this'd better be one hell of an important call.

"That's right," he said, his eyes travelling over the man. He didn't look too different from anyone else who'd spent their days under a hot Arizona sun- rough, tan skin, sandy blonde hair, squinting blue eyes. The scars were a point of concern, but Morgan himself had a sizable scar on his left cheek. Still, there was something crooked about the man. It was a gut feeling, and Morgan always went with his gut. But you didn't go around Splitcreek shouting your opinions and suspicions at the top of your lungs, especially when the subject of your suspicion had his hands resting on a belt that looked to concealing some wicked weaponry.

Begrudgingly, Morgan got to his feet and stuck out his hand in the most gentlemanly manner he could muster. Even after many years as a doctor, Morgan never could bring himself to go along wholeheartedly with business or social formalities. "Morgan Crowe. What can I do for you?"

Bell removed his hat and held it in his left hand as he grabbed the doctor's hand and gave him a firm handshake. He seized up the man as he shook his hand and gave him a freindly smile.

'' Y'all got yourself a fine town here Dr. Crowe. I'm Roland Jones, bounty hunter.'' He said as he put his hat back on his head and placed his hands on his belt again. The scar on the doctor's cheek caught his eye but he made sure to only give it a quick look before turning his gaze back to the doctor. After all he wasn't here to make friends and by the look of the man infront of him he wasn't the friendliest kind either.

'' If you'd be so kind could you take a look at this cut here.'' He said and unbuttoned his red shirt, revealing a poorly bloodsoaked bandage covering a cut on his chest. That Bullhorn saloon gal could handle a knife and she'd used that knife on Bell when he'd become too drunk and too close. He skipped town shorty after before they started to look into who he really were and he couldn't trust no one in the gang to patch him up, not after their ''doctor'' Gordon the Stitcher was filled with lead by the law four months ago.

The man had a firm handshake, Morgan had to give him that. And he had pretty good manners for a bounty hunter, or else he knew how to put up a convincing front. Morgan saw the man's eyes flit to the scar on his cheek, but the man's mama must've raised him right, for he soon turned his gaze back to Morgan. He watched the man move his hands from his belt and unbutton his shirt, the sharp smell of an open wound immediately assaulting Morgan's nostrils.

Morgan whistled through his teeth as Bell revealed the cut, laying a surprisingly light hand on poorly bandaged gash. "You have yourself a disagreement with the missus, Mr. Jones?" he joked, leaning in for a closer inspection. "Why don't you step inside and I'll get you cleaned up an' have myself a closer look. Can't see nothing with all that gauze and blood in my way."

Morgan opened the door and stepped in, ushering Bell inside. It was small, one-room office, about 13'x13'. It was neat and tidy, save for Morgan's desk in the corner, which was an absolute disaster, and had the feel of a comfortable, well-used space. There was a sturdy wooden table in the center of the room, a couple of chairs, a bench stocked with various tools, and about a half dozen shelves mounted on the wall that held all of Morgan's books and medicines.

"Sit right up here, and I'll set to work on that gash of yours," he said, patting the table. Medicine was something Morgan did very well, and despite his laid-back demeanor, he was a very efficient man. He promptly scrubbed his hands in the wash basin the corner, then wet a fresh cloth to clean out the gash. He gathered the needed mix of salves and ointments from a shelf, picked up a roll of gauze, and headed back to the table, setting his supplies on the weathered wood.

"Now then, let's have ourselves a look. Shirt off, please, Mr. Jones."

Bell smiled at the mention of a missus, not being the one to stay in one place long enough without getting bored or beating her sorry behind to the next week. Those that he actually liked didn't fancy his way of making a living and often left him before he could leave them.

