---

The town of Soursprings was quiet as usual, the sun shined bright in the sky. It was the middle of the day and here was not a cloud in sight. A few wagons moved through the streets, others were stationary as the townsfolk sampled their stock. It was a the near definition of a pass through town, just under 200 people actually lived in it. Many of them were old, retired folks, though there were a few young families. Several farms sat around the outskirts of the town, the moo of cattle could be occasionally heard. The town’s draw for many residents was how safe it was, there was little to no crime, no outlaws making it a living hell.

Some people were inside of the small white church as the pastor gave a speech about the ten commandments. Others walked through the town as they stopped in stores and did their shopping for the week. Others chatted with their neighbors and fellow townspeople. The Soursprings saloon was the most interesting spot in town, the usual bar crowd were huddled inside it's comforting doors. Horses were saddled outside of it, as were two hitched wagons. A bartender stood behind the bar, a mug in hand as he scrubbed it clean. The resident musician, Billy, tapped the piano keys which produced a soothing tune..

Most of the guests were outsiders, a few scattered residents were also there. A small group sat at a round table, that was a merchant and his guards. They seemed to be doing shots as each man tried to hold more liquor than the others. Some more scattered strangers stood around, a couple in the corner played a game of darts, two at another table played cards. Another chatted up one of the bar’s floozies. The most interesting fellow was one that Clayton Beck kept glancing at from his seat across the bar. A half full glass of whiskey sat in front of the deputy, he took another sip from it. Next to that was his cowboy hat. He wasn't a heavy drinker, but something cold like whiskey on the rocks fit a hot day like this perfectly.

"Can I fill your glass up, Clay?" One of the waitresses in the saloon, Sophie, asked the lawman. She was a pretty girl, a year or two younger than he was. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, she looked at Clayton with her blue eyes, a smile on her lips.

"No thank you ma’am, my father wouldn't appreciate me getting drunk on my shift." Clayton replied as he returned the smile. He received a good amount of break time, there wasn’t often much crime in town. His dad would just have him patrol or sweep the sheriff's station.

His eyes flashed back towards the mysterious individual, now three mean looking men had joined him at the table and they were making conversation. The man had a tough scar across his cheek, part of it covered by a thick black beard. Clayton’s father taught him to not judge someone by their appearance, but there was something about this stranger and his friends. Travelers were a common sight in the little town, but this man and his friends looked ready to fight. He also noticed a revolver on each of their hips as they had walked in. Clay had his own hitched into its holster, he had left his rifle at home.

“I don’t know why Sophie, but those men stink of bad medicine. Look like they stumbled right out of the badlands.” Clayton said quietly as the waitress listened, one of her hands wiping off his table with a rag.

“They’ve been real quiet, no fussin’ from them. That bearded fellow ordered a drink and sat down quietly.” Sophie replied as she gave a quick glance to the strangers, then walked towards the bar which left Clayton alone. He took another sip of his drink, letting the liquor swirl in his mouth for a moment. Then he heard one of the bar’s patrons woo as he nailed a dart center on the board. Billy had changed his tune, someone placed a crisp dollar into his tip jar.

Clayton rose the glass up towards his lips, but paused before he drank in his liquid as he noticed his father, the sheriff walk right through the front door. He had his usual outfit on, grey slacks, cowboy boots, a black vest with a star on it, the sleeves on his grey shirt underneath rolled up to his elbows. He pulled his cowboy hat off as he entered the establishment and stuck it on the coat rack. Then William Beck paused in stride as he glanced over the scene in the bar room. He flashed a couple smiles and nods, then moved towards Clayton’s table, Billy the musician making a remark.

“You’re getting a little chubby from sitting in that office all day, Will.” The piano player said as he paused the music. The sheriff laughed a heart laugh and replied.

“My fat ass could still throw you clear through one of these windows, Billy.” William said as he took a seat across from his son who was surprised to see that his father had decided to join him at the in the saloon.

“Who's watching the station?” Clayton asked with a raised brow, his drink still in hand.

“Old Orville, there’s no really anything to watch anyway. Other than the mice in the walls I suppose.” William replied as Sophie placed a full mug of beer on the table in front of the elder Beck.

“Compliments of the house, sheriff.” She said with a smile.

“No, no, I’ll pay for it. None of that doggery type business in my little town.” William said as he reached into his pocket then pulled out a couple clean dollar bills. He placed them down in front of the waitress, she picked them off the table as William sized up his drink. He flashed a nod to Clayton then took a long drink of his beer. Sophie wandered towards the bar.

“Nothing quite like a bit of firewater on a burning hot day.” He said as he set down the mug, then ran a hand through his fleeting head of hair. A layer of stubble sat on his face, the first grey hairs had started to poke through it. He was not that old, a man of forty five. He sighed, then looked around the bar as he noticed the mysterious scarred man eyeing him. The two made eye contact before the stranger shifted his gaze towards one of his companions.

