Arch was taken aback by her lopsided excuse for a deal, he was thinking of splitting the 10 right down the middle bit it seemed that the greedy barwoman had other things in mind. He cleared his throat once and then once again, struggling to find the words to use. On one hand he could accept and lose a lot of money and on the other he could go in and just kill the man... And make an enemy of Rose.

Defeated beef he even made a move, Archie extended his hand and waited for her to shake it, she drove a hard bargain and it seemed his years of loyally getting a drink in her establishment were worth nothing. Archie looked her up and down, 'I know your coffin size you backwater-' he bit that thought, he tried hard not to think like a man from the east coast but snooty thoughts occasionally crossed his mind.

Wu had no interest in that ten thousand at all, all he gave a damn about is his own life, Hell he would even pay half the bounty, five grand, as long as it will conserve his life. Most of his jobs consisted of brutal and ruthless felons, convicted with several homicides and burglary, but none to the level of one of O'Henssey brothers. Wu knew all along that Rat wasn't someone to be taken slightly. With out reinforcements, taking Rat down would possibly be impossible, Wu thought.

"He wants to take him down? Hpmh good luck" he mumbled. He thought about going upstairs, but then remembered that it will be bullets flying all over this place. Inevitable it was. With ten thousand on the stake, and humans notable greed. "Some one will die tonight...and its not going to be me!" He muttered. Wu thought about notifying the sheriff about the presence of a mass murder in the bar. "Naah it's none of my business"

When all the sudden this devious idea came to mind. "Once Rose and the carpenter enter the saloon I'll take my leave..yes yes this might actually work." Wu muttered, he couldn't but smile at the idea. He thought about waiting outside the saloon, waiting for the shooting to end, once the shooting is done he would enter to see who couldn't endure the fight. If Rat survived he would hold him at gun point or even shoot him while his guard is down. If the carpenter survived then hence the bravery, either way Wu isn't loosing anything. Waving his hand to call Rose's assistant, he ordered her to pure him a glass of fine wine as he took out hos pouch of money to pay.

And so Wu stood there, sipping from his red heavenly drink waiting for Rose and her partner to step through those doors.

Rose allowed herself to smile slightly, and took his hand in a firm grip. "Pleasure doing business with you, Master Hesker," she purred, squeezing his hand one more time for good measure before stepping away from him. She didn't consider this a ripoff—she was just doing business. And she meant what she said—if Archie was going to be shooting in her saloon willy-nilly, she would need the cash.

With one last glance over her shoulder at Archie, she swayed back into the saloon, hands out in an appeasing gesture.

"Now, now," she said brightly, stepping between Johnny and his opponent, forcing Johnny to step back or be bowled over by the bussel of her dress. "Mister Cananbaum, you know full well I don't take no brawls in here." She placed a hand on the old man's chest, looking up at him through her lashes. "I'm sure Johnny here didn't mean no harm. And if you don't might be sayin', Charlie, you and I both know you could dunk that boot in a mud stream and it'd come out cleaner than it was before. Why don't you go on home now? Go on."

The old man grumbled drunkenly, outwitted and out-numbered now. He looked to Johnny one more time with bulldog eyes before stealing his drink and marching out the saloon like a wounded predator. Johnny was surprise how sudden the shift of power had been, guessing that she who controlled the flow ruled the land.

Something felt off though. Rose and the fella who smelt of death were gone for a long while, the weirdo with no face vamoosed, and a stranger with a sword was sipping red wine like he was about to see a play. A play on Johnny's life maybe? In an idiotic way he trusted Rose, half knowing that she was probably just as dastardly as he was. Johnny wasn't that stupid. Well, he was stupid and drunk...but that didn't matter!

He wanted to leave diplomatically before, paying for his drink with the money of dead men and such until that old fart decided to karmaly fuck him over. He didn't want to leave U.S. Marshals on his tail any clues of his stay. He guessed that he already fucked that up a hundred fold, for drunkard were the worse snitches.