'' The gals out here sure got some more bite then the ones back home I'll tell you that Doc'' He said and laughed as he walked into the office, sitting down and watching the doctor wash up and pick through his supply. The place itself wasn't all that fancy but it beat having one of his boys spittin' on the wound or try witchcraft on him. Bell took off his hat again and placed next to him, a habit he picked up as a boy watching all the clients remove their hats as soon as they came into the bordello. Hell, Bell saw himself as quite the well raised boy except for all the shooting, stabbing and hanging from bell towers.

'' You are too kind Doc, ain't seen a friendly soul for days wanderin' 'round the desert, no sir.'' He chuckled and watched the doctor finishing up and approaching him. He quickly took off his shirt as instructed and grunted as the wound made itself known again. He would never make the mistake again to be fooled be a wench's innocent attitude.

Bell was a talkative fellow, it seemed, happy to chat as Morgan gathered his needed supplies. Morgan wasn't a particularly chatty fellow himself, but he didn't mind small talk, and as human interaction was part of the job, he was content to listen to Bell rattle on about feisty women and how kind he was. Actually, it seemed to him "Mr. Jones" was laying on the charm a little too thick, but hey, better a friendly fellow with a gash than some drunken idiot who'd shot himself in the foot.

Morgan removed his hat and tossed it onto his messy desk before turning back to Bell, his eyes roving the man's bare chest, which bore marks from several other scuffles. But back to the task at hand. He quickly found the tie on the bandage and undid the knot, carefully unwinding the dirty, blood-soaked rag from around the outlaw's torso and laying it aside. The wound looked pretty nasty, red and inflamed. Bell said he'd been out in the desert for days, so who knew how long the wound had been festering under the dirty bandage.

"My, that's quite a gash you got there," he murmured, laying a gentle hand on the skin just to the right of the wound. It was surrounded by dried blood and oozing fresh blood now that the bandage was off, prohibiting Morgan from inspecting the severity of the cut. "Now I'm an honest man, Mr. Jones, and I'm gonna warn you that what I'm about to do is gonna hurt like hell. If you'd found a doctor a little sooner it might not have been so bad, but that cut's infected from the looks of it."

Morgan shook his head, picking up the wet rag and gently pressing it to the wound. He quickly cleaned away the dried, crusted blood and dirt and was able to stop the bleeding by applying light pressure. The wound finally clean, he was able to take a closer look at the gash. "Deeper than I thought. I'm afraid that's going to need stitches."

The doctor opened a bottle and poured a bit of the foul smelling liquid onto the wet rag, then pressed it back to the wound. "Stings like hell, but it'll help the healing." Laying the rag aside, he fetched his sewing tools and threaded a needle. "All I've got for the pain is whiskey and a bullet to bite. Not much else I can do, but it'll be over soon enough. Shouldn't take more than three or four stitches."

Bell clenched his jaw and murmured a swear as the doctor pressed his hands against the wound, which looked worse then he thought it would and infected nonetheless. What a pethetic end that would be to this outlaw: Death by saloon girl. That'd be some news. Bell had survived a bad childhood, a war and a life in the desert and what brought him down was that little Miss Daisy. He was janked out of his thoughts as he felt a stinging pain when the doctor put his hands to the wound.

'' You are man of your words Doc that did hurt like hell. I think I'll need a stiff drink and a cheeky gal after this'' He grunted and closed his eyes as the man kept inspected and poking at the deep cut. If the pain of having a wound crossing his chest wasn't enough now Crowe had to pour his salves into the mix, it felt like the devil himself was pissing in the gash and Bell once again clenched his jaw.

'' I'll take that whiskey if you wouldn't mind Doc, else you wanna' see me cry like a lil' baby.'' He said and took a deep breath as he tried to relax. Bell was used to pain, living a life of crime on the road he had hurt himself in more ways then people could imagine. But that being said it didn't make this cut hurt any less.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at the doctor's hands at work. He were skilled. Well it was hard for Bell to judge seeing as the closest thing his gang used to have as a doctor was Gordon the Stitcher who had been promoted do doctor after making good work on repairing chaps and shirts. The only good thing about good ol' Gordon had been his service with the Confederate Army back when and that he shared the same opinions about slaves as Bell, something told him the good doctor working on his cut was a Union boy, probably a veteran too. He promised himself not to ask, wasn't good to bring up political views with someone preparing to sew his chest shut.

