Josiah had just sat down at the table and looked at his cards when the dispute began. Goddamn rebels startin' a fight, and just when me hand was perfect... He threw his hand down on the table, one card flipping over to reveal an Ace of Spades, and setting a hand on his revolver, angling it in its open-end holster to point at the armed and anrgy woman. Not getting up from his seat, he looked at the woman sternly and said "Now ma'am, I'd rather not hafta shoot a lady, but if ye're gunna threaten a man just mindin' his own business, tryin' ta play a hand o' cards, then I'm gunna hafta do sumthin' about that. With his other hand, he would grab a random drink from the poker table, taking a deep swig, and tossing a handful of cent coins at the man whose drink it was in compensation. "So now that I've had me a drink, hows about you put tha gun down nicely, go back to tha bar, and we'll all get back ta what we was doin'?"

@Vas Khaleen

Well, this was getting boring. Looked like no one was getting shot here today, no way that woman'd take a shot with all of these folk around her. Chris was surprised at all the people who seemed to care so much for the savage, but, he reckoned leveling a gun at someone was breaking the peace no matter how you put it.

All these people were ruining his fun, as far as he concerned. Ruined a perfectly good morning. He would have preferred if they had just taken their concerns outside and shot each other fair and square. He was aware of the hypocrisy of his own thoughts, given that "fair and square" was exactly how Buck didn't like it.

"I'm off." Buck said to no one in particular. He picked up his suitcase, pocketed his lucky silver coin, and opened the door, disappearing from view. He smelled the smell of dust and wood.

"It's too early to drink, anyway!" He shouted from outside. Taking a moment to wander around, Chris lingered, gathering his thoughts. He needed to have some fun, but the saloon was no good. Maybe some farmer'd like to play horse shoes or something. For free and for fun, of course, because Chris can't cheat at horse shoes.

Lily looked about the bar, her action bringing far more reaction than she anticipated; narrowing her eyes she pushed the hammer of her revolver back forwards disengaging it from firing position. Slowly sliding it back into the leather holster on her right hip looking down as she did for a slight moment, her eyes coming up along with a closed fist aimed straight for the shouting Indians right jaw. A surprising amount of power packed behind a woman of her size, throwing the blow from her shoulder with a slight twist of her forearm to add impact force; the amount of power in combination with the whiskey she drank giving her a slight stumble as she swung. A small brass case flying from her vest pocket and tumbling across the floor loudly, a chain attached to the end dragging as it did so; figuring a brawl was less likely to end with her being shot dead by any of the interrupters. Not that she was necessarily worried about it killing a white woman for attacking an Indian? Not a smart play in any part of the country.

@bluetommy2

Great. Not only was the woman just about to start a shoot-out in the saloon, regardless of what he and now the others surrounding her told her. Not only was the damned Indian speaking a undechipherable language, Erik swore it was French but he had no actually knowledge of it. Not only was the other man, the one with a whole in his mouth, effectivly pushing him aside even for his sheriff's star.

Oh no, the cheek-holed Southern troll face had the audacity to call him 'Boy'.

"...What did you just call me, rasshøl?"

Erik was about to turn to him, when the others spoke up to either support Erik as sheriff or warn the lady from fighting. One man raised his glass to him, to which Erik gave a quick nod before turning his attention to the problem at hand. The problem was shoved under the carpet for another second, as the Indian got his attention and saying 'Bounty'.

"...What, the one there? Look, I'm just supposed to get back the stolen cattle, not deal with your fordømte bounties, fights, racism and all that møkk! Now please, would you be so nice as to..."

Had he not been cut off by the lady suddenly striking at the Indian fellow, he would have probably tried to calm down and talk the situation back under his control - not that it had been that in the first place. But now Erik's patience was running thin, as he simply turned around and walked over to sit beside the man with the looks of a sailor.

"Faen heller, give me your strongest bourbon...And do not tell me that the sheriff can't drink..."

Lauren stumbled back, falling onto a chair and being dumped over the back of it. Landing directly on his head, Lauren growled, pulling himself up using a nearby table. He shook his head to clear the pain a bit. Grabbing a large bottle from a nearby table, he flipped it in his hand so that it was upside-down.

"Mefautretourneràlaputequim'aaccouchée putain de merde!" He yelled, running forth and swinging the bottle wildly, stopping just before he reached the woman, where he bared his teeth at her, then throwing the bottle down with all the force he could muster.