“Lot of visitors to our fair town this afternoon.” William stated to his son as he crossed one leg over his other. Outside the saloon another wagon pulled into town, it was a larger one, pulled by four horses. It went down the streets and out of sight from those inside the bar room.

“I just had that thought. No reason to think they’re troublemakers, nothing valuable in our little town.” Clayton said. The bank they had was a small one, he doubted there was even enough money inside of it to make a robbery worth it. The closest train station was a few miles east, and the stores in town didn’t have anything worth taking. No jewelry stores here.

“Exactly. Not like anyone will mess with us fierce lawmen anyway?” William asked, then both him and his son started to laugh heartily. It seemed to be just another quiet day in Soursprings, and that was just what the residents hoped for.

"Everyone! It's the story telling hour, so get your best tales together and you might win what's on the board!" Mister Darwall announces on the small stage opposite the bar of the saloon with a smile, nodding towards a board stating multiple prizes on it near the bar:

The Prizes of the Story Hour
First Place: A Burnside Rifle and anything free for an hour.
Second Place: Half off anything for a week or any bar tabs removed.
Third Place: A free bottle from the next shipment of Darwall Brewery goods.
Fourth Place: Half off anything for an hour.

"Sheriff, feel like having a go? You need to frequent here more by the by, you'd have a hog-killin' time here. Or maybe the deputy has something? Just start telling it if anyone else wants to start us off if our dependable lawmen are dry of stories." Joshua states in his thick northern accent, walking off the stage, sitting in his corner of the saloon, ready to enjoy the tales with a glass of scotch on the table. Outside a few porters begin unloading five crates of something into the saloon's cellar. Joshua had started doing the story hour as a weekly show around two months ago because he wanted to encourage imagination and hear as many rumors as possible, jotting as many of them down in his notebook for future reference.

Laughter and excited hoots sounded across the dusty plain. The sound of hoofbeats, thunderous on the cracked, dry ground, rumbled along the railroad. Two young men were racing neck and neck, their small but fleet horses just as excited as they were. One of the men rode with only a harness, his back arched slightly as he watched the ground ahead of him for any holes or rocks. The man riding next to him, almost close enough to bump his foot, rode without a saddle or harness, his hands gripping the white mane of the Arabian stallion he was egging to go faster. The white horse took a lead, just barely in front of the other.

The cloud of dust being kicked up behind them was rather impressive. It was even more so when they came to a sudden stop upon reaching the switchyard. One of the brothers called out for victory.

"I told you my Adjum was the fastest, brother. I don't know why you will never believe me," He said, the biggest shit eating grin on his face. Kadir gave the horse an affectionate pat on the neck. His brother, Amid, turned his horse around and began a slow walk back towards town.

"You wouldn't have gotten ahead of me if you hadn't cheated," He said. His horse, a bay colored stallion, huffed heavily. Kadir came up alongside him, his devil of a horse still somehow managing to look lively.

"I didn't cheat. I wouldn't have gotten a head start if you were just a little quicker. You and your horse are slow."

The brothers had been on a slow ride around the ranch on their favorite horses when Kadir had challenged his brother to a race. He had promptly sped off, leaving Amid to realize what had happened. And of course, he couldn't turn down a challenge. Amid could only assume their stable hand had no idea where they were.

The ranch was back in sight within only a few minutes. The landscape being what it was, it was hard to hide such a large complex. By the time the brothers arrived home, their horses were cooled down enough to have some water and let rest. Amid went right back to work; going inside to sort out some papers from recent sales. Kadir, however, apparently wasn't in the mood to stay still.

He wandered into the kitchen and messed around in there for a while, then slunk into the den to pretend to busy himself with a book. Amid sighed under his breath as he listened to his brothers' boots wander across the wooden floor. He counted the second in his head until he knew Kadir would come to pester him. His brother never failed.

"Amid?" Kadir appeared in the doorway, eating a piece of toast, from what Amid could tell. "What do you say we go to the saloon?"

"Bored already?" Amid didn't look up from his work. He knew his brother couldn't help it. They'd finished their chores that morning, and they didn't have any meetings planned. He had already known Kadir would be pestering him for some form of entertainment today. The man in the doorway remained silent. Crumbs from his toast were gathering on the floor at his feet.

Amid closed his records book and looked up, his thoughts portrayed in his eyes. "I did all my chores already!" Kadir said in his defense, "There's nothing else to do! Come on Amid." Amid sighed and stood up, grabbed his billfold from the desk. Kadir smiled in victory once more.

The two took a different set of horses into town; the lazy bastards needed excise anyway. Their stable hand was left in charge of the ranch until they returned. It wasn't a long trip to town. Just long enough for them to gossip a bit about a strange buyer they'd had the other day. Upon entering the town, the brothers found themselves switching to English to talk. For whatever reason, the people around here didn't seem to like other languages being spoken. They always thought that they were the topic of the two's conversation. Amid only wished he could be that arrogant.

