Grand Theft Horse - (Old West Comedy / Dead / IC)

[Barapam]

East Zilch jail
Buckaroo Bunjin

So the two new guys in the jail had been thinking strategic thoughts all this time, which was why they didn't try to answer. They had been plannin' on bustin' out! Buck was astonished when their lame attempt to pass off the jailbreak as a lame conversation about historic patters actually seemed to work! Nobody (else) seemed to notice. (But then again, this is East Zilch, which has never been mistaken for a place of higher learning. Or, much learning, for that matter. Or much of a place, for that matter, either. In order to be a place of higher learning, you actually first have to have learning, and you actually have to be a place. And right now, East Zilch, Texas was somewhere between almost counting as a place, and some nonexistent bump along the road that map makers might favor ignoring.)

But Buck didn't flee. (That was illegal.) And neither did the older Indian man in the corner. The rest of the jailbirds did fly the coop, though. Which was mostly a handful of drunks still trying to get sober.

Buck spoke to the extremely attractive woman who had his doppelganger in tow.

"Hmm... Now that you mention it, I am kinda hungry... Come along, Mr. Alive!" Blondie turned around and pulled the tied-up Yang with her, only to immediately turn on the heel and point an accusing finger at Buckaroo Bunjin. "Hey, wait a minute! I wasn't talking about food! You're just trying to keep your twin brother from being arrested too! I'm not falling for that! Now where's my reward, and who's the boss here when the sheriff's not around?" She looked the other patrons over, but she saw no star. She assumed they were all coppers in plainclothes though.

Yang on the other hand, saw his chance to get both a dinner date and a release. "Actually, why don't we go to the saloon? Clearly they've already caught the right guy, I mean I'm completely innocent! Didn't I tell you that?" he said, completely forgetting that he had been too lovestruck to speak even a few seconds ago. Yang couldn't believe his eyes either, but even if it was just a trick with mirrors and ventriloquists (although why they would put on such a show was beyond him) he would use it to the max.

Blondie pondered his suggestion while she waited for the policemen, and the policewoman (as she thought they were), to act. Then she noticed a pebble on the floor and bent down to pick it up.

"Ooooh! A jailhouse rock! Shiny!"

Buck spoke up, "Look, ma'am, there really isn't a real boss here when Sheriff Norder's out. Sorry 'bout that. And don't ask me how long it's gonna take fer him to get back. As fer this feller, I ain't never seen 'im buh-fore in my life. He ain't my twin though."

He noticed her pick up the jailhouse rock, and then spotted a half eaten dinner roll sittin' on the sheriff's desk. So he piped up and pointing at what he named, said, "Ooh! A rock an' a roll. Hootchie coo!"

Blondie carefully studied the pebble in her hands. She examined its texture, and seemed to be about as fascinated by it like a child exploring the world around itself. That exact comparion went through Yang's head, and he began to wonder if his captress was going to try and eat it, when she instead turned her head towards Buck, who apparantly had said something. She wasn't sure what, since she hadn't been listening. She turned her head normally, but in Yang's heart shaped eyes (not literally heart shaped of course - or maybe they were, who knows if this is a cartoon or not) she did it in slow motion, flipping her luscious hair as if in a shampoo commercial.



Which she actually didn't. Just a normal, regular, head turn.

"Wait, wasn't there more people in here just a moment ago? Or am I mistaken?" she said, noticing the absence of the runaway arrestees. She raised an eyebrow, but then shrugged and left the topic. "So what you're saying, is that there's no boss around 'ere at all? What is this, the Anarchy?" She had to make a reference to a medieval English civil war, since the song "Anarchy in the UK" hadn't been written yet (and also because Johnny Rotten is an overrated singer anyway). Blondie was rather upset, but Yang's interest peaked up by the mentioning of anarchy, since he had studied both Lao Zi and socialist literature lately. If East Zilch was an anarchist city state, maybe it would be a good place to stay permanently? Although that meant he would have to solve the issue with his doppelgänger sooner or later, one way or another. The town wasn't big enough for the both of them, as the many cases of mistaken identity had proved already.

A rumble outside interrupted his thoughts.