Johnny looked to the entrence way for a moment, and then looked over to the barely touched drink the fellow who'd taken Rose outside had just left sitting there. He walked over to it, swirling it around a bit before chugging all of it down without a second thought. It was a strange revenge, because in a way he knew what came next.

As the old man wandered off, Rose smiled at Johnny and patted him on the shoulder. "Sorry about that, sugar," she said, already heading back to the bar. "Won't happen again if I've got anything to say about it." She didn't look back at him, instead serving another patron and seemingly unconcerned with Rat; if she tried to corner him, he'd really know something was up, and she'd lose seven thousand dollars.

In the distant blurred image of blue and high temperature, dark blue, the hue of night, Shelly saw two dark figures outside the Sandy Rose Saloon. After a horrendously tiring attempt to squint his eyes and see who it was, through his now sweating mask, he finally recognized the figures.

A volume of sugar, and a man of death and coffins. The same man who was Shelly's victim of home invasion, and an unspeakable sort of violation of manners. And civilization. Shelly forced away an artificial giggle.

When Rose walked in, Shelly followed as he walked past Archie. Archie was standing there, Shelly smiled beneath the mask and tipped his hat at the Coffin Maker. Told him evening in the most sarcastic and teasing tone.

"Madam O' Glorious beverages and holy patron of beautiful whores," Shelly eyed Marlett from the door as he walked into the saloon, then resumed his staring back to the bar "grace this poor soul with that expensive bottle O' Nectar you keep. A full O'course."

He walked over to the bar and made himself comfortable on one of the very few available stools as he waited for Rose. He slammed a generous amount of stolen dollar bills on the counter, Archie's hard earned money.

Archie was apprehensive about killing a man, he was use to being around the dead, that was for sure but he never fancied making anyone dead... Or becoming dead for that matter. He contemplated his own morality for a few moments before respectfully chucking them out the window.

Archie slipped his revolver out of his pocket and hidden in the night's shadow checked how many bullets were in it, all seven chambers were full. He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, "come on Arch.." he mumbled. He steeled himself and gripped the grip, his knuckles going white.

As Archie burst through the saloon doors, his pistol arm outstretched, the world slowed down. There was Rose, the friendly bartender; The tipsy looking Sheriff Charlotte and her trusted deputy a few seats away; a masked man and whole host of others but Archie's eyes were focused on one person. Rat.

He squeezed off round after round in quick succession.

bang bang bang bang bang bang bang

All but one missed their marks, whizzing dangerously close to Rat's head, the one that did get him merely grazed his cheek, the rest obliterating a pile of crisp bills smacked on the counter by a masked man. Archie stood their sheepishly, holding a smoking gun, with the entire saloon staring at him.

"um.."

Johnny grabbed his face, the searing burn of a bullet grazed across his cheek. He looked at his would-be assassin, the stench of fear and death lingering off him. Even under the influence, Johnny had his hand in his jacket reaching for his revolver and within seconds was aiming the bastard down. Johnny knew his Colt Dragoon better then this man probably knew this town.

"Sir, you've rightly fucked up!," Johnny told the man with the roar of a lion as fresh blood dripped down his face. "Put the damn gun down before I blow your dumb fucking head off!"

Johnny wanted nothing but to gun the man down in front of him and be done with this, but with two law officers sitting in the same saloon, pleaing self-defense meant bullshit. Best to do was have them hall this fool away and not start something he'd regret. There was enough regret in Johnny already.

Once Rose entered through those wooden doors. Wu knew it was his cue. "Time to run" he thought. He put down his glass of wine, just right after making sure he drank the whole thing. The alcohol started to take its effect on Wu. He stumbled in his way out, struggling to balance his footsteps. His vision; blurry and vague. Though he did got out. On the way out he gently bumped into the masked man. Wu was so drunk, he apologized to him in Chinese. "I never saw him leave.? Where the hell did he go to?" Wu wondered.