Morgan nodded solemnly as Bell requested the whiskey, laying aside his tools momentarily to fetch the alcohol. He walked over to his desk, piled with papers and just about every odd and end you can think of. The desk was in chaos, but it was an organized chaos, at least in Morgan's eyes, and he knew exactly where the whiskey was. "Lucky you," said Morgan, producing a half-full bottle from the top desk drawer, "I just stocked up last week, so I'll give you what's left of this bottle."

He returned to the table and handed Bell the bottle, checking the needle again before ordering him to lie back. Taking a breath, Morgan started in on the wound, puncturing the skin and pushing the needle through. He worked quickly and with great skill, making neat little stitches across the gash. It would heal up quite nicely, he was sure of that, and as he tied off the thread he took a moment to admire his handiwork.

"Right then, all that's left is the ointment and the bandage, and I swear neither of those'll hurt a bit." He snipped off the extra thread and opened a small jar of ointment, spreading the clear mush in a thin layer across the cut. The bandage was next; a pad of cotton pressed over the wound followed by a length of cloth wrapped tight around Bell's chest.

"The stiches'll need to stay at least a couple weeks, but after that you'll be good as new. You'll have to be careful not to rip those stiches, though- they hurt twice as much going as out as they do going in. I hope any work you'll be doing won't be too...rough," he looked Bell right in the eye, a not-so-subtle hint that he was more than a little suspicious of the man.

Bell thanked him for the bottle with a grunt as he took it from the doctor's hand. He quickly took a deep sip before laying down. The strong drink made him ease up as the needle penetrated the skin and the thread pulled on it. Bell grunted and clenched his free hand as more and more of the wound was pulled together and stiched together. Bell didn't know if it was the booze, the pain or a mix of both but it only felt like he had time to blink untill the doctor was done and he sat up.

'' You are handy Doc an' I don' mind free firewater either '' He chuckled and took another swig at the bottle. He considered to save some for the boys out in the desert but decided not to. It wasn't enough to satisfy them all and he didn't need to lose more gunslingers thanks to their short temper. But he had promised them enough spirits to drown their sorrows and celebrate their success when they reached their destination, that would have to wait untill he was done with his errands.

He felt on the fresh bandage and smirked, looked a lot better then a dirty bloody rag covering his chest. Although deep in his own thoughts he didn't miss the remark about work and met the man's eyes with a cold gaze. He laughed and raised the bottle in an attempt to lighten up the mood. The bottle was placed on the table again and his now free hand wandered over to his shirt, he opened the right chest pocket and pulled out a neat bundle of bills and looked back to the man.

''What do I owe you Doc?'' He asked in a cheerful tone and finished with a bright smile. Even though the doctor seemed suspicous about him he couldn't help to like the man. He did his job and he did it well, something Bell valued in a man.

Morgan gave a terse nod in response to the compliment, tidying up his supplies and returning them to their proper places. He had a bad feeling about this one, but you didn't go around Splitcreek acting on hunches and bad feelings. And even if this Mr. Jones character was crooked, it wasn't his job to go around throwing people in jail. There were plenty of people to do that job- hell, there were even people who liked that job, but Morgan wasn't one of them. Or was he?

Not today he wasn't. He'd lived five years now as a respectable man, and he didn't need to muddy his hands with the scum of the west. No, he'd done just fine as a doctor, and a doctor he intended to stay. And the money wasn't too bad either, as he was now reminded. He watched Bell produce the fat wad of bills from his shirt pocket, surprised (and a little unnerved) by the large amount of cash. What kind of man did a bounty hunter have to catch to make that kind of money? Unless you were the one being hunted, in which case it was fairly easy to round up a gang of crooks and terrorize the growing towns, looting and robbing and gambling the days away.