The saloon was busy with their regular story telling contest. Amid and Kadir slipped in and sat towards the middle. Kadir, who was probably the better speaker of the two of them, ordered their drinks while Amid looked at the faces surrounding them. He didn't know a whole lot of people in town, but a group of men towards the back caught his eye as being not from around here. He didn't pay them much attention though. He turned back to the stage to listen to whoever was up there.

Huang Kung-wang, who never mastered the art of thinking of himself as Hanley Wang, was saddle sore. Very saddle sore. But apart from his restless shifting he didn't complain. Mary was on her own horse just a little further ahead on the road. If such a rutted dirt track could be called a road. His lover wasn't sidesaddle now that they were on the run. Instead she sat like a man with trousers and everything. Her long brown hair left loose trailing out behind her. From the tilt of her shoulders Kung-wang could tell she was deep in thought. According to the map they were using they should have reached the town of Iron Hills yesterday. They didn't. Kung-wang sighed. They were lost.

"We're not lost." Mary snapped out at his sigh. "We're just..." She struggled for a word. "Not where we're supposed to be."

Mary then sighed and hunched over. Kung-wang spurred his horse up to hers and wrapped an arm around her. "Will be fine." Kung-wang told her. Despite the years he had spent in America he still had a hard time with speaking the language. Hus comprehension of the spoken language was far better. Of course his literacy for English was non existent which was why Mary was navigating.

"Road is highly used." Kung-wang pointed out. "And very recently. Must be people around somewhere."

The small thankful smile Mary sent him warmed him from the inside. Kung-wang feel back as they continued. He wanted to ride side by side with Mary but it wasn't practical. If anyone knew they were together they just might not stop at killing Kung-wang like Mary's father. They might decide to kill her too, or worse. So the two rode on as if they were near strangers. Him her manservant and her very much a lady on hard times.

The hot sun continued to rise as the two continued their long journey across the harsh desert. The two stopped frequently to water their horses and themselves. Neither voiced what would happen if their water supply ran out. Dying alone in the desert might sound romantic but it wasn't. They needed to find a town by nightfall or they'd have to turn back and hope they had enough rations to make it back to the last town they passed.

Hope. That was what everything was riding on now.

It has two days of traveling. Silently riding on the back of Cassius as the hooves clacked on the hard clay. Two days ago, Monty was helping in a free slave town, New Porter, where he was offered a position as town sheriff since he stayed for about two weeks and have defended the town, keeping riff-raffs from causing problems.

Yeah he had to straighten out some of his own people, telling them to have better pride in themselves but the biggest trouble were some of the criminals who came through thinking that the blacks will keep their mouths shut and let them do as they pleased. The only reason why he stayed as long as he did was not because of just defending but a fine piece of tail who was just too irresistible to pass up.

Getting his fill of New Porter, entertaining the people with his guitar skills and joining other musicians while there, helping and scaring off any trouble makers, and time and time again...laying his pipe down on sweet Matilda, Monty went on his way to travel to another town to make his money.

The sun was cooking, seeing that there were no clouds out, looking into the horizon, hoping that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, Monty saw what looked to be a town up ahead. If this was indeed a town he could rest at, it would be grand but...the thing about coming into small or large towns if it's not a free slave town, Monty was usually not well welcomed in them. In fact, some didn't like that fact that they witness a "n*gger on a horse", as they say.

It wasn't long until he and Cassius made it into the town of Soursprings. He looked around while coming in slowly, chewing his sugarcane straw while a few people looked up and giving the same reaction he always get when he comes into a town with white people, stares. This wasn't new to him, he'd watch as a carpenter stopped what he was doing to watch and follow Monty's movements. He gained stares from two white guys who were talking. Even the guy who was shoveling shit, stopped to look at this n*gger on a horse.

Still looking around, Monty saw three nooses ready for anyone who crossed the people in this town or any criminal that caused mischief...or any n*gger they felt needed to be made an example out of. The whores looked out the window at this big black man who seemingly unfazed by the stares, come through like he belonged in that town.

Monty stopped Cassius the moment he saw the saloon and got off to tie his horse up so that he could hopefully get a temporary job as a musician. He had his guns in his holsters but....if he was to bring his guitar in, all he could hope is for these people not to be too alarmed with his presence. he grabbed the guitar off the back of Cassius, taking it and strapping it on himself as the guitar hung from his back.

Looking around once more, he saw a man and woman looking at him and the man spoke to the woman D-...Did that n*gger just get off that horse? he asked her, looking surprised. Monty ignored it and walked into the saloon looking round. It wouldn't surprise him if the whole place stopped their activities to look at him, it's happened before but even so, he walked quietly to the bar while giving a courteous nod to ones who looked at him.

Ellis Braddock leaned against the wall of a small shop, puffing on a cigar. He was standing on the boardwalk in the shade of an awning. He wore a dusty black business suit with a black bow-tie and a bowler hat. He had a bushy beard and mustache that largely covered the bow-tie and his face bore its usual sour expression. Beside him sat a small wooden box.

