One does not sell the land people walk on (Justice, Montana)

[Billy Two-Guns]

Justice was not exactly the sort of town that Billy Two-Guns particularly enjoyed. Then again, no town would ever satisfy him. It wasn't anything having to do with lack of granduer or scale, but simply the fact that they had been sprouting up all over. They shouldn't be on his people's land at all; nothing that 'civilization' offered would ever be be better than the unblemished and wild land they lived in. These settlers and the troubles they brought weren't worth it.

It was easy to resent those who lived in Justice just for being here. The gold rushes were infuriating and the filth that followed them were foul and crass.

But, despite his contempt he knew that it was best to at least try and remain civil among these people. That didn't stop him from treating most he laid eyes on with curt words and as little interaction as possible. He was here to trade and make his own purchases. Occasionally he hired himself out to act as a guide for visitors passing through, but he had to be in a specific mood to allow himself to stoop to such a thing. And after all of his business was finished, he left town as grumpily as he'd came in. Once in a great while he actually visited the saloon, though it was always to refill his waterskin before leaving. The alcohol these people drank was foul and he wanted no part of it.



The tall bay that he rode walked easily down the main thoroughfare, weaving between horse and person alike with a smooth and unbroken gait. He passed without so much as a nod to those around him.

Where his final destination was was his business, and he had no desire to share hollow pleasentries with anyone.

[Two Dollar Jim]

Jim walked the rest of the way into town; the mule that had carried him from Fetterman was lame and not even fit for a plow. He'd sold it off to the knackers for twenty dollars, a hijacking even for the pack animal's shoddy condition. Still, the mule wasn't fit for nothing anymore and Jim needed money.

Incidentally he also needed boots. As Jim walked along the thoroughfare he could feel a toe finally wearing into eroded sole, signalling his dirtkickers' final days. Spitting into the dirt, he squinted into the sun as a tall Indian rode a taller horse leisurely in his opposite direction. Hooking thumbs into the front of his gun belt, he regarded the passerby.

"Stranger, you know a cobbler in town worth his salt?"

[Billy Two-Guns]

Billy allowed the bay to stop, and he stared down at the man who'd addressed him. He studied every inch of him, and came to the conclusion that this was one he didn't like. Just by the look of the man.

Another moment of silence before he spoke, dark eyes boring down upon the stranger.

"I do not."

[Two Dollar Jim]

Jim eyed the Indian's boots, and back up to the Indian's face. Brown boots. Worn, but not too roughshod. Basic and unassuming, but sturdy by the look.

"I got five dollars for them boots if it suits you."

The Indian had a stony look to his face. Either a poker player, or just had that way about him.

[Billy Two-Guns]

It wasn't a hard thing to refuse such an offer. He had other things to tend to, and standing in the street with this stranger was not one of them.

Billy nudged his mount forward, his dark eyes narrowing.

"Not interested."

[Two Dollar Jim]

"Seven dollars."

The thought of running both feet through what was left of his boots wasn't a good thought. He still had to find enough money to get a roof over his head for the next few days, and maybe a bit of chow. That meant he needed to hit the saloons.

Jim fished a cigarillo from his pocket and rolled it between a finger and thumb. He paused before pressing it to his lips, and instead extended it up toward Billy.

"At least your horse'll still have shoes."

[Billy Two-Guns]

Billy ground his teeth in annoyance. This sort of persistance wasn't something that he felt like dealing with. A slight tug of the reigns brought his horse to a halt once more, and the animal pivoted as another rider passed by.

"I said no. Go ask someone else."

[Two Dollar Jim]

Jim stiffened. Crotchety Indians weren't uncommon, but this was an inconvenient time for such a stubborn cuss. He pulled a match from his shirt pocket and struck it on his belt buckle, bringing the tip to the end of the cigarillo which he returned to his lips.

He exhaled smoke. No way he was going to jail on account of gunning down some redskin. Besides, this fella seemed to expect that sort of thing.

"Alright then."

He looked sidelong, and back again.

"Before you shake me off of them sturdy boots of yours, I don't suppose you've seen a man with one ear in this horse apple of a town?"

[Billy Two-Guns]

Against his better judgement, Billy paused at the mention of a man with one ear. An injury like that wasn't something one would forget seeing, and he seen just that on his way into town. Well, at least on his way past the whorehouse he did.

"I have seen a man like that, yes."

A gentle nudge at his horse's side was rewarded with the animal stepping forward once again. He needed to get to the general store up the way, and having answered the stranger's question, Billy felt he'd excersised enough politeness for the day.

[Two Dollar Jim]

Jim's eyes turned wild for half a moment, and he stared into the distance past Billy. As the Indian began to move off once again, he suddenly forgot his sorry boot situation.

"Whereabouts mister?"

Five years since that son of a bitch did what he did. Five years since all of it. Suddenly Jim knew he'd done right. He could smell blood all the way down the Bozeman Trail.

[Billy Two-Guns]

He made a gesture towards the same way he'd come into town.

"Saw him go into the whorehouse."

Billy had seen the look in the man's eyes from his peripheral vision, and knew that look well. It was the gaze of a man searching for revenge. He was no fool, and knew better than to place himself in the same area of a man and his enemy. It was simply not a good idea.

The bay was putting distance between the two, and Billy spoke over his shoulder.

"Should still be there."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Crawfish was finishing up another successful business transaction at the Bareback. He cinched up his belt, buttoned his shirt, slapped a damp washrag across his business patron's bare derrier, and took a few plugs of whiskey from a ceramic bottle. He paused in the doorway after throwing a fist full of three silver dollars on the oak table in the foyer, leaving his host to her own devices.

Suddenly he saw a sight further down the town's outskirts that caught his attention.

"Kip!"

A ginger-haired tagalong stumbled into the foyer without the foresight of pulling up his drawers.

"Dad-blame it Crawfish I ain't a-finished yet!"

Crawfish booted Kip in the rear end, causing him to nearly fall over.

"Put yer breeches on, its that Injun from down a ways. We gon' keel dat sumbitch!"

[Billy Two-Guns]

Unencumbered now, Billy made it the rest of the way to the general store without trouble. Stopping at the hitching rail, he dismounted with ease before securing the leather reigns around the well-worn wood.

Measured steps took him up onto the porch, and within moments he walked through the front door. A small bell chimed, announcing his arrival to the storekeeper - Ben Pratt - who looked up with the barest of glances. He knew Billy good enough to not bother with any sort of greeting, and went back to helping a customer.

For his part, Billy moved quietly through the inside, dark eyes taking in the wares offered. One hand resting on his gunbelt, he reached forward to idly pick up a small musicbox. No doubt for those women in town who had nothing better to spend their money on. It was a dainty thing, but pretty in its' own right he supposed. Still, it wasn't pretty enough to buy, and so he replaced it back on the shelf.

A few more minutes of random browsing, and he finally approached the counter.

From a leather shoulder bag slung across his back, he pulled out two clothwrapped bundles and set them carefully in front of Pratt.

"I have brought you more."

[Two Dollar Jim]

Jim walked down his own line of tunnel vision leading to the edge of town. The Bareback Brothel was curiously situated just outside the limits of town, apart from what smelled to be an opium den. A wide brimmed hat peered out the doorway, back in, and then out again. Two hundred paces out, and Jim could tell there was a commotion about.