But again, it wasn't his place to judge. Business was business...right? "Four dollars. I won't charge you for the whiskey," he said, giving a tight-lipped smile. Appearing perfectly friendly and affable, Morgan was only too eager to rid himself of the man. Something wasn't right, and he didn't want to get mixed up in it. "How long you planning to be in Splitcreek, Mr. Jones?" he asked casually, putting away the last of his things.

Bell nodded and handed over the four dollars and then proceeded to put the cash back in the pocket, he then put the shirt back on and buttoned it up. He stood up and stretch his back. It felt good to finally have that wound fixed up. Bell's hand moved to his hat and he placed it on his head while his eyes were fixed at the doctor. He remained like that for a moment before he went for the door, turning back to the doctor as he pushed it open.

'' You don't worry about me doc I ain't here looking for trouble. Thanks for the whiskey, I'll buy you a drink down at the saloon later if you fancy it. '' He smiled before walking out, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight after being inside the office for so long. For a moment he just stood there and looked at the town, the busy people hurrying down the street. People who unlike him did the same old thing every day. Same job, same home, same sleep. That life would be too dull for Bell.

He stopped outside of the old general store and once again saw a wanted poster dedicated to himself on the wall next to the door. He didn't pay much mind to it as he walked in and looked around. He needed rope, good rope. The cashier asked if he needed any help as Bell weighed a hammer in his hand. The cashier gave him a suspicious look and spit in a cup next to him. Hell you get a couple of scars and no one trusts you.

'' I'm just lookin' to buy some rope and a couple of cigars. '' Bell said and approach the counter. He gave the cashier a charming smile but he could tell the old man didn't like Bell's sort a bit. But the lust to make money was stronger then his morals as he began taking out the rope while Bell exhamined the different brands of cigars.

Bell paid for the rope and a box of cigarrs which he put in a bag just before the all too familiar sound of a gun going off reached his ears. He thanked the cashier and wished him a good day, the man responding with a grunt followed by '' Damn outsiders'' which Bell only waved off with another smile. He stepped out onto the streets again and spotted the good doctor hurrying off to some poor fella lying on the dusty road. He rested his back against the shop's wall and called out.

'' Told you Doc! You didn't need to worry 'bout me!'' He yelled and gave the frantic doctor an evil grin before he began walking down the street again. He wasn't surprised that someone got shot, people tend to shoot rather then talk out here. But that the man was shot point blank in broad daylight cought him off guard. But who was he to judge? Hell who didn't prefer shooting during the day?

The thundering sound of a group of horses yanked the man out from his thoughts and soon he saw the dustcloud at the edge of town. The group of men, looked like miners stopped infront of the place Bell was heading to. The armory. They were lead by someone who looked like a child to Bell untill he came close enough to hear his voice and see his face. The man was clearly angry and he shouted like the ol' devil was poking him in the back. Bell didn't feel like squeezing himself into the big sweaty crowd of miners and decided to wait untill whatever the man had gotten what he wanted. He sat down on a bench not too far from the armory and took a sip from his free whiskey while his eyes gazed over the street and the people on it. The dust began to settle after the miners burst into town and he could see several angry glares at the group of men who had caused such a stir.

Bell remained sitting on the bench and watched the chaos unfold. An angry mob, bodies on the street and now a man riding into town with a girl tied and hanging over his horse. Bell doubted it was the sheriff that came riding down the dusty street. He doubted there even was a sheriff in this dirty little town, all the better for him and the crew. Speaking of which, he should probably get back to them and see if they managed to get the camp up without getting someone killed. He got up and put the bottle of whiskey back into the bag and got up. He heard a thud and a grunt and looked to where the sound came from only to find the hogtied prisoner on the lawdog's horse on the ground trying to free herself. He made his way over to her with a few quick steps and looked down at her struggling to cut off the last rope with her knife.

