Setting
Unfortunately, the growing population has caused problems. The wealth of the town has attracted some less than desirable characters, and with law and order in short supply, things are getting out of hand. Some people have taken to calling the town "Bloodcreek" as a result of the recent violence.
The threat of cowboys and outlaws, however, has not deterred business men looking to turn a profit. Hotels, banks, general stores and the like seem to be cropping up every day, and Splitcreek is on itās way to becoming a big city. For now, though, the town consists of one main street lined with saloons, hotels, a post office, speciality shops (saddler, silversmith, etc), and other small businesses.
As with any good olā Wild West town, Splitcreek has an impressive number of saloons, most of them open all day and night. The most popular, though, is the Silver Spur Saloon, an establishment with the perfect mix of wealthy clientele, friendly barkeep, lots of betting, good liquor, and of course, rowdy bar fights.
The wide main street of Splitcreek is where most of the action takes place. Shoot outs, bar fights too rowdy to be kept inside, and the hustle and bustle of the town all happen here.
'' The gals out here sure got some more bite then the ones back home I'll tell you that Doc'' He said and laughed as he walked into the office, sitting down and watching the doctor wash up and pick through his supply. The place itself wasn't all that fancy but it beat having one of his boys spittin' on the wound or try witchcraft on him. Bell took off his hat again and placed next to him, a habit he picked up as a boy watching all the clients remove their hats as soon as they came into the bordello. Hell, Bell saw himself as quite the well raised boy except for all the shooting, stabbing and hanging from bell towers.
'' You are too kind Doc, ain't seen a friendly soul for days wanderin' 'round the desert, no sir.'' He chuckled and watched the doctor finishing up and approaching him. He quickly took off his shirt as instructed and grunted as the wound made itself known again. He would never make the mistake again to be fooled be a wench's innocent attitude.
Morgan removed his hat and tossed it onto his messy desk before turning back to Bell, his eyes roving the man's bare chest, which bore marks from several other scuffles. But back to the task at hand. He quickly found the tie on the bandage and undid the knot, carefully unwinding the dirty, blood-soaked rag from around the outlaw's torso and laying it aside. The wound looked pretty nasty, red and inflamed. Bell said he'd been out in the desert for days, so who knew how long the wound had been festering under the dirty bandage.
"My, that's quite a gash you got there," he murmured, laying a gentle hand on the skin just to the right of the wound. It was surrounded by dried blood and oozing fresh blood now that the bandage was off, prohibiting Morgan from inspecting the severity of the cut. "Now I'm an honest man, Mr. Jones, and I'm gonna warn you that what I'm about to do is gonna hurt like hell. If you'd found a doctor a little sooner it might not have been so bad, but that cut's infected from the looks of it."
Morgan shook his head, picking up the wet rag and gently pressing it to the wound. He quickly cleaned away the dried, crusted blood and dirt and was able to stop the bleeding by applying light pressure. The wound finally clean, he was able to take a closer look at the gash. "Deeper than I thought. I'm afraid that's going to need stitches."
The doctor opened a bottle and poured a bit of the foul smelling liquid onto the wet rag, then pressed it back to the wound. "Stings like hell, but it'll help the healing." Laying the rag aside, he fetched his sewing tools and threaded a needle. "All I've got for the pain is whiskey and a bullet to bite. Not much else I can do, but it'll be over soon enough. Shouldn't take more than three or four stitches."
'' You are man of your words Doc that did hurt like hell. I think I'll need a stiff drink and a cheeky gal after this'' He grunted and closed his eyes as the man kept inspected and poking at the deep cut. If the pain of having a wound crossing his chest wasn't enough now Crowe had to pour his salves into the mix, it felt like the devil himself was pissing in the gash and Bell once again clenched his jaw.
'' I'll take that whiskey if you wouldn't mind Doc, else you wanna' see me cry like a lil' baby.'' He said and took a deep breath as he tried to relax. Bell was used to pain, living a life of crime on the road he had hurt himself in more ways then people could imagine. But that being said it didn't make this cut hurt any less.
He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at the doctor's hands at work. He were skilled. Well it was hard for Bell to judge seeing as the closest thing his gang used to have as a doctor was Gordon the Stitcher who had been promoted do doctor after making good work on repairing chaps and shirts. The only good thing about good ol' Gordon had been his service with the Confederate Army back when and that he shared the same opinions about slaves as Bell, something told him the good doctor working on his cut was a Union boy, probably a veteran too. He promised himself not to ask, wasn't good to bring up political views with someone preparing to sew his chest shut.
