Big Knife moved as soon as the fight is joined properly. He can see Billy clock the man with a good crack-crack of his fists. Big Knife pushes forward, for a squat, heavy looking native man, he moves freakishly fast. It's mere luck that that heavy bottle misses his face by inches, and instead slams into his right shoulder. And only by sheer luck that Mistihkoman holds onto the big knife held in that hand as his arm goes numb. He hits the ground in a skip step, and for a moment Logan is free of the native scouts attention. Mistihkoman rounds on the man who hit him. The attack doesn't come from the knife though as one would expect. Held low and in his left hand, the tomahawk comes whistling up, the hammer end of it catching the man with the bottle in the chin! It's a mighty crack as teeth fly and a jaw breaks. Mistihkoman then dips low, and listens as the heavy set man screams as Big knife cuts into the back of his knees, blood jets briefly as ligaments are cut. The man dropping and howling in pain.

Mistihkoman turns again scanning the crowd. Logan backing away. The squat scout looking between the others. Mary had retreated, the fellow from just a moment ago going to clock someone with a pool cue, they were out of the way. He looks to Taylor not sure if he needs help, then spots Billy. He has another man moving to get at him, but then the dark skinned soldier ought to be able to take care of himself. All of this is done in a short few moments. Until he rounds back on Logan, and starts to stalk towards him, his voice is low and level, his stance is bent and ready, he growls out, "Did you think before insulting a man? Send more! You've become my prey moniyew, and I seldom let my prey escape. You should have seen the cougar I hunted on the way down here. She tried to escape me too. I ran her down. Day after day. You can run now here, but I swear I will find you, and when I do, I will take my pound of flesh for the insult you have doled out today!"

As the thug tipped over Taylor’s chair, he instinctively rolled back into an upwards stance, slashing his attacker’s eye in the process and eliciting a howl of pain from the six foot three brick wall of a man.

Taylor whirled around to take stock of his surroundings, but another thug was faster and tackled him to the ground, causing him to lose his knife. For several seconds they both grappled and crushed each other on the floor in a sort of primitive, manic dash of adrenaline, while the now one-eyed thug nursed his wounds in the corner of the room. Suddenly, the thug he was in combat with headbutted his forehead, causing him to momentarily black out. In a fit of disorientation, the thug was able to get him in an arm lock, putting him into position for his angry and now one-eyed friend to beat up.

Taylor looked across the room, and marveled in silent horror at the Indian whirling his tomahawk and shouting what he assumed were slurs in his native language at Logan. Christ, the bastard and his kind could fight.

“Uh... hey! Hey, redskin!” Taylor squirmed in his captor’s arms as the hulking cyclops crept closer towards him. “Could use a little help here!”

Mistihkoman crept closer and closer to Logan, his short, stout form hunched over to leave him low to the ground. Oh he's going to get the man, and there is almost nothing anyone can do about that. Well unless someone plays to the Native man's sense of helping others. That dark look on his face fades as he straightens and sees that Barnabus seems to be in danger. Mistihkoman for a moment weighs his options. But soon he's turning and with a purposeful dangerous stride starts towards the man and the pair of goons attacking him.

Ah but it's not that easy, for another of their group had flanked the Native Scout while he was stalking Logan. And as Mistihkoman prepares his arm, he feels two heavy arms wrap around him from behind and a smoke burned voice cry out, "I've got the redskin! Someone help me!"

Oh he's not going to let that happen so easily. With a push all his weight and every ounce of strength in his back Big Knife kicks at the floor driving himself and his grappler back bang into the wall. For a moment the arms holding him are free. Mistihkoman raises the arm holding his tomahawk, above his head then down and forward releasing his grip, the hand axe almost buzzing as it flips end over end through the air...

Mistihkoman feels arms lock back around him but his eyes are on the tomahawk, it flips past several men who dive out of the way and...that wet sound of skin, fabric and bone part. As the axe bites into the cyclops' back just left of the spine, so close if just a fingers width to the right it would have paralyzed the man. So close. Mistihkoman shouts to Barnabus, "Use this time moniyew! Use my tomahawk even!" Then he feels arms close back around him fully. Locked in the embrace from behind.

