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[Suicidal]

The man's boots made a crunching sound as they treaded along the stale and brittle gravel of the highway. He pulled out a match, strinking the side of the matchbox with great force and lit a cigar. As he puffed into the cigar, he craned his neck to survey the distance. In the distance was a little settlement, a suburb. West Bowl. The man grinned, a devious and vile grin. This was what he had come for. He had spent months tracking this senorita down. There was no escape from him. A wagon wheeled past on the road, bouncing up and down on the rocky path. He crept up behind the wagon. With a quick few slashes, and a few spurts of blood, the wagon was his. He smiled to himself. Here I come... West Bowl.


West Bowl bustled with people, all unaware of the horror about to befall them. It was a quaint town, plenty of gunslingers too. But they were not ready for what would come. For Bernardo de Sales approached.

[ONL]

West Bowl, a town like many others in this part of the United states of America, was filled with life at this time of the day. And like other days, nobody excepted anything particular to happen, and Isabella was no different. Even though she was like nobody else in the town, she had by the few years she'd lived there grown to act very much like them. At her trusted horse, a brown stallion, she rode into West Bowl in her regular clothes. She had been working with the cattle all day, and after a hard day's work, she had to go into town to shop.

Isabella rode into town and hitched her horse outside of the General store in West Bowl. She went in, and bought what she needed; some medicine for herself and the others at the ranch, some vegetables, a newspaper, and some bullets for her pistol. With this done, she had nothing special to do before she had to head back to the ranch. So to waste a little time, she headed to the saloon, a place she hadn't been in for weeks. But it was for a very good reason.

As soon as she walked in, some of the men started whistling to her. To them, she was nothing more than a good looking woman who was just a trophy, but she was far from that. She was one of the most beautiful women in town, but she had the class of a noblewoman, and so she didn't care about those men who thought of her in any other way. The bartender however was that kind of man, he respected her, she was after all a good hand with a gun and a lasso.

-"Good evening Isabella, long time since I've seen you here. You want the usual?"

"Yes please, it's been a long day out with the cattle. They ran in all directions, took us hours collecting them all again." She said to him, getting the drink from him and drinking a little of it. Whiskey, she had grown a love for that devil's drink.

[Suicidal]

Ignore this post.

[Ghirardelli]

Josh pulled the last drag off his rolled smoke then flipped what remained into the spitoon, then pulled his feet off the top of the desk and sat up. He took out his pocketwatch and flipped it open checking the time, " Close enough", he said aloud to the empty office then got up and went over to the rifle rack, grabbing the Henry rifle then his hat before walking out the door. Pauseing a moment he looked up and down both sides of the street then slipped his hat on his head and turned to the right and started walking down the boarded walkway, it was a typical day in the town of West Bowl, the local shopkeepers were open and making ready for the rush of ranchhands and farmers that normally came into town about this time of day to barter their goods for needed supplies, for the most part they were generally peaceful, until later tonite when the ranchhands, with a few coins in their pockets, would make for the saloon, normally though all he had to do was walk in and make an appearance and things would settle down.
He nodded his head to the men and tip the brim of his hat to the Ladies as he continued on down to the end of town, then crossed the dirt street and started back. Along the way he stopped and went into the Mercantile and bought more tobacco after waiting a moment or two for the Shopkeep to attend to two Ladies looking at bolts of cloths to fashion new dressess with for the upcoming Founders Day picnic. After filling his pouch, he thanked the man and headed back outside, looking around again, he noted it wouldnt be long before the wagons of the area sodbusters would be coming onto town and stirring up the dust and making it hard to breathe, so he stepped up his pace, wanting to get his rounds down and be inside before then, He stopped long enough to poke his head inside the swinging doors of the Saloon and checked to make sure the Barkeep was ready for tonite.