"Buffalos? Soldiers?" Blondie guessed. "In the heart of America?" she added, surprised, and looked outside. "Oi!" she exclaimed when saw saw how people got trampled down by bison. Her first guess had been correct. "Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi, oi, oi, oi..." She shook her head, herself shaken by the tragic sight... and immediately got back to business. "Right, well, if I'm not going to get any reward for catching you, I don't see any reason for keeping you tied up anymore. You have a good day, sir!" With that, she loosened the lasso around Yang and freed him from the rope. Now curious where the hole in the wall led to (without realizing its connection to her earlier question about where everyone had gone), she tried to squeeze through the cell bars, but they were too narrow. "Hmm..." She looked around and searched for a solution, but kept her thoughts to herself. Yang shook his head, but took the opportunity to leave while he could, in case the sheriff suddenly would come back.

Blondie's eyes fell on the dinner roll on the desk. Yummy! But what was that next to it? A keychain? Could the key fit the cell door? No sooner said than done, Blondie unlocked the cell, with the dinner roll in her other hand, took a bite, stepped inside, past Buckaroo, and walked through the hole in the wall. Once outside, she saw two Italian guys stand next to a stagecoach. Rather dapper fellows, she thought.

"Bawnjorno!" she greeted them. "Is that gold in your pockets or are you just happy to see me?"

Meanwhile, Yang Guo walked past a new arrival in town, a young woman and fellow Asian. He politely tipped his hat at her. "Ni hao!"

[Stollberg-Stolberg]

Daniel von Gerk
East Zilch

Walking into the Saloon was a rare thing Daniel did, except it was Saturday. But today wasn´t a Saturday, he just looked depressed as well as battered. It was most likely clear that he didn´t feel great at all, but he could walk to the Bar and sit down at the stool. When he started to speak to Sarah:

"These Goddamn Buffalos, are always demolishing one store when they strike. As you can see with me, they hit the Clock Store and destroyed the Cog works I need for the Clocktower. I could cry! But this is not the only matter I am here... I need to drink my Sadness away since one of my Paintings got knocked off the Wall and trampled by the Beast so could you please give me a glass of this special Whiskey you always sell me, maybe it isn´t Whiskey but you always called it that."

[Voxija]

Daniel von Gerk
East Zilch

Walking into the Saloon was a rare thing Daniel did, except it was Saturday. But today wasn´t a Saturday, he just looked depressed as well as battered. It was most likely clear that he didn´t feel great at all, but he could walk to the Bar and sit down at the stool. When he started to speak to Sarah:

"These Goddamn Buffalos, are always demolishing one store when they strike. As you can see with me, they hit the Clock Store and destroyed the Cog works I need for the Clocktower. I could cry! But this is not the only matter I am here... I need to drink my Sadness away since one of my Paintings got knocked off the Wall and trampled by the Beast so could you please give me a glass of this special Whiskey you always sell me, maybe it isn't Whiskey but you always called it that."

Sarah Stein felt Gerk's pain, although Stein was sadder about the lives lost than any property damage. "That's really bad. But at least you didn't die, right?" Sarah felt to always look on the bright side of life, except when there was no bright side.

She tried to figure out what drink Daniel wanted. Not Devil's Blood, that was the other guy, and Sarah didn't remember Daniel orderin' Devil's Blood. Surely not [BLEEP]ing [BLEEP], since folks around here seemed reluctant to order a drink named after a racial slur. There was only one choice. The Whiskey of Whisky.

You see, Sarah Stein preferred to call a certain alcoholic drink whisky. But for one concoction, Stein'd make an exception. The Whiskey of Whisky. It probably wasn't even made out of whisky. Sarah'd been drunk herself when she created the recipe, on that lonely summer night. Whenever she created a Whiskey of Whisky, she'd fall into a trance, and forget how she made the drink.

Thankfully, Sarah didn't remember what she did last night. All she knew was that she woke up at midnight with a flagon of Whiskey of Whisky. It didn't do much actually, except taste just like whiskey. Yes, now she remembered telling Daniel Von German about Whiskey of Whisky, and he was instantly hooked. Well, not hooked, but he liked it enough for her to sell it to him.

Sarah rummaged around on her shelves for that batch of Whiskey of Whisky, and then handed it to Daniel Von German—Gerk! Not German! "Here it is, mister."