Outside it was chilly and dusty as usual. "Nothing new" Wu muttered. his body started to feel the cold air in his bones. The freezing breeze hit his cheeks, carrying bits of sand along with the cold. As Wu walked away from the saloon's entrance, he noticed Archie standing there, doing god knows what with his revolver. "Shit is about to get down" Wu thought. Wu went straight to his horse, nearly falling off on his way. He patted the horse, and rubbed his head gently.

Wu tilted his head around, Archie was gone. He's probably in the saloon Wu thought. Suddenly the urge of taking a piss hit Wu. He couldn't hold it. With all that drinking he had to take a serious piss. He quickly ran to a close boulder. He stood behind it, hidden in the night's dark cloak. He unzipped and took his male part out. His urine was warm, unlike the weather that didn't bother Wu not one bit. After finishing he zipped up, with a dodder running down his spine and neck. "Woooh" he let out a whimper. Looking down he realized that some drops of his urine splattered on his leather boots. "Damn it" he cursed.

Suddenly a sound of multiple gunshots were heard from the saloon. "Just like I anticipated" Wu thought as he rushed to the saloon. He burst through the doors, just to see that no harm came to both men, or any man in the matter. Wu was a bit disappointed. He walked straight to the bar as if nothing important caught his attention, which absolutely did. He sat on stool near the masked man, watching the felon pull out his gun aiming it to the idiot who stood still. Looking back at Archie he chuckled as he said "huh. He's dead meat".

Just as Shelly sat and started humming old railroads workers songs and gently tapping the counter, a wild Archie busted into the Saloon and started a few fires. One hit the face of a man close to him, and the other hitting and burning the money he just robbed.

Between the fear and confusion and anger, Shelly stood right after the man missing a few chunks of meat off his face stood. Shelly drew both his guns from his gunbelt and aimed straight at the Coffin Maker. A drunken voice, belonging to an estranged and drunk Mr. WU.

"HE IS A DEAD WALKING ALRIGHT." Shelly yelled. "Don't worry Marlett, we still gonna bed right after we sort this here lil conflict. And right after I got that damn bottle O' wine, payed or unpaid Rose."

Three barrels staring Archie Fancypants in the face, Shelly had a boner, he was that sort of freak. Adrenaline was his sexual drive.

As soon as the rounds started flying Simion was moving. Without hesitation he hurled himself over the bar, putting its bulk between him and the rest of the Saloon - a reflex more than a decision he had made. As soon as the gunfire stopped he jumped to his feat and pulled his own weapon from his holster, a rather old revolver with only the six chambered rounds that were already loaded. He pointed it first at Archie and then at Rat before moving his aim back to Archie as the intimidating skull man did the same.

'What the hell was happening?' he wondered as tension filled the air, his eyes darting back and forth between the three men as he moved his aim again to Rat. After all there was something familiar about the man, and there surely had to be a reason for this seemingly wealthy man to open fire in such a haphazard manner.

"What the fuck is happening?" shouted Simion, done with speculating.

"How the fuck should I know!?," Johnny replied as he looked behind him to find another man holding him at gunpount. "And you best put that away sir! I've been shot once today thank you very much!"

Johnny had no fucking idea what was going on. One second he's drinking and the next he is being shot at. Did Rose put this guy up to this? Would she tell the sheriff and have him hauled off to a shit poor jail cell until the U.S. Marshals caught up? He couldn't rightly kill every damn person in town! Everything has gone to shit! With a burst of drunken speed, Johnny barreled towards the doors hoping to dash through them and grab his horse.

The bottle of booze was in Rose's hand when the shots rang out. Her gloved hand clenched around the neck rather than dropping it, a long honed instinct from when she was handling things much more dangerous than a glass bottle. Also from long experience, she froze, shoulders jerking, rather than flailing around in fear. All that would do was make her a bigger target.

The other patrons of the saloon weren't quite so experienced. The real cowboys were up in a second, hands on their guns but unwilling to shoot the trigger-happy undertaker in their midst; her girls were screaming, cowering beneath tables or, in some lucky cases, behind the broad shoulders of the men. Rose herself slammed her hands over her ears as more than one bottle shattered behind her.

