Snippet #909212

Remember, your ma wouldn't want you to die like this....

Hungarian half-bred hooves thundered across the plains in a desparate flight of survival. The rubble, dirt, and vegetation parted from the powerful steed like a splitting wave. The rider atop the mount turned behind him to gaze upon the great clouds of dust that lay in the aftermath of the horse's stampede, only to curse alout when the forms of a dozen or so mounted men appeared like demons from the clouds, their guns reflecting visciously in the bright sun.

His chasers were all garbed in the standard confederate infantry apparrel, strange for 1879. The civil war had been over for about fourteen years so why were these men adorned in such outfits?

Coast had been patrolling the New Mexico territories in the aftermath of the Civil War, bands upon bands of former Confederate soldiers were still sore 'bout the defeat by the Union. They weren't happy to accept expansionist claims, and sure as hell weren't happy to see their way of life drastically change. So the more violent bands went across the land, terrorizing those either returning home from Union lines or harassing those who were either accepting of change, or accepting of the abolition of slavery.

During the war, Coast had served in a gang known as the "Dam". Initially their agenda consisted of only preventing the war from reaching the New Mexico Territories, so they would engage both Union & Confederate ranks, supply lines, diplomatics, ect. Obviously they would fail in their agenda, as some skirmishes did eventually break out between the two opposing armies. Still however the Dam were feared, and they kept thousands upon thousands of sons from going to war to lose their lives.

The time of the dam was long gone however, for at the end of the war the surviving members went their separate ways to start a new life in their changing world. However Coast had grown up to be a man with the Dam, and hunting was all that he knew. So he wandered the land, dealing justice to those sore Confederates in any ways could. While violence was never his initial means of doing so, most of his encounteres eventually unded up in bloodshed.

Such was the case with these dozen men now chasing after him. Coast had found a meeting of former confederate soldiers trying to rally themselves to "take their lands back from the Yanks". When verbal democracy had failed, he decided to end thier little meeting with a more effective means...

TNT.

So they were pissed, and had tailed him for about 10 miles in the open wilderness. They were riding hard, firing with thier pistols and rifles. It was through sheer skill that Coast was able to maneuver his mount to dodge the incoming fire. Still however he could hear their bullets fly by him, and could even see explosions of dust arise from the ground where some shells landed.

"Come on Whiskey!" he yelled as he snapped on the reigns. The horse neighed boisterously and went even faster, giving Coast enough space to wrap both sets of fingers around the beautiful ebony handles of a pair of Remington .44 revolvers resting eagerly in their holsters. His pursuers fanned out at the sight of his guns now drawn. Both hands went back and forth like pistons as he let the fire fly! Three loud explosions sounded, the first two shots missing their marks but the third bullet visciously entered the abdomen of a pursuer who had inched a little ahead of the rest. He tumbled off his mount, rolling violently on the ground as his horse fled in terror.

The others continued their chase, Coast only had one more chance to fire before his horse made a sharp turn, missing a large cactus which nearly threw Coast from off his mount. "God Damnit!" He yelled as one of his revolvers was sacrificed so that his hand could desperately hold onto the reign. He quickly holstered the other and came thundered across the summit of a hill, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

There was a town! And it didn't seem to be that much farther away! Coast snapped on the reigns once more, kicking the sides to make Whiskey fly like he never has before. His pursuers continued to fire, but Coast had managed to make it to the city.

However they still continued their pursuit!

Suprisingly, Coast felt a surge of heat from his right arm, a bullet had shot a chunk of flesh from his tricep which made him howl in pain. It hurt like hell and jumping from his mount to come to a rolling stop didn't help the matter any. His duster revealed the wound to not be too deep, however his blood still stained the ground that he landed on. Coast desperately searched for a place to take cover, and quickly ran behind a nearby blacksmithing station. He prayed that his horse kept on going, he'd be mad as hell if they brought whiskey down...

The eleven men entered the town. Their rifles, shotguns, and pistols at the ready as they threw out their challenges to their quarry. "C'mon out boy!" One of them shouted. "You hidin ain't gonna make it any less hotter for ya in hell boy!".

Coast peered around the corner of the building, training his gun on the man who called him out. His revolver fired true, the echo of the explosion prologuing the man falling down to his knees, a large bullet hole erupting from his clavicle.

"Kill that sumbitch!" He cried as his men opened fire.

The firefight in Jackal Flats had begun.