---

Doc Festy strolled on down to East Zilch, humming a song called "Always look on the bright side of death." He'd made enough of his miracle elixir to bring back everyone who died in the stampede: that is, assuming his miracle elixir worked. Doc knew that he was mercilessly exploiting people's emotions and feelings of survivors' guilt to make a quick buck. He didn't care.

Doc Festy pulled up his wagon next to a Chinese and a blonde lady. Wait, wasn't that Chinese in prison? Eh, he didn't care.

Doc Festy pulled out a bottle of his elixir, put it on the wagon shelf, spread his arms, and yelled as loud as he could, "Do you want any of them there dead people trampled over there to stop being dead and become mixed-up zombies come back ta life? I'm sure you miss someone. That rodeo clown, that sweet-looking schoolmistress lady? Come here, come round, and get Doc Festy's Patented Newest Miracle ElixirTM, Guaranteed to Cure All, Up To and Including Death!!. It'll work durn good, fur shur."

[Talchyon]

East Zilch saloon
Tater Frye and Beaux Lagged

Tater slammed back the sarsaparilla and tried to drink down his sorrows. It being the Sabbath, drinking was surely forbidden, but Tater couldn't help himself. Witnessing another buffalo stampede in town (the 5th this year) was trying enough. But he was sad at the loss of lives and the decrease in population of their already small community.

Meanwhile, out in the street, the town undertaker and his men appeared and began trying to take care of the bodies of the stampeded. Clearly ignoring the quack medicine dealer, they were doing their part to get these stiffs out of the way.

As more people entered the saloon and ordered their drinks, the French fur trapper got big eyes at potential customers. Sensing that the man who had addressed him in French didn't have the wherewithal to pay for anything he was eyeing, Beaux Lagged moved on to the newcomers. " 'Ahlo, ahlo! Eeef yieu wahhhn t'buay sawm hahdes, Ahy hahve whaht yieu m'be lookin' fieur. All hahdes ahn sale!"

---

East Zilch jail
Buckaroo Bunjin

Blondie carefully studied the pebble in her hands. She examined its texture, and seemed to be about as fascinated by it like a child exploring the world around itself. That exact comparion went through Yang's head, and he began to wonder if his captress was going to try and eat it, when she instead turned her head towards Buck, who apparantly had said something. She wasn't sure what, since she hadn't been listening. She turned her head normally, but in Yang's heart shaped eyes (not literally heart shaped of course - or maybe they were, who knows if this is a cartoon or not) she did it in slow motion, flipping her luscious hair as if in a shampoo commercial.

(Image)

Which she actually didn't. Just a normal, regular, head turn.

"Wait, wasn't there more people in here just a moment ago? Or am I mistaken?" she said, noticing the absence of the runaway arrestees. She raised an eyebrow, but then shrugged and left the topic. "So what you're saying, is that there's no boss around 'ere at all? What is this, the Anarchy?" She had to make a reference to a medieval English civil war, since the song "Anarchy in the UK" hadn't been written yet (and also because Johnny Rotten is an overrated singer anyway). Blondie was rather upset, but Yang's interest peaked up by the mentioning of anarchy, since he had studied both Lao Zi and socialist literature lately. If East Zilch was an anarchist city state, maybe it would be a good place to stay permanently? Although that meant he would have to solve the issue with his doppelgänger sooner or later, one way or another. The town wasn't big enough for the both of them, as the many cases of mistaken identity had proved already.

A rumble outside interrupted his thoughts.

"Buffalos? Soldiers?" Blondie guessed. "In the heart of America?" she added, surprised, and looked outside. "Oi!" she exclaimed when saw saw how people got trampled down by bison. Her first guess had been correct. "Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi, oi, oi, oi..." She shook her head, herself shaken by the tragic sight... and immediately got back to business. "Right, well, if I'm not going to get any reward for catching you, I don't see any reason for keeping you tied up anymore. You have a good day, sir!" With that, she loosened the lasso around Yang and freed him from the rope. Now curious where the hole in the wall led to (without realizing its connection to her earlier question about where everyone had gone), she tried to squeeze through the cell bars, but they were too narrow. "Hmm..." She looked around and searched for a solution, but kept her thoughts to herself. Yang shook his head, but took the opportunity to leave while he could, in case the sheriff suddenly would come back.