And, of course, Archie missed. Missed from three feet away.

There was blood dripping down Rat's face, but it was far from a killing blow, and all it did was piss him off. Shouts erupted from all sides, people demanding to know what was going on, for Archie to put the gun down, for Sheriff Rey to do something, and Rose could see seven thousand dollars slipping out of her fingers as Rat (smartly) bolted toward the door.

So she did what only she could.

Rose vaulted onto the bartop, the ruffles of her skirts flying with a flash of skin beneath as she stood feet above everyone else, bottle still clutched in her hand, and bellowed in the voice that had filled the big top.

"A THOUSAND DOLLARS TO WHOEVER BRINGS ME THAT MAN ALIVE!"

Archie was still standing before the other guy made a run for it, Shelly didn't give much attention to the escapade igniter, his eyes furiously set to kill Archie for shooting up his (actually Archie's) money. But that soon changed when Rose jumped up over the bar and yelled sweet melodies to Shelly's ears, a language he was most fluent in, REWARDS. He had stolen less than whatever rose claimed she would reward, so it was only logical for Shelly to ignore the Death Undertaker and run after the escapade man of the hour. Rat the thousand dollar man.

Shelly holstered his guns as he sped behind Rat, demon eyes, demon speed. He could hear the cries and whimpers of the Saloon's patrons, whores crying. Whores. MARLETT! "When the fuck am I going to get some ass tonight? Fuck the drink, I'm killing this sad fella, getting the money, bedding the fuck out of Marlett's brains and have a goddamned sleep!" he yelled in rage, "That's the plan. Heeyaaa!"

He crashed through the swinging doors, breaking them and flipped over his face and into the dry sand. Rough sand. He jumped to his feet, no time to clear the dust. His twitchy fingers grabbing his pistols from the gunbelt and quickly firing rounds above Rat's head, warning shots. "Not anotha footstep ye eager fella, I need that thousand dollars, final words?" Shelly waved with one hand, pistol still in it, "no hard feelings fella, I really need that money to bed and sleep."

He had the money to bed Marlett, and perhaps three other whores, what was this about? Adrenaline? Misplaced rage?

Suddenly Rat was joined by the masked man, pointing barrels at Archie. Apparently Archie shot the masked man's money pouch, which set him on edge. Tension was filling the air. The stench of fear was on everyone, everyone but Wu. He was humored by the current situation, "God that man is so dead" he chuckled looking at Archie. He knew that his life is no longer in danger. Now bullets are going to be shot in one direction, towards Archie. Half the people in the saloon were hiding behind, under something. Except for Rose, who stood still with a bottle in her hand, Wu noticed. "Is she to stupid, or merely fearless?" Wu couldn't tell. When all the sudden the junky jumped from the back of the bar and into Rat's side.

He was confused, aiming his gun once at Rat, then towards Archie. Now there are three barrels pointed at Archie. "Now this is amusing" Wu thought with a broad smile on his face. Trying to hold back a chuckle. He then looked back at Archie and said "Run!" In an amusing kinda sarcastic voice. But it wasn't Archie who ran out the door, It was Rat. Wu was confused, "why would he run when he is the one with the loaded gun?" He thought.

Rose took the whole bar's attention when she yelled her offer. "That man is worth ten thousand, and she is offering one thousand to who ever brings him down?. She is smart" Wu thought. The masked man showed utter interest to the offer as he ran, following Rat. Wu stood and headed behind The Masked one, taking a steady slow footsteps. As he passed by Archie, he stood beside him for a brief moment and gave him a sarcastic smile and whispered "If I was you at the moment, I would fly through the back door". Outside the Mask man held Rat at gunpoint.

"Hmph" Wu smiled, now he has a truly brilliant idea. He approached the masked man and leaned close to him, and whispered the seed of madness, "this man is worth ten grand to the U.S government and it just happens to be, I am a free lancer for the government. How about we take him in and split the reward fifty fifty? So what do you say?" He smiled, patiently waiting for his reply.