Finney was excited to watch the fight, but honestly did not want to be part of it. He hid behind the bar with Mary, peeking over the edge. Occaionally, he looked up at the man up stairs who appeared quite interested in the fray, but did nothing to stop it. That was curious to Phineas O’Connell. He took note of the fight; attempting to remember as much as he could in order to record in detail for the written record. His view was hampered by Mr. Logan himself staggering back into him. Instead of getting into the fight, per se, Finney picked a bottle up off the bar and smashed it over the top of Mr. Logan’s head as hard as he could, dropping the no good thief to the floor.

He saw the large black soldier throw a one-two at one of Logan’s men, knocking him back on the floor. Then a second man drove one into the black man’s stomach, making him bend over. This would have been a good time for the curly blonde haired man to drive a knee into Billy’s face, but he failed to eliminate the cavalryman from the fight. Instead, Billy drove into the curly haired man pushing him right across the table he had just got up from.

Billy gathered himself looking around the room for another target. He saw the large angry man grab Misty Koman from behind. Billy tried to make a move for the man, but someone else got a punch into the side of his head, dropping Billy to the floor. He immediately rolled with the force of this punch and rose back up to his feet to continue the fight. It was the first man he knocked to the ground who punched him. He had gotten to his feet and was ready to take out some vengeance.

Finney noted that the southern gentleman had not entered the fight yet. It appeared it was only the native and the African soldier who were fighting. Although he knew why he didn’t want to fight, but was wondering why the others were not.

Fists and melee weapons fly, quickly making a mess of the saloon.

Sergio's target groaned when the pool cue struck him. Mistihkoman's ferocity was not lost on the remaining thugs and two of them hesitated as their buddies continued brawling it out with Billy, Taylor, Sergio, & Mistihkoman.

"Savage!" cried Mr Logan as Mistihkoman made his threats. "Hard to believe they even let your cheating hide in here!" he said, still backpedaling.

Luckily enough for Logan, the native's attention is stolen. Good. Logan's hand goes inside his vest and grabs ahold of the derringer pistol concealed within. He'd put a stop to this madness! But he had barely pulled it clear of the garment when the bottle smashed down over his head. The shoddy little pistol dropped out of his hand and clattered to the wooden saloon floor just a second ahead of Mr. Logan himself. He lies, unmoving.

Upstairs in the window, a smirk passes over the face of the man dressed in white.

Seeing their boss go down, the thugs that can still stand wise up and try to rush for the door. All except for the one with his arms locked around Mistihkoman. That thug has suddenly found himself without allies and he tries to shove the native into Taylor to buy himself a few second's head start to get out the door.

@Kelewen

SERGIO WESTWOOD

Sergio was glad that Finney could hold his own; turning his attention to another thug who was the closest to him. Throwing another punch towards his gut; feeling a sharp pain in his cheek form a one thug that had thrown a punch at him. Falling backwards on his ass but quickly retaliating by sweeping the thug's legs to trip him. Getting back up and stomping on that thug's chest to try and put him out of commission.

Noticing the derringer being pulled out by Mr.Logan; he felt a bit relived it was not used thanks to him being smashed over the head by a bottle. Trying to take the derringer form the floor; so someone wouldn't get smart and shot one of the other men. If he was successful then he would place it inside of the pocket of his jacket and keep fighting the thugs around him; if he failed then someone could smash him over the head while he tried to grab for the tiny gun.

Finney felt good about himself for knocking out Mr. Logan. He wasn’t sure he had it in him. Everyone he met was so very rough and aggressive. He just didn’t feel comfortable yet, but seeing Mr. Logan taking a nap on the wooden floor of the saloon, boosted his confidence. “Well, looks like Mr. Logan has decided to remain after all.” Phineas smiled at that comment, watching Logan’s thugs rush for the door; all except the one who grabbed Mistihkoman.