He drew his gun. Across the street, a braid-headed chinaman watched him with the sort of practiced wariness that betrayed his experience with such matters of blood. He continued to press wet clothes along a scrub board, submerged in a tin basin.

He stepped onto the porch of the Bareback, his worn boots creaking against the wood. He paused, just shy of one of the four-paned windows at the front. The commotion inside continued.

[Andy McCall]

Andy was drunk, though she would never admit it.

Inside one of the back rooms of the Bareback, she sat in a soft cushioned chair; a bottle of whiskey clutched in hand. She came here sometimes looking for beautification. It was at least a monthly ritual for her, to hire one of the girls to doll her up with makeup and the like. Andy didn't go so far as to put on dresses, but she did take a particular sort of pleasure from having her feet and hands prettied up with whatever color nail paints her hired girl thought best.

A familiar voice disturbed her quiet, and Andy made a sour face.

"That dumb ox," she grumbled, taking another swig of whiskey and getting up from the chair. Her feet were bare, with fresh paint on her toenails, but that didn't matter to her.

"I'll be right back 'Phelia."

Andy threw open the door and stomped out. Down a fancy hallway, round a turn, and through the front sitting room she marched.

Crawfish was easy to spot, and easier to smell. She stormed towards him, his back turned to her.

"Mullins!"

[Crawfish Mullins]

Bleary-eyed and in the midst of sliding .45 Long Colt cartridges into his revolver's cyllinder, Crawfish turned about. Torn between a mean cuss Indian and a card cheat whore, he wasn't quite sure which he cared to deal with first.

He looked at Andy, and at her wet toenails, tumbling a bullet between his fingers as he did. Then he smiled.

"Kip, best finish on up!"

[Andy McCall]

She all but ignored Kip. That boy knew better than to tag along with Crawfish, but it seemed like he just didn't care. Not that Andy really lost any sleep over it. She'd had her peace and quiet disturbed, and she was just too drunk to let the matter go by, trivial as it was.

The bullet in his hand was ignored, and she stopped right in front of him, toe to toe. The hand that held her bottle came up, and the index finger unwrapped itself to jab into his chest.

"I've had enough o' your brayin' like some dumb packmule. You got yellin' to do, you do it outside and somewhere that ain't gonna disturb me."

[Two Dollar Jim]

The big loud idiot had his back to the door. That was all the invitation that Jim needed. He kicked the door in and stepped through, the hammer drawing back on his revolver about the same time as the muzzle kissed the back of Crawfish's hat.

Jim looked beyond Crawfish's shoulders at a pretty little thing that was likely to be one of the proprietors of the establishment. The ginger-headed stooge he'd seen through the window hadn't shown himself yet, but he was expecting him.

"Tell your boy to enjoy himself. If I see his face pop round that corner, I'm gonna hollow out your head."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Crawfish had a moment of clarity flash through his eyes like thunderbolts. His jaw went slightly slack, and he stared out at nothing at all, knowing full the tell-tale double click of a Samuel Colt hammer. For now, Andy and the revenge due him were forgotten. Somebody had it in for him, and he was liable to be on death's short list if he wasn't careful.

"Kip..."

He spoke in a tone that was fearful of getting too loud, lest a holler might trip that hair trigger behind his head.

"...you stay put now, y'hear?"

Perspiration intensified on his already-sweaty face. He looked to the side to make sure that Kip did exactly that, but didn't dare budge his head.

[Andy McCall]

What was this?!

Andy knew that Mullins had attracted enough rankled folks in his wake to line the Bozeman trail, but she'd never really thought that any one of them would find it necessary to put a gun to the man's head. She detested Crawfish, but she had no desire to outright shoot the man at least.

She looked over Crawfish's shoulder at the man behind him. If she were sobre she'd've left at the look in his eyes, but whiskey has a way of making you just not care 'bout stuff like that.

"Who're you?"

[Two Dollar Jim]

Jim kept an eye on the lady, but didn't figure her question was one that he needed to waste time answering. Instead, he carefully reached up with his off hand, plucking the hat from Crawfish's head and tossing it aside. The sordid miscreant swayed like a leaf on the breeze, but otherwise did nothing. Jim looked for a tell-tale sign, but all he saw was sweaty & matted salt & pepper hair.

And two good ears.

Looking annoyed, Jim reached forward to relieve Crawfish of his revolver before pushing him toward Andy with his gun's muzzle.

"Man come pushin' through this whorehouse with only one good ear, I hear. Seen him?"

Jim's eyes tracked toward the adjacent doorway, but quickly returned to Andy and Crawfish. That ginger-headed goat was too young to be his man, but that didn't mean they weren't in cahoots.

[Andy McCall]

Having Mullins shoved into her didn't help her already sour mood, and Andy pushed against him while stumbling off to the side. She kept the stranger well in her sights though, blurred as her vision was.

Her frustration at Mullins instantly forgotten, Andy straightened up as best as she could.

"Ain't seen no one like that; been in the back."

[Two Dollar Jim]

Jim slid the muzzle down to Crawfish's shoulder, tapping it as if to demand that he turn around. He withdrew his pistol down to his waist, not feeling particularly threatened by the man who's fear he could see and smell. He set Crawfish's pistol on the foyer table.

"And you?"

Crawfish took a moment to will himself into shaking his head, seeing the glimmering possibility that maybe this stranger wasn't going to put one in his dome.

Jim let his eyes wander. It was a little one story flat with only a few rooms. In another, a buxom girl with dirty blonde hair, scar on her cheek and Irish eyes was busy with her stockings, but had paused at the tense conversation.

"Ya missed 'em within th' hour."

She saw the gun, but didn't avert her eyes of him. Jim didn't like the way she looked at him, and he turned away, dropping his gun into his holster.

[Andy McCall]

Andy gave the stranger's back an odd look, but a glance down to her toenails reminded her of just why she was here, and she turned on her heel. Folks pullin' guns was pretty normal, and she remained unfazed by what'd just happened.

No, she had better things to do, and nails to finish paintin'.

A snort, another drink from her bottle, and she shoved Mullins farther out of her way.

"Oaf."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Crawfish glowered at her, and with a toss of the eyes to make sure that the stranger wasn't liable to blow him away, he reached for his revolver, returning it to his holster. He backed away from both, easing toward the door, pausing only to reach into the threshold of the other room and yank Kip by the collar of his shirt.

"That hussy put you up to this stranger? I be seein' you real soon too! That Injun gon' get his first. Then we cross!"

With that, both ne'er do wells ducked out the front door, scrambling down the main drag toward town.

[Andy McCall]

Oh ho! A hiccup, and Andy made an about face, chasing after Mullins but stopping at in the doorway to settle for yelling at him.

"Don't you blame me for havin' iron put to your dirty head! If'n I wasn't bein' serviced I'd castrate you with your own gun!"

And as an afterthought, "And I ain't no cheat!"

[Two Dollar Jim]

Jim watched over her shoulder. Crawfish and Kip were already headed for town. Jim frowned, knowing who they were liable to be going after, but in the end he calculated that it didn't confront him any. It isn't as if that Indian gave a flip over him.