Santos inhaled so slightly the night breeze. After spending hours in the stale air of his office, tending to logistics, taking a stroll towards the saloon would definitely help him sort his thoughts. He wasn't a man to engage in the affairs of backwater hicks readily, and for the most part, they did bore him. However it was equally true that he required a break from his strained routine every so often. Leading was no small task, and only a few chosen ones could bear such burden.

None of them understood that. After all, what could the tiny rats know about the troubles of a wolfpack leader? His men, while loyal, were also a lousy lot when idle and without focus. And there was so much to do, and so little reward coming his way. Had he erred the location once again? Without gold this town held no value for his plan of building a proper retirement place for the soldiers which had accompanied him. At least the income had been balanced with the land and well acquisitions recently, even if he had to use methods, that if they were to be known, they'd probably be frowned upon.

It should still work. After all, we're all war veterans, and these are just dodgy vaqueros with guns. Santos rubbed his forehead, crunching even more numbers. There was also the issue that some crass moron had spread the tale about his exploits as the Butcher of Acapulco, and now some of the locales visiblely flinched in his presence.

Wasn't Machiavelli the one who said that it is better to be feared than to be loved? He thought to himself.

There was another reason why he was heading towards the saloon. An strategical one. The owner of said place had also quite the reputation, and inside the old soldier's head the alarms rang about Lady Rose. She had all the hallmarks of a woman who was much more than it seemed, and if left unchecked she would gladly outmaneuver her business rivals. The fact she was one of the few people inside town whose presence could be tolerated was an added bonus. Either as a partner with common goals or antagonist, it was worth checking once in a while.

He cradled his secret weapon in his arms like a precious gold ingot. In some ways, it was. French Champagne was a pain to get in this backwater town, and that was with all the contacts he maintained in the Old World. It would strike quite an impression to offer such token to an alcohol merchant.

Here and there, sounds of a brawl were heard near the saloon. Ricardo Santos was no coward and didn't fear such scuffles, bullets flying or not, but he knew better than to step in a brawl uninvited. He stood at a safe distance, sighing.

"Uncouth lot, all of them. I suppose it's the usual lovelihood of the saloon, as ever." He added, witnessing the entire spectacle in his hands outside the Saloon, a champagne bottle in his arms. One thousand? Peh. Small change for dirtying my hands. He added mentally upon hearing Rose's voice.

"You two can fuck each other before I die without a fight!," Johnny replied with a snarl. He raised his revolver, up above his pursuers heads and blasted away at the saloon's overhang ceiling. Wood and nails shattered and dropped on the two bounty hunters, either becoming a minor nuisance or nearly knocking them out.

Johnny jumped onto his horse quickly, braking the rope holding the beast in place and turned him around so that he could flee.

"Yah are goddamn crazies thinking you can fuck with me! You know what, yeah, I am Rat O'Hennessey! Fucking deal with it you backwater shits! Almost seventy men couldn't kill me! What makes y'all so damn special!"

Charlotte found the enthusiastic energy of the man sitting next to her refreshing. Not many people in town had that kind of zeal when it was just do damn hot all the time. Simion continued the conversation, grazing on a somewhat touchy subject for her—how she had gotten to town. Most of the people knew, or at least had a general idea, about how she became Sheriff, but other than that she has shared nothing.

“Oh, I was just traveling through when I came here,” Charlotte replied dismissively. As their talk went on, Charlotte, smiling, explained her (tedious) responsibilities to the man, her viewpoints and ideals, et cetera. “I mostly just try to keep the town safe and settle other disputes…” she was saying. All this time she had been largely unaware of what was going on around her, but every bit of tension she was feeling earlier finally culminated at the moment when a man—Archie—burst through the front doors sending off rounds from his gun.

“Get down!” she yelled, more to herself than to any other person. She followed Simion’s lead by jumping behind the bar. For a moment, she felt defenseless, but the cold metal against her leg reminded her of the gun she brought along. Trying to be modest, she slipped her hand up her dress and unholstered the weapon, pointing it first at Archie. Then her eyes settled on the man he was aiming at.