Phineas pulled out a book of parchment papers, quill and ink bottle. He began to write notes on the fight; how it started, who did what and how the various folks in the bar reacted. He loved it. All he knew was, he felt fear. But that fear motivated him to smash the bottle over Logan’s head. He wondered if the others felt that fear. Also, if they didn’t experience the fear, where did they get their drive to fight. He made a mental note to ask his compatriots if he had the opportunity.

The one-eyed thug yelped in abject pain as the tomahawk gave a resounding thump as it pierced his fleshy back. The man grappling Taylor in place let go for a split second, allowing Taylor to break free and dive for the tomahawk. As he whirled around to prepare to give his attacker a face full of axe, he suddenly noticed him and all of the thugs with him fleeing the bar. A few seconds later, another thug shoves Mistikhoman into him, evidently buying time in making his escape. Then he finally understood why: the pale-faced Boston dandy he was gaming with earlier had somehow managed to knock out Logan with a bottle. Truly, Taylor pondered, the most unassuming of people often end up doing the things most unexpected of them. He attempted to hand the tomahawk back to the Native with the smallest of grins.

"Man, your kind can really fight, can't you? Let's string up this bastard while we're at it."

The portly saloonkeeper slowly raised himself up from behind the bar where he'd taken cover, a shotgun in his grip. "Ya ain't usin' the Saloon as a gallows," he declared. Though would not concern himself with anything that took place outside the saloon.

The man in white was still in the upstairs window and waves to get the saloonkeeper's attention, then points at the participants of the fight and makes a gesture that the saloonkeep seems to understand. He nods, then pulls out a bottle that had been hidden beneath the bar, the Sweetwater Saloon's finest whiskey, and pours a shot for each of them.

"Compliments of Mr. Grainger, the proprietor of this fine establishment. He’d like to see you upstairs."

Mistihkoman stumbled forward as the man who had grabbed him shoves him forward. He twists during the turn and just misses the man as he bolts and out the front door. He takes a few stumbling steps before hitting Taylor. He sighs and rights himself taking the Tomahawk from the man, "My people have been fighting since the French, British, Dutch, and Spanish, since the Germans and the Scottish came here. Even since the Norsemen came before them. Fighting...is something we're good at now." He slides the knife and tomahawk away inside his vest. Looking over at the saloonkeeper to see if he'll want to take those too. Just quirking his brow. He shrugs, "I wish I could take a scalp, but I think that would be worse then stringing him up as you say."

He's about to make that descision for the group taking a step towards Logan, when the keeper pulls out those shot glasses and pours out that liquor, "Another moniyew wants to talk? The last one started a fight." He looks up the stairs to the balcony curiously. He then looks at Logan, "Do we see this Grainger first, or take care of that...thing over there?" He looks around at the others who were at the table, then at the shots on the counter, "Hmmm. wihkipew...well...would be rude." He walks up takes one of the shots, looks up at the balcony and calls out, "Hiy hiy!" Then slams back the shot in one go.

Phineas felt good about himself in this strange land. This was the first time since he’d arrived in Texas that he felt comfortable about who he was. He was ready for whatever adventure lay ahead of him. He walked over to the bar next to the Cree man and tossed the shot of whiskey back. “Ahh! That was smooth. Gotta love a sharp bourbon. Good stuff.” He looked up at the man upstairs, “Thanks Mr. Grainger, lifting the empty shot glass with a smile.”

Billy Kingsley had picked himself up off the floor and listened to what was going on. He saw the Cree man put his weapons away and the others take their shots of the whiskey. He smiled, figuring it was his turn to take a shot. As he approached the bar, he looked up at the saloon owner, “Thanks Mr. Grainger!” Billy smiled up as the man as he retrieved the shot glass. He didn’t always receive polite or congenial treatment from white man and appreciated the gesture immensely. Like the others, Billy tossed the shot back and put the glass on the bar. HE looked at Finney, “You got that right. That whiskey is smooth.”