He returned to the table and handed Bell the bottle, checking the needle again before ordering him to lie back. Taking a breath, Morgan started in on the wound, puncturing the skin and pushing the needle through. He worked quickly and with great skill, making neat little stitches across the gash. It would heal up quite nicely, he was sure of that, and as he tied off the thread he took a moment to admire his handiwork.
"Right then, all that's left is the ointment and the bandage, and I swear neither of those'll hurt a bit." He snipped off the extra thread and opened a small jar of ointment, spreading the clear mush in a thin layer across the cut. The bandage was next; a pad of cotton pressed over the wound followed by a length of cloth wrapped tight around Bell's chest.
"The stiches'll need to stay at least a couple weeks, but after that you'll be good as new. You'll have to be careful not to rip those stiches, though- they hurt twice as much going as out as they do going in. I hope any work you'll be doing won't be too...rough," he looked Bell right in the eye, a not-so-subtle hint that he was more than a little suspicious of the man.
'' You are handy Doc an' I don' mind free firewater either '' He chuckled and took another swig at the bottle. He considered to save some for the boys out in the desert but decided not to. It wasn't enough to satisfy them all and he didn't need to lose more gunslingers thanks to their short temper. But he had promised them enough spirits to drown their sorrows and celebrate their success when they reached their destination, that would have to wait untill he was done with his errands.
He felt on the fresh bandage and smirked, looked a lot better then a dirty bloody rag covering his chest. Although deep in his own thoughts he didn't miss the remark about work and met the man's eyes with a cold gaze. He laughed and raised the bottle in an attempt to lighten up the mood. The bottle was placed on the table again and his now free hand wandered over to his shirt, he opened the right chest pocket and pulled out a neat bundle of bills and looked back to the man.
''What do I owe you Doc?'' He asked in a cheerful tone and finished with a bright smile. Even though the doctor seemed suspicous about him he couldn't help to like the man. He did his job and he did it well, something Bell valued in a man.
Those memories were none that were good. It brought an unwarranted chill to his bones as he shook, recalling the chilling, yet enjoying last moment as the convict tried to run, but was then given a slug to the back. It made him happy and bitter at the same time. That's one of the reasons something like bounty hunting was unforgiving, one must be required to steel your soul.
Getting up from the table he wandered to the bartender and gave him a few coins. "Thanks for the welcome beer, I hope to stay here awhile and help this town grow." He said in a kind, yet travel weary voice as he wandered to the doors and walked out. He looked about the town looking for the Sheriff's office. He wanted to introduce himself and make known to him that his services were available as a possible deputy.
If that didn't work, well, he'd have to figure out if he had to find a job in the town to fall back on or he came to this town for nothing. He sighed to himself in frustration as he wandered to the fence railing to lean on it. He looked at his horse who was drinking from the water. "I know boy, I know you're tired. We'll find a place to sleep soon. Trust me." He said to the horse as if he was trying to tell him wordlessly that, 'Well, we're here, but now what?'
Not today he wasn't. He'd lived five years now as a respectable man, and he didn't need to muddy his hands with the scum of the west. No, he'd done just fine as a doctor, and a doctor he intended to stay. And the money wasn't too bad either, as he was now reminded. He watched Bell produce the fat wad of bills from his shirt pocket, surprised (and a little unnerved) by the large amount of cash. What kind of man did a bounty hunter have to catch to make that kind of money? Unless you were the one being hunted, in which case it was fairly easy to round up a gang of crooks and terrorize the growing towns, looting and robbing and gambling the days away.
But again, it wasn't his place to judge. Business was business...right? "Four dollars. I won't charge you for the whiskey," he said, giving a tight-lipped smile. Appearing perfectly friendly and affable, Morgan was only too eager to rid himself of the man. Something wasn't right, and he didn't want to get mixed up in it. "How long you planning to be in Splitcreek, Mr. Jones?" he asked casually, putting away the last of his things.
