"Hello, how are today's sales? I'd be happy to buy something from You. It seems that you sell cigars. How much money one of them cost?"

Ellis watched casually as the newcomer hitched his horse and came closer. When he was greeted he put out his hand for a handshake. His grip was almost painfully tight. "What sales?" he chuckled. He opened the box and showed some rather fine cigars and well as chewing tobacco. "It's twenty-five cents apiece, or you can have six for only a dollar. What is your name, Sir?"
<Tag Treshan>

The ruckus continued as both the lawmen watched it unfold. William let out a deep sigh as he stood away from it, watchful for anyone that used a weapon. Fists and thrown chairs were one thing, but if a dagger or gun were drawn then there was a greater chance of a life being taken. Luckily he did not see any of the brawlers make that decision, just honest punches and kicks.

"These things tend to die quickly, son. Just watch if any of these drunks go beyond throwing punches." William exclaimed as a man was thrown to the ground to his left. Well if anyone decided to go after him or his kid then he'd be able to chuck them in the brig. Towards one side of the room the two strangers, Foster and Owen, had smirks on their faces. Owen had taken a right hook to the nose, and a bit of blood was leaking but it wasn't too bad. The situation was going just as they wanted.

As the fight dragged on noise came from outside the saloon. Horace sprinted out of a doorway, over one of his shoulders was a linen bag full of something. Guns, ammo, money, alcohol, tobacco, whatever valuable he had just gotten from the store he robbed. The sheriff's office had one deputy in it, some old fellow napping on the job. The robbed storekeeper had emerged a moment after Horace, a rifle in his hand.

"Ay! Stop that man, he just robbed my stock. Gonna give him a licking." The shopkeeper yelled, then rose his rifle up and aimed it towards Horace, the criminal kicking up dust with every boot that hit the ground. He squeezed the trigger and a bullet blasted out of the gun, it slammed into the ground just behind the thief. The gunshot drew the attention of everyone in the area, including many in the bar sober enough to realize it.

"Sheriff, someone robbed Smith's store! Look there!" Billy the pianist exclaimed as he pointed out one of the windows. Horace was still booking it away from the store as the shopkeeper fired another shot which went wide. The outlaw had drawn his revolver and returned fire as he ran, one of the two shots he fired had impacted into Smith's knee and sent him to the ground in pain. Horace kept on foot as townsfolk stared in surprise and shock.

William drew his own handgun and took one step towards the door, but another bullet rang out, this time from inside the saloon. The shard of metal slammed into the lawman's hand and exploded out the other side. William let out a scream and a loud profanity as his hand was punctured and his weapon bounced across the floor, far out of reach. He went down in pain, as blood oozed from the wound.

Foster's drawn revolver smoked as he watched the sheriff go down. Owen had dashed towards the back of the room and flipped over a table. He too had his piece drawn and cocked. As Foster aimed to fire another shot at William, and finish the elder lawman, a shot impacted inches away from his neck. It splintered the wood as Clayton Beck aimed towards his father's assailant, a look of intense rage on his face.

"Everyone, clear out of here! We got outlaws in Soursprings!" Clayton screamed as he squeezed the trigger of his iron once more. This time his shot made contact with Foster who yelped out in shock as he was hit in the left shoulder. The outlaw went to the floor behind an overturned table as Clayton fired another shot which sprang up more wood splinters but no blood. Many of the bar's patrons made for the exit, others laid on the floor with their hands over their heads.

"Owen, get outta here, go help Horace! Dewey you drunk fuck, kill that fucking kid!" Foster ordered from his position, Owen did as was ordered and launched himself out a nearby window. He landed in a heap of glass outside of the saloon but was one his feet as he sprinted after Horace who turned down an alleyway. The scarred Dewey and his three friends had drawn their pieces and taken cover around the saloon. One of them rose up and fired at the deputy.

Clayton grunted as he felt intense pain in his right leg. He had gotten nailed and it stung like nothing he'd ever felt before. He charged towards the bar and launched himself over it, glasses tumbled all over the place as he inadvertently knocked them off the counter. He clenched his revolver, his back to the thugs as they were zeroed in on him. Two bullets zinged over the bar and missed everything. He had his hands over his head as the situation continued to spiral out of control.

Total chaos continued outside of the saloon. Rio and Dillard emerged from the front entrance of the bank, each man with a bag of loot in one hand, and their revolver in the other. They rushed towards their horses as sweat poured down their faces. Inside the bank laid two dead townsfolk that tried to jump the bank-robbers. The bank teller was in tears at the carnage of it all. Behind the saloon a drawn carriage's cargo was revealed as the flap of fabric covering it was pushed away, five men emerged. Each one carried a revolver, several of them with their faces covered. They were more of the outlaws' assembled thugs.