He was trying to enjoy the weather, hot as it may be. He listened to the pastor's sermon through an open window in the Church next door. He took the cigar out of his mouth and spit on the boards by his feet. Already there were many spit stains on the boards in front of him. He puffed again on his cigar.

The pastor was talking about the Ten Commandments. Now he was talking about the sin of murder. Ellis frowned slightly and pulled himself away from the spot he had settled in. He picked up the wooden box and walked slowly down the boards, puffing and spitting as he went. He left the church behind him as he made his way slowly to the saloon. Two ladies passed him and he tipped his hat. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth and had a short fit of coughing, followed by spitting and cussing. Then he continued on his way.

As he approached the saloon, he saw a black man riding up on a horse. As the man approached the door, Ellis nodded to him, without easing his sour expression. "Excuse me Sir," he spoke with a voice that had no noticeable accent. "Would you be interested in purchasing a cee-gar? Perhaps some tobacco?" Ellis took the cigar out of his mouth and spit.

"If my ears and notes don't deceive me then we might have another sheriff in town, Monty or somethin' like that isn't it? Have a story for us? If it's good you'd win whatever's on the board..." Joshua asks, trying to get Monty's attention, a porter then enters, heading towards Joshua. "Only one replacement boss, they ran out of Athena's Ale and replaced it with Greek Great Gin." The porter reports. "It'll be alright for now, tell them to firstly go with the scheme and secondly send double the shipment for half as much next time or we cancel the arrangement." Joshua replies with a rather annoyed tone in his voice, jotting something down in his notebook as the porter walks off with a thick booklet of records.

Charles clicked his tongue. “Mistah Drummah,” He began, his refined southern drawl thick as butter on a biscuit. “Twice before you had been unable to pay me my just recompense. This makes a third.” The loan shark held up three fingers, before bringing them down into a tight fist. “You out, boy.” He wasn’t going to hurt him, not really. O’Malley possessed some control, but it was the Becks that had final say. Staying on their side of the law was paramount to survival out here. Joe Drummer was going to start beggin’ real soon. They always do.

“Mister O’Malley, I don’t have the funds! I, I, I, I’m sorry. Please, just give me a little more time!”

Charles stepped closer to Joe, so that they were only a few inches apart. “And where, Mistah Drummah, did all of that money go?” He started quietly, placing both of his hands on his counterpart’s shoulders. His hands slid to the collar of Joe’s shirt, seizing it in a tight grip. “Spendin’ it to buy some baubles for a pretty tavern whore!?” He shook the younger male vigorously. “Losin’ yourself in a drink!? Wastin’ it away on some fancy rifle to compensate for the sheer lack of manhood between your own damn legs?!”

He let go of Joe, and patted him on the back, beginning to speak jovially. “Now ah do know that they don’t much like that whole slavery gig much anymore, but boy, I might as well own you. You gonna be running errands for me until you drop dead from exhaustion.” And with that, Charles took his leave of the little hovel that Joe called ‘home’, and made for the saloon.

---

On his way to the Burnside, Charles stopped to watch a negro climb off of a horse and head to the tavern himself. N*ggers gotta drink too huh? He sighed and entered the building, not giving the black so much as a glance as he took a seat at the bar. “Ahm not here for story time, just champagne. Ah do trust that you can provide?” Charles said, producing a wallet from the folds of his clothing.

@Corporal Hicks

As soon as Monty walked in, assuming he was going to be questioned as to why he came in such a place and if he was in his right mind, he was approached by a gentleman who asked him as question about purchasing a cigar and tobacco. Now....Monty have had a few run-ins with some decent white men, if there ever was one he could speak of. And with this man approaching him like a common customer, Monty froze for a moment and slightly tilted his head to this new approach. He could tell this man didn't sound like he was from the south but, he was a ittle pleased this man was kind enough to offer him something.

Monty responded "No thank ya, suh(sir). No disrespeck...but I's mo' of ah drinkah than ah smokah". Tipping his hat and was about to ask him about something until, someone called his name. Monty looked over to notice a man behind the bar and talking with the unusual accent. Monty have heard it before but he couldn't put his finger on who that was just yet. he walked closer to the man at the bar and stared on. We's met befo' right?" he asked the man. with his guitar still strapped to his back and trying to kid the view of the guns on his holsters, Monty wanted to get down to the bottom of how this man knew him.

"If you've been here before then you've been drinking in my establishment sheriff, the Burnside is owned by me, Joshua Darwall, I've heard the odd rumour of you, good work with New Porter... Think that's the place anyway. If you want to help with the story hour, just tell your best story aloud." Joshua replies in a reasonably compassionate and cheerful tone to Monty, looking through one of his notebooks to check if he got the name of the town correct.

"Mister O'Malley, we can provide champagne from many countries, and at a discount, I think you've dealt with a good number of the customers who don't pay us for the brilliant services here, least you deserve really for doing such a kind thing. Joshua answers Charles just as happily, again checking his notes as a wagon with the porters aboard journey elsewhere.