Bonnie smiled brightly as she walked through the grassy school yard back towards the town, she could not put into words how happy she was here, although she did have apprehensions about travelling out West but the fresh start was proving to be a good move, she enjoyed this ever growing dusty town, their was never a quiet day and it was a challenge, she like a challenge.Ā
Stepping out onto the the dirt road, she suddenly jumped back as a man galloped wildly across her path, dropping her books in the process she shook her head, although she loved the town, the inhabitants were another story. "Wonderful" she drawled in her soft southern voice as she bent down to pick up the books she had dropped. Standing up she dusted off her maroon coloured skirt and continued over the road at a quicker pace. Stepping up onto the boardwalk she walked over to the saloon where she would hopefully have a quiet drink and something to eat, although when was anything quiet around Splitcreek.Ā
As she reached the saloon she noticed a new face standing outside looking over towards the sheriffs office "is everything okay?" Bonnie asked the stranger with her usual large smile and happy demeanour.
She was dressed in a demure blue cotton dress that matched her eyes, though failed to hide her occupation. No matter how conservatively she might dress outside the Silver Spur, it seemed that everyone in town could tell which girls worked where, especially the women. It didnāt really matter that she was a saloon girl and not a prostitute (they happened to work out of the parlor house two streets over thank you very much), the ārespectableā women of Splitcreek never failed to turn up their noses at her. They had lots of fun names for the girls like her who worked in the saloons, like scarlet women or soiled doves, but she had one for them too, stupid. She could make more in a night than they could a month, which gave her the personal satisfaction necessary to send a patronizing smile back their way as she made her way into the saloon.
āAh cheer up Sam, you can bring your banjo in later and play me a song, she was a sour prude anyhow.ā Annie said consoling the drunken miner as she came in with a wink and her trademark smile. Sheād only seen him come in a few times, but Annie was very good with names, you got better tips that way.
'' You don't worry about me doc I ain't here looking for trouble. Thanks for the whiskey, I'll buy you a drink down at the saloon later if you fancy it. '' He smiled before walking out, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight after being inside the office for so long. For a moment he just stood there and looked at the town, the busy people hurrying down the street. People who unlike him did the same old thing every day. Same job, same home, same sleep. That life would be too dull for Bell.
He stopped outside of the old general store and once again saw a wanted poster dedicated to himself on the wall next to the door. He didn't pay much mind to it as he walked in and looked around. He needed rope, good rope. The cashier asked if he needed any help as Bell weighed a hammer in his hand. The cashier gave him a suspicious look and spit in a cup next to him. Hell you get a couple of scars and no one trusts you.
'' I'm just lookin' to buy some rope and a couple of cigars. '' Bell said and approach the counter. He gave the cashier a charming smile but he could tell the old man didn't like Bell's sort a bit. But the lust to make money was stronger then his morals as he began taking out the rope while Bell exhamined the different brands of cigars.
"Maybe he thinks itĀ“ll help him scare away some outlaws." He mumbled, smiling. Business was slow today and so far the only other customer heĀ“d had was some drunken rancher asking if he had a gun that could shoot, and hit, five coyotes at the same time. Jethro simply said no and pointed him in the direction of the Silver spur, knowing that the man would soon forget about that idea and want another drink.
He considered closing early and heading down to the Silver spur for some drinks and maybe some rounds of poker, but then quickly came to his senses again, realizing that it wouldn't be good for business and probably wouldn't be that much fun either since the saloon would probably be pretty empty at this time of day.
There had been some commotion earlier that day, some outlaw riding by closely followed by the marshal. He had also heard some shoots being exchanged but nothing mayor. A part of him hoped that at least one of them had stopped shooting because their gun had broken down on them, then they'd have to get them fixed and he would have something to do! But that was a long shot and even if that where to happen they probably wouldn't come to get it fixed until tomorrow, and by then heĀ“d have something else to do.. But look on it from the bright side, he thought to himself, as soon as you done you can spend the rest of the day relaxing!
So as soon as he had finished engraving "Boo the LeMat" he started picking out the things heĀ“d need from one of the shelfs on the wall, he wanted to make sure that he didn't need to go back inside once heĀ“d sat down and started reading. He hesitated a bit over whether he should bring a bottle of whiskey or not, the shop still being open and all, but decided that one glass wouldn't hurt . He then whenĀ“t outside, sat down and started reading, occasionally taking a sip from the glass and looking down the main street.
