(no subject)
It had been a few days since Virgil and I had dispatched the men in the hotel saloon, and we'd taken the time to set up shop at the jail. The office was nice enough, a desk and some bookshelves, a table and some chairs. Two cells in the back corner, and a back door that led into the store that backed up to the building and faced the next street over.
It was a nice jail. Nice office.
But today, Virgil had decided that instead of sitting in the jail, we'd head down to one of the saloons a few doors over. Keep an eye on things from there, instead.
I was sitting on the far side of the room, with my eight-gauge resting on my lap, and Virgil was sitting in front of the plate glass window, enjoying himself a cup of coffee when the Alderman Olson walked in looking like he was about near ready to piss himself.
"Marshal?"
"Mornin' Mr. Olson," Virgil said.
"Bragg and his men, some of them were at the jail, looking for you, sir."
"Well, I ain't at the jail."
"Well, yes," Olson laughed lightly, feeling a bit foolish. "I. I can see that..."
I could hear hoofbeats outside, and my eyes informed me that Bragg and his men - looked to be about six of them - had just rode up and were climbing off their horses since they noticed Virgil sitting right there in the window. They'd found us.
It was a small town, you see - only so many places you could look.
"Got a better view of what's goin' on sittin' right here, don't we, Everett?"
I nodded, once. "Mmmmhmm."
My eyes were on the boys outside, attempting to get a headcount. Calculating, if it were. I'd always been good at calculating - one of the reasons I'd made a damn fine officer in the Army, so long ago.
"What shall we do?"
Olson looked confused, and I wondered if that was a permanent expression on his features or if he was really just that stupid.
"About what?"
"About Bragg and his...and his men..."
"Don't do nothin', Phil," Cole warned, as the group outside began to move in.
"Oh..." Olson realized just then that he was going to be stuck in the saloon so long as Bragg was coming in and he was too scared to walk out past him, so he moved to hide just behind the door. "Oh my God."
The boys filed in. I'd been right. Six of them. Four leaned up against the bar, one stood back in the corner, and one posted himself right there in the doorway. It was obvious that they'd done this before.
That was all right. You see, it was obvious - as I snapped the shotgun closed and cocked both barrels back, one at a time, slow and easy to get the attention of those hands of his - that Virgil and I had been doin' this a long time too.
Bragg walked in and stood behind the chair, took one look at Cole, and then smiled.
"My name's Randall Bragg," he announced.
I didn't think he needed to announce that. We were all well aware of who he was.
"Virgil Cole."
"I know who you are," Bragg added, politely, as he set his riding whip down on the table and had a seat across from Cole. I just kept an eye on things. That was my job, and I was good at it. "We need to talk."
"Only thing I need from you, is what happened to Jack Bell."
"Can't help you there, Marshal," he shook his head and snapped his fingers at the bartender, to bring over a bottle of whiskey and some glasses. Bragg didn't look at me. "I see the fellow with the shotgun, there."
"Eight-gauge," Virgil noted.
"Yes. Good idea, spreading out like that."
"It is." Virgil nodded, thoughtfully, as the bartender set the drink down on their table.
"You a drinking man, Marshal?"
"Not so much," Cole replied, as Bragg yanked the cork out of the bottle and began to pour.
"And, ah, Mr. Eight-Gauge over there?"
"Mister Everett Hitch," Cole informed him.
"You a drinking man, Everett?"
Now that the eyes were on me, I reached over to my side and pulled out my Colt, and cocked the hammer back. The shotgun was still resting on my lap, settled nice and neat, left hand on the trigger. Right hand held the pistol, aimed slightly upwards towards the ceiling. And while I was a drinking man, problem was, I was fresh out of hands.
"Not so much," I said.
Bragg seemed to accept this. I couldn't tell - my eyes were on the four fellas leaning up against the bar, the man with the beard with his hand on the butt of his gun, and the Mexican who had his hand a little too close to his left hip for my comfort level.
"Hard to like a man who doesn't drink just a little."
"But not impossible," Virgil commented.
"Well. We'll see." Bragg drank the shot down after toasting in my partner's direction, and set the glass on the table. The sound was a dull thud, glass on hardwood. Now it was time for business. "You shot three of my men."
"Matter of fact," Virgil corrected him, as he turned and looked in my direction. "I only shot two - Mr. Hitch shot the other one." He seemed awful pleased with himself, playing at Bragg's game.
"Point is, I can't have my hands coming in here and you boys shooting them."
"I can see how you feel that way."
"So. We need to make an arrangement."
Virgil cut him off. "There's a set of bylaws posted right outside the door here of this very saloon," he pointed towards the door with a finger. "Your boys do like the bylaws say, everything will be muy bueno."
The man next to the Mexican gave Virgil a look that I wasn't too pleased at seeing. This would account for the way I lowered the shotgun a little and pointed it in his direction. I was still a bit far away to do a ton of damage - but from this distance, I'd make a hell of a mess of the bunch if I pulled both triggers.
Not to mention the pistol in my right hand.
