The tan and white Appaloosa cantored up the low ridge towards Haileysburg. The Seneca native was not in a hurry, taking his time getting back from Tucson. He had the cash for Iiniwa in his coat pocket. He had to deliver the money to his friend of the Blackfoot tribe. The one thing a man had that another could never take away was your integrity. That was something you could easily part with if you behaved poorly. Mingan wasn't about to become dishonest when so m any others had already trodden down that worn out path.

When he reached the top of the ridge, he was just a quarter mile from town. But something was amiss. Mingan distinctly heard a gunshot and then several more followed the first one. Having survived that hellish event known as war about 16 years ago, Mingan was not in a hurry to charge down into another gun fight; especially not knowing who it involved. Maybe his friend Iiniwa was in this fight, maybe he wasn't. Mingan decided he would wait until the engagement quieted down before continuing down the hill towards the town.

From his vantage point, roughly four hundred or more yards away, Mingan could see people running between two buildings and plenty of lead flying back and forth. He couldn't identify anyeone, but it was quite a hot fight. Then he recognized his friend Iiniwa diving out the back door of hte building on the left and he let out a shrill whistle; one he had heard before. Iiniwa was calling for his horse. Knowing the native Canadian too well, Mingan knew he needed assistance.

Mingan spurred Pajackok and gave off a loud, "Whoop! Aye-yi-yi-yi-yip!" Rider and horse rapidly charged forward heading toward the back door where Lauren Cartier waited for his mount. Mingan reigned in the thundering Apaloossa just as horse arrived. The Seneca native known as Joseph Rittenour dismounted his horse and retrieved his revolver as his boots hit the ground. He smiled at Iiniwa and spoke in Algonquin, "How are you my friend? What has happened here?"

@bluetommy2

Ducking down and pulling back the hammer on his revolver, Lauren's heart skipped as he heard the telltale yipping of his fellow bounty hunter and the heavy thump of horse hooves on earth. It couldn't be him, he was all the way over in Tucson, off handling the bounty Lauren couldn't get around to doing. Turning his head, he stood finally as the Appaloosa thundered it's way into the town, rushing behind the saloon in a hail of gunfire.

A portion of wall exploded near Lauren's head, sending a spark into Lauren's cheek as he turned to look at his partner. Cursing with an angry hiss, he rubbed his cheek once.

"A lot has happened, wolf." He yelled over the many shots echoing from the town center.

"All that you will know is that my bounty was killed, a coup de gras as my people call it." He said, noting that the building had begun to become fully engulfed in flames.

Rushing over to Mingan's side, he took a few shots around the burning tavern, hitting one bandit through the eye in a shot that he hadn't expected to get with a revolver. Pulling behind the building and thumbing the hammer, he smiled at Mingan.

"Coup." He stated as he was like to do, a jab at his own native ancestry, he much preferred taking coup with a revolver than with a stick.

Spinning his revolver once more, he held back tears as the rising smoke from the burning tavern stung at his eyes. He hated fire, perhaps it was the trauma, perhaps it was the smoke, perhaps he was just a pansy, no matter the case, fire was one of the few things he never liked encountering, that and maybe the Canadian army... or the Marshals... actually he didn't like encountering a lot of things... especially rattlesnakes.

His mind began to wander, the bullets whizzing by as he stared wall-eyed at his riding companion. He shook his head as he noticed that he still happened to be staring.

"Sorry, I just had another vision." He lied.

Just then, his horse raced in from behind the building, having gone the long way to avoid the gunfire. Cursing the thing under his breath, he pulled his rifle from off the beast's saddle, pulled back the lever and mounted.

"Either we leave or we help, I believe we have to do the former, but it is up to you." He said, holding the rifle in his off hand and the reins with his other.

@Gunther

Lily gritted her teeth as the outlaws hardly ten feet from her hiding spot beside the occupied building fired heavily in her direction, turning her head away from the porch just in time to see a man with a shotgun approaching the side window in quite a hurry; firing her griswold into the mans chest through the thin dust covered glass. Making for all shots fired out of the revolver, quickly pushing six more rounds individually into their hole in the the cylinder; snapping the revolver back into the locked position drawing the hammer back as she peaked through the window to see a small empty room with a desk. Only the man she shot bleeding on the floor, her revolver's wooden handle knocking the sharp pieces of glass out of the bottom of the frame pulling herself up through the window entirely landing harshly on her elbows and stomach behind a thick mahogany desk. Blood from her last victim pooling around his motionless form, and from her own hands and elbows cut by the glass on the floor; her body rose to a kneeling position as she moved to the section of the wall by the door picking up the unfired double barrel dropped by the bandit. The others seeming to be too busy taking fire from the other pissed off saloon goers to notice Lily's infiltration of their building, allowing her to simply stick the shotgun around the corner of the open door, and pull both triggers firing both barrels full of buckshot into part of the rather large group of attackers.