He didn't even know if he hit or not when he dropped the bottle and moved to grab a chair, if he hadn't hit, he was wide open, but he was sure he had to hit at a distance so short.

Lily stumbled as well as her blow knocked the male backwards onto the floor, catching her footing just in time to see him brandishing a bottle as a weapon; as he came in swinging the woman lowered her head and shoulders. Pushing off the wooden floor as she attempted to tackle the man, grabbing at the area behind his knees to assist in toppling the larger opponent; his bottle coming down just below her shoulders shattering glass into her back producing a fair amount of blood through her white shirt and leather vest. Groaning in pain she pushed herself harder, wishing to drive him onto his back on the floor; reaching upwards if she successfully did so her fingers reaching for his long dark hair with the left; her right driving yet more punches towards his floating ribs as she grappled for control.

"Hold! Still ya sum bitch!"

@bluetommy2

Albert welcomed the sheriff with a gesture at the stool next to his, and waved to the smirking bartender -- who seemed to be amused by the fight, probably having seen thousands of them -- to give them both a drink. Both the bartender and the shirtless henchman kept close eye on the fighters, waiting to see whose brains they'd have to scrape off the floor that day.

”The bourbon is on me! Thank you, sir,” he said, slowly turning in his stool to watch the poor bastards go at each other, but deciding not to interfere as long as they didn't turn upon him. He found his holster undone, wondering whether he'd lost trust in the spear or whether he'd grown more cautious on his travels west. Better safe than sorry. Wet glasses were placed on the polished wooden bar and he could hear the man behind him move a metal bucket with his foot. Water and rugs, for the brain scraping. Will be over soon.

”The owner of this joint must be asleep or away, I reckon, sheriff. Or he is too used to this type of good morning to do anything about it.”

The gory scenes were playing before him, bottles and limbs now breaking on each other. A woman putting her back into a bar fight never failed to bewilder him. ”I did warn her. Maybe I should have worn him. God damned idiots...” Running his fingers through his hair, he turned away to face the bar and took his shot of the bourbon looking at the reflection of the great white deer skull hanging on the wall above the stairs behind him, the pale thing observing the fight before it like some macabre forest god of the heathens.

He put the glass down and wiped his mouth clean. ”Norwegian, I take it? Or Danish? I couldn't quite make it out through all the ruckus. I'd bet on the former: you've that air to you. Marvelous whalers, Norwegians! Some of the best I've seen. Albert, Albert B. White.” He put his hand forward for a handshake.

@ONL

Jonah was thrown back if only slightly by the woman attacking the large Indian man. He rolled @Vas Khaleen his eyes and moved in front of her and started to push her back. "Miss, I bet his people did some damn near heinous things but this one ain doin a damn thing. Also I'm supposed to be the new sheriff so I'm gonna ask nicely, leave the damn man alone. That's enou-"



For a nice long second he made sweet love to the floor as the Indian bared down on him with a bottle, most likely aimed for the woman. Jonah's eyes fluttered back open and he took notice to the woman now grappling with the man. Now, there could be a simple solution to this, a couple really: Fire off a round and point it at the two and force them outside or try to break it up again and arrest them both. However, neither option came to thought but rather.

"Did you- You damn- COM"ERE GIRANAMO! IMMA TAN YOUR RED HIDE!"@bluetommy2

He felt a lump forming on the back of his head and small pieces of glass sticking out his neck which he managed to pluck out a couple before charging the man and with the help of the woman already holding him, Jonah speared the tall Indian with the woman accompanying the old captain into a group of poker players. Sadly, before they became a part of what would soon be a saloon brawl, Jonah took notice to one of the poker players...A former Union sergeant.

@FallenTrinity@Vas Khaleen@bluetommy2

The brawl continued as another man, someone who had been previously speaking to the Confederate woman, tried to stop the brawl. He winced as the Native broke a bottle across the man's back neck as he tried to talk some sense into the woman. What came next caught him completely off guard, however. The native was pulled into the brawl again as the man who just a minute ago had tried to keep the peace began attacking him. Suddenly, they all fell directly towards where Josiah was sitting, and Josiah tried to get out of the way with a cry of with a cry of "Shi-!