McCree leisurely paced trotting with his horse while whistling. He thought " what city we will visit this time." He decided to dismount and took out a map, looked once, twice and said, "My horse, it seems that we are in front of Soursprings, I think that we will stay there for a few days".Unfortunately, the horse understood almost nothing and just snorted loudly. After hiding the map and mounting horse, Thomas decided to start gallop, after all, even the horse has to practice sometimes. After almost 15 minutes he was already past the first buildings of the city. "
Quiet little town, probably nothing happens here. As usual, I came across a good place to relax" he thinked, then he saw a bar. McCree already knew where he will go first , after all, there's always something going on in the bars, especially in small town like this. First thing he saw before entrance off the bar was some horses staying tethered to the railings. "So, there's actually someone here, that's great. This is gonna be a good day".

On the edge of town four horse-riders had appeared, the one to the farthest left had a cigarette in his mouth, on his head was a stray hat and on his face was a crooked smile. One front tooth missed in the grin which could be seen as he opened his mouth to speak, the man's words coming out with a slight Southern drawl.

"This is the place alright, little ole' Soursprings. Nothin' here but old folks and nobodies. Easy pickings." He said as he used one gloved hand to push his hat up to shield his sunken eyes from the sun. His name was Foster, and he was a bad man. The baddest one in the group he'd contend if you asked him.

"Dewey is already there, I reckon he's laying low in the bar. Probably blue as a bum by now." Another man said, his long blonde hair was tied into a ponytail which hung below his cowboy hat. A scruff of facial hair smeared his mischievous face.

"You're right about that, Owen. Bet he's airing the paunch out a window by now." An eye-patched rider spoke, two glimmering steel revolvers hung off each of his sides. Both were cocked and loaded for trouble. An eyepatch sat over his left eye-socket. This was Horace, or 'One-Eye', though if you made the mistake of calling him that then he'd blast both his revolves in your arms. Well, if he was feeling merciful.

"Dillard's there too, ya' know how he likes to do it. He might be in that church over yonder. Sure ain't no man of God though." Foster added then removed the cigarette from his lips. With a flick of his hand he sent into into the dust as the wind blew it away into the underbrush.

The fourth horseman didn't speak, he was a little different from the others. A thick black beard covered his tanned skin, from the looks of it he was a man of Mexican descent. This was Rio, his English wasn't the best but he was as a part of the group as any of the others.

The quadruple of strangers slowed their horses stride as they moved into town. They breezed past the white church right as the father's sermon was finished. The small crowd had started on their way out of the holy house. Sure as stated, Dillard was the last one out the door. He locked eyes with one of his fellow strangers, then adjusted his cowboy hat as he strolled towards the saloon. The four riders pulled to the side and Dillard met them there.

"The lawman's office is the opposite side from where y'all strolled in. Ain't no one to be scared of here. Planted what you wanted where ya' wanted." He said with a quiet tone as each of them disembarked from their stallions. Then with a smirk at Rio the two newcomers to the small town walked towards the bank. They made showed no strain in their strides. Horace split off as well, letting out a whistle as he waltzed down the street towards the sheriff's office.

Foster and Owen then both entered into the saloon. Neither of them had weapons shown on their figure, but they were ready for action. The strangers entered in right as Sheriff William was telling a story. The older man sat leaned back in his chair while Billy paused his piano playing. The deputy next to his father wasn't paying attention to any of that, he was people watching. Though that couldn't be easily told as he smirked along to his daddy's rambling. Foster and Owen took seats at the opposite side of the bar from the scarred Dewey who didn't acknowledge them. To everyone not in their group they were strangers.

---

"Fine, fine. Guess I'd better entertain some of these here visitors. You been advertisin' this here grocery as one with free liquor or something?" William joked which made a few patrons smile. He then leaned back in his seat and let out a sigh before he raised his voice. Billy stopped the music and turned in his seat.

"So a long time ago, years it's gotta be, back when the deputy here wasn't even half his height. These two strangers wandered into town here. I still remember this cause it caused such a hellabaloo. The first one that came was some middle aged fellow, had a scar right below his left eye. Had the look of some poor lag, like he was in destined for the gallows or somethin'. He rode in on a lunkhead going lickety split. Damn near trampled some townsfolk on his way. I stroll out of the office and find him moving through town, asking anyone for shelter. I told him we had a perfectly good hotel he could stay in but he had as much money as a mumper." William paused to take a sip from his beer.

"So, while I'm chatting this feller up another visitor rolls into town. This one was the total opposite of the first lad, a mean lookin' Navy Model on his back, another on his belt. Look of pure determination on him, had that stare ya see on solders sometimes, like he's seen things. Right as the first bum catches sight of the second he gets real antsy, walks right away from me while I'm chatting him up. The other one spies him doin' this and whips out his lead-pusher quicker than I can blink and puts a shot right into the other's shoulder. Knocks him clean off his horse and sends it into a hoot."