Afterwards, she put her weapons away, and walked through the dusty streets. She heard footsteps behind her. The slurred sounds of a drunk man made her raise her eyebrows and turn to face him. "Jenn- Bonnie.. .Suck my.. Big.. Fat.."
Jenny didn't even have to think what he was going to say next, and slapped him. He grabbed her arms, and pushed down. Jenny had a small frame, and wouldn't be able to push him off if she tried. Within seconds, she was on the dusty, sandy floor, and the male was swinging his fists wildly at her face. She took around three our four punches before she lost her temper. She lifted her foot, and kicked him off. The two both stood up, and Jenny sneered. "My Ma' used to tell me I should never give the first punch.." She hissed, clenching her fist. "But I sure as hell will give the last punch, you damn fool." She grunted, her fist connecting with his cheek, and a loud crack emitting from it. The drunk reached for his pistol, but Jenny was too quick. She took one of hers out, and gave him a bullet in the chest.
"Now, Aint that a shame. I just let a drunk waste liquor. It aint even five yet, and we got drunks? Dang.." She muttered, walking towards the Blackburn Armory. She pulled up a seat from nearby, and sat next to Jethro. "I find it funny how you just watched me get attacked, and you just sit here drinkin?" She chuckled to herself.
"So, How's business, Black?"
With Bell gone, Morgan had the office to himself, and he considered returning to the porch and resuming his nap, but he wasn't much in the mood to rest now. Something had put him ill at ease, and he paced the narrow space, attempting to walk out his troubles. A drink and smoke, that was what he needed. $4 would buy a man a lot of drinks, but Morgan had already wasted the better part of the day in the saloon, working his way through a significant amount of booze and quite a few cigarettes.
He caught himself wondering what the status on the outlaw was; he wondered if the marshal had chased him down and thrown him in a cell yet. Last he'd heard were a few gun shots coming from the far side of town. Maybe he oughtta go and check, just to see if things were alright. But no, that wasn't his place, and he didn't want to make it his place, either. Things had a way of working themselves out without nosy do-gooders prowling the town, shooting anything that breathed on the grounds that they might be one of the numerous outlaws they'd seen posted around town.
Still...wouldn't hurt to poke his head out the door, make sure there wasn't some sad and sorry soul bleeding all over his front porch. Picking up his Stetson from his desk, Morgan set the hat atop his head and headed outside, his eyes smarting as the bright sunlight found its way under shade of his Stetson. He scanned the street, surveying the activity through narrowed grey eyes.
Bell had disappeared from the main street, presumably into a store or saloon. There was the man he'd seen in the bar, standing a few storefronts down outside the Silver Spur. Annie was just heading into work, and Miss Bonnie was headed down the street, probably on her way to get a bite to eat. And there was Jenny, dusting her hands off and heading for Blackburn's store. Uh oh, what had she done now?
He squinted, making out the form of a man lying in the dirt. His eyes widened and he quickly snatched up his medical bag before hurrying across the street to the form of the lifeless man. "Oh hell," he murmured as he knelt beside the man, eyeing the copious amount of blood soaking his shirt. He felt for the man's pulse, but the heart had long stopped beating, and he shook his head, plucking off the man's hat and laying it over his face.
Dead bodies lying in the street- didn't that make for a nice welcome to Splitcreek!
"Well, if you call just coming into town and feeling as weary as a thirsty buffalo alright." he said in a tired voice. "I'm new to this town, and I was half wondering where I can find a place to rest my head." He stated, and as he was gonna continue to explain his stomach started to grumble and groan. "Aw hell stomach, one pint didn't fill ya? Pardon me, I must now be getting hungry. Took me long enough to do so anyway. living off of boiled beans for several days travel makes one hungry."
Damian calmly cleared his throat whilst his horse gave a small whinny at him as if he was laughing at him which caused him to raise his eyebrow at his mount. "Laugh it up Abram. Laugh it up." Sighing he turned to the woman again. "Anyway, I never did catch your name."
As he slowed to a trod not far from the mine he studied of the masses both mining and goldpaning surrounding what was left of river trying to strike it big. Most of the goldpanners were working alone, only able to provide a measly salary to hardly support themselves and their families. Most of the miners were all working together in a group, maybe around ten people. Jan prided himself for having one of the largest mining crew, at about twenty men all chipping away at the mine he personally called glĆ¼cklich.