Josiah was thrown back when the brawling group fell into the poker table. Standing up, and brushing himself off, Josiah sighed before thinking Well, I guess I'll hafta handle this meself.... Yelling "Oi ya bloody rebel bastards! Leave tha poor man alone! He's jus' tryin ta play a hand o' cards!", he stepped up to the group and began trying to pull the other man back, gripping his arms and saying "Someone get tha lass!" as he attempted to hold the man's arms behind his back.

The brawl had quickly turned bad for Lauren, who was now facing two angry confederates, one of whom had started grappling with him. He knew from experience that pulling out his knife would be a bad idea, sure it could intimidate or end the fight fast, but the sheriff was right in front of him.

Thankfully, his table partner grabbed the half-faced man, allowing him to focus entirely on the girl. As they wrestled, Lauren noticed her legs were bent and apart to give her extra leverage, it also made her... lower body a target.

Lauren shoved her back a second, re-positioning his leg in preparation, and then shot his foot upwards. A common misconception, he noted, was that women felt a kick in that area less then a man did, however true that might be, it was more than enough to incapacitate an opponent of either gender.

Lily grunted heavily as two of her blows hit their mark, only to find herself kicked in her more personal regions. A kick which sent her rolling off to the males right cursing his life quite audibly, however it wouldn't cease her assault; both pumping with adrenaline and dulled by whiskey. Swaying as she tumbled back to her feet her shoulder hitting the wall beside a dingy thin glass window, a knife sized piece of the broken bottle in her hand; her eyes narrowed towards the male as the entire bar erupted in small brawls over various personal matters. Her own assault of the larger man like throwing a spark into blackpowder of petty issues.

@bluetommy2

"You don't say. Thank you very much, sir."

Erik was more than happy to accept the bourbon from the man, especially since he was A) not shouting or fighting him, and B) offering him a drink for free. Once the bartender came back, Erik gratefully accepted the glass, nodding to both the bartender and the man who'd introduced himself as Albert. Albert B. White, quite the name for a man that far out west, Erik thought as he downed the bourbon quickly down his throat.

"Whether or not the owner is home, though I assume He IS the owner...," Erik said to Albert, turning his head to the bartender who quietly nodded and chuckled, cleaning up glasses and looking over at the big bar-fight taking place before them. "...I did not except a fight to start that easily, even out here west. Then again, people'll find any reason to start a brawl if they can. As long as I don't have to, they can kick their teeth out for all I care."

He shot another look at the brawl now including; the Native, the Woman, one odd-cheeked Confederate, an Irishman and...the sheriff? Erik tilted his head as he looked at the self-proclaimed sheriff, noticing his sudden change from calmly talking to charging the Indian. Was he the original sheriff, or had he been just hired like him and decided to say 'fuck it' for a good fight?

"I'd say yes as long as you didn't call me a Swede, which I have to give to you; good work. Yes I'm Norwegian, born and bred, so perhaps I actually smell of the sea. I couldn't tell, been smelling that way for years. Erik. T. Viken, glad to meet you Albert. You must be a sailor to have known that, but you look like one so I can't say I'm surprised."

Erik smiled at the man, genuinely as a matter of fact, since he seemed to actually know about his home which many Americans frankly just didn't give two shits about. He reached and shook his hand, feeling the hard grip from his hand, possibly the hand of a harpooner.

Just then the saloon doors shot upen, an old and bent man running in with heavy breaths and sweat pouring down from his face. He didn't seem to realize what was actually taking place in the saloon, as he simply started shouting.

-"Them bandits are'ere! Them are after the cattle, ME' cattle! The sheriff, ya'll need to stop 'em from taking Bessy, Claudia, Bell, all of 'em!"

Erik looked at the man, realizing this was what he had been hired to fix. He looked back at Albert, sighing. "At least three...four in this place thinks I'm sheriff. Can you help me enforce the law, Mr. White? I'm afraid I need a proper American for people to listen to me." Erik poured the second glass of bourbon down before turning to the huge fight in the middle, trying to adress the crowd. "Okei alle sammen, listen up! When I come back to stop this fighting for once, I expect everyone to be alive and breathing. I don't want to have to do too much as sheri..." his voice was cut off by the sound of gunfire from the outside and the shattering glass of the saloon windows, causing Erik to jump off the chair he'd been standing on and down on the ground.

The bandits were here, oh yes, but they weren't out after cattle no more.