"I pull out my own sidearm, point it at this fella', for all I know these are two troublemakers that wandered into my town to cause more dastardly deeds. Before I can say nothin' the one that blasted his gun speaks out. Says the other is a War deserter and that he had been tracking him from cross country. Pulls out official papers and all signed by the vice president. The lily livered bastard he just shot had stolen a buncha guns and ran west, where he was gonna sell them and make a new life. That bounty hunter had followed him for weeks."

"Within an hour we hung that deserter from the tallest tree. The bounty hunter was gone right after, barely said ten words to anyone. Left me his papers as a token, took the coward's corpse with him. Ain't seen nothin' like that since then." William finished as he took a drink of his beer and a couple patrons applauded. It wouldn't sound like much to most of them, but the sheriff remembered it like it was yesterday.

Then an unexpected commotion broke out as the scarred stranger launched himself at another patron, sending his glass to the floor in the process. One of his friends did the same as he threw a chair at another. Then a brawl broke out all of a sudden, people tossed over tables, chairs shattered all around. William had dashed to his feet as quickly as he could, Clayton doing the same. Both men trying to get piece as someone went down after taking a glass mug to the jaw. Foster and Owen threw punches on the other side of the room.

"Just remember no one uses guns indoors! Now enjoy yourselves! Sheriff we're cutting story hour short so enjoy first prize with a free bottle from the shipment just in!" Joshua shouts, just sipping a drink nearby and enjoying the bag of nails. Watching a few belly cheaters hit other patrons with pots and ladles as Joshua is trying to eye the biggest toad in the puddle, jotting a few notes down on them.

A glass hits the story hour sign from the crowd, a few reserve barkeeps trying to stash as much of the booze elsewhere as possible, trying to stop the waste of good alcohol. Joshua loving the carnage, thinking that the doctor wouldn't be lazing around any time soon and would be willing to give the Burnside a cut of the payment for such business about to flow in for the saloon brawl.

Charles smiled slightly at the unadulterated chaos going on in the bar behind him. "And ah was just about to recount my own version of them events..." He looked at Joshua from his stool and said. “How long do you reckon ah have before one of them brawlers behind me throws a punch mah way? Hopefully long enough to finish a glass of champagne.” Charles mused, answering his own question. “I’ll take the priciest one you’ve go-” The loan shark ducked as a glass flew over his head and shattered into pieces against a wall. "Priciest one you’ve got,” He reaffirmed. “I’m in no mood to be picky right about now.” Charles never quite understood the purpose of these fights. It seemed like a perfectly good way to waste your own energy and put yourself in the way of unnecessary harm when you could otherwise be doing something productive. “Anyways, how’ve you been faring Joshua? I'd just recently dealt with that Drummah fellow I've mentioned in the past myself."

Smoke rising from the horizon nearly dead ahead kindled their failing hope into flames. Neither of them pointed out the obvious, each too afraid that it was just a mirage. Yet their horse's canters was a little faster as they urged them on. The sight of a farm was a blessing. Mary grabbed a hold of her necklace and started a prayer to her God. Kung-wang itched to reach out and hug her. But it was now even more dangerous for the two of them. So he slowed his horse and let his fiance get further ahead of him. His beautiful, brave woman rode with a straight back and a confident assurance.

The two followed the road, because it was now one instead of a beaten fading dirt track, into the humble town. Mary lead them to a saloon. The two tied their horses off out front and brushed them down. The thirsty horses drank happily from the water trough. Kung-Wang lingered by the horses to make sure they didn't drink too much. Once their horses were taken care of the two entered the saloon and stopped just inside the swinging doors.

Without hesitation at the sight of the brawl, Kung-Wang grabbed Mary's arm and hauled her back outside. Mary glared at him a little but he didn't let go until they were far enough away that the Chinese man felt it was safe.

"Really?" Mary hissed, more pleased with his actions than annoyed.

"Go back in when settled. Stupid to go now." Kung-Wang replied with a shrug. Mary just rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded an awfully like a Chinese curse or the word men in English. Either would be fitting.

"Not too bad Charles! Drummah you say? He tried to steal from one of me shipments last week! Would have him hang upside down for a day if you didn't employ him!" Joshua speaks loudly. "You might want to join me over here, got a nice bottle of champagne here! Not sure if it's the most expensive but it's safer here!" He shouts as two burly men are tackled past the corner by a woman, all falling into two farmers bludgeoning each other with what look like farming hoes.

Joshua manages to stifle his laughing at the irony of the tackling but a ladle and two pans land on the corner's table. "You mind throwing over some soup ingredients while you're at it?" Joshua muses, ducking as a glass flies from the main crowd, not shattering surprisingly enough, beginning to laugh at the situation.

The two brothers were sipping their drinks, very much enjoying the sheriff's story. About the time he wrapped it up, however, one of the drunks near the back of the bar started a fight. Kadir immediately stood, eager to be involved. Although he was about knee high to a grasshopper, Kadir was pretty decent in a fight. Amid chose to stay at the table, nursing his glass and waiting for his brother to either get it out of his system or need his help.