He looked back to Andy, and down at her feet. Ten shiny red toenails stared at him like Marachino cherries. Suddenly he remembered his sore feet and his decrepit boots. He caught the Irish girl stealing glances at him from the side room, but played aloof.

"A man that yellow's liable to pull a gun on a mouth like yours."

He looked back at Andy, who seemed recklessly cocksure, despite being unarmed.

[Andy McCall]

Andy shrugged the caution away.

"Mullins? Ah hell, he's too busy beddin' whores or losing money on booze and cards to be any real trouble."

Looking up at the stranger, Andy flashed a grin and motioned for him to follow her back into the back room she'd rented for the afternoon. Catching sight of his worn out boots as she passed him, Andy winced. Those couldn't be comfortable.

" 'sides; only thing of mine that's in danger from him is my nose."

She was halfway through the sitting room before turning to look back at him. He'd not moved an inch. The aloof expression he wore made her purse her lips.

"Oh for heaven's sake, I ain't gonna bed ya; I ain't here for that. Now come on back and rest your feet for a little bit."

[Two Dollar Jim]

Jim's brow furrowed at the women he'd assumed was at least a whore, if not a Madam. She had a demure lady attending to her feet as she sat, so the stranger option emerged that she was a paying customer. Figuring that he'd have to save his revenge for later, Jim didn't see himself having anything better to do before his inevitable troll of poker and farrow tables, so he did as he was asked. Something about this woman aroused his curiosity.

He eased into a seat and kicked up his heels. Despite his best efforts, a sigh escaped his lips at the comfortable state of his surroundings. It was good to take a load off his bedraggled duds. He needed to keep his head though; the last thing he needed was to bleed away his twenty dollars in a whorehouse, even if the company wasn't of the conjugal sort.

"Don't reckon I need to go heels to get to the bottom of that buffoon. I'd feel better if he'd have turned out with one ear short."

[Andy McCall]

Andy grinned to herself as she heard the sigh he gave out. She knew those boots weren't no good, and from the look on his face her suspicion turned out to be true.

Setting her mostly empty bottle on the stained-wood table between the two chairs, she leaned back in her seat as Ophelia went back to work. The girl was good at what she did, and Andy always made it a point to ask for her whenever she came in. As such, the two had become friends in a sense.

Her head lolled to the side so that she could look at the stranger. He had a tired look about him, but it wasn't so much that as the way he'd made his entrance that got her curious. It wasn't often that men introduced themselves by putting a gun to someone else's head.

"You shoulda shot him anyway."

One arm reached over to nudge the whiskey closer to him.

"You gotta name?

"And what you need with a one-eared man?"

[Two Dollar Jim]

Despite any better resistance to charity, a man didn't turn down whiskey offered to him. He took the bottle and poured into an adjacent tin cup.

"Name's Jim."

Whatever else was needed beyond his first name, he wasn't ready to give. He took a gulp from his cup, exhaled, and licked his parched lips.

"As for the one-eared man, he's that way because of me. Whatever debt he paid, it ain't paid in full."

[Andy McCall]

It was a story that Andy knew well enough, and even despite her state of mind, she decided it best not to pry. Instead, she leaned back into her seat again and closed her eyes.

"Sounds like somethin' I'll leave be. Ain't got no int'rest in revenge. Livin's more enjoyable without all that mess."

As if suddenly remembering her 'manners', she cracked one eye open and turned to look at him.

"Andy. Andy McCall."

[Two Dollar Jim]

Jim could appreciate the woman's brevity. She asked, she got, and she let be. He wore his demons on his sleeve and didn't particularly care to give them time to explain themselves.

Pouring another drink, he passed the bottle to her again.

"I assume there is no Mr. McCall."

It wasn't much of an assumption. She carried herself like a peculiar specimen. That sort of woman who needed a man like many men claimed to need a woman. A rare enough breed in that Jim calculated they didn't thrive at all east of the Mississippi.

"You seem friendly enough that you'd tell me if you knew of such a handicapped fellow, so I won't push it. I do have one question however."

[Andy McCall]

Andy half-snorted.

"No Mr. McCall less'n you count my old man."

Another swig, and she craned her neck forward to watch Ophelia work. Another few minutes passed, and Andy motioned for the other woman to stop. It was nearing time for her to be done, and she had to give her toes enough time to dry before putting on socks and boots.

One leg went over the other, and Andy leaned forward to fan her toes with a hand. She gave Jim a sidelong look.

"Ask 'n I might be able to answer."

[Two Dollar Jim]

"Know a cobbler in this town that's worth a damn?"

Jim wiggled his toes hin his paper-thin boots, and elicited a sheepish grin. He cast his eyes to the ceiling, basking in his comical vulnerability.

"I reckon for about five to seven dollars worth at least."

He appreciated her candor with social interactions. Since his wife's death, he'd not really felt like being able to speak to a woman about serious issues. It was a bittersweet reminder of what had been.

[Andy McCall]

Ophelia had risen to stand, and without being asked, Andy reached down the front of her shirt with her free hand to pull out a small wad of bills. The agreed upon amount was exchanged between both women, and pulling out another ten dollars, Andy set the bills on the end of the table closest to Jim.

"Back in town on the south end. Mr. Jane'll do you up good."

At the look on his face, she gave him a sweet smile.

"Think of it as payment for setting your gun to Mullins' head. I ain't seen that ox make a face like that in a long time. Money well earned in my book."

Replacing the roll of cash back in her shirt, she made short work of putting on her own socks and boots before standing up.

"And take the rest o' that whiskey too. I ain't got a need for it no more."

[Two Dollar Jim]

Five years ago, Jim was a man of honor who would have demanded that Andy put her money back where it came. He didn't have much honor left to lend these days. Or money, for that matter. He took the bankroll with a nod of his head.

He did, however, still have some wisdom.

"Reckon you ought to stow some away to invest in a shotgun. That mule won't stop 'less he's got steel in his face, I figure."

Fingers filed through some of Andy's dollars, and through the fanning bills, he spotted that volumptuous Irish lass, still carrying a torch for him in a whore's own way. Jim bit on his lip, and kicked his boots off.

"I apologize if you expected to converse with a gentleman. I don't seem to be much of one these days."

[Andy McCall]

From behind her seat, Andy pulled her twin holsters from where she'd draped them. She caught the look Jim gave to Anabel, the Irish blonde, and smirked. She cinched her gunbelt around her waist.

"I don't much care for gentlemen, seein' as I ain't much of a lady."

Jim was nice enough, even if he had vengeance on his mind (as well as Anabel it seemed), and Andy found herself hoping that he'd be able to follow through with his 'mission'. In any other situation she might've considered trying to talk him out of it for at least one night, but she figured that once he'd have his fun with the girls here and gotten a new pair of boots, he'd be on his way once more after his one-eared man.

A handrolled cigarette found its' way into her mouth, which Ophelia graciously lit for her.

"I'll look in to that shotgun," she winked, heading for the door.

[Two Dollar Jim]

"Miss McCall."

Jim was already indulging in another shot of whiskey, poured courtesy of Anabel.

"Next time, the treat's on me."