"And if they don't?" Bragg asked.
"I arrest them."
"And if they don't go along?"
"I shoot them. Or, Mr. Hitch does." A pause. "That's the law."
Bragg pointed at him. "Your law."
"Same thing."
There was a few seconds of silence while Bragg seemed to mull over the fact that he'd been beat, before he glanced up and looked straight at Virgil. "Maybe you aren't good enough."
I noticed Virgil shift in his chair, moving his jacket aside off his hip.
"Don't be so sure you're quicker than me," Bragg warned.
"So far I've been quick enough," Cole reminded him.
All of Bragg's hands were watching the table. Stupid mistake. I could have easily pulled both triggers on the eight and took a handful of them with me before finishing the bunch off with the Colt before anyone even remembered that I was sitting in the room at all. But I didn't, and allowed myself the first sidelong glance at the two men by the window I'd had that whole time.
It was Bragg that broke first, with a conciliatory nod of his head. "Well. Perhaps now's not the time," he said, with a smile that was entirely false and we both knew it. He stood and gathered his crop, eyes still on Cole. "Don't mean there won't be a time."
He was halfway out the door when Cole piped up.
"See you and your boys there are heeled," he added.
Bragg turned around and made a show of putting his hand on his hip, pulling back his jacket to show his gun.
If Virgil noticed, his voice didn't show it. He was acting smug again. "I know you haven't had a chance to read the bylaws, yet, but...the bylaws say it's illegal to carry guns within town limits. So next time, I'm gonna have to disarm you," he informed him, somewhat cheerfully. "Lock you up for a bit."
"Oh." Bragg nodded, and laughed a little as he glanced at his ranch hands, and I sort of wished I could shoot the son of a bitch right then and there just to wipe that grin off his face. He turned back towards Cole and placed his hands on the chair back and leaned in. "You are an interesting man, Mr. Cole."
Virgil just nodded his head, accepting the compliment.
Bragg turned to walk out, and his boys followed. I stood from the chair and walked towards them, having holstered the Colt, shotgun held in my hands as I made certain that none of them got any ideas on the way out the door that they shouldn't be entertaining. Once they'd all stepped outside, I leaned on the bar and looked at Olson - who was still hiding behind the door.
"Mr. Cole's been doin' this a long time, Mr. Olson."
It was as if he couldn't find his voice, as he stepped out and nodded. "Ah...thank you." He turned to Cole. "Good day to you," he said, as he tipped his hat.
"Good day to you," Cole also tipped his hat. "Mr. Olson."
He murmured something at me, but I didn't pay it all that much attention, before he scurried out.
[ooc: Parts lifted from Appaloosa.]
It was a nice jail. Nice office.
But today, Virgil had decided that instead of sitting in the jail, we'd head down to one of the saloons a few doors over. Keep an eye on things from there, instead.
I was sitting on the far side of the room, with my eight-gauge resting on my lap, and Virgil was sitting in front of the plate glass window, enjoying himself a cup of coffee when the Alderman Olson walked in looking like he was about near ready to piss himself.
"Marshal?"
"Mornin' Mr. Olson," Virgil said.
"Bragg and his men, some of them were at the jail, looking for you, sir."
"Well, I ain't at the jail."
"Well, yes," Olson laughed lightly, feeling a bit foolish. "I. I can see that..."
I could hear hoofbeats outside, and my eyes informed me that Bragg and his men - looked to be about six of them - had just rode up and were climbing off their horses since they noticed Virgil sitting right there in the window. They'd found us.
It was a small town, you see - only so many places you could look.
"Got a better view of what's goin' on sittin' right here, don't we, Everett?"
I nodded, once. "Mmmmhmm."
My eyes were on the boys outside, attempting to get a headcount. Calculating, if it were. I'd always been good at calculating - one of the reasons I'd made a damn fine officer in the Army, so long ago.
"What shall we do?"
Olson looked confused, and I wondered if that was a permanent expression on his features or if he was really just that stupid.
"About what?"
"About Bragg and his...and his men..."
"Don't do nothin', Phil," Cole warned, as the group outside began to move in.
"Oh..." Olson realized just then that he was going to be stuck in the saloon so long as Bragg was coming in and he was too scared to walk out past him, so he moved to hide just behind the door. "Oh my God."
The boys filed in. I'd been right. Six of them. Four leaned up against the bar, one stood back in the corner, and one posted himself right there in the doorway. It was obvious that they'd done this before.
That was all right. You see, it was obvious - as I snapped the shotgun closed and cocked both barrels back, one at a time, slow and easy to get the attention of those hands of his - that Virgil and I had been doin' this a long time too.
Bragg walked in and stood behind the chair, took one look at Cole, and then smiled.
"My name's Randall Bragg," he announced.
I didn't think he needed to announce that. We were all well aware of who he was.
"Virgil Cole."
"I know who you are," Bragg added, politely, as he set his riding whip down on the table and had a seat across from Cole. I just kept an eye on things. That was my job, and I was good at it. "We need to talk."