'' I reckon you ain't waiting for your trial Missy?'' He asked and grinned, kneeling down. This town needed some better lawdogs, hell the poor man over by the miners seemed to be the only one trying to enforce the law. Which made attempts of escape like this dusty girl on the ground possible. She was sawing away with her little knife and it wasn't going that fast. Luckily for her Bell felt generous today and he pulled out his knife from his boot with one fluid motion and quickly cut the ropes off, the knife was gone before any housewife who had nothing better to do then mind other people's business could blame him for helping a convict.

He got up and dusted his chaps off. He flashed her a bright smile and touched the edge of his hat.

'' You play nice now Missy and run off before you find yourself hogtied again you hear?'' He said and dragged her up on her feet. He left without waiting for her response and began walking to the saloon. No time for drinks or a game of cards. He was just getting his trusty stallion The Colonel from outside the saloon before he headed off into the the wild to meet his crew.

Kate cringed as she heard the crunch of boots on the rocky road, certain she was done for. The knife in her hands was perfectly useless as a weapon, but she pointed it towards the sound all the same, ready to drive what was essentially a 2 inch butter knife into the chest of whoever was coming for her. If she escaped this, she really would have to get herself a better blade. She used to have a real nice one, big and sharp and all engraved in silver, but she'd lost it gambling, and she hadn't had time to procure a proper replacement.

The owner of the foot steps finally came into view and knelt beside her, flashing a bright smile. Well, wasn't he a charmer, making jokes and coming to her rescue? Kate disliked him on sight. But then, it didn't really matter if she liked him, so long as he had a proper knife, and he did. Her pride was injured (it was a little embarrassing for the famed outlaw to be caught in her current position), but not nearly so bad as her shoulder, which ached something awful from her tumble off Gale, not to mention the marshal's tackle. The mystery man made quick work of what was left of the ropes, cutting them away in one swift motion, and before she could protest he'd hauled her to her feet.

She felt the color rise to her cheeks as he spoke to her in his condescending way, but she wasn't really in a position to tell him off, especially with the marshal just a few feet away. But "play nice now, Missy"? Really? "It's Kate," she muttered, but stopped herself there. Wasn't any reason to go calling attention to herself just because this low life thought he was some kind of hero. She bit her tongue, situated her black Stetson on her head, and graced him with her sweetest of smiles (which, because she was who she was, wasn't all that sweet). Perhaps thanks were in order, but manners weren't really Kate's forte, and she didn't have time to exchange formalities. She had a horse to collect, a robbery to plan, and an outlaw to find.

He was on his way before she got out a word, which was just fine by her. With a final glance over her shoulder, Kate disappeared down an alley and out of sight.

Bell walked over to the saloon and his old four legged companion The Colonel. He patted the grey stallion on it's head before untying him and mounted up. He rode out of the town heading west for no man's land. The camp, his camp was located south of Splitcreek but if he had someone following him he'd try to lose them or lure them far away from town and put a bullet or two in their skull. He put his spurs into The Colonel's side and the horse picked up the pace, leaving a trail of dust behind them. When he couldn't see the little town anymore he'd turn south and head for the camp. Hopefully the gang was done setting it up and posting out guards.

He had gone south for a while and was now following the the river from the plateu. Lucky for him and his men he'd found the perfect spot for a camp. The river was impossible to get down to from this side, which was facing town if you went straight north. Only way down was further down where a slope made it possible to get down and follow the riverbank to the camp. The camp itself had been placed under a large cliff that protruded from the rest of the rock and kept it safe from people above it. Well they could probably notice a camp if they were looking for it but they wouldn't be able to toss something nasty down. Bell could the last time he chose a too open spot for the camp. The god damned lawdogs had fired down upon them and poured tar which they later sat on fire, killing about 7 of his men before they could escape. This camp would do for now but he was really looking for a place to fortify into a fort or something along those lines.