[MR WIKI]

"Damn...I'll never get used to the smell", said James, as he cuts open the stinking dead flesh of a cougar. He's been hunting in these parts for many years now and he still cringes from the smell. Still doesn't stop him from getting his payload. James reached in and grabbed the fleshy exterior of the animal's heart. He pulled out with great force and placed it in a special bag that holds any fleshy "trophies". James then proceeds to cut off the claws. Cougar claws usually sells well, so the fact that he managed to track down a cougar was a pure godsend to James. The hunter then takes the claws and washes the blood and excess flesh off it, using a small puddle of water near it. James "Jimmie" West had been tracking the cougar for many hours and was growing tired of its agile movements. However, he knew that any animal on god's green earth needs too take a break. So he took the shot from afar with his good ol' Buffalo rifle when it was having a water break. Without that gun, Jimmie would have been just another average Joe. He then finished up by skinning the big cat of it's majestic coat. "Yep, this'll do". He then got himself ready and settled off to the small town of West Bow, to trade off his "winnings".

West Bow was just like any other American town. It had shops, a bar, a police station, a schoolhouse, a blacksmith, stables, the town drunk, the town tough guy. It has the whole shebang. Jimmie has lived in West Bow for many years and has made himself quite comfortable. He has kept his head down, been responsible, know right from wrong and has always earned an honest day's pay. The hunter has always had it this way and would like to keep it this way. Jimmie walked into town and into the first place he usually goes, the shopkeeper.

"Ahhh, Jimmie. Good to see you, what have you got for me today"?, said the shopkeeper with slight glee in his greet. The shopkeeper was an old friendly fellow. Quite an experienced man, who was one of the first people here when West Bow was recognized as a town. Jimmie knows that the old man has seen some extraordinary things in his life. He respects him. The hunter placed his animal flesh and fur on the counter. "Good catch today, Jimmie. It may take me a while to see how much I owe ya'. Why don't you get a drink while I check the quality and weight.", said the old man. "Alright, thank you very much", replied Jimmie as he strolls out of the shop and on towards the local bar.

Jimmie walks into the bar and is greeted by a small wave of "Howdys" and "Hello Jimmie". In return, he simply tips his hat and greets them back. He walks up to the barkeep to be greeted by a smile. "Hello Jimmie", the usual I take?" Jimmie gives a chuckle and replies, "You know it". He looks around and scans the bar. Everything is more or less the same except for the pretty girl standing around 5-10 feet away from him, down the bar counter. He never really noticed her before. Jimmie has lived in West Bow for many years and can easily tell a new face. The girl looks like she can handle herself, considering she is the only woman in the bar that has a gun, drinking whisky and not selling her body to some drunken lowlife. The barkeep then came over with Jimmie's whisky. "Hey, put her drink on my tab.", says the hunter to the barkeep. The barkeep then nods at this and goes to serve someone else.

Jimmie walks up to the pretty young lady and says, "Hey there. You're not from around here, are you?" Jimmie then proceeds to a half-slouched stance against the bar counter, facing the lady. He stared at her dark brown eyes and waited for a response.

[ONL]

Isabella enjoyed her cold whiskey, and while she drank she observed the usual folk sitting around the saloon. Those chatting about the gossip they had heard from the big cities, like New York and Manhattan. Then you had those who was just sitting quiet and playing poker, one eye at their cars and the other at each other, ready to pull their guns and cards alike. And then finally, you had those who drank or was "chatting" with the ladies, luckily Isabella was neither of those. She took another sip of her whiskey, when she was interrupted by someone.

To her side, a guy, not much older than she was, stood next to her and asked her if she wasn't from around West Bowl. But unlike other times where she would have simply rolled her eyes around and turned away, she didn't. This guy felt different, that and the fact that he didn't look at her like those men who wanted to just have sex with her. Slowly, she started to recognize him. She smiled a sly smile to him, and put down the whiskey.
"I've lived here for a few years, sure that you've not spent too much time out hunting? Mr. West is it?" She responded, reaching out her hand to him to greet him. "I'm not from West Bowl, if that is what you are asking. I'm Isabella by the way, pleased to meet you. Just don't think you'll get a chance like those other men thinks." She continued, while holding her hand for him, she patted her other hand on her revolver, to show him that she wasn't joking around.