The group rushed in through the back door of the saloon. In an instance they poured in from the back of the bar room. Three knocked over a large table then tucked behind it, one more stayed in the back doorway, and the fifth ducked low as he aimed to get the jump on poor Clayton. All of the outlaw's eyes were on the lawmen, there was opportunity for heroic civilians to help fend them off.

(Summary)

Ellis saw the thief emerge from the store across the way. He tucked the cigar box in his coat and drew his old army revolver. He stepped around his potential customer and took careful aim on the running man. He squeezed the trigger six times, sending a bunch of hot lead at Horace. To Ellis it was as matter-of-fact as tying his shoes, the look on his face did not change. Then he heard shots behind him in the bar, and he thought more shots somewhere else in town. Clearly the robbery was not an isolated incident. Ellis spit out his fresh cigar and turned away from his target, walking to one of the windows of the saloon. He crouched and looked through the shattered glass and saw the wounded sheriff. He sat down with his back to the wall and reloaded his six-shooter. Then he rose just enough to peek his head over the wall. Steadying his hands on the windowsill, he took aim on several of the criminals that he could see. He squeezed off two rounds then paused to assess the situation. He took aim on another one and fired two more rounds.

A typical trip into town. A typical stop in the general store, and a typical journey home. There would be no drama, no violence, and she could be home before sundown. That was what Kizzy Cottman had assured herself would take place, and she sincerely hoped would take place. But nothing had been typical since Landon had been shot, and on occasion, she wondered if anything ever would. That afternoon, it seemed, was no exception.

"Miss Cottman!" the shopkeep had greeted with a nod and a grin. He might have waved as well, had his hands not been otherwise occupied. In short, practiced motions, the man shuffled paper from one pile to another, mentally noting totals even as he continued to speak. "Allers a pleasure to see you, ma'am."

His enthusiasm, though endearing, was not returned. "Afternoon," Kizzy answered simply, fingertips politely kissing the brim of her hat before she tugged it off. Even in a mere shop, she had been raised better than to parade about with her head covered.

"What brings you in today?" he continued cheerfully.

"Just need some sugar."

"Doing some baking?"

Kizzy paused, her hand hovering over a small bag as she mused over his words. What, pray tell, would be another use for sugar? But the woman bit back the retort. He was a good man, and she would be wrong to take out her anger on him. It just is not a good time.

There was no time for her comment, even if she had chosen to say it. A man who had previously lurked in the back suddenly raced by, a cloth bag laden with goods over his shoulder. His motions were unusual, she noted with some urgency, as she nearly toppled as he shoved past her. What excuse did he have for such behavior? Her first thought was a robbery, and the shopkeep's subsequent shouts confirmed her suspicions.

Her own shopping list was forgotten as she lunged after the man. Her boots thudded dully across the wood floor, and then the creaking porch, and finally the hard-packed, dusty street. But it was not until the blonde burst into the center of town that she realized the gravity of the situation. Men and women ran all about, their paths criss-crossing and apparently random, a sure sign of panic. Shouts carried from numerous buildings, accompanied by the familiar thunder of guns being fired. Immediately, her hand dropped to her own pistol.

So much for a typical day. But in Soursprings, what did she expect?

Isadora stood off to the side as the chaos unfolded, not particularly keen on the idea of getting involved. "Too many men and too much alcohol," she muttered under her breath. Neither the sheriff nor the deputy seemed to be overly concerned either, although Isadora noted that they were watching the fighting carefully. Lookin' out for weapons being drawn, I'd reckon, Isadora mused silently. That's just as well, I suppose. Don't want anyone shootin' up the place here, now do we?

Soon enough, Sophie joined Isadora behind the bar counter. She leaned forward, redoing her long blonde ponytail before resting her elbows and on the polished wood. "How come you never see women getting into these brawls?" Sophie drawled, a hint of dry humor lacing her voice.

Isadora laughed. "Because we've got more sense than the whole lot of 'em," Isadora replied, making a vague gesture towards the main seating area of the saloon, where the fight raged on. "Jesus Christ, Soph, do you have any idea what even started this entire fucking thing? The man with the scar only tried to hit one guy, and suddenly everyone's tryin' to kill each other."

Sophie clicked her tongue. "Men," she answered. "You never know with goddamn men."

A sharp, sudden sound turned Isadora's attention towards outside of the saloon. "Sheriff, someone robbed Smith's store! Look there!" Billy cried out, sitting at his piano and gesturing towards the window.

"Someone's got a gun out there!" Sophie exclaimed, her sky-blue eyes as round as the moon. Isadora jumped out from behind the bar, intent on going outside to investigate, when another shot rang out. The sheriff let out a cry of pain and cursed, and Isadora's eyes widened as he fell to the ground with blood oozing from his hand. Isadora looked around wildly and spotted a man with a hat pulled down low over his face holding a gun, and a split second later she caught sight of another gun-this time in the hands of a man with long blonde hair pulled back from his face in a ponytail.