A man that looked vaguely familiar.

But in Charlotte’s semi-drunken haze she was having a tough time connecting the dots. Finally, when he bolted, Lady Rose shrieked about offering a thousand dollars to anyone who could capture him, obviously sending many others out after the bandit.

“He’s wanted!” the sheriff realized, standing up and heading for the door. She felt wobbly, even in her flats, and she caught herself on the threshold of the door just as more rounds were fired, followed by a crash as something outside fell to the ground.

“Rat O’Hennessey…” she breathed, after the man had shouted his name. “He’s worth ten thousand dollars!”

She balled her hand into a fist and slammed it on the doorway.

“Damn it!” she snarled. “I can’t go after him like this. I’ll get myself killed!”

Of course, she didn’t necessarily have to get the man herself; it was more of a pride thing. It was really her job just to give the reward to whomever dragged the man in. Still though, she couldn’t believe she let something like this go down right under her nose.

Everything unfolded quickly and with little warning, the saloon a flurry of activity as shots were fired and people scrambled to escape or find some cover. From behind the bar he and Charlotte were relatively protected, but as events unfolded and it soon became clear that this man was Rat O’Hennessey - a wanted fugitive with a bounty on his head things changed. Rose vaulted the bar with a gun in hand and a determined snarl on her face as she offered a thousand dollars to anyone who would assist her, with others already rushing after the man. She looked quite the part in her dress, Simion thought to himself supressing a small chuckle.

More shots rang out as this ‘Rat’ fired a few well-placed rounds into the ceiling of the room, sending shards and splinters of wood and nails scattering about the place.

The sheriff who seemed a tad wonky on her feet to Simion soon followed the others, but not before she exclaimed the true value of this man aloud, a whopping $10,000 – more than enough for anyone to risk their lives. It soon became clear to him why this undertaker had acted as he had despite his obvious lack of shooting skills.

As he watched events unfold Simion grabbed himself the closest bottle of liquor before taking a deep swig from the bottle, sighing as the harsh liquid burnt at his throat. Moments later he put the bottle back before hopping once more over the bar and making his way quickly to the Sheriff as she pounded a fist against the doorway, clearly frustrated at the shootout unfolding under her nose and her lack of ability to give chase.

“Need focus?” asked Simion with a smirk as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the packet of honey flavoured gum he had taken earlier. “Doctor Smith’s patented chewing gum” he explained “containing a quite marvellous substance that I think you’d find will eh… perk you up and help you concentrate a little more?” with a smile he took out a piece and popped it into his mouth before holding the tin out for her as he began to chew. The effects were quite fast, he noted, as he soon began to feel his heart rate quicken and a feeling of wellbeing and focus wash across him.

Rose didn't bother to take the front door with everyone else—this was her saloon, after all, and she knew it like the back of her hand. She raced past the patrons at the bar, not bothering to apologize for any bumped shoulders, and darted into the back room. She hastily threw the lock behind her—only she would be able to get in now, with the key she kept in a very private location—and kept going, holding a window open and vaulting the sill with the skill of a hurdler. She let the glass slam shut behind her and kept running. The window opened into the track that led between the wooden buildings. As she ran, Rose hiked up her skirts again, and her hand immediately went to the set of three small, black leather sheaths that were strapped to her upper thigh.

She burst out onto the street in front of Rat on his charging horse, about fifty meters away and slightly to the left of her. Rampinella stood her ground. She breathed in deeply, one knife in her hand, and set her feet, shoulder-width apart. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, steadying her racing heart in a matter of moments. Closing one eye, she sighted down the road at the horse galloping towards her, and the angry criminal bouncing on its back. Breathe in. She drew back her arm, flipping the knife in one smooth movement and grasping it by its tip. Rat was barely ten meters away.

Breathe out. Her arm lashed forward with lightning speed. The knife flashed away out of her hand, spinning end over end in a perfect arc as she threw herself out of the way, the blade on a trajectory to slice right through the girth of Rat's saddle.

She hadn't drawn crowds from all across the West for nothing.