As he prodded by he was noticed by more than a few workers. Some glared at him, hoping that the simple act of hatred was enough to have him randomly combust in flames. Others were bold enough to throw raunchy, obscene insults and comments from far away for the purpose of being heard but not seen. It would be a understatement to say they hated him, but were also afraid of what he and his army of henchmen could do. Picking a fight with Hass could mean waking up in the middle of the desert with nothing but the shirt on your back if you were lucky. You don't want to know a about the people that weren't.
Slowly the mine entrance turned from a speck on the horizon to a crowd of workers surrounding said mine entrance.Why weren't they working? It wasn't a holiday, where they can just sit around and relax. As a matter of fact, there was never a holiday at glĆ¼cklich. It was Needless to say he was furious.
"Why... Are... You... Men... Not... working! This is no holiday!" Jan bellowed at the top of his lungs. The large group of workers all stood still, staring at the ground and kicking the dust with their boots. Several seconds later they realized that the question in fact, was not rhetorical, and pushed one of of the smallest workers (Danny) forward.
"Well...uhhh..." The young man managed. He was scared out of his mind and sweating like a pig, all while being stared daggers by a very angry Hass. Finally he mustered enough courage to explain the situation." Well Bill sabotaged the mine. He blew up the main tunnel, stole a lot of gold ..." He stopped to gulp "...and made off with the loot."
"What..." Jan muttered. Those simple words let the workers know they were in serious trouble.
~~~
Several minutes later Hass was tuckered out from screaming, kicking, spiting and screaming in German. But he also had a plan.
"This is what we're gonna do..." The miners perked up and shuffled at the sound of the first coherent words in the last half hour. "We are gonna going to go grab weapons for all of us from blackburn... then we're gonna find this diebischen Bastard." The workers all nodded in agreement to the plan, but most were just happy that Hass calmed down.
Boarding their horses, they speed of toward the town and the gunsmith faster than you could blink. It was a race against time for Hass, and a race for their lives for the miners. In a matter of minutes they arrived, kicking up a storm into shops and bystanders right down the middle of main street. Hopping off his horse, Hass speed onto the deck and barged into the store.
"Blackburn..." He weezed, tired from his journey. "I need guns, and lots of them!"
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A pure white horse ran up to her, and she hopped on. The white horse was a Hungarian-Half Bred, a beautiful and majestic horse. They were graceful and fast, but not as fast as the American Standard bred. She took off her rifle, and tossed it to Hass. "Shall we?"
'' Told you Doc! You didn't need to worry 'bout me!'' He yelled and gave the frantic doctor an evil grin before he began walking down the street again. He wasn't surprised that someone got shot, people tend to shoot rather then talk out here. But that the man was shot point blank in broad daylight cought him off guard. But who was he to judge? Hell who didn't prefer shooting during the day?
The thundering sound of a group of horses yanked the man out from his thoughts and soon he saw the dustcloud at the edge of town. The group of men, looked like miners stopped infront of the place Bell was heading to. The armory. They were lead by someone who looked like a child to Bell untill he came close enough to hear his voice and see his face. The man was clearly angry and he shouted like the ol' devil was poking him in the back. Bell didn't feel like squeezing himself into the big sweaty crowd of miners and decided to wait untill whatever the man had gotten what he wanted. He sat down on a bench not too far from the armory and took a sip from his free whiskey while his eyes gazed over the street and the people on it. The dust began to settle after the miners burst into town and he could see several angry glares at the group of men who had caused such a stir.
The last thing he needed at this point in time was Jenny butting her nose in on his own personal matters, and the fact was he was not just going after bill for his gold back. He was going to get revenge tonight. The bloody kind of revenge that involved someone getting killed for doing something very stupid, like blowing up a mine and stealing from their employer. If Jenny knew what he was going to do, she would try to stop him. Besides, law dogs goody-two-shoes like her and people like Jan never got along, so why even try. Plus, he always hated owing anyone anything.
"So Blackburn, you think you can whip up enough weaponry to arm all these men?" Hass said, gesturing to the mass of miners behind him.
