(no subject)
The tables in the saloon had been pushed back a bit, and two of Bragg's men were standing in the center of the room, trying to piss into a big, brass saloon sittin' down on the center of the floor.
Neither of them were havin' much luck, far as I could tell.
Virgil stepped through the lobby of the hotel into the saloon, and stood on the other side of the room from me. He watched for a minute, almost like he was amused, before he spoke. "Button them up." It was definitely an order.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Virgil Cole."
The man blinked once, before he smirked and turned to his partner in piss. "Virgil Cole? No shit? Hey, Chalk," he said. "Virgil Cole wants us to stop."
Chalk turned towards Virgil, his equipment still fully exposed. "Step a little closer, Virgil Cole," he said. "And I'll piss in your pocket."
I managed not to roll my eyes as I looked over at Virgil, but he didn't seem to mind the small talk. He never did, but he didn't take bullshit from nobody.
"I am the new city marshal," he said. "Put it away or lose it."
"Hey, Bronc," Chalk said. "They got a new marshal."
Two other men of Bragg's were standing at the bar, still, and they straightened up a bit. I had my eyes on them, and Chalk and Bronc, though to be honest I wasn't looking much at Chalk or Bronc, seein' as they were still exposed.
"Didn't they have another marshal, 'while ago?"
"They did."
"Keep usin' them fuckers up, don't they?"
"Got no use for them anyway."
Cole relaxed in the doorway, but I could see his hands hanging loose at his sides. "Put them ugly little contraptions away," he said. "I'm going to walk you down to the jail, and I don't want to scare the horses."
I smiled, but nobody else moved. It was like one of those high-plains days in the summer, when it's hot and still and a storm is coming and you feel the tension of its coming long before it gets there. I normally hated those days, that feeling. This was no exception, but, with the eight gauge in my hands I wasn't all that concerned.
Chalk and Bronc buttoned up their pants. It's easier to be dangerous with your breeding equipment stowed, after all. Bronc spoke up first. "You ain't walkin' us nowhere, Virgil Cole."
So now we had to wait.
Cole saw the look in Chalk's eyes, and arched an eyebrow in his direction. "You pull on me, either one, and I'll kill you both," he said.
Behind Cole, a man pulled out a revolver and let it rest on the tabletop. So there were five. I made note of it.
"Bullshit," Chalk laughed, as he dropped his hand to his thigh.
Cole, thoughtfully, shot him before his hand even touched the butt of his gun, and he was already beginning to fold over when the man behind him raised his gun from the tabletop. I shot him with that eight gauge and rattled all the bottles behind the bar with the sound as Mr. Tabletop jerked back and hit the wall. Cole's second shot hit Bronc in the head before he even had his gun clear of his holster.
The noise of the gunfire was still ringing in my ears as Cole slowly turned and looked around the room. One of the men who had been standing at the bar was pale, older, and had his hands up. "I ain't shootin'," he said. "I ain't shootin'."
Cole inclined his head towards the street entrance, but I stopped him as he walked out, and yanked his revolver from the holster before I told him to get out, and then set the man's gun down on the bar, sliding it over to Willis.
Everyone else was still silent.
I broke the shotgun and replaced the spent shell with a fresh one. I'd only fired one barrel. I hadn't been looking to make a mess of things. Cole did the same, putting two fresh cartridges in the Colt before he snapped it closed and put it back in his holster. That was the rule. Always reload after the shooting stops.
Raines, Olson, and May peered around the corner of the lobby entrance to the saloon, looking at the two dead men in the center of the room, and the third slumped over against the wall. The one Cole had shot in the face was starting to leave a bit of a sticky red puddle on the hardwood.
Cole looked up at them. If he were the type of man to shrug, he might have. He didn't.
"I warned them," he said.
Then he turned and walked, past me, heading outside and likely back up the street to the marshal's office. Our new office. I asked Willis for a shot of whiskey and downed it, before I followed.
Neither of them were havin' much luck, far as I could tell.
Virgil stepped through the lobby of the hotel into the saloon, and stood on the other side of the room from me. He watched for a minute, almost like he was amused, before he spoke. "Button them up." It was definitely an order.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Virgil Cole."
The man blinked once, before he smirked and turned to his partner in piss. "Virgil Cole? No shit? Hey, Chalk," he said. "Virgil Cole wants us to stop."
Chalk turned towards Virgil, his equipment still fully exposed. "Step a little closer, Virgil Cole," he said. "And I'll piss in your pocket."
I managed not to roll my eyes as I looked over at Virgil, but he didn't seem to mind the small talk. He never did, but he didn't take bullshit from nobody.
"I am the new city marshal," he said. "Put it away or lose it."
"Hey, Bronc," Chalk said. "They got a new marshal."
Two other men of Bragg's were standing at the bar, still, and they straightened up a bit. I had my eyes on them, and Chalk and Bronc, though to be honest I wasn't looking much at Chalk or Bronc, seein' as they were still exposed.
"Didn't they have another marshal, 'while ago?"
"They did."
"Keep usin' them fuckers up, don't they?"
"Got no use for them anyway."
Cole relaxed in the doorway, but I could see his hands hanging loose at his sides. "Put them ugly little contraptions away," he said. "I'm going to walk you down to the jail, and I don't want to scare the horses."
I smiled, but nobody else moved. It was like one of those high-plains days in the summer, when it's hot and still and a storm is coming and you feel the tension of its coming long before it gets there. I normally hated those days, that feeling. This was no exception, but, with the eight gauge in my hands I wasn't all that concerned.
Chalk and Bronc buttoned up their pants. It's easier to be dangerous with your breeding equipment stowed, after all. Bronc spoke up first. "You ain't walkin' us nowhere, Virgil Cole."
So now we had to wait.
Cole saw the look in Chalk's eyes, and arched an eyebrow in his direction. "You pull on me, either one, and I'll kill you both," he said.
Behind Cole, a man pulled out a revolver and let it rest on the tabletop. So there were five. I made note of it.
"Bullshit," Chalk laughed, as he dropped his hand to his thigh.
Cole, thoughtfully, shot him before his hand even touched the butt of his gun, and he was already beginning to fold over when the man behind him raised his gun from the tabletop. I shot him with that eight gauge and rattled all the bottles behind the bar with the sound as Mr. Tabletop jerked back and hit the wall. Cole's second shot hit Bronc in the head before he even had his gun clear of his holster.
The noise of the gunfire was still ringing in my ears as Cole slowly turned and looked around the room. One of the men who had been standing at the bar was pale, older, and had his hands up. "I ain't shootin'," he said. "I ain't shootin'."
Cole inclined his head towards the street entrance, but I stopped him as he walked out, and yanked his revolver from the holster before I told him to get out, and then set the man's gun down on the bar, sliding it over to Willis.
Everyone else was still silent.
I broke the shotgun and replaced the spent shell with a fresh one. I'd only fired one barrel. I hadn't been looking to make a mess of things. Cole did the same, putting two fresh cartridges in the Colt before he snapped it closed and put it back in his holster. That was the rule. Always reload after the shooting stops.
Raines, Olson, and May peered around the corner of the lobby entrance to the saloon, looking at the two dead men in the center of the room, and the third slumped over against the wall. The one Cole had shot in the face was starting to leave a bit of a sticky red puddle on the hardwood.
Cole looked up at them. If he were the type of man to shrug, he might have. He didn't.
"I warned them," he said.
Then he turned and walked, past me, heading outside and likely back up the street to the marshal's office. Our new office. I asked Willis for a shot of whiskey and downed it, before I followed.