Killing some with the spread and sending the survivors running into a room adjacent to Lily's, all whilst returning fire with rifles and revolvers; forcing Lily to drop to the ground away from the door a slowly growing stain bleeding through her white shirt above her shoulder. Her legs buckling as she groaned in pain, cracking the shotgun in half after pulling the owners ammo belt off, pushing two shells into the long barreled weapon pulling it back together roughly. Allowing the barrel to rest against her unwounded shoulder the butt down between her mud caked boots, pulling the shoulder of her button up off he bleeding spot; the wound a grazing blow but still considerable around a half inch deep cut. Thanks to the other's firing into the building the bandits didn't simply rush her when she ceased firing, though she heard them scurrying around to reposition less firing out the windows than before as they focused on the intruder.

Lily cut her sleeve off smoothly with the sheath knife she carried, dropping it smoothly back into its leather holster tying the thin cotton fabric in a twisted wad like strip around her shoulder under her armpit; pulling it tight with her teeth and fingers. Pulling the shotgun back down across her lap, sticking it around the corner of the door, quickly reversing that decision from the hail of gunfire which nearly took her hands and arms. Almost dropping the gun entirely spitting out a loud string of curses as she waited for a break, standing back up and closing her eyes she burst through the doorway not even looking towards the shooters as she dove down the short hallway the room occupied. A matching corridor occupying the other side of the room with a large open space filled with desks and type writers between them, with a bullet riddled front wall its many windows shattered to pieces and stained in blood and gore; the room already owning several corpses.

Erik had given a quick smile to the Indian once he joined them behind the saloon, glad to see friendly company and not someone who wanted to put a bullet in your brain. Or chest, or nuts, these bandits seemed to aim for everything really. He wasn't quite sure what the Indian was saying, but he thought it was something involving his horse arriving. Well if he was an Indian, Erik was pretty sure he could actually speak with animals, or at least that was what he'd been told all his life.

"Oi oi oi oi! Who are you?" Erik had reloaded his revolver when he heard the sound of gallopping coming around the corner, and with that the apperance of another Indian. The gun was pointed for a moment up at the man on the horse, before the two Indians suddenly began to talk with each other. Clearly they knew each other, and since neither of them were shooting at him, Erik was happy to not shoot them either.

"You two, it would be very nice if you could help stop these bandits. I'd rather not have to dig the whole town their graves, okay?"

Erik went to the corner of the saloon, now severely burning down. A real shame, all that booze only fueling the inferno when it could have been drunk. Not too much to do about that now, he thought to himself as he peaked around the corner, looking for more bandits to shoot. At his corner, none was seen, so he kept on creeping down the alley. The gunfire kept on its intensity, but for now he was still not shot at, and it was a good reason for that; quite a few of the bandits had been shot by now, some were still shooting into the saloon or down in the opposite direction, while the rest was turning to another building where more gunfire was heard.

"Greit Erik, sikt mot magan, og ikke blunk..."

The revolver fired, all six rounds revolving into the barrel and flying through the air before finding it targets; one round hit a bandit right in the gut, two went into the leg of another, one in the arm of a third and the remaining hitting walls behind the bandits. Seemingly taken by total surprise of being shot from yet another angle, one of the bandits started running for a horse and a few others turning towards Erik. Their shots richocheted off the wall, which was lucky for Erik who felt like his cheek was hugged by one.

-"Aw fuck this, let's get out of here boys! We'll put ya'll full of lead another day, you shitheads!" Another of the bandits yelled, firing of the rest of his rounds before joining the first bandit running away.

"Yeah, you better run, but we'll come after you! You...you...cattle stealers!"

Chris Buckwood

Buck stuck his head at the window. The sounds of gunfire had ceased, and the figures of fleeing bandits could be seen scrambling back to whatever hole they crawled out of.

As Chris did so, the doctor continued talking.

"And this...Yuritide-"

"Yurithride."

"...Yurithride, you say, substantially assists in the disinfecting of wounds?"

"Indeed so, friend. Apply to a wound of any caliber that you've already treated normally, and your patient will recover much quicker, feel much better, and recommend your services to any of his other friends; word of mouth is important to aspiring business men like you, you'll see."

"Well, this sounds too good to be true!"

"That's what they said about the telegram, the railway, and the cotton gin; I'm sure they said it about the wheel, or fire, or the printing press. This discovery is nothing compared to those great revelations, and people probably cried "too good!" at all of those. There's no reason to not believe this simple innovation." Buckwood's Georgian voice was smooth as butter.

"...I suppose you're right. How much?"

"For thirty doses, it'd usually a dollar each..."

"Thirty dollars-!?"

"-But! But. But, I am willing to discount the price because we've became acquaintances in these troubling times. Twenty-five dollars for thirty doses. Let me remind you doctor, that this is an investment, and a wise one at that. With all of the new customers I'm certain you'll be drawing it, you'll have made back your hard earned cash and then some before March is rolling in."

The doctor's eyes glazed over for a moment, thinking his next decision through. Buckwood watched eagerly, those his face showed only honesty and trustworthiness.

"Okay. I'll buy them."

Buckwood smiled. "Thank you for your business doctor. And thank you for saving lives. You've done a good thing here, today." The two men shook hands.

A brief moment later, pocketing his twenty five dollars and leaving the doctors shop with a friendly wave, Buck inwardly calculated the profit of selling thirty glass vials of salt water.

