Snippet #2691627

Shortly after the others had settled into their seats at the Silver Spur, the doors swung open for the town sheriff. He stood out compared to the road-worn visitors who sat at the bar, sharp-eyed as he was, bathed, with a trimmed beard, and wearing a clean, pressed suit. He was all in black, but for a white shirt and cravat which were tucked underneath his vest. He strode up to the bar in polished shoes and took a seat a few stools down from the other patrons, where he had a good view of the main entrance. He unbuttoned his jacket as he shifted to get comfortable on the stool, revealing, pinned to his vest, the silver star which was his badge of office; his revolver rested not far below it, in a leather holster on his hip.

He took off his bowler hat, setting it on the surface before him. His brown hair was long, but tied loose in a knot behind his head. He got the barkeeper's attention with a raised hand. “Breakfast for these fellows,” he said, pulling a half-dollar coin out of a vest pocket and placing it on the bar, “if they haven’t already had it.” He offered a knowing nod towards the doctor, along with a brief flash of a comforting smile. “I’ll have some, as well. And coffee, please. Too early for anything else.”

Image was important, Clif knew. It was part of the job, being a spark of hope in an otherwise grim existence. No matter how cynical he’s felt at times, he’s always believed there’s no harm in paying it forward, especially towards someone who might save his life one day. “You look like you’ve seen a lot of shit this morning already,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Have to keep that energy up, for your sake.”