Shit. I saw 'em walk in earlier, didn't I?! Isadora recalled frantically. Isadora's train of thought was abruptly cut short when a third gunshot sounded, this time from the deputy's firearm. Isadora let out a startled shriek as Clayton's bullet struck the man in the hat, causing him to collapse and join the sheriff on the ground. Isadora crouched down behind the bar counter with Sophie, breathing heavily. She vaguely remembered Clay's shout-Did he say outlaws? Dear god, I think he did!

One of the outlaws screamed out an order, and Isadora heard a window shatter from the front of the saloon. Her heart was racing, and Isadora realized that she was pressing her nails into her palms hard enough to draw blood. Yet another gunshot rang out, and it was followed by shards of glass raining down around Isadora and Sophie while the deputy launched himself over the bar counter and landed behind it, just a foot away from where the two young women. Isadora saw blood leaking from a bullet wound he had taken to the leg. Bullets flew over the bar counter, and Isadora yelped and shielded her face with her hands.

There was a commotion from the back of the saloon. Isadora glimpsed more men-obviously from out of town-rushing in and taking aim at Clayton. "Jesus Christ," Isadora said in a breathless, panicked voice. She reached under her skirts for the dagger she kept concealed in a small pocket sewn onto the inside of her underskirts. Isadora's fingers closed around the hilt and pulled the blade out from under the cloth, her fingers clutching it tightly. Her hand was shaking uncontrollably, and for a second she was afraid that she'd accidentally cut herself. Isadora took a breath and pulled out her other dagger as well, pressing the hilt into Sophie's trembling hands.

"Isa? What am I supposed to do with this?" Sophie whispered, staring at the man who had a gun aimed at Clayton.

Isadora shook her head. "I don't know, Soph. I have no idea. It's better than nothing, though," she replied shakily. Never had Isadora felt so helpless. Outlaws. Outlaws, here in Soursprings! What in the world are we gonna do? Isadora thought. Would they try to hurt her mother or Elena or her siblings? What about Elena's husband? None of my family has done anythin' wrong. None of the people who live here have done anythin' wrong. Why can't the outlaws just leave us alone? Isadora wondered desperately. She swallowed hard, and suddenly there was anger swirling around her gut, clawing its way up her throat and into her mouth. Nobody here has fuckin' done anythin' to anyone. We just want to be left alone. Is that too damn much to ask?

Unfortunately, it did not seem like any of the outlaws would be especially open to giving Isadora an honest answer to her questions, considering the fact that they had guns drawn and aimed at the deputy, who was on the ground a mere foot away from her. Isadora was paralyzed with fear, her eyes glued to the barrel of the gun pointed directly at Clayton. Dear lord, what are we gonna do?

Kung-Wang watched a man exit from the bar as the fight continued. He dropped his cigar on the wood decking and ground it out with his boot. Mary gave a small delicate sniff, obviously unhappy with his rude manner. Still she didn't say anything so it must not have offended her too much. Mary wasn't known for keeping a leash on her opinions. There was a moment of peace despite the ruckus going on inside. Kung-Wang took the moment to lean over and quietly speak to Mary.

"Could just head over to General Store." The Asian pointed out. But Mary tossed her head.

"No. We need information about this land and this will be the best place to get it without paying. The store keeper will charge us for information."

Kung-wang frowned. "And bar wont?" His brow furrowed.

Mary chimed a small tinkle of a laugh. "He would yes. But some of his less sober clientele might not."

The man who had ground his cigar out spoke causing both Kung-wang and Mary to step away. The two watched as the man spoke to another man. The first jumped right into a pitch about cigars. The second hadn't even finished tying off his horse to the post. Mary rolled her eyes and the Asian man struggled not to smile.

Then shouts run out down the street. From the very store Kung-Wang had just tried to convince Mary to go to. One man was fleeing with a bag strewn over his shoulder. The shopkeeper was shouting angrily, raised his gun and fired. Mary was to their horses in an instant grabbing their guns. From inside the saloon there was more yelling and gun fire. Something very bad was happening in there. Something the salesman also concluded. He shot the fleeing man with the bag before turning to the Saloon.

Kung-Wang caught the gun Mary tossed him and checked that it was still loaded. He looked up as there a commotion at the bank. He snapped the barrel shut. Mary already had her Henry rifle up against her shoulder as the two backed away from danger and around the side of the saloon.

"Seven." Mary snapped out as they crouched just out of sight. "No way in Hell we survive this. Shoot 'em only if they shoot first."