It was as close a promise as he could stake to his name. Ever since that fateful day, he'd gotten exceptionally good at surviving, and wrenching feast from famine. Even with (now) thirty dollars burning a hole in his pocket, he calculated he'd have this town by the short & curlies within a month. To lesser men that would excite them and compel them toward contentment. Jim just figured it was sauce for the goose. It all came down to him and the one-eared man. He could have half the gold in California, and he'd trade it for blood if that's what it took.

Anabel lived up to Irish traditions in workmanship, and she was on her haunches and fishing his boots off before he could fold out five dollars for her carnal efforts. She pressed against him as she discarded his shoes, but Jim's eyes still lingered for Andy.

[Billy Two-Guns]

At the general store, Billy stood across from Pratt, staring at the short, bespectacled man patiently. Pratt gave a nervous sort of smile, inspecting the new merchandise that had been brought to him.

"You know I'll buy 'em, Two-Guns."

"I do."

"How much you want for 'em?"

For a short amount of time, Billy pondered this, but his answer came soon enough.

"Forty dollars."

Pratt nodded, going for his money in the back room. As he waited, Billy rewrapped the parcels with care and retied their thin leather thongs so as to keep them from unraveling.

Pratt returned quickly, handing over the folded bills to the Indian and taking the goods up into his hands.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you."

Billy gave no answer, instead turning about and heading for the door while sliding his money into the front pocket of his trousers. Stepping outside, he walked across the decking and down the stairs to his horse...

... but not before a familiar sight caught his eye.

With a scowl, Billy Two-Guns turned to face the man approaching him, crossing his arms.

[Crawfish Mullins]

This time, Crawfish wasn't nobody's fool. He wasn't off guard, he wasn't outclassed. He had that Indian dead to rights with his Henry rifle. Crawfish slapped the lever forward and backward just as quickly, feeding a cartridge into the breech of the rifle and shouldering it so that Billy had little to doubt of the potential outcome. If that didn't sort matters any, Kip was also there, with a Colt Navy piece leveled leisurely at Billy Two-Guns.

Crawfish smiled his discomforting fetid smile and shook his head.

"Ain't you forgettin' to pay yer toll in town, Injun?"

[Billy Two-Guns]

Crawfish Mullins. The very name itself was enough to make a man disgusted, and the man it belonged to was ten times as painful to deal with. Billy's scowl deepened as he stood, arms still crossed. It seemed he had to go through this same ordeal every time he came into town, with Mullins acting so foolish. It was a simple matter for Billy that he'd've dealt with by simply avoiding the man.

Unfortunately Mullins was not so courteous

"I owe you nothing."

[Crawfish Mullins]

"What's that? Sounds like more a that Injun-givin' to me?"

Kip laughed, but mainly just to punctuate Crawfish's own stale joke.

"We ain't got to let ya in town. You could sit & wash pajamas with them chinamen out way back an' they give ya 'nuff to live on. Seems I reckon you gettin' a bit more than that tho."

Mullins knew all too well what Billy normally pulled in from a trip in town. He extended a hand from the rifle's foregrip, gesturing for Billy to make good with his involuntary donation.

"Whatcha figure's a fair toll comin' thru for the Injun, Kip? I reckon bout ten dollars. On down the line that oughta compensate for whoever horse he'd done been thievin'."

Crawfish had been mindful to eye Billy's steed, which was most certainly massive and impressive.

[Billy Two-Guns]

Billy knew better than to simply ignore Mullins. But then again, he also knew a certain Harold Alexander Truss kept a firm grip on this town, and that it was distinct possibility that Crawfish was bluffing. There could be no way that he'd actually shoot anyone; not here. Passing folk were already stopped to stare as it was.

His arms dropped from his chest, and the Indian reached behind him to grasp the reigns of his bay, unwrapping them from the hitching post without taking his eyes from Mullins. Of course there was no way that he'd give any money to that piece of filth.

"I owe you nothing," he repeated evenly.

The redhead didn't worry him; the kid look scrawny enough. It was Mullins that Billy was more concerned about. Not to mention the way he looked at Billy's horse.

"Now leave me alone. If you're lost, the saloon is down the way."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Perhaps he'd just been ignored or humiliated too much in the past few days. Either way, Crawfish wasn't about to just let a redskin tell him what to do. He pulled the trigger on his Henry rifle, sending an ear-splitting crack through the bustling sounds of the day. The bullet shaved the leather reigns that Billy was unfurling, burying itself into the hitching post with a blossoming of splintered wood.

[Billy Two-Guns]

Much as he disliked this place, Billy would not draw his own gun in town. Even if Crawfish had stupidly opened fire, the Indian would not budge. It wouldn't take long for lawmen to show up now, if they weren't already on their way before.

As it was, Billy stood stock still.

The bay for his part jumped, pulling back a little, but a calming hand on his neck settled him down enough for Billy to keep his eyes on Mullins.

"You're not the law in this town, Mullins."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Again, that fetid smile, which turned into a laugh.

"Law?"

Crawfish looked back at Kip, and back to Billy.

"I ain't got no badge, but right here & now I'm law enough for the both of us."

He swung the Henry rifle's lever forward and back again, cycling another cartridge.

"Reckon now you let go of that stud. You think the law gon' care much on account of a dead Injun?"

[Billy Two-Guns]

Mullin's would not back down, that much was plain to see. But, Billy would not be told what to do, and he wouldn't allow himself to be stolen from, so the situation he now found himself in was a delicate one to say the least.

A sound caught his attention, but instead of any deputy, it was Pratt. The little man was angry as he burst through the door of his store.

"He brings a helluva lot more money into this town th'n you do.

"Now git outta here."

Pratt looked up past Mullins and Kip, and saw that indeed the deputies were on there way.

"Less'n you wanna talk it out," he gestured behind Crawfish, "with them."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Damn was the only thing that went through Crawfish's mind. He knew that he'd need to act fast to hustle that Indian, and apparently they weren't fast enough. With a sneer, he spit on the ground, eyeing Billy and Mr. Pratt about evenly now.

"Go on and take that Injun's side, he's jus' as liable to cut yer throat as he is to look atcha."

He eased the hammer down on his Henry repeater and stepped away. Kip was already doing the same, as neither man really cared to make this a legal matter.

"Be seein' you 'gain real soon then!"

[Billy Two-Guns]

A hmph, and Billy glared daggers at Mullins who was moving away now. He turned to Pratt, and gave a thankful nod.

"My thanks to you."

The storekeep walked across the deck to stand at the rail, looking after Mullins in disgust.

"That'n ain't had a good day today I reckon. Then again every day is about the same with him.

"He's a menace. Should be run out of town."

Pratt gave a laugh and set his hands on the wooden railing. "Gotta agree with you, but Mr. Truss ain't done it yet for some reason."

Billy set his mouth in a disapproving line, and took the broken end of his reigns, inspecting it with frustration.

"Need a new set," he grumbled finally, looking up to Pratt.

The shorter man nodded knowingly, and pulling away from the rail, he disappeared back into the store for the request, leaving a decidedly sour Indian behind for the moment.