(changing Buck's color because everyone in the world wants to use dark green apparently)

Buck

A gang of outlaws had taken to making their position in the old general store, across the street. At least, some of them had, and were now taking pot shots at the saloon. What did they want? Chris didn't know, Chris didn't really care. As long as they weren't after him, it was none of his business. So, Chris walked to the doctor's office to hide. It was a good thing he left that saloon when he did, and now he wasn't in the middle of a gunfight.

Chris pushed in the door to the doctor's office, the bell over his head emitting a polite jingle.

"Leave me alone! I don't have anything!" The doctor said, cowering behind his desk.

"Not here to rob you, friend. Just here to not get shot."

"Oh, thank goodness."

"Not very many small towns like this have a doctor."

"Oh, well, I needed work, and...I mean, I'm basically a trained professional. Pretty much. As best as any town like this'll get."

"Indeed." Buck crouched next to him, as gunshots began to erupt from the saloon. Screams. More gunshots. Flames...screams. Music to a sadist's ears.

"If they come in here, I'll teach 'em a thing or two. I've got more knives than I do teeth." Buck said, rubbing his bald chin. If they wanted to kill him, that is.

The doctor nodded, and peeked out the dusty window. "Tarnation. They're really going at it out there. What do they want with this town anyway?" He said, turning to look back at Buck.

"Reckon they went to take it for themselves. No Sheriff, no deputies, not even some mercenaries. Just the folks here and some idiots having a bar fight."

The doctor was quiet for a moment.

"You don't suppose they'll let me keep working when they take over the town, will you?"

"Don't see why not. Everyone needs a doctor."

Buck pretended to look around the room, searching for something. "Say, Doc, seems you're missing some Yurithride."

"Yuri...what?"

"Yurithride. A miracle drug, developed back east. You haven't heard?"

”I expect everyone to be alive and breathing...”

Glass mixed with liquor and splinters exploded all over them.

He was down on the floor before he could blink, surprised by the sudden power of adrenaline as much as by the shots fired. ”We've only just met you and you already demand too damn much, Erik!” said Albert desperately trying to cover his head with his hands.

Cocksuckers! shouted the barman before asking the other one where the shotgun was. They got my bloody arm!

From outside came violent war cries and threatening whistles so loud they could be heard coming through all the gunfire. Albert poked at the door underneath his elbow, but only to see bad omens: the farmer who'd come to warn them about the bandits lay over the threshold, shaking and bleeding, barely alive, stretching his hand out towards the people inside the saloon and gurgling something with a horrible expression.

Stupidly, Albert thought about crawling to him and perhaps dragging him in. He'd almost made a move for it when a bottle flew in through the window. ”Shit!” The bottle broke and the burning fuse set the liquid on fire. In a split second the edges of the joint were ablaze. ”Bastards want to burn as alive!” Albert crawled to the side and grabbed the legs of a game table. With a strong jerk he flipped it over, making an improvised shield he knew was useless. ”You won't be enforcing any law from this hellhole, sheriff.” A bullet whizzed through the table board, just next to Albert's ear. He finally took out his pistol: 6 bullets in the chamber.

Lily turned her head lazily towards the door as the farmer came bursting through it shouting over all the commotion, some fights carrying on despite the loud man; although they all came to a stop as the gunshots rang out the shattering of the front glass windows piercing the air. Each bullet making a whizzing popping sound as they flew mere inches from patrons heads, Lily herself hitting the floor as soon as the window directly behind her exploded from the force of a rifle round; her left hand ripping the Griswold on her right side out of its holster. Her back firmly pressed against the wooden front wall of the saloon, disregarding her previous engagement as had the other patrons; some drawing their own firearms while others fled in a panic quickly meeting their end however as they climbed out the windows away from the flames and bullets.

"Mother fucker! Git sum got damned water!! Turn them tables over by the duurs!!"

Lily shouted to various patrons not fleeing as the makeshift incendiary bomb exploded only a few meters from her position, cocking the hammer of her Griswold turning quickly leaning against the wall as the lead bullets crackled and split the wood of the saloon wall; her arm extending out from behind the cover out the busted window along with a portion of her face enough to see. Her index finger slowly squeezed the trigger the hammer striking down with great speed and force upon the bullets rear, a loud pop accompanied by a puff of smoke from the end of the dull iron; sending a bullet of her own zipping through the air finding its mark in one of the bandits lower left ribcage. As quickly as she had emerged Lily fell back behind her cover, a volley of specifically aimed rounds ricocheting off the windowsill in retaliation, quickly changing position by ducking and quickly grasping a thick game table flipping it on its side in front of the battered doors.