@Kelewen @BigPapaBelial

SERGIO WESTWOOD

Sergio looked over at Finney; “You're not bad at using your fist; where did you learn how to fight?” He asked wiping some dust form his coat. Walking over towards the bar picking up a toppled bar stool; Placing it up right and taking a breath wanting to relax for a moment. He was surprised that the writer had some fight in him; but you would have to know how to defend yourself form outlaws wanting to rob you blind.

Eyeing the native American who had helped fought off the thugs; he was sure glad to have him around. Because he and the others would have a lot of trouble. “Thanks for helping us out; here you can have my glass” He said pushing the glass set for him towards Mistihkoman. He wondered what this Mr. Grainge was up to; tipping his hat towards the other men before making his way upstairs. Wanting to talk to this Mr.Grainge because he had caught his attention; and wanted to know what he wanted form the group.

The man in white raised a shot glass of his own at the those that acknowledged him and took a sip to join them in their drink, though it's unlikely he could hear any of their exchanged words through the window glass. As he spots Sergio crossing the room toward the stairs, Grainger moves away from the window.

At the top of the stairs is a small balcony and beyond, an office with the door already opened. It's furnished with an expensive mahogany desk, currently messy with paperwork. The back wall is covered by shelving units that contain a variety of books, stacks of papers, boxes, a couple bottles of whiskey, and even a few decorative items that get a bit lost in the clutter. Several chairs are arranged in front of the desk. Grainger himself is short, balding, fat, and sweating in the Texas heat. "Come in, come in," Grainger beckons to Sergio (and anyone else that is following).

He wipes his brow with a handkerchief as he chuckles. "I never did like that asshole Logan, it’s about time someone put him in his place. I’m Bailey Grainger, owner of this here fine saloon."

Mistihkoman sets the shot glass down, then the one man pushes his glass over. Mistihkoman chuckles then downs the second glass, coughing at the bite of the drink, "Ah...I am glad to help." He nods then watches as everyone begins to move upstairs. He takes a moment wondering if it's a good thing to stick around, looking over at the doors to the saloon. Then back up to the balcony. But as his kokum told him once, "You don't leave your pemikahan to dry out."

So as others head up the stairs there is a thump, step, thump, step. And Mistihkoman joins them, dragging Logan behind him, "We still need to do something about this poh'ki at some time." He drops Logan by the stairs and walks up to the rest of the group and this Mr. Grainger, "The owner of this place? Hmmm do we owe you an apology?" He smiles a little, not meaning a word of it, as he's not sorry for what happened. Looking down at the one man who he had slit the back of his legs open and Logan behind them.

@Kelewen

SERGIO WESTWOOD

The bounty hunter opening the door to where Mr. Grainger was seated. “I apologize about ruining your business; that gentleman on the staircase had tried to extort money form another gentleman. But it seems he was not successful” He studied the man in front of him. Wondering what was going on inside of his head; nothing good he thought. But if this man had a job for him then he would take it; it seemed that the deputy and the sheriff were not going to given him his next job. He was certain that this was the reason Mr. Grainger was wanting to speak to him. Moving aside so the other's could join him inside of the room.

“So what would be the reason for calling us up here? You have a job for us?” He asked; knowing this could be a potential job and a good source of income.

Sergio spoke to Finney, “You're not bad at using your fist; where did you learn how to fight?”

Finney looked at this man with eyes very wide; frankly taken aback by the comment, knowing the truth. He looked back at the end of the bar where he hid during the fight and then at the tables where Billy, Mistihkoman and Taylor had fought with the thugs. He then looked up at this strange man, “Pardon me, sir. I honestly do not know what you are talking about. I threw exactly zero punches during that fight. Maybe you are talking about the colored soldier, the Cree man or the former confederate? I hid behind the bar over there and then clocked Mr. Logan over the head with a bottle when he staggered into my way.” Finney smiled at the man, “but thanks anyway. I was thinking of asking one of them how to fight. I really have no experience with that.”