"Only thing I need from you, is what happened to Jack Bell."
"Can't help you there, Marshal," he shook his head and snapped his fingers at the bartender, to bring over a bottle of whiskey and some glasses. Bragg didn't look at me. "I see the fellow with the shotgun, there."
"Eight-gauge," Virgil noted.
"Yes. Good idea, spreading out like that."
"It is." Virgil nodded, thoughtfully, as the bartender set the drink down on their table.
"You a drinking man, Marshal?"
"Not so much," Cole replied, as Bragg yanked the cork out of the bottle and began to pour.
"And, ah, Mr. Eight-Gauge over there?"
"Mister Everett Hitch," Cole informed him.
"You a drinking man, Everett?"
Now that the eyes were on me, I reached over to my side and pulled out my Colt, and cocked the hammer back. The shotgun was still resting on my lap, settled nice and neat, left hand on the trigger. Right hand held the pistol, aimed slightly upwards towards the ceiling. And while I was a drinking man, problem was, I was fresh out of hands.
"Not so much," I said.
Bragg seemed to accept this. I couldn't tell - my eyes were on the four fellas leaning up against the bar, the man with the beard with his hand on the butt of his gun, and the Mexican who had his hand a little too close to his left hip for my comfort level.
"Hard to like a man who doesn't drink just a little."
"But not impossible," Virgil commented.
"Well. We'll see." Bragg drank the shot down after toasting in my partner's direction, and set the glass on the table. The sound was a dull thud, glass on hardwood. Now it was time for business. "You shot three of my men."
"Matter of fact," Virgil corrected him, as he turned and looked in my direction. "I only shot two - Mr. Hitch shot the other one." He seemed awful pleased with himself, playing at Bragg's game.
"Point is, I can't have my hands coming in here and you boys shooting them."
"I can see how you feel that way."
"So. We need to make an arrangement."
Virgil cut him off. "There's a set of bylaws posted right outside the door here of this very saloon," he pointed towards the door with a finger. "Your boys do like the bylaws say, everything will be muy bueno."
The man next to the Mexican gave Virgil a look that I wasn't too pleased at seeing. This would account for the way I lowered the shotgun a little and pointed it in his direction. I was still a bit far away to do a ton of damage - but from this distance, I'd make a hell of a mess of the bunch if I pulled both triggers.
Not to mention the pistol in my right hand.
"And if they don't?" Bragg asked.
"I arrest them."
"And if they don't go along?"
"I shoot them. Or, Mr. Hitch does." A pause. "That's the law."
Bragg pointed at him. "Your law."
"Same thing."
There was a few seconds of silence while Bragg seemed to mull over the fact that he'd been beat, before he glanced up and looked straight at Virgil. "Maybe you aren't good enough."
I noticed Virgil shift in his chair, moving his jacket aside off his hip.
"Don't be so sure you're quicker than me," Bragg warned.
"So far I've been quick enough," Cole reminded him.
All of Bragg's hands were watching the table. Stupid mistake. I could have easily pulled both triggers on the eight and took a handful of them with me before finishing the bunch off with the Colt before anyone even remembered that I was sitting in the room at all. But I didn't, and allowed myself the first sidelong glance at the two men by the window I'd had that whole time.
It was Bragg that broke first, with a conciliatory nod of his head. "Well. Perhaps now's not the time," he said, with a smile that was entirely false and we both knew it. He stood and gathered his crop, eyes still on Cole. "Don't mean there won't be a time."
He was halfway out the door when Cole piped up.
"See you and your boys there are heeled," he added.
Bragg turned around and made a show of putting his hand on his hip, pulling back his jacket to show his gun.
If Virgil noticed, his voice didn't show it. He was acting smug again. "I know you haven't had a chance to read the bylaws, yet, but...the bylaws say it's illegal to carry guns within town limits. So next time, I'm gonna have to disarm you," he informed him, somewhat cheerfully. "Lock you up for a bit."
"Oh." Bragg nodded, and laughed a little as he glanced at his ranch hands, and I sort of wished I could shoot the son of a bitch right then and there just to wipe that grin off his face. He turned back towards Cole and placed his hands on the chair back and leaned in. "You are an interesting man, Mr. Cole."
Virgil just nodded his head, accepting the compliment.
Bragg turned to walk out, and his boys followed. I stood from the chair and walked towards them, having holstered the Colt, shotgun held in my hands as I made certain that none of them got any ideas on the way out the door that they shouldn't be entertaining. Once they'd all stepped outside, I leaned on the bar and looked at Olson - who was still hiding behind the door.
"Mr. Cole's been doin' this a long time, Mr. Olson."
It was as if he couldn't find his voice, as he stepped out and nodded. "Ah...thank you." He turned to Cole. "Good day to you," he said, as he tipped his hat.
"Good day to you," Cole also tipped his hat. "Mr. Olson."
He murmured something at me, but I didn't pay it all that much attention, before he scurried out.
[ooc: Parts lifted from Appaloosa.]