He felt strong hands grab his arms and yank him up, possibly to try and hold him back. "Get yer paws off me!" He roared before stepping in towards the voice and slamming the back of his head into the front of the voice's. Jonah followed up by spinning around, ripping the hand off of his left arm and continued forward with that momentum, hoping to connect to the jaw of the one who grabbed him. This was stopped by the sound of a gunshot that rang out with the crash of the window shattering from the bullet that ripped through it. So, instead of cold cocking the poor sap he instead grabbed him and brought him to the ground, attempting to shield him from a possible second.

@ONLNot hearing another round for that brief moment he slowly rose to his feet, stopping halfway to peer up to see where the intruding round came from and when he did he narrowed his eyes. "Sonava bitch"

From underneath his coat he withdrew his Winchester. Its polished metal and elongated scope spoke of a sharpshooter in the midst of the bar.

"Aint got no time for this. I still gotta get my money for hi-" He looked over to his catch to see him dead on the floor. A bullet had ripped through his head and this sight pissed Jonah off so much that he just stood up and walked over to the Swedish sheriff, despite the bullets flying.

[color=tan]"Get yer ass up, boy I'm gonna need yer help."[color] He said quickly before briskly walking over towards the back, looked around before disappearing behind a wall, only the sound of a door closing gave a clue as to where he went.

Outside Jonah looked around the back of the building, looking for a drain pipe or ladder but instead there was an shed with a few barrels near it. It gave a better view of the bandits who were out in front of bar without giving away where he was. Jonah had made his way over, keeping low and out of sight. It was best not to take any chances. When he was in position he moved into a kneeling position, placing his hat next to him on the ground before raising his rifle up and peering through the scope.

He set his sights on the one in the back of the group and steadied the Winchester. A long breath in, a long breath out. A long breath in and-

CHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooo [A/N: This is not the pastry]

The trigger pulled, the hammer hit the primer and the next thing that happened was one of the bandits, the one he aimed for had dropped and hooting and hollering ensued. Jonah hit the deck as the rounds started to fly.

"Where in the tarnasion is that damned sheriff!"

Struggling to hold the strong man's arms behind his back, Josiah was caught off-guard by the blow delivered when the man swung his head back, hitting Josiah square in the face. He grunted in pain, shouting out "Sunofabi-! before being interrupted.

The sounds of gunfire caught Josiah even further by surprise, and he suddenly found himself being pulled to the ground by the man he had just been trying to grapple. Seeing something come flying in through the window just as the man got up and left out the back, Josiah let out a shocked scream of "Íosa Críost!" as the room exploded in flames. Getting up from the floor to a crouch, Josiah quickly made the Sign of the Cross over his chest as an apology for his verbal blasphemy, before drawing his Dragoon revolver and rushing out the back of the saloon.

Once outside, Josiah rushed to find a piece of cover he could duck behind and fire at the bandits from. Ducking behind something wooden, and not giving much thought as to what it was, Josiah carefully propped his head and pistol up over the edge, firing two shots at the attackers, before quickly ducking back from return fire. Fumbling around in his duster, Josiah quickly pulled out and uncapped a hip flask, taking a deep swig before closing it back up and returning to shooting at the attacking lowlives.

Lily groaned as she sat on the wooden floor of the saloon, her back pressed into the thick table she had overturned by the hole riddled doors to the establishment; rounds whizzing by her every few seconds making her wonder how much ammo the bandits truly brought. Either they were stupid or sitting on a stockpile either way Lily wouldn't simply wait around, as the fire spread unhalted by the few who tried to pour water on the blaze smoke quickly filling the establishment as the fire touched the also wooden ceiling spreading across its surface. Lily inhaled deeply before pulling her second Griswold free from its leather sheath, quickly rising to her feet with a fearless and vicious shout she leaped through the bullet riddled double doors over the table; letting lose an unholy scream of anger as she darted down the wooden porch of the establishment. As she ran Lily fired her revolvers both, the hammers slamming down to send rounds whizzing at the outlaws finding no targets in her rush, though the return of fire would make the opposing force duck in fear; as she darted down the walkway Lily rushed across the street. The bullets whizzing behind her as she ran across the tightly packed dirt street, as soon as she crossed the street Lily pushed her back up against the wall of the building the bandits had set up in; learning in the war that outflanking a superior force was a sure way to victory. Lily quickly stuck one of her drawn revolvers around the corner of the building, firing blindly down the walkway the bandits set up on; doing away with another one by luck hitting him directly in the throat before pulling her hand back her thousand yard stare from the war evident in her eyes. The sounds of combat bringing her husbands death to mind, along with all those whom died fighting along side her in the war.

