Snippet #2006076

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."