Snippet #917652

The mysterious man leaped out without giving him an answer. Poor boy must've been spooked, he figured; so caught up in the moment that one forgets even the most basic of things. Frank shook his head disparagingly as he heard a mad fusilade kick up on the street, his old ears catching thick swooshes as the bullets passed by. He was busy inspecting his LeMats at the time of the cavalry charge, ensuring the shotgun nocks were not in gear and that he had full loads on both barrels. As soon as he saw the military men tromp by, however, his mind cleared, and he casually began walking out into the street, one LeMat tucked away in its holster and the other one's action open. Frank removed the empty brass 16-gauge shotgun cartridge from the barrel and dropped it in his pants pocket, dropping in a fresh one with no mind being paid to the maneuvers of the mounted men in blue. Frank closed up the action and began walking back toward the candy shop.

As he holstered his other LeMat, he wondered if he had done any damage to Lee's Peacemakers when he threw them down. They were nice weapons, and he didn't want to be responsible for breaking something that wasn't his. As he approached the corner, his eyes quickly spotted the two areas where the pistols were. The sun reflected off of their nickel finishes, and as he picked the first one up, he inspected the side it landed on for scratches or any unseating of the cylinder. It did indeed lose its pristine condition, a slight blemish blushing out from where it slammed into the side of the candy shop. He approached the other one, opening the shell gate and thumbing the hammer to half-cock and began ejecting the shells from the cylinder. He closed the gate, tucked it away, picked up the other one, and noticed a gigantic scratch on the side where it landed on a rock. He sighed heavily before repeating the process of removing the shells, and tucked the second one away right next to the first.

As he walked back out toward the street, the first thing he noticed was the bodies. There were plenty of them; Jakal Flats had seen its first real action in years. This was a damn kid's novel compared to Petersburg. Plenty of the townsfolk had come out to celebrate the victory, shaking hands with and personally thanking the cavalrymen who deployed at the end of the action. Frank didn't give a damn who got the glory for it, but these frontier guardsmen, they didn't know jack shit about combat. Frank's contempt was plastered across his face as he retrieved his Remington revolver and slowly began ejecting the shells from it, too. Once it was empty, he tucked it behind him and pulled his coat back over his shoulders, Tornado having stayed completely calm the entire time. As he packed away what he needed to pack away, he patted Tornado gently and whispered in his ear.

"Yeah, you and me, boy. We know it's no damn accomplishment, don't we? Hell, a child with a stick coulda run them bandits out the way them guys did. I'll betcha a round of beers that this is the first time they seen some real stuff. I'll betcha another round they never been shot at in their whole lives. But it's alright, bud; they can have some time for themselves. We had ours and we don't need no more, eh?"

Tornado whinnied. Frank grinned wide and patted him a few more times before walking back toward the way he came, hoping to spot Lee. Eventually, he did; he approached her and patted her gently on the back before he took her Peacemakers from his belt.

"Well, girl, I've got good news and bad news: good news is that these pistols have seen real combat and killed real men. Bad news is that they show it," He revealed the damage on her pistols. "These is straight-shooters, little lady. You keep practicing and you'll be just fine."

He tucked them away in her holsters the way he had taken them, and looked back at her.

"I've gotta go see a man about my rifle." He began to walk away, but then he turned back quickly and got close to her ear, whispering to her just as he did to Tornado. "Don't feed these cavalrymen's egos too much; they're already full of shit, they don't need anything on top of it."

He turned back around and began walking toward where he last saw the mysterious victim, the man who had been shot at in the firstplace. He was being tended to by a girl named Crystal, supervised by the possible ringleader of the cavalry. He had chevrons on his shoulders that indicated he was a lieutenant of some sort, but it wasn't clear what. A Gatling gun had deployed at the end of the street, and he could tell the men hadn't skimped on their drill. He stepped between the lieutenant and the mysterious man, grabbing ahold of his Evans rifle.

"'scuse me, pard," Frank then reached onto the man and pulled the bandolier off his body, either dead or sleeping, and threw both items over his own torso. He stood back up and looked at the lieutenant, unimpressed eyes scanning his general appearance; he was just a kid. Damn kids didn't know nothing. Suddenly, habit took over, and Frank retrieved an empty .45 shell from his pocket and put it in his mouth, chewing on it without thought of judgment. "You the honcho here, sport?"