[Harold Alexander Truss]

A half hour later, Mr. Truss himself was out on a stroll, and decided to turn into the General Store for a line of talk. He had a majority stake in the store, so it was always good to keep himself grounded in the comings and goings. Mr. Pratt was a no-nonsense entrepeneur, and the sort of character that the mayor relied on in his town.

What he saw as he was approaching caused a slight frown to cross his face. It was one of his dour-faced deputies standing alongside Mr. Pratt and Billy Two-Guns. Peoples' attention started to draw in on him, like they expected something significant.

"Afternoon gents, don't figure a hitching post for a gossip mill?"

The mayor eyed a splintered patch on the post, and didn't need to ask anybody what it was.

"Some trouble then?"

[Billy Two-Guns]

Billy had just finished replacing his ruined reigns, and was in the process of handing over a few dollars to Pratt when Mr. Truss' voice broke in to the three's conversation.

Matching the mayor's frown with one of his own, Two-Guns hung his ruined reigns over the splintered rail with a deliberate smooth motion. Truss was a cunning man, the way he ran this town evidence enough of that fact, and the Indian - while having a noticeable air of caution when around Truss - was mindful to remain civil none-the-less. He wasn't afraid of Justice's mayor, but he knew better than to tease a sleeping coyote.

"Mullins."

Dark eyes on Truss, Billy kept one hand on the leathers he'd just hung over the rail.

"I cannot continue to do business here if he insists on harrassing me every time I come into town."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

The mayor was mindful of the eyes on him. As much of a heel as Mullins was, this was a trickier situation than he'd like to air out like laundry on a line.

"Mr. Pratt, I hear you got a case of those Dominican cigars inside? Let's all step in for a moment."

It wasn't a request. Mr. Pratt was already opening the door for the Mayor, Billy, and the deputy.

[Billy Two-Guns]

Once more he found himself inside the general store, though before stepping all the way through Billy remained mindful to cast an eye down both ends of the street, making sure that Mullins was truly gone. The last thing he even wanted to think about was whether or not his horse would still be here when he came back out.

Momentarily satisfied, he stepped the rest of the way inside.

Pratt was quick to guide his guests to the back room, and pulling a wooden box from the shelf, set it on the table that sat in the middle of the small room.

Billy didn't immediately sit, but rather waited until Pratt had closed the door to the rest of the store, shutting them away from any prying eyes and ears.

[Harold Alexander Truss]

Mr. Pratt worked the cutter, trimming a pair of cigars for the Mayor and Billy each. The deputy walked about as the other three talked, casually keeping watch over things.

The mayor took his cigar, which was lit by a deftly-produced match.

"Let me tell you how this is going to happen. Crawfish Mullins isn't going to bother you again. We both have the same interest at stake."

[Billy Two-Guns]

Billy gave Truss a stone-faced look.

"It is not so simple as that."

Lighting his own cigar, he found it to have a surprisingly good taste. It was perhaps one of the only good things these people had brought out west with them.

"Short of you running him out of town, I don't think he will simply stop his games. And I cannot simply shoot him without fear of what you would do to me or my people.

"Mullins may be a bastard, but I know how you and your law work around here despite a man's character."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

"You're right. We can't just have an Indian up and dispense vigilante justice on a white man. Call it whatever you want, but it all comes to a jury of peers. If we end up there, I've got nothing to give to your benefit."

Mr. Pratt and the deputy were experienced with these little intimate chats, so they didn't really bat an eye at the way that Mr. Truss sort of dissected the internal organs of the justice system and laid them under a strong light for his interested party to see.

Through a haze of smoke, the Mayor met his deputy's eyes.

"The trick with Mullins is that he's an idiot child, but related to people who aren't. Put him in a cell or a pine box where folks can see what we've done, and the Mullins Clan will turn this cattle town into hell on earth."

He looked to Billy, with a softened look of empathy.

"That doesn't mean we don't have our ways."

[Billy Two-Guns]

It was that last bit that caught his attention, and Billy leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking at the shift in weight. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he set one hand palm-down on the tabletop.

"What you do and how you deal with him I don't care about. What matters to me is that he lets me alone so that I may conduct my business. I don't cause you or your men trouble, and I keep to my own. As long as the end result is him staying away, I don't care how you do it."

Another pull on the cigar, and Billy leveled his gaze to a point just past the mayor's right ear.

"Otherwise I will find another 'cattle town' - as you call them - to do business with."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

He'd already said it would be done. Billy's obstinance was starting to annoy him slightly.

"In case you didn't see, that fool took to firing a shot at my store and your reins at once. In the end, we both risk losing money over that festering boil if it isn't lanced. When I say it's going to be done, we're talking about money. I don't mince words about that."

He glowered at his deputy, the red end of his cigar glowing with an ominous hue.

"Find that silly simp and his idiot cousin, I don't care what opium den, whorehouse, or rock you have to look under. Bring him back, quietly."

[Billy Two-Guns]

Something occurred to Billy then, and he narrowed his eyes at Truss, waiting for the deputy to close the door behind him as he left.

"And if his kin find out? They know me well enough to make their own assumptions and get their own posse I'm sure.

"I'd rather not be strung up by some family mob out for their version of justice."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

"We'll just have to ask Crawfish politely to keep it as a little secret between us. I think he'll appreciate the arrangement."

That was the best arrangement the Mayor could extend to all parties, and he didn't let on that there was anything better.

He paused, a puff of smoke coming from his mouth, as he pulled five dollars from his pocket, depositing the silver coins in Mr. Pratt's hand.

"For Mr. Two-Guns' reigns, and these pair of fine cigars."

He extended a hand to Billy.

"Everyone in my town will get a fair shake. That includes you."

[Billy Two-Guns]

Billy, reaching a free hand out to accept Truss' handshake, knew that it was the best he'd get for now. He could respect the man to a degree, but he knew not to trust him completely. It was just safer that way. He remained sitting however, as he also had seperate business dealings with the mayor. Might as well take care of those now, since it was as good a time as any.

Two-Guns gave Pratt a nod, and the storekeep also left, making sure to close the door behind him. He was knowledgable enough to not poke his head into business that wasn't his own. And this was not.

"That unpleasant discussion behind us for the time being, I believe you and I have other matters to discuss."

[Crawfish Mullins]

<center> Somewhere on the city outskirts... <center>


Crawfish tied his horse down at a Ponderosa pine a few paces off the trail, and waited. Both he and Kip knew better to kick at a hornet's nest, and they had to find ways to bide their time before going back into town. That limited some of his options, but there was always some sort of hustle to be had.

Fuming, the ornery thug began replacing .45-70 cartridges in his Henry rifle as he took a plug of chewing tobacco from a pouch. He'd passed the Bareback and didn't see Andy McCall's mare hitched, so he'd sort her out at another time, and hopefully some place where that gunslinger wasn't about to bushwhack him.

"Whatcha gon' do now Crawfish? We ought notta back down none from that Injun!"

Crawfish slapped Kip on the back of his head.

"Hush up, I ain't gon' suffer no lip."

He spit, thinking a moment. The gold panners were an easy mark, but almost always broke anyway. The chinamen paid up front to prevent any fuss, and were quick with the smoking pipe to keep you docile. Trains were flat out, as that was a long ride and they always had Pinkertons riding shotgun these days.