Kung-wang was more than happy to agree with those orders. Mary had grown up on a large ranch and her daddy had taken care of more than a few horse thieves and cattle rustlers. And her daddy had taught her what to do too. If she said it was stupid. It was stupid.

Horace went down in a heap as three bullets slammed into him, two in his lower body and one right into his neck. He dropped the loot from the store which rolled in front of him. Some if it sprayed out of the bag as Owen watched his fellow outlaw and friend go down in a heap. He paused in his run to help Horace up when he noticed the pool of blood coming from his throat, he was a dead. With a look of rage Owen glared at Ellis then fired off three shots, two of them slammed into the outside of the building while the third knocked Ellis in the lower back. It was not life threatening but it would sting worse than a rattlesnake's bite. His shots fired inside the tavern took down two men, dropping on dead instantly and severely wounding another.

Back towards the store the shopkeeper had picked back up his gun, from his position on the ground he squeezed off a shot which hit Owen in the arm. The outlaw screamed in pain and shock before he grabbed the loot bag and dashed away, out of the sight from the main street. No need for two of them to die in this town.

Towards the bank Rio and Dillard sprinted to their horses, as one of them climbed on-board his steed the other one saw two townsfolk jog towards him. As Rio saddled in, one of the townsfolk rose a revolver at Dillard, the other one had a rifle. Each of them fired shots, the rifle wielder pulling the lever as their shot sailed wide from the outlaw duo. The six gun shooter fired three shots off, two of them impacted into the dirt while the third nailed Dillard in the right ear. He shrieked out in pain as a large chunk of his ear was shot off. He quickly jolted his horse forward, one hand clenching his fresh bullet wound. Rio pointed his revolver backwards, surprise on his face at his companion getting shot by one of the civilians. He squeezed the trigger twice, then dashed after Dillard. One of the townsfolk went down in a heap as a bullet hit them in the side of the head, the other beside him immediately dropped his weapon and tried to aid the injured man. It was no use, one more innocent death. Both outlaws darted out of town.

Meanwhile the action continued inside the tavern...

Clay was still behind the bar, though a few others pitched in aid, some were outsiders and others were locals. A mustached traveler who was chatting up the cigar salesman had drawn both of his Colts and fired off a couple of shots at some of the outlaws, taking down to one the side. He then went down in a heap with a shot to the neck. The two brothers had produced their own weapons and fired at the outlaws to the back, taking down two, but unfortunately they too both dropped dead as they were overwhelmed by the well armed thugs. Another mustached outsider fired at the outlaws, taking down the third of Dewey's friends but he too was brought down in a bloody heap. Another outsider, a black man had drawn his set of revolvers but went down as Dewey put two shots into his upper body. The outlaw ducked back into cover.

Clayton's eyes were wide open as his ears rang from so much gunfire, he glanced at Sophie and Isadora on the other side of the bar. He tried to catch his breath, then noticed the fifth outlaw approaching him. He quickly reloaded his revolver, only having enough time to place one bullet in the chamber, then he rose up his six-shooter towards the outlaw, his hand shaking. He seemed to catch the scoundrel by surprise as he slammed a bullet into the thug's chest, as the outlaw fell back with a scream.

"We're getting the hell out of here! Everyone out!" Foster shouted as he dashed towards the window Owen had gone through. But at that same moment William Beck showed signs of life as he grasped his revolver with his good hand, then emptied the rest of the bullets at Foster. The outlaw shrieked as one clipped him in the arm, another in back. He struggled to go through the window, then on pure adrenaline dashed away. As Clayton popped his head back up to see if any were left, he watched his own dad get shot down dead as Dewey put a bullet through William's neck.

Clayton in a fit of pure rage stuffed fresh bullets into his revolver, his hands were still shaking and he dropped two to the ground. By the time he had one jammed into the chamber Dewey was at the back door of the bar. Clayton screamed as he pulled the trigger and the bullet slammed into the door-frame. Dewey fled with a smirk. The deputy had half the mind to give chase, but his dad was in a terrible state. Clayton scrambled back over the bar, and slid to his dad. William gave his son one last look before he passed on, as tears formed in Clayton's eyes. The next sounds were of thunderous horse hooves against dirt as the remaining outlaws in town sped away, Soursprings was then eerily silent as everyone tried to comprehend what had just happened.

Ellis Braddock felt the sting of a bullet that he knew well. One of the outlaws had hit him. He felt around for the wound, and discovered blood on his coat. He groaned as he slumped back against the wall. Ellis prayed that he wasn't gut-shot. The pain was coursing through him but not from any specific point. He could hear guns firing all around him, and began to slowly reload his six-shooter. He kept dropping the bullets, and finally he gave up and lay back. The sounds of fighting were dying away, and all he could hear was the groans and other sounds from the wounded around him. "Doctor!" he called out, "I need a doctor!"