Snippet #2005818

"Sprich nicht mit mir, du verrückter Mann!" Jan growled in response to the foolish hermit. If it was any other day he would have thrown a flurry of insults at the kleine Scheißer, but he did not have the time or the patince today. What he had was a pulse pounding headache that shook his body with every heartbeat from last nights events, and a mountain of work to contend with. So long story short, he was not in the mood to argue or fight with any of these yokels today. That would have to wait till tonight at the card table.

Morgan thanked the bartender, stood up, and wandered out of the cool aired bar into the scorching hot desert only to be replaced by another lone wandering customer. It dawned on Jan for the first time that he should do the same, as he had work to do.

Sauntering out from the shaded bar filled with the melody of some slag trying to work the piano, Jan ventured out into the sunburnt and arid desert. The gunfight had long left this part of the small mining and goldpaning town an eerie tone of quiet, though you could still hear yelling and the thuds of hoofs beating the bone dry sand in the distance. The cowgirl stood slack jawed in the middle of the substitute road, forlorn by the yearning to be involved in such excitement.

Unhitching one of his privately owned horses and hopping on (after much climbing and effort) he speed off toward Stanleys point.