He didn't feel bad, as usual. It's not like he sold the doctor poison. Salt was good for wounds anyway, Chris thought. It'd set him back a few months profit, but the doctor'd survive.

In the meantime, Christ hefted his briefcase full of "goods" and examined the saloon from a distance. Multiple windows were shattered, bullets had dug their way into the wooden walls, and more than one corpse lay in the sand, roasting by the morning sun. Lovely.

"Everything alright, friends?" Buck cupped his mouth with his free hand, calling out to any survivors in the saloon.

The battle was a bit intense but still nothing like the war and it could still be seen on Jonah's face as he fought back. It was relaxed, treated like it was nothing more than just a walk inn the park. His rifle made known to all those who were in the bar with him, its 30-30 Winchester rounds echoing through the air. Soon enough he had managed to make his way up towards the group, switching over to his revolver and plugging roads into the bandits horses and them...As they were high-tailing it out of there.

Jonah holstered his pistol and switched back over to his rifle, loading another 6 rounds into it before pulling the lever and raising it once again.

"Grrrr...No shot...HEY! @Vas Khaleen Missy! Ya'll wanna go for a ride? He shouted back towards the group as he limped back over to them, bending down back by the barrels to get his hat before walking off towards the stables. He wasn't about to let them get away. They torched the bar, burnt his catch to a crisp and then shot at him. Aw hell no! They were going to pay, metaphorically, physically and financially.

"Any ya'll wanna come with or ya'll just gonna stand'er like a bunch of morons twidlin' yer thumbs. I ain't lettin'em come back here, no sir. So I suggest that ya'll wanna end this now ya come with me, ya here?" He turned back to the group, rifle slung over his shoulder before turning back to the road and started to make his way to the stables. He was getting a horse, with or without money. Speaking of which-

"I still better get paid for this."

As the bandits ran away fleeing the stout opposition from the town Lily chased after them out the bullet riddled building, drawing her griswold from its leather holster; firing after the riders down the street unsuccessfully due to range and speed. Running over to her dead horse grasping the winchester rifle from the leather saddle holster along with the union cavalry sword, rushing over to the stables along with Hawthorne; grasping the first horse she saw by the mane and jumping onto its back by sliding her boot through its stirrup. Holding the rifle in her right hand as she pressed her heels into the chestnut colored mare sending it hauling ass down the blood soaked dirt road, kicking up quite a dust-storm as she did; the Union sword simply wedged between her belt and right hip. The blood from her wound soaking through the thin improvised bandage she made, though the pain was bearable enough that her anger towards the outlaws out paced the need to patch it up; her horse bolting out of town on their heels chasing them across a wide open grass plain. Lifting her rifle to her shoulder allowing the horse to guide itself, leaving her heels dug into the beasts underside as she fired towards the bandits; dropping the lever in a smooth motion to fire again as she rode still fairly accurate.

"Looks like we are going, Bison," Mingan responded to his friend. "Let's go, brother!"

Mingan watched the crazy woman chase after the bandits. She ran to a horse and retrieved a rifle. She then discharged a few well placed rounds and may have gotten one or two of them on the way out. She then quickly retrieved another horse, mounted and galloped hard after the fleeing bandits. "Bison, who is this crazy white woman? She is about to get a bucket load of bees flying her way very fast. Should we save her?"

"I am sorry to hear about your bounty. I have $50 for you here in my pocket," Mingan tapped the side of his blue US Army Infantry blouse. "Looks like we ride now. We may not catch up with the Kookoo bird, but we can at least track her," Mingan smiled at Iiniwa.

"Everything alright, friends?"

"The hell it is! Those sons of bitches ruined all my possessions with all the goddamned fire and smoke." Albert threw down his harpoon and a valise of clothes he managed to rescue from the inn, all charred. "It seems to me that the more westward I go, the wilder it gets. Hell, you folks might as well give children graves as birthday gifts, just in case." He instinctively checked for his pistol before wiping his blackened face with his sleeve, smearing the dirt even more, but clearing sweat off his eyes and brow. It was easier to breathe outside for sure, but the remnants of lead and gun fume could be felt on the tongue, and would be felt for a long while.

He heard the heavy sound of falling timber coming from within the inn, and a swoosh of flame swallowing it and the booze with great hunger. And I was thinking just a moment ago the carriage was choking me. Get a hold of this carnage. There was no time for him to use his pistol. thankfully; but he made sure somewhere deep in his thought to keep the holster a tad bit looser if he were to try his luck in this town. Well, trying luck just might be the right phrase for it, as he was yet to see a rational thing happen that morning. A heat wave came from the door behind them as if from a just opened oven.

"I'm not chasing any of them. For all I know they're waiting to ambush us. Might be some Indians there as well. And what was all this about again anyway, if I may make bold to inquire? Sheriff?"

Before sheriff could answer, he turned around to check out whether the fire was spreading to other buildings. This town doesn't even have a fireman service, for Christ's sake! he thought. Well, maybe I've found a position to run for after all. There was still time to prevent it from going any further, they just needed the townsfolk.

"From water to fuckin' fire..." he mumbled to himself. Just waiting to see the look on her face when I write her about this.

He spat.