"Hell, I ain't got nothin'."

Crawfish slung his henry rifle into a saddle holster and pulled out a knife, squatting down to whittle on a stick. He'd half a notion just to take a tithe from the chinamen and go ahead and get stoned
</center></center>

[Andy McCall]

From the Bareback, Andy had kind of milled about in town for a short amount of time, even taking a moment to poke her head into the Sockeye for a quick glass of water. She needed to offset the effects of her alcohol consumption somehow, and knew that water was generally the best remedy.

After the Sockeye, she swung herself back into the saddle. Her mood was high; toes and fingernails painted, hair prettied up, and just the right amount of makeup on to accent her features just a tad bit more. Ophelia had done a wonderful job, and Andy felt great.

Wheeling her dun-colored mare about, she set off down the street at a comfortable jog, and once past the Bareback, urged her mount up to a lope.

It was time to go look for company, as the afternoon was presently getting on into the early evening.

[Crawfish Mullins]

"Hush up, Kip!"

The sound of hooves on hard trail carried a ways, and Crawfish spit a mouthful of brown spittle as he eased his mount further off the trail. Not quite sure if the Law had decided to come for him, it was a good idea to lay low to some degree. They took purchase in a dried creek bed that ran parallel to the trail for a ways, and Crawfish eased up against a smooth-sided riverstone to see who was lighting out from town.

His demeanor changed, and he smiled a row of brown-stained teeth.

[Andy McCall]

Who would she visit tonight? It was sometimes a time consuming decision, since the few clients she chose were each special in their own ways.

Maybe Yerbie Hanson? Or Lyle Artemis? She even thought of Emmett Colt, though she'd never visited him before. He was such a quiet man, living on his own and tending to his ranch. He was interesting, but due to his history she was cautious around him to a degree.

She thought of Jim again, and whether he was enjoying himself with Anabel. The Irish girl knew how to please a man, that much she knew.

Lost in her thoughts, Andy let her mare lope onwards.

[Crawfish Mullins]

Gently, Crawfish pulled his Henry repeater from the sling on his saddle, pushing the lever forward to feed a cartridge forward and draw back the hammer. He crawled on his belly up to the top of the creek bed, and propping up on an elbow, he leaned the rifle barrel against the base of an oak tree, flipping up the peep sights as he did so. The sounds of hooves were becoming louder and louder, and she had one more bend to go around before coming into view again.

When that happened, he had her.

Kip was useless as tits on a bull, and just sat in the bed slack-jawed, watching Crawfish go to work. He eventually remembered himself and drew his revolver, opting to work his way further down the creek to a spot where he could shoot at the rider from an opposing angle.

[Andy McCall]

She was approaching a bend in the trail when the mare spooked. She'd caught a whiff of something she didn't like, and her sudden halt brought Andy back from her musings.

Was something up ahead, around the bend? Maybe a snake, she figured while pulling one of her revolvers from its' holster. A persistant nudge sent her horse forward cautiously, nostrils flaring.

Had to be a snake.

The mare sidestepped then, bringing Andy around the turn with her eyes peeled and searching the dusty trail for any sort of telltail serpent tracks.

[Crawfish Mullins]

Her eyes were down, but her gun drawn. She knew something was coming 'round the bend, but she still wasn't in a position to do anything about it.

Just how Crawfish had hoped.

"I got ya now, ya swindlin' bitch."

With her lined up in his sights, he fired.

[Andy McCall]

At the same time that she heard the crack of a rifle, she felt the bullet bury itself into her thigh.

The mare wheeled in a circle as Andy dropped her gun, hissing through clenched teeth and pressing a hand against the wound. Reigning in her mount as best she could, she lifted her eyes to search for the shooter.

Her good mood suddenly gone south, she had a growing suspicion about exactly who was responsible.

"Mullins!"

It wasn't hard to hear the pain in her voice, but she was damned if she was gonna start cryin' about it.

"I know you're there you rat bastard!"

[Crawfish Mullins]

Crawfish's laughter betrayed his location, and both he and Kip started firing into the dirt at her horse's feet to further drive home the insult.

"Told ya I ain't gon' let yer cheatin' slide, woman!"

He didn't dare yet come out in the open, but enjoyed tormenting her where she couldn't get at him.

"Tell ya what? I figure a way we can clear the slate, whatcha say?"

[Andy McCall]

To the mare's credit, she didn't immediately bolt. It was only when a pebble ricocheted upwards and smacked the underside of her jaw that the horse and had enough.

A frenzied turn was enough to dump Andy to the ground, and from her spot on her side in the dust she yelped, watching her mount race back the way into town.

Which of course left her with a new problem, and Andy eyeballed her revolver as it lay a few feet away.

"I ain't cheated you, you idiot dog."

[Crawfish Mullins]

"Thats why I'm willin' ta fergive n' ferget!"

At last, Crawfish climbed out of the creek bed, walking toward where Andy lay, keeping his rifle on her the whole time. Kip also came up from his spot, each flanking the woman as she lay prone.

"Way I figure it, I'ma generous fella. I say you can work it off, then we's even Steven!"

[Andy McCall]

She still had her second gun in her belt, but with both Mullins and Kip, one revolver wouldn't do much good against them both. She ground her teeth, still pushing against the bullet wound while sitting up.

His proposal was met with a pained laugh.

"You want me ta 'work it off'? You're dumber than a bag o' hammers, Mullins, if you think I'ma do anything like that.

"Get your fun at the Bareback like the rest of us."

Andy was stubborn even now, refusing to be bullied around by Crawfish Mullins, and she glared up at him while still being mindful of Kip.

[Crawfish Mullins]

Crawfish spit on her gunshot wound.

"Sweet thang I'll take payment if you givin' or even if you ain't."

With that, he stepped forward and smacked her across the forehead with the butt of his rifle.

[Andy McCall]

The sting of tobacco spit was enough to elicit another hiss, and she opened her mouth for another retort, but before a word came out stars exploded into her vision.

Knocked sideways, Andy shook her head to clear her vision. In the next instant she kicked up with a booted toe, connecting squarely with Mullins' crotch.

[Crawfish Mullins]

"Ohhh!"

Crawfish dropped his rifle, went stiff as a board as his hands cupped to his genitals, and fell backwards like a hewn tree. Kip looked dumbstruck for a second, and hesitated before kicking at Andy's head.

[Andy McCall]

She was already moving, anticipating something from Kip in whatever form. His foot caught only air, and with her free hand Andy drew her second revolver, pointing it up at him.

For now she could afford to take an eye off Mullins.

"I know you ain't dumb as yor cousin, Kip, which is mostly why I don't wanna put a hole in yor stomach. So turn 'round 'n go home."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Kip, finding religion of a sorts in the gun pointed at his belly, dropped his own and took off, running high-tail down the trail and back toward town. He left Crawfish lying on the dusty trail and rolling about, cussing and holding his tenderized nethers.

[Andy McCall]

A groan, and Andy spit in the dirt. She turned to Crawfish, taking perverse pleasure in watching him roll like a stuck pig. It was a good look for him.

Leaning over, Andy reached out to drag his dropped rifle towards her, and straightening back up, she pushed the lever forward, feeding a cartridge into the chamber. She didn't point it at Mullins; just let the sound of his own rifle in her hands echo in his ears.