However, that smile went away, as the lead projectile buried itself into the ground at his feet and the minerās ears rang with the report of the shot. He dropped the reins of his mule, the leather cords falling to loop over his arm and began to pull the rifle from his shoulder, just as the horse turned away and sped down a gap between a pair of buildings, leaving him in a cloud of choking dust. Grunting with displeasure, he grounded the butt of his rifle and snatched the kepi from his head with his free hand. As he waved the battered hat about, trying to clear the dust from his face, a second rider appeared. A giant of a man, who couldnāt be anybody other then the local marshal. Without a word, he began gesturing towards the alley with his hat, waving the lawman on.
Forced to clear away a second cloud of dust, the ex-soldier slung his rifle, tugged his hat back into place and walked on. His mule followed along, placid as can be, now that the excitement had passed them by. He had three places to stop by on this trip into town. First was the bank, where he could exchange his collection of dust and nuggets for silver dollars. He wouldnāt have bothered but not everyone in town had a set of scales and it was hard to tip the girl at the saloon or the cathouse, with dust. The second was the Silver Spur, to wash the dust from his mouth. His final stop would be the general store in the morning, to get his supplies before heading back to his claim.
The bank was an easy stop in theory. One should simply have to walk inside and have their gold weighed and walk out with the correct amount of coin or bank notes (not that Darby would accept paper money, government or local bank issue). However, these banking types were sly and often tried to used extra weights to make the gold seem lighter then it was or crooked scales. You had to watch them closely or theyād take your money from out under your nose. Luckily, the teller in the bank today had been someone Darby had already had a...chat with about using unbalanced scales. However, his gold had to be weighed twice. The first time the weights had gotten knocked off, when the teller jumped at the sound of a gunshot His pockets lightly jiggling, the miner lead his yet unburdened mule over to the Silver Spur, ignoring the body laying in the street.
āYou be a good creature Elettaā Darby whispered, lightly stroking the muleās muzzle, trying to sooth her, after tying the reins to the hitching post. Some great band of men had just come riding into town, all of them following the short German, who ran the Silver Spur and own one of the largest mines in the area. Greedy little penny-pincher, the man could make a coin squeal before he was done with it. He half wondered what could make him so ornery, that heād be willing to buy guns for the poor dumb fools who worked for him? Well, there wasnāt any reason to inquire about it, unless there was money involved.
He adjusted the strap to his rifle, as he stepped towards the door but turned back to the street. When he had first arrived in this town, he would have left the firearm along the empty bags on the back of his beast, along with the ammunition in his pockets. Nowadays though, someone would steal it. Hell, theyād try to steal his mule, save for the fact she liked to kick strangers. Besides, it wasnāt like everyone else in these parts didnāt have a pistol hanging off their hips. His gun would just be a bit more plain to see.
āSomething personalā called the ex-soldier, in a reasonable friendly voice, āMr. Hass or somethin that should concern all of us workin the river? If its somethin like that, Iām willin to help.ā
His piece said, he turn back to the door of the saloon and stepped inside. Look around in a quick manner, he took a seat at an empty table and waited for one of the girls to come over.
"I find it funny how you just watched me get attacked, and you just sit here drinkin?" She chuckled. He put down the book and stared at her. "Now what the hell was that for!" he exclaimed, pointing at the, now dead, drunk. "Attacked! Is that what you call being insulted?! I mean, i know you got an itch to use all that hardware your carrying around but you donĀ“t have to go shoot the first drunken lowlife that throws a insult at you! He took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
He looked back at the street and noticed that Morgan was running towards the dead drunk, probably hoping that he was still alive and not beyond rescue.
"IĀ“m reporting you to the Marshal, seeing as the Sheriff is nowhere to be found" he said looking back at Jenny, now a bit calmer. He stood up, looking around for the Marshal, not seeing him anywhere he turned to Morgan. "Hey Doc! Have you seen the Sentinel? I am pretty sure that heĀ“d want to know bout this."
Jethro turned back to the table and finished his drink. "Damn, what next? SomeoneĀ“s gonna rob the Silver spur in broad daylight?" He said to himself, but then realized that that wouldn't be too surprising, he sighed.
Not long after a large group of miners lead by Jan Hass came riding down the street, stopping outside his shop. Hass was furious and was speeding towards him, looking like he could kill a man. Which is probably why he was there, Jethro thought, to get weapons so he could kill someone.
"Blackburn... I need guns, and lots of them!" He said, exhausted from the ride.