Kadir jumped in and pulled a man off another who was taking a pretty nice beating. The guy turned and swung drunkly at him, and Kadir was all to happy to duck and swing back.

Amid watched as his brother dodged blows and landed his own. He wasn't quite sure where Kadir ever learned to fight. Having been born first, Amid was always treated differently by their father. He was held to a higher standard, because one day, their father's fortune and business would be passed on to him. Kadir, however, was a bit spoiled. Their mother had always doted on him from day one, and their father had treated him as a child. As such, Kadir had grown up to be something of a child. The look of delight on the Afghan's face as he fought off a couple staggering drunks made that much pretty clear.

Amid stood up as his drink ran out and made his way over to the bar. "Bar man, can I get another drink?" He said, his accent thick and a bit hard to hear over the roar of the fight behind him.

Ellis Braddock frowned as the bar erupted in violence. He wanted nothing to do with such a pointless scuffle. Turning around, he walked back out the door he had just entered. He stood out front and waited for things to calm down. He tipped his hat to a lady that was talking to a Chinese man. It seemed odd to him but he didn't think much of it. He hadn't quite formulated an opinion of the Chinese. They seemed industrious enough, but he hadn't had much exposure. Ellis finally stomped out the nub of a cigar he had been smoking. He pulled out another one and lit it with a match. He didn't bother to offer some cigars to the Chinese man as they never seemed to smoke tobacco. The thought of selling cigars to the lady obviously never occurred to his mind.

"Maria and Rosa, be nice to your brother! And don't forget to stir the stew!" Isadora called out over her shoulder to her siblings. "Ma, I'm headin' out now," she said, giving her mother a quick kiss on the cheek before she walking out of her cramped but cozy home and into the blinding sun.

The sky was a merciless blue, with not a cloud in sight. The sun beat down relentlessly on the parched land and sparse patches of lifeless grass as Isadora Escalante strode down the street and walked into the Burnside saloon through the back door. She slipped past the kitchen and emerged into the dining area, where Joshua Darwall, the owner of the saloon, was hosting his usual story contest. Isadora glanced at the windows, making note if the various forms of transportation that had been left outside in the sun. Horses and wagons seemed to be the preferred mode of transportation, which was nothing out of the ordinary.

Isadora caught Joshua's eye and flashed him a bright smile in greeting before she began to wait tables. Most of the patrons' attention was fixated on the small stage that Joshua was standing on, introducing his story telling contest. Billy was playing the piano, and nothing seemed horribly out of the ordinary. Of course, there was the matter of three mean-looking men who had just walked in a few seconds ago, guns holstered at their hips, but so long as they didn't actually do anything, Isadora didn't count that as unusual. Strangers and travelers were always present in the saloon; even ones who were looking for trouble.

Out of the corner of her eye, Isadora glanced at the deputy and the sheriff as the story-telling contest started. If she knew anything about William and Clayton Beck, it was that both of them had zero tolerance for troublemakers. It would be interesting to see how things played out if the men decided to try something.

Isadora wiped down a few tables before stopping to survey the crowd once more. This time, she managed to pick out out two lean, dark-haired men who were sitting in the middle. She recognized them as Amid and Kadir, two horsemen who were damn good at their job if what the people said was true. A tall, dark-skinned man made his way into the saloon, getting a few surprised looks. Isadora watched, nonplussed. She'd seen her fair share of people of different races in her time working at the saloon, and besides, it'd be hypocritical of her to find racial diversity strange, considering that Isadora was half-Mexican herself. Charles O'Malley entered shortly after, clad in a suit. If the rumors were to be believed, he'd been a big-time slave owner before the war. Now, she knew that he loaned out money to people, and that he was notoriously brutal towards people who didn't repay their loans on time. He asked for champagne in a slow Southern drawl, and Isadora almost went over to help him, but Joshua beat her to it. Other people filtered in, some of whom Isadora didn't recall ever seeing before. She put down the rag she had been using to wipe down tables and brought drinks to the patrons, her periwinkle-colored skirts swishing around her ankles as she walked.

One of the other waitresses, Sophie, sidled up to Isadora as she returned to the area behind the bar to get more drinks. "Whatcha' doing, Isa? Any of the people from outta town look 'specially interesting to you?"

Isadora turned to face the blonde waitress, an easy grin on her lips. She was fond of the other girl. The two of them had started working at Burnside at around the same time, and they had quickly formed a bond in those first years when they were stuck doing the dishes together. "There's a mean-looking fella over there, the one with the scar. Whaddya think of him?"

Sophie's gaze flitted over to the man. "Oh, him? Clay just asked 'bout him, actually. Said that him and his friends stink of bad medicine or somethin' like that. I don't know. They haven't done anything to cause trouble, in any case."