"Hell Mullins," Andy made a disgusted face, "... even yor damn rifle smells as bad as you."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Feeling sick as he'd swallowed his plug of tobacco, Crawfish rolled on his back.

"Maybe I'll jus' shoot yer nose off ta quit yer hollerin then!"

He reached to his holster, jerking his Colt Army single action out of the leather. No more games with this one.

[Andy McCall]

Now she did level the rifle at him, lining the sights up with the spot between his eyes.

"Try. I'll hollow out your gourd right now if'n you don't throw that pistol away this second.

"I ain't gonna play games with you. Now toss it."

[Crawfish Mullins]

He hesitated, gulped again, and very reluctantly tossed the revolver aside. Inexplicably, it was over. She'd somehow come out on top.

"Bitch!"

He perspired, fueled by his own fear of demise. This was it, then. She was gonna kill him.

[Andy McCall]

Good. With Mullins disarmed, Andy felt more at ease; though not enough to take him from her sights. She kept the rifle trained on him, solid as a rock. He was gonna get his, that much she'd decided.

"You lost our game fair, and I ain't had to cheat once. You wanna keep blamin' me fer yor bein' dumb, then fine. But I'm really gonna give you somethin' to be sore about so you don't ferget things 'tween us.

"Now get up, nice an' slow, an' start takin' off yer clothes."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Almost relieved that he hadn't been shot yet, the sting of humiliation seemed a lesser punishment to him. Crawfish stood up, still scared out of his mind and half sick from the tobacco. He looked wild-eyed at the business end of his own rifle as he unbuttoned his shirt and slid off his suspenders.

"Whatchoo gon' do to me?"

His eyes didn't stray from the gun.

[Andy McCall]

Andy didn't say a word. She just watched from the down the barrel of the rifle as Mullins shed first his shirt, then his boots, and finally his dirt-covered trousers. He stood there, in the path with nothing but his longjohns and an ornery blonde pointing his own rifle up at him from where she still sat.

"Put yor hat back on."

He obeyed, and Andy gave a nod of her head back towards town.

"Start walkin' back. Don't you run, or I'll plug you in the rear."

[Crawfish Mullins]

"Why back to town? I ain't got no reason!"

Questioning the unmoving barrel of a gun seemed fruitless, so with a pained look, he started shuffling along. Unable to see her behind him as he walked, he closed his eyes, whimpering, and expecting the shot to come at any moment.

[Andy McCall]

Waiting until he was a safe enough distance away, Andy stumbled up to her feet. A quick rifle through his clothes rewarded her with a wadded mess of bills, which she stuffed into her own pockets.

That done, she began limping after him, the rifle still trained on his back. Despite the injury she managed to keep pace with him.

"We're goin' back to town so's you can bring me back my horse and apologize.

"Then we're gonna go to the doctor an' you're gonna pay to get me sewn up."

[Crawfish Mullins]

"You gon' steal from me twice then?!"

His voice shook with incredulousness, but he doubled over, woozy from the tobacco. Pausing a moment, he vomited in the dirt road, nearly falling over in the process.

[Andy McCall]

Andy slowed to a stop, enough distance between her and Mullins so that should he try anything she had enough time to show him just how bad of an idea that would be.

"I ain't ever stole from you. You lost a fair game o' cards. Get that into yor thick skull.

"And this ain't stealin' now. You're makin' amends for the pain an' sufferin' you inflicted on my delicate constitution."

She sneered at his wobbly stance.

"After that we'll be 'even Stevens'."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Even that indignity sounded better in the here & now than getting gunned down in the back. Like a barnyard animal led to the slaughter, Crawfish trudged along, enduring queer looks and ridicules as they approached town. A bit of vomit still clung into his beard, staining his undergarments somewhat as they walked along. The closer they got to town, the more his spirits lifted that maybe she was serious, and she wasn't going to gun him down. The sharp pain in his nethers was replaced by a dull, burning sensation, and he felt soreness all through his middle.

He didn't feel much like talking. He just kept his mouth shut for once and hoped this comeuppance would come and go.

[Andy McCall]

She kept up gamely, hobbling along and enduring odd looks. Most in town knew her well enough, but none could possibly imagine ever seeing Andy McCall holding a gun at Crawfish Mullins who'd himself been reduced to his longjohns and hat. Andy held a grim look of determination on her face, refusing to let her limp impede their progress through town in search of her mare.

The dun, thankfully, was at the Sockeye's hitching post - she was a smart animal, Andy had to admit. In any other circumstance Andy would've laughed.

She didn't need her horse now though, just the knowledge that she'd not been lost or worse yet, stolen. Her gear looked to still be in order, and she continued to march Mullins past the Sockeye.

By now they'd gathered a sizeable crowd, and even a few youngsters followed in Andy's limping wake, snickering at the situation Crawfish Mullins now found himself in. One of the boys mimicked her gate, and she spoke to him as he hobbled beside her.

"You go get Mr. Truss, Bart. Tell him ta meet us at Mr. Lenard's."

A nod, and the boy was off, pushing his way through the surrounding crowds.

"We goin' to Doc's, Mullins, so keep lead the way."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

The commotion hadn't yet reached the general store, and already Mr. Truss was out on the porch, still puffing at his fine Dominican cigar. The funny thing about how fate works is that it's the sort of thing that makes sense, even though no sane person can really say for sure what's to come. The mayor expected that buffoon Crawfish Mullins to get served back his way on a platter, but this was an unexpected delivery of a sort. He would've otherwise laughed at the scene if there wasn't some further serious business in store for that idiot.

A pair of deputies had already shadowed the procession, to give it a veneer of civility and to keep Crawfish, however deserving he might be, from getting a debateably-deserved lynching.

Behind the scoundrel, Andy McCall limped along, prodding Crawfish like a fattened calf with his own rifle. The mayor decided to see what the story was to all of this, and slowly walked to the forefront as they approached the Doc shop.

[Andy McCall]

Andy saw Mr. Truss on his way to meet up with them at Doc Lenard's. For once she was glad to see that self-important old goat. In fact, she'da smiled if she wasn't so focused on actually being able to keep her pace up the rest of the way to Lenard's.

Doc was already standing out on his front porch, watching the two approach, and when Mullins stopped at the front steps, Andy came up to stand beside him.

She tossed his henry rifle into the horse trough, no longer needing it.

Digging into her front pocket, she pulled out the wad of dollars that she'd taken from Mullins' discarded clothes, and shoved them into his hands.

"You go on up there, give 'im the money, an' tell 'im why yor payin' 'im."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

Hearing Crawfish mumble out what turned out to be a confession caused the smallest of smiles to cross his face. She practically stuck a bow on his head. With a nod of his head, he made sure that the deputies kept tabs on Crawfish, but in his delirious condition, it wasn't exactly like he was goin' anywhere.

"Miss McCall, I don't reckon you're the type to moonlight as a bounty hunter."

His smile broadened somewhat as he tipped his hat to her, offering the crook of his arm to her so as to alleviate the burden of hobbling on an injured leg.

"Might I escort you in?"