"Well your not getting any, and before you start yellinĀ“ at me IĀ“m gonna tell you why. First of all i donĀ“t have enough to arm all of those boys you got there, and secondly I got a gut fellinĀ“that your not going hunting game with twenty men on horseback, unless you hunt men for sport which i hardly think is legal, Mr. Hass."
He stared Hass in the eyes and made it clear that he wouldn't budge.
"Don't be so irrational. I may not seam of the purest desires, but I speak the truth when I say that I have nothing but the best intentions. I mean, the man I'm huntin, hes dangerous. So far he stole both horses and a large sum of gold, also blowing up my mine in the process. He could have killed someone! Now I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my rudeness, and help me out in my dire situation." He could see himself spreading a lot more butter on this guy later on.
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"If i didn't shoot the rascal there and then, I'd either be dead or raped. You won't turn me in, Black." She muttered, looking at him with sad eyes. They were filled with tears of pity. "Please, Jethro. I can't go to jail. Who'll take care of the drunks and rapists? The lawmen and marshal aint doin' nothin' about it. And the sherrif doesn't do anythin'.. I'm a vigilante, Jeth." She muttered, her tears disappearing, and looking up at Hass. "Huntin' men? Hass, what is wrong with you? I thought I knew your tarnal guts inside out, but you want to hunt a man?" She grunted, looking around slowly.
Now he had to hunt down this fool's family and make sure someone gave the man a proper funeral over in Splitcreek Graveyard. In fact, he'd better get the corpse off the street fast, or some thieving bandit would steal the money right out of the man's pockets. He knelt again to get a hold of the body, his head snapping up as he heard Bell calling from across the street. He seemed awful pleased with himself, not the least bit concerned to see a bloody body lying in road, and Morgan watched him go with a grunt of disgust. The sooner that snake left town, the better.
The voice of Blackburn was next to reach his ears, and he turned towards the gunsmith, giving a helpless shrug. "Saw him about a half hour ago, chasing after some bloody outlaw. You can try the sheriff's office- matter of fact I'm headed there myself. Need to see if anybody knows who this here fella is...well, was."
He shot Jenny a look, but she was too busy pleading her case to Jethro, who had his hands full with a rowdy group of miners who'd ridden in the course of Morgan's failed rescue attempt. He looked around him, taking in the aggravated yells of Hass's miners and the general chaos of a town in trouble. Come to think of it, he might be heading back to the Silver Spur after all.
But first...he turned his attention back to the corpse, grabbing under the man's arms and hauling him across the road. The body was deadweight, and dragging him was an effort, but it was only just across the road, and Morgan got him into the office easily enough. With no place else to put him, he lifted him onto the table he'd used to treat Bell not fifteen minutes before. He sure hoped somebody could come get the corpse soon, because in this heat the body'd be rotting in no time, and the stench of decay was definitely bad for business.
Heading back out into town, Morgan headed down the road to the sheriff's office, hoping he wouldn't encounter any more trouble along the way.
Upon the stranger mentioning food, she took in his thin appearance looks like the poor fellow could do with a good hearty meal "the saloon has a good cook" she smiled before laughing along with the man accusing his horse at laughing at him, reaching out she affectionately stroked the horses long nose "and the livery is just at the end of town where this one can get some rest" she continued. Ā
"oh forgive me, I'm Bonnie Bohannon and you are?" The blonde asked, out stretching her hand for him too shake.Ā
Looking behind the stranger Bonnie caught sight of a large group of men riding into the town, frowning she shook her head upon seeing Jan Hass leading them, this did not look good, biting her lip slightly she watched as Jan dismounted and went inside Jethros place "excuse me I need to get the marshal" she spoke quickly before rushing across the road towards the sheriffs office to find the Marshal, failing to see Morgan who was also hurrying down the boardwalk.
Hurrying inside she called his name "Alex?"
āWell now, if it isnāt Darby OāRourke. You must have done alright for yourself today to be dragging your dusty self in here this early.ā Annie said with a chuckle as she approached the lone man at the table. āMissyās not coming in tonight, so it looks like youāll have to put up with me. Whatāll ya have?ā She asked with her usual disarming charm. Missy was one of the girls usually fawning over the Irishman, perhaps even a bit more than was professional, when he came in, so he wasnāt one of her regulars, otherwise she would have approached with his usual brand. She knew him well enough by face and name, but not by vintage.