[MR WIKI]

Jimmie smiled at her comment. She was a tough one. She drink's her hard whisky like it was a pint of milk. Isabella was her name. Quite elegant for a cowgirl, thought Jimmie. She patted her gun to show that she's not for sale. "Well that's alright by me Miss.", says Jimmie with a slight grin. "And you're also correct. The name's West, James West. Most people just call me Jimmie but if you want, you can call me James." He then takes a big gulp of his drink and places the glass back down onto the bar counter. "A few years now, huh? I should probably cutback on my hunting. I'm surprised I ain't sunburned yet.", replied Jimmie with a big chuckle. "So tell me, Isabella. Where do you 'bide around here? I'm guessing you're more of a rancher girl than a town girl. Am I right?" says Jimmie as he takes another gulp of his whisky, turning the glass upside down on the counter after he is done with it.

Jimmie liked the look of this girl. His type of lady is someone that can take care of them self, can fire a gun and hold their liquor. Plus a name like Isabella sounds foreign. Usually most people around are named something simple. This intrigued Jimmie and would like to continue to get too know her.

[Korza]

Trowa was sitting in the back of the bar. He had his own bottle of whiskey that he had already drunk half and had a good buzz going on.. His hair was a mess with his bangs covering his eyes. He couldn't stop thinking of the tragedy that took place in Cold Creek..How could all of those men just kill human beings? He thought to himself.. General Quinn...When I find you... I will kill you with my bare hands.... He looked at the bottle in front of him and grabbed it and took a few swigs. He then corked it and tried standing up hearing a couple of laughs. He smiled but stood up and walked out the door to the front porch and saw a rocking chair.. That would be a good place to get started getting rid of this buzz.. He walked to it and sat down and watched as Jimmie walking in. He Bowed his head in being friendly and then laid his head back and closed his eyes. Maybe if he could just sleep for 10 minutes it would help.. He begun to drift asleep.

[ONL]

Isabella smiled back at Jimmie as he continued his questions and statements. She knew him as the town's hunter, he usually slept outside and hunted game for a living, though she had never met him in person herself, so to her this was a good surprise. She did the same as Jimmie, drinking down the last of her whiskey and turning her glass around when she was done.
"I work on the ranch just outside of town, Queensridge, you've been there? Worked there for a few years now." She answered his question, looking him from top to toe, he was far from as dirty as she had expected him to be. But what mattered was herself, even though she was the best looking girl in all of West Bowl, she made sure to act like any other girl with some sense of respect, and not the princess she truly was. And as Jimmie didn't seem to get any clues for that, she continued with their conversation.
"There's more to life than hunting you know, Jimmie, I can tell you that. Lucky you went drinking when you did, so that you could find me, the woman of your life. So when are you going to marry me?" She said to him with a teasingly giggle, ordering another drink from the bartender as she did. When he came to her with the drink, she was surprised to hear that this drink was from Jimmie himself. "Well thank you, quite a gentleman you are I see?"

He wasn't as bad as she had feared after all, first of all he didn't look at her the way other men did, or mainly at certain female parts that men liked to take a closer look at. And that was a very good start. Well for a friendship, she had no intention of having anything more than that with him, if they ever became friends at all. Maybe they would part their ways and never meet again afterwards? Now, she didn't really care, she was enjoying having a drink with this guy.
"Anyway, good that you decided to take a drink now, we may never know when it will be over. I've heard that some groups are starting to protest against alcohol, and even certain senators wishes to have enforce prohibition. I wonder what would happen if it was nothing left to drink here." She wondered out loud, taking a sip from her whiskey and looking back at Jimmie. She was perhaps a princess and heir of the Spanish Crown, but she knew how to enjoy a good drink.

[Byrd Man]

Then


"You see, my boy," Dr. Elias Mendenhall Williams said as he started another one of his lessons. "The key to running the great cons is to convince the mark that whatever you want was in fact their idea."