"Hmm. Well, Mister Darwall's not gonna throw 'em out for just sitting there lookin' mean, I suppose," Isadora replied, shrugging. She grabbed two mugs and filled them up with beer before walking back out to the main area of the saloon and placing the mugs on a table in front of two patrons. They thanked her absentmindedly, more focused on the storytelling contest than on her or the drinks. Isadora listened in as Sheriff William recounted how he'd encountered a bounty hunter and a deserter right here in Soursprings many, many years ago. The front door opened, and two men walked in-one of them wore a hat, while the other one had long blonde hair tied in a ponytail away from his face.

Now, they're the ones that look like trouble, Isadora thought to herself, suddenly keenly aware of the blades hidden under her clothing. I shoulda' worn those sharp hairpins too. Elena says they're real handy if you don't got scissors with you. I don't see how they wouldn't be real handy in stabbin' some fella's eyes out either. Isadora couldn't say that she'd seen very much trouble in her days-in fact, most of the time it was pretty quiet in the saloon, despite what one might think-but she'd seen enough to recognize the signs of it. She cast a quick glance at the owner of the saloon, who appeared to be completely unworried by the new arrivals. Instead, he was paying rapt attention to Sheriff William's story. Isadora sighed and shook her head slightly, pouring another drink. She smiled politely at the man who'd ordered it and placed it on the table he was sitting behind.

Since most of the patrons were paying more attention to Sheriff William and his story than to their drinks, Isadora took a small break and set down her tray, leaning back against the counter next to Sophie. She turned to the other girl, eyes sparkling mischievously. "So, didja' hear?" she whispered conspiratorially. "The general store owner's wife, Sue. The one who taught me and Maria and Rosa how to embroider, the one who came over from the East. Y'know what she did?"

Sophie furrowed her brow in confusion. "No, I sure don't. What happened?"

Isadora grinned wickedy. "She found out her husband was cheatin' on her with some other woman for ten years. He cut it off a year ago, but that don't mean Sue wasn't damn furious when she realized."

Sophie's blue eyes widened. "No. Dear god, Isa, how'd she know?"

"To hear her neighbor Eliza tell it, she'd been goin' through old papers and stumbled upon a coupla' love letters. The latest one was from 1881 or so, and the earliest from just after the war ended." Isadora felt a small surge of delight at Sophie's shocked expression.

"And Sue talked to her husband about it?" Sophie asked.

Isadora nodded. "You betcha'. She stormed right on over to where he was helpin' out some customers and sent all of her anger at him right then and there, in front of everybody in the store." An angry Sue was a sight to behold. Red-haired and feisty, Sue was widely regarded as the true owner of the general store. She made all the important decisions and kept the books, while her husband was in charge of tending to the day-to-day affairs of the store.

Sophie let out a low whistle. "Good god, poor woman. And for ten years, no less."

"I know, bless her soul. If Elena's husband ever pulls somethin' like that on her I'll personally introduce him to Satan myself," Isadora said matter-of-factly, pushing a strand of her wavy brown hair out of her face. Sophie chuckled slightly at Isadora's comment. She opened her mouth to respond, and all the hell broke loose.

Goddammit, I knew that fella with the scar was trouble! Isadora thought as he launched himself at another patron. The saloon descended into chaos as the brawl started. Isadora rolled her eyes. "Men," she grumbled under her breath. "They're all the same-too damn prideful for their own good and always too damn drunk to do anythin' but start fights." Isadora was not overly concerned, however. If none of them drew a gun, then things would calm down pretty quickly. She noted that Joshua was calmly watching the fight, even making a few jokes here and there.

Out of the corner of her eye, Isadora saw the door open for a split second before closing again. Frowning, she almost went to investigate, but one of the dark-haired horsemen she'd noticed earlier-she couldn't recall if it was Amid or Kadir, which was strange, since she'd always had a knack for remembering names-walked up to the counter and asked the barman for another drink. His words were almost indecipherable above the racket caused by the brawl going on behind him.

Isadora leaned over the counter so she could talk to him without screaming at the top of her lungs. "I can help you out, though I'm not the barman," she offered, flashing him a teasing smile. "What would you like?"

Thomas slowly approached the bar, At the time when he was close enough to hear the fight prevailing inside, flinched.
"Certainly life in this city should be interesting", he thought while tying his horse to the sloop stood beside the inn . He saw that one of the participants fight fled and stood at the entrance smoking cigar, he looked like some kind of merchant. Close to him two persons were talking to each other, one of them looked like chinese, the other person was certainly woman. Thomas had nothing to Chinese people. McCree decided that he will approach him and check on what he sells there. He began to walk , and after a while saw that the man apparently sells cigars. Well, in the end one cigar doesn't make me a smoker" he thought . He spoke to the peddler , "Hello, how are today's sale? I'd be happy to buy something from You. It seems that you sell cigars. How much money one of them cost?". While waiting for the respond he peeked thought saloon window, inside the brawl was raging on. One of the brawlers just smashed bootle into another's one head, Second one almost thrown one of fighters throught the window. "I will certainly don't enter there". "So, what's the price?"