Suddenly he felt The Colonel yank and almost throw him off as a shot was fired that hit right beside him. Bell quickly pulled his revolver from his holster and looked for gunsmoke.

'' You are shootin' at your own boss you inbred! '' He roared and fired back at the rocks where he could see a small trail of smoke. He had taught his boys well about hiding and putting out guards to avoid having unwanted visitors. But some of them were a little too triggerhappy. His thumb pulled back the hammer and his finger was ready to pull the trigger.

'' Ma' bad boss!'' The voice was too familiar, Willy Gunsmoke. That mad shot first then asked the questions and then shot again. Who the hell put that man on guard duty? He could see the blonde head pop up from behind the rocks with both of his hands in the air. Bell put the six shooter back in it's holster and gave The Colonel a slap on the bum as he pulled the reigns to get him back on track.

'' Next time you better pray to god that you don' miss you fool '' Bell grunted and dismounted by the rocks. He gave Willy a smack over the head who knew better then to fight back. Bell looked at the rifle resting against the rocks and as his eyes looked over Willy's hiding spot. He noticed the lack of enough spare ammo for someone who was the camp's sentry. They needed new guns and ammo for them badly. The problem with running a crew with around 20 men was that arming them all was tricky. They were lucky if they could steal it from others but those people rarely kept enough ammo for the camp and thus it would always end up with them spending money on getting more. This was a problem Bell would have to sort out soon less they would have to resort to robbing people with mean words.

'' The camp.. Is it done?'' Bell asked without looking at Willy. He got a quiet ''Yes Boss'' in response as Willy slowly reached for his rifle. Careful not to do anything to anger his boss more. Nobody liked being shot at and certainly not by your own gang that was something Willy was aware of. Bell looked up and smiled at him, put his hand on Willy's shoulder and handed hima cigar. Though stupid and with a itchy trigger finger Willy was one of is closest men and Bell was glad to have his skill on his side and since Willy had run out of cigars last week it wasn't more then fair that Bell gave up one of his own. Willy's grin was almost splitting his face and he quickly put the cigar between his lips and lit it as Bell walked off with his horse behind him.

That man would smoke gunpowder if he had to. Bell thought to himself as he began wandering by the river, this time keeping an eye out for anymore nasty surprises. He could see a fire burning and the laughter of his gang as he approach the camp. He knew he'd been noticed as a young boy came running to take the horse for him. He recognized the redheaded former son of a farmer Abraham Possner, their latest recruit. For now the young boy was stuck with camp duties untill someone wanted a meatshield or a man to do his dirtywork.

Abraham had been a lowlife thief and troublemaker back in Bullhorn when The Bell Gang came and Bell himself had noticed the boy's skill when he had tried to pick the outlaw's pocket. Which had ended with a beating and Bell threatening to cut the theif's hand off. Poor Abraham scared to death offered his services to the outlaw and his gang and after helping them get into the General Store during the night with a stolen key he was ''asked'' to join the gang hoping to become a gunslinger like them. The gang had other plans for him and he found himself cleaning and cooking for the others.

'' Welcome back Boss '' Abraham said and offered Bell his good old duster and real hat. Bell took them from him with a smile and placed the hat he had borrowed on the boy's head and went into the camp. Most of the gang sat around the fire with big smiles and looked proud. Before Bell could even ask what they why they were looking like fools they dragged a beaten and tied black man to Bell and threw him on the ground. Most of Bell's gang shared his opinions about black people and not a single member had ever been black.

'' Y'all captured one man and you smile like you just captured the president?'' Bell asked as he put his duster back on. If this was another lowly bounty hunter or a drunk he would throw him and the one who captured him in the river. It was One-Eye who spoke up.