Finney followed the taller thin man up the stairs to meet Mr. Granger. He figured since he did contribute to the fight, albeit in a very small way, he would see what the man wanted or had to offer if the case may be. Besides, it was all good material for his book.

Finney found it amusing, when the cree man dragged Mr. Logan up the stairs. He heard the man say, "We still need to do something about this poh'ki at some time." to which Finney quickly wrote this line down in his notebook. “Mr Mistihkoman? What is a poh’ki?”

---

Billy Kingsley overheard the stranger who had been playing pool compliment Finney on the punches he threw. Like Finney, this really threw the African soldier for a loop. He saw the Cree man throw punches and the Confederate throw punches and he himself threw several punches, but not the frightened young man from Boston. Billy wasn’t sure who the stranger was talking about, but both him and Finney knew it wasn’t Finney.

Billy watched Misty Koman drag Mr. Logan up the stairs, “would you like some help with that?” but he suspected the Cree man did not hear him. He followed the group upstairs to take a seat and see what Mr. Gainger had to offer.

When he arrived upstairs, the 6’2” black man wearing cavalry trousers stuck out his hand to the man he would eventually know as Sergio, “Hello stranger, my name is William Kingsley, but most folk call me Billy.”

@EvilEdd1984

Bailey Grainger shakes his head at Mistihkoman's question. "I'd rather hire you than get an apology," he said with a laugh, again mopping some sweat from his brow with the handkerchief

Sergio, it seemed, had already guessed at Grainger's intent and Bailey offers the man his hand to shake, then does the same to the others before he takes a seat on the other side of the mahogany desk.

They'd handled Logan and his hired thugs easily enough. Even the one that had tried to remove himself from the fray had come through when it mattered.

"I was impressed with your handiwork down there. Would you be interested in a job? It’s really quite simple, I have a package, a present, which I need delivered to my brother Wyatt, in a little town south of Odessa. You'd be compensated, of course," he explains, looking around to see if there is any interest from those gathered in his office.

Billy had actually come to Sweetwater looking for work. He was ready to accept the job but wondered how much it paid. He’d done harder jobs for less work in the past and was convinced this Mr. Grainger would pay a higher rate than that. Before he had a chance to ask that all important question, someone else did?

“How much does the job pay?” Finney asked the question. He didn’t care what it paid. He still had some money left over from what his father gave him. He knew the other folks in the group would be interested. He told himself, he asked the question for them. Finney tried to write a description of Mr. Grainger in his notebook. The man had a robust build, possibly a ruddy complexion from excessive alcohol, his guess. Finney knew he would go. He couldn’t pass this opportunity up. This could be the makings of his first western pulp fiction. He would eventually well known across the country as an author.

@Kelewen @Landain

SERGIO WESTWOOD

Sergio apologized to Finney and Billy; “I apologize i thought you were that other gentleman; name is Sergio nice to meet you” He said quickly shaking Billy's hand. Turning his attention towards Mr. Grainger. “Sounds simple enough; What is inside of the package?” He asked curious about what they would be delivering. It would have to be something important if this man needed a group of dangerous men to deliver it.

“Hope it ain't anything illegal” He thought to himself; the last thing he needed was to break the law and be hunted down once again as a outlaw. He was sure they would be successful judging form how they handled themselves with those thugs.

"I can pay $80," Mr. Grainger answered Finney. "$30 now and I'll wire ahead to my brother and he'll pay the other fifty when you get there."

Then looked to Sergio. "It's some new and sophisticated mining equipment. It's heavy. And expensive." At least Billy, Sergio, Taylor, & Mistihkoman seemed plenty sturdy enough to muscle the crate around if and when they needed to. Finney didn't look like he'd spent much time lifting heavy items. But Grainger's offer extended to him as well.

"There's a train that goes to Odessa from here. I can cover your tickets of course. So really, I just need you to get it from the train station down to Coalriver and get it to my brother," he explained.