Things were taking a turn for the worse. Much worse, oh yes. In a matter of seconds, the few bullets had escallated into a full-out shoot-out between the bandits -with surprisingly bad aim, but then who was Erik to complain? - and those few having managed to get back on their feet and fight back. And now that the fire was spreading up onto the ceiling, Erik wasn't sure what was a good idea to do.

But at least it wasn't his fault, which was a relief.

The hole-cheeked man had walked over to him, once again calling him "boy" and saying his help was needed. "We all need help now, Jesus Christ..." Erik more or less shouted to him, though the confedarate had by the time he got back up run out the back of the saloon.

It was no use in trying to put out the fight; by now the fire was out of controll, even for those who tried to put it out with water and blankets or clothes. More bullets whizzled past Erik's head as he stood there, trying to think of a plan; but he only managed to say "Everybody out, NOW! The building is going to fall down onto itself!"

Erik grabbed the collars of two still trying to put out the fire, pulling them towards the back of the saloon while doing his best not to faint from the ever growing smoke inside. And as soon as Erik stepped outside, the sudden existance of fresh air nearly came as a shock to him, with him gasping for air. When he could finally look up and around again, he saw one of the brawlers@DepressedSoviet from the saloon firing at the bandits, standing somewhere beside the saloon and hiding behind cover as more bullets kept buzzing. "How many of those bastards are out there?"

Not before he had shouted that, the sound of footsteps to his far right made him turn around and reach for his revolver. Out from behind what appeared to be the stables, a pair of more bandits came rushing out, guns raised in the direction of Erik and the other man.

"Behind you!"

In a split-second, Erik pulled up his revolver and pointed it in the general direction of the bandits. Not really aiming it, just holding it down against his hip, he pulled the trigger and the hammer back as quickly as he can. That resulted in the revolver rapidly firing six shots at the bandits, two hitting the bandits while the remaining four hitting the wall behind them. They fell to the ground, while Erik stood quietly watching the two men lay there.

"...Fy faen, jeg ekke dø...Be careful, they're trying to get around us!"

As the brawl came to an end and the building burst into flames, Lauren wasn't afraid at first, more disappointed in his rivals, who had stepped up to fight a "savage" Indian and had ran at the first sight of any "savagery". Taking another look at the building consumed with flames, he began to fear, the last time he had been in such a fire, he had barely survived.

Nipooata! A voice echoed in his head, he saw the arms wrapping around him, the collapsing of his home and the pull on his body as he was thrown onto horseback, never to return. The present was different, he had been through much more, he knew how to carry himself, how to hold his head around the Americans, Canada was different, he was still treated with disrespect, but he was treated much better than those here, mostly due to the fact that the Americans had fought wars against his southern cousins, while the Canadians had signed treaties and peacefully joined hands with the population, the future seemed bright up there, not so much down here.

Looking over at his bounty, he sighed, knowing he had lost his investment, it took time to hunt a man, and a horse would need food, so it wasn't healthy on the wallet neither. Pulling out his revolver, he plugged the man in the forehead, spinning the revolver on his finger to shoo out any fowling and loading a bullet back into the newly free chamber. The bullets would leave "fowling", powder and other worthlessness, in the chambers, one could safely spin it so long as the hammer wasn't pulled to free them up, yet another thing his father had learned during his long years trading furs with the western tribes.

Coughing due to the heavy black smoke, Lauren dropped to avoid any bullets, noticing his breathing had become easier. He noted that as he crawled towards the back door, leaping through it and staring, wall-eyed. Putting his fingers into his mouth, he let out a shrill whistle, hoping that his horse, and with it, his rifle, would hear. He had a smart horse, one that wouldn't waltz right into open gunfire, so he had no worries about the beast's safety. What he was worried about was his gun-fighting capabilities with only a pistol. He much preferred a rifle. Looking at the sheriff, he yelled as loud as he could to get the man's attention.

"Mon cheval- my ch-horse will arrive!" He said woodenly, hoping "arrive" was the right word.

@ONL