'' This slave boy right here is Bill. He works in one of the mines down by Splitcreek. He was so kind and told us that he had stolen from his boss and blew up the mine he worked in. A certain Mr Jan Hass. '' One-Eye said and kicked the already beaten man in the side. Now this was interesting to Bell. Maybe that was why all those miners came into town. Bell gave his old companion a approving nod and motioned for him to continue with his hand. One-Eye grabbed a bag behind him and handed it over to Bell who opened it. Bell couldn't help put laugh. There was gold in here. Pure gold! He chewed on his bottom lip as he handed it over to One-Eye who looked as proud as ever.

'' That some fine work right there boys! Who got him?'' Bell called out and looked over his men. They all pointed Lucky Leon who stod up and walked over to his boss. He was relatively new and didn't know if he should be bragging or just remain quiet. He brushed his hair out of his face and waited for Bell to say something. But Bell didn't say anything, he just handed him the bottle of whiskey and a cigar. Lucky Leon thanked his boss for the gifts and shakily took the bottle and uncorked it.

'' This here is some fine work boys! This is going to get you drunk for years!'' Bell roared and watched his gang cheer and congratulate Lucky Leon once again. Bell made his way to the place closest to the rock wall, it was as instructed prepared for him and sat down by a torch. That gold would come in handy, but he couldn't just walk in somewhere and trade in that amount of gold without people asking questions. Perhaps that Jan Hass would be willing to make a deal to get his gold back. Today was a great day.

Bell didn't know how long he'd been sleeping but the cries of a man in serious pain yanked him out of a pleasent dream involving some fine ladies and a house of his own. He rubbed his eyes and got up, stretching his arms and back. For a moment laughter blocked out the scream and that's when Bell realized what was going on. He couldn't help but to grin as he walked into the middle of their camp by the fireplace. Good old Cliff Baker were giving their captive the beating of a lifetime. The sound of a whip hitting against skin followed by another cry confirmed Baker's good job.

'' Y'all having fun?'' Bell asked and pulled a dirty hand through his hair. Baker froze and the crew all quiet down when Bell spoke. If the prisoner could manage to speak he'd probably thank Bell right now, though he'd regret it later.

'' We's just showin' the slave boy who's the boss out here Boss.'' Baker said and stepped forward, handing the whip to Bell who smiled and took it from his hand. Bell landed a few quick lashes on the man on the ground before finishing with a kick to the face. Even though he could see himself beating the man senseless he was more of use to them alive. He spoke up as he handed the whip back to his trusted comrade.

'' Y'all just make sure he ain't dying on us alright?'' He said and left the men to their games as he walked back to his place and sat down on saddle that like most of the saddles the gang dragged with them was used as chairs since they lacked enough horses for the whole gang. Thanks to that damned Sheriff Grant and his way of taking out their horses to stop their escape. Bell made sure to return the favor by putting a bullet in the man's knee and leaving him out in the desert. He picked up some paper and a pencil. Since he would make sure the prisoner wouldn't be able to talk when they were done with him he felt that he'd have to write his requests to the owner of the gold. He placed a cigar between his lips and lit it. It tasted sweet and with a sigh he began to write.

To Mr. Jan Hass
It has come to my notice that I am in possession of a quite large amount of gold.
You see I am the kind of man who can't walk into a town and exchange an amount as large as this.
But I won't give it back for free. Like yourself I'm a businessman and I hope we can make some kind of deal.
I am in need of a few easy to get items for a man like yourself. But hard to get for someone like me.
What I need is the following:

15 bottles of whiskey or anything with the same sting.
3 kegs of beer.
Ammunition for colt six-shooters and Winchester rifles.
3 cartons of cigarettes

Your former worker has informed me that you are good for it. Don't try to bargain with me.
You'll come alone to Buzzard's Bluff, real charming place I hear with the goods I asked for.
My men will wait for you there and when they can verify that you ain't trying to cheat us
they will reveal the location of your gold. If they die, I will know and we will hunt your german
ass down and hang you from your balls, excuse my language .