[Andy McCall]

Andy took the offered arm gratefully as Doc Lenard led the way inside. The door shut behind them, and she let Truss guide her to the nearest chair where she slowly eased herself down.

She could still hear a few laughs from the children outside, but it wasn't long before the Doc's probing hands brought her attention sharply back. She grit her teeth as he inspected the wound without a word.

When he'd stood back up to retrieve his bag, Andy looked at the bullethole.

"I shoulda made him strip his johns off too," she grumbled angrily.

[Harold Alexander Truss]

"Well, you kept from shooting him dead, I figure that's restraint enough."

The mayor averted his eyes and let the doctor get to work. Doc was one of the few in town allowed to dispense laudinum, and that was sure enough the first thing he did for his patient, to keep the pain minimal as he fished the bullet.

"Seems that Mullins is stuck in just about everyone's craw these days. I'm sorry that this happened."

He eyed a deputy who was holding Crawfish by the collar of his undershirt, and they both nodded. Indeed there was something special planned for that sidewinder.

"I'm determined to make it where it doesn't again."

[Andy McCall]

It was enough consolation for her, and with the added benefit of laudinum, Andy found herself smiling. Despite the checkered history that she had with Truss, she knew that his word was solid.

She patted the chair next to her, an invitation for Truss to sit down as well.

Doc pushed into the bloody hole with a finger, and she hissed out a painful breath while keeping her eyes on the mayor. Doc removed his finger, and dug in his bag for an instrument. While he did that, Andy gave a light pat to Truss' arm.

"You're ok, Truss. I don't care what everyone else says."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

The mayor nodded his head, sharing a small laugh at her candor. He exhaled some smoke and shrugged.

"Neither do I."

He watched the milling crowd outside.

"There's a poet from the days of the Roman Empire named Juvenal, and he had a little saying. Panem et circenses."

The latin was lost on her, which was expected. Mr. Truss clarified.

"Bread and circuses. Being the cynic that he was, Juvenal correctly assumed that as much fuss as people might put up about their government, they'll forget it easily with enough recreation."

Cracking a smile, he patted her on the shoulder.

"We're in the same line of work, really."

[Andy McCall]

Andy thought about that, following Truss' previous line of sight to the outside. She'd heard of Rome. And Egypt and Greece and all those other old empires that her old man had long ago told her about. He'd taught history for a school back east, before moving the family westward when Andy'd been just short of five years old.

Twenty-one years later and here she was in Justice, Montana, havin' a bullet pryed outta her leg.

She cast a coy smile to Truss.

"Mayhaps, but 'least you get to tend to your business in town."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

"There's the whole veneer of respectability, no matter how thin the coat is spread on the surface."

He smiled.

"We're smarter than that, but others aren't."

He looked back to her, and then to his cigar as he exhaled.

"Simple people call me a hypocrite. Like I said, it's water under the bridge."

[Andy McCall]

Her coy smile turned to one of cunning.

"Ah, that's just it though, innit. It's the money is what it all comes down to."

It was one of those rare moments for Andy - whether drugged up on laudinum or not - where she could converse without too much slander or scandalous intentions. Odd, how these moments only surfaced with Mayor Truss about. Perhaps it was because he'd included her in his statement about bein' smart like him; who knew.

Either way she knew what it was all really about.

"The money. Diff'rence 'tween you an me though... " a grunt, as Doc began fishing the bullet out, "... is that you're wantin' money and power. I jus' want money an' fun."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

The smile faded somewhat from the mayor's lips.

"Money is power. They're transferrable. They're also not an end unto themselves. People who say they're after one or the other without any other intuition are unimaginative. You can't take it with you."

[Andy McCall]

"Alright then," Andy leaned back a little, suddenly wishing that she had a glass - or better yet a bottle - of whiskey in hand.

"What is it you really want."

Was this the sort of conversation that Mr. Truss was expecting to have with someone like her? Probably not, she guessed. For the first time ever, Andy found herself genuinely curious about the inner thought processes that made up Harold Alexander Truss, and what drove him onward.

[Harold Alexander Truss]

That was a chestnut of a question. The mayor savored his cigar, letting the unanswered query linger for a minute or so like the smoke.

"I figure when I'm older and a little more grey, I can leave this town to somebody better off than when I found it. I want to be able to work my plot of land with my wife, and raise my children, and not really give a damn about tomorrow. Let that be somebody else's problem, since I took care of today."

He laughed, a bit abashed at his own metaphysical absurdity.

"I figure it would be hubris if I just cashed it in on a statue, wouldn't it?"

[Andy McCall]

"I dunno. I bet a statue of you would be a sight to see in this tow- ow!"

Doc Lenard had prodded enough for the pain to briefly spike through the laudinum, and Andy had to keep from swatting him away as he continued to work.

She instead settled for grinding her teeth and trying to ignore the pain.

"I seen yor wife 'round town. Quiet thing. Don't say much."

Andy found herself enjoying the haze of cigar smoke.

"Yor girls are hellions though. Watch out or they'll end up lookin' for money an' fun like me."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

The mayor grinned and bore the little jab, cocking an eyebrow as he considered it.

"I come home every day and leave Mayor Truss at home. That's the most important thing I can do for them. I can't guarantee they'll be for the better because of it, but it's my yearning."

It was like teaching greek to a mute. Mr. Truss wondered if she could comprehend that sort of familial reckoning. Either way, he felt like he'd spilled his entrails on the table for her to read some sort of fortune that was best left unsaid. Regret wasn't the word. He wondered if she could understand that for all of his cynicism, there was at least some austere feeling in him.

[Andy McCall]

"Long as you leave yor job at the door then, I've got some faith that yor girls'll straighten 'emselves out."

Andy was watching Doc Lenard with a detached air now, something far out of character for her.

"My old man was a history teacher - maybe not so important as a mayor, but that don't matter. He was a teacher for a school back east, an' a teacher at home. He told me 'bout lots of ancient stuff and empires and people, but he never really acted like a dad. Just a teacher."

Whether she took anything from his words or not, that was up to him to decipher. In her own way she could understand what he was saying without using exact words.

"Long as yor a husband an' dad to your family and not 'Mayor Truss', s'all that matters in the end."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

It was a common thread he was glad to have, especially so that it was in relative private. On the streets, they wouldn't have this sort of talk, and they'd pass with the minimal amount of interaction.

"I need to go."

The time had presented itself for him to be excused. He really didn't care to linger when the Doc brought out the needle and thread. Rising to his feet, he regarded the woman of ill repute.

"Don't put yourself in front of any more bullets, Miss McCall. That would be a shame."

He glanced out at the street. The deputies and Crawfish Mullins weren't to be found. He wasn't concerned though. He knew where they had absconded to.

[Andy McCall]

The sight of needle and thread was enough to make Andy's face grow pale, but she put on a brave face regardless.

"Ain't something I normally aspire to do, Truss."

She saw his eyes looking out the window. She knew what was on his mind now, and her thoughts went back to Mullins even as she turned back to watch Doc thread the needle.

"Tell that dumb ox I said hi."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

Behind his cigar, the mayor smiled.

"In less words, I'll do that."

He tipped his hat again, and exited the doctor's office. From here, he had a decidedly darker task at hand.