The young John Tiller nodded as the wagon he and the Doc rode in bounced down the dirt road. While the Doc called himself a doctor, John knew that Williams was as much of a preacher as he was a doctor, which is to say not at all. Of course the Doc had played preachers before in the past. Doctors, preachers, sheriffs, and even once a member of Congress. The Doc was a man of many hats and masks, and John was hoping he would be just as good one day.

"Now, son, the key to the con is to become someone else. Let's say you try to pull the fiddle game on an innkeeper, right? Well, you can't do it if you're John Till. You have to be--," the Doc cleared his throat and began to talk in an uppercrust British accent. "Wesley Nigel-Pitt, purveyor and collector of fine and rare musical instruments. And, dead chap, you cannot even be John Till pretending to be Wesley Nigel-Pitt. You have to convince yourself that you are the man you claim to be. The first mark is yourself."

"I see," said Till.

"No, you don't," the Doc said in his normal voice. "But once we get to the next town, I'll show you."



Now


"Mrs. Johnson? I'm Matthew Harris with the Pinkertons."

John Till flashed the dead man's badge and the middle-aged woman on the other side of the door nodded.

"Please, Mr. Harris, please come in."

Till followed her inside, taking off his hat as they went into the frumpy looking parlor. Till took a seat on a plush sofa while the woman hovered over him.

"Would you like some water, Mr. Harris?"

"No, thanks," he said with a pleasant smile. "Please, just take a seat and we can talk."

Till leaned back and waited for the woman to sit down in the chair across the room from him. She fussed with the lines and pleats on her ankle-length skirt until Till broke the ice.

"Mr. Bennett in town told me you wanted to see me, Mrs. Johnson. May I ask what for?"

"It's about my husband, Mr. Harris." She talked without looking up from the skirt. "He's been missing these past four years."

Till grunted and slowly nodded.

"Whereabouts do you think he may be, Mrs. Johnson? Dead or..."

"If he's dead, it's somewheres else. He was going out to Portland, Oregon to look into some stake at a silver mine. Never came back, never wrote that he arrived."

Oregon. Till felt a tingle in the back of his head. If he was still starting out, he would have felt the urge to break out into a wide grin.

"Lucky for you, Mrs. Johnson, the Pinkertons have an office in Eugene. Eugene is only a day's train ride from Portland. While it's too far for me, our men in Oregon can be looking into your husband's whereabouts as soon as tomorrow morning. All I need to do is telegraph them."

Till saw the glimmer of hope in the woman's eyes. She went from playing with her skirt to wringing her hands in excitement. The excitement stopped just as soon as it had started.

"But...," she started before stopping. "How much will all this cost?"

"It's all speculative, Mrs. Johnson. It depends on how long it takes us to find him, if we do."

The woman looked crestfallen now, her eyes looking down at the floor.

"I don't... I don't have too much money..."

"Well, here's what we can do." Till leaned forward and gave her his most pleasant smile. "You pay the Pinkertons a flat fee up front, with the promise that you can pay for the rest of the fee upon the return of your husband. If he does come back, he'll certainly have the means to pay for our costs. Just think of it as a down payment on an investment."

"How much..."

"Can you do a hundred dollars? That'll pay for a week's worth of investigation, and it's a good start."

Twenty minutes later, Till walked out the house with a hundred and fifty dollars of the woman's money in his pocket. In the other pocket was a note with all the information he needed on her husband. A white man in his fifty's, he was 6'1 with salt and pepper hair, brown eyes, and a long, crooked nose. He was to wire these to the Pinkerton office in Eugene as soon as possible.

Till turned down the dirt road and walked the few hundred yards into the town of West Bowl. He glanced at the train station's telegram office as he passed by it. Till reached into his jacket and pulled the notes on the missing Issac Johnson. He ripped them up and tossed them into a horse trough as he mounted the wooden steps of West Bowl's boarded walkway. He was flush with cash, and he felt he had earned a stiff drink after a day's hard work.