Regards R.J Bell

He was pleased with the results. Although it took him some time to make it right as the balls of crumpled paper on the ground next to him proved. The men had since long grown tired of beating the poor soul and left him there to find something else to do, probably beating on each other for a change. He carefully folded the letter and placed it amongst the many bills on his chest pocket. He really deserved this cigar.

Bell had sent had ordered his trusted second in command Cliff Baker to take Lucky Leon and Freddy Williams with him on an errand to Splitcreek. Despite his seize and brains Cliff was quite the rider when he wanted to and he would be the one in charge of getting poor Bill into town. The thought of a black man riding one of Bell's horses didn't appeal to him and he told Baker to simply drag him behind the horse to town.

The note had been put in an envelope addressed to Jan Hass and had been sewn to Bill's shirt and Bell had made it very clear that if the envelope got ripped off or simply made unreadable they shouldn't bother coming back and just head for the wilderness. The man had been armed well with a rifle and revolver each. Their faces were covered by handkerchiefs and their hats were pulled low.

Baker had almost forgot rule number one of letting a prisoner go: Cutting off the tongue and poking out their eyes. Wouldn't want them to show anyone the way back. Bell had to admit that Baker didn't use a knife well when he was in a hurry and the prisoners face had gashes all over. Not that Bell cared about that but it would sting like hell being dragged through the sand.

'' Y'all stay safe now ya' here? No trips to the whorehouse.. Lookin' at you Williams!'' Bell yelled and slapped the back of Baker's horse sending it into a light sprint. The others was quick to fall in behind and took off. He watched the three disappear over the horizon and walked back down to camp where the others had gone back to doing nothing as usual. He could see Jenkins and a few others playing cards while Lefthook Brown and Benjamin Jefferson tumbling around on the ground with a small crowd cheering on. Ain't this the life.

Cliff Baker, Splitcreek

He had slowed down as he and the men reached the outskirts of town and turned to Leon and Williams while making sure the handkerchief wasn't on it's way down.

'' Aight' let's do this boys. Follow me!'' He roared and fired his rifle into the air as he and his followers got their horses to sprint into town. Baker sent a couple more shots into the air and roared as they came down mainstreet awfully fast. When they passed what Baker identified as the saloon that german man owned he pulled his knife and quickly cut the rope that dragged Bill and while Leon and Williams started to shoot in the air and take off into different directions Baker spoke up.

'' We gut' a message to Mista' Hass!'' He yelled and sent another round into the air before taking off into the desert again. Baker could still here Williams and Leon firing into the air and shouting in another part of town. Although it didn't make sense to the thick brute why they all were going to ride into different directions when they left town he was sure Bell had his reasons.

Freddy Williams

Williams was the only one that had decided that he didn't care what Bell said, he wasn't leaving town untill he had gotten himself a treat. So when the other two were causing chaos Williams had been quick to hide his horse behind a shack and opened the saddlebag which contained a brown duster and put on another hat, he put the old hat and the handkerchief in the saddlebag together with the rifle but he kept the revolver just incase he would find some trouble. He didn't really have a plan for what he wanted to do. But he wanted to DO something. Taking a step out into the street he felt mighty proud of himself.

Freddy Williams

He walked down the street feeling mighty proud of himself. Williams wanted a stiff drink and a girl in his lap but as he spotted the saloon and the beaten man on the ground that he and the others had pulled into town. Perhaps he should wait untill the crowd had lost interest and the law had gone back to their business. But something caught his eye. One of them saloon girls was outside resting her back against the wall. Williams took a few quick steps and approached her with an evil grin.

''Howdy there M'am.. Fine day ain't it?'' He said and scratched his chin covered by a thick scruffy beard. His other hand were placed on the revolver on his hip and his eyes were all over her body. Freddy Williams was known to be very hard on women even by The Bell Gang's standards for reasons unknown to others, not that they cared how he treated women. He leaned in closer to her and his breath smelled of whiskey and tobacco as he exhaled.