Blondie's eyes fell on the dinner roll on the desk. Yummy! But what was that next to it? A keychain? Could the key fit the cell door?...

Meanwhile, Yang Guo walked past a new arrival in town, a young woman and fellow Asian. He politely tipped his hat at her. "Ni hao!"

The sound of the stampeding buffalo outside also caught Buck by surprise. "Oh, no, not again," Buck said. It was a problem with these critters. To have so many trampled under foot was heartbreaking. Buck shook his head, and sighed. "Only the good die young," he said, mournfully.

But when the extremely beautiful woman saw the hole in the wall that the Spaniard fellow went through, she began to unlock the cell. Buck was puzzled. And the only thing he could think to do when she entered the cell was to tip his hat and politely say, "Ma'am." And then she left! Through the hole!

The Asian doppelganger of Buck's also left, too. The only ones present were himself, Karen the postmistress (who seemed to be busybodying herself with some knitting), and the quiet old Indian in the corner of the cell.

Buck said to the Indian, "What in tarnation is happening?"

The Indian man simply shrugged.

---

The Fells Cargo Wagon
The two shady Italian thugs

Taking the gold hadn't been an issue, just as the two cohorts of the mayor knew it wouldn't be. Which said less about the brilliance of their plan, and more about their lack of intelligence than anything else. The two swarthy Italians, Guido and Lefty, pocketed the gold hiding it behind their ponchos, and looking as unassuming as they had before. That is, if two large, swarthy, muscular Italians can look unassuming.

But then, a drunk man came up. And that was one thing they didn't want, was a drunk man catching a glimpse of them, or trying to dishonestly take some more gold and ruin their honest theft!

Trapmann grinned at the two men.

"Well thats mighty fine of you gentleman, you can trust me to keep one hell ofa eye on it." Trapmann said, tapping his temple for added effect.

"Ill just grab my gear." He said, continuing to grin. He stumbled over to his horse, vomiting quickly and quietly to get the alcohol out, before grabbing his carbine and revolver from where he had stored them on Bullhorn. From there he made his way over to the wagons, sitting on a barrel with his carbine laying across his legs. He saw the two Italian men, standing suspiciously close to the wagons. He shifted a little closer.

"Well partners, I do reckon that these wagons are a little overburdened, whaddya y'all think?"

The two Italians didn't change the expression on their stupid faces. One pretended like he didn't hear the drunk. The other said, "It wasn't me. I was in Jersey. I mean, we was jus' guarding deze wagons."

The other piped up and said, "Yeah."

And to make his point known, the first repeated himself again. "We was jus' guarding deze wagons."

And to make his point known too, the second also repeated himself again. "Yeah."

But just then, an unexpected surprise unexpectedly surprised them.

No sooner said than done, Blondie unlocked the cell, with the dinner roll in her other hand, took a bite, stepped inside, past Buckaroo, and walked through the hole in the wall. Once outside, she saw two Italian guys stand next to a stagecoach. Rather dapper fellows, she thought.

"Bawnjorno!" she greeted them. "Is that gold in your pockets or are you just happy to see me?"

Glancing at the extremely beautiful woman, the two Italian swarthy thugs got the barest hint of an appreciating smile on their lips. But then, the first said to her, "Look, lady, this ain't the safest of places. You should vamoose. Thugs could be trying to rob deze poor wagon men blind. We won't let that happen."

And the second, true to form, said, "Yeah."

(They were telling the truth, after all. For indeed, the two Italian thugs hadn't stolen from the Fells Cargo men blind. Guido and Lefty had left their eyes in their sockets, so that the wagon men could still see, and then they stole. Technicalities.)

[Bolslania]

---

The Fells Cargo Wagon
The two shady Italian thugs

Taking the gold hadn't been an issue, just as the two cohorts of the mayor knew it wouldn't be. Which said less about the brilliance of their plan, and more about their lack of intelligence than anything else. The two swarthy Italians, Guido and Lefty, pocketed the gold hiding it behind their ponchos, and looking as unassuming as they had before. That is, if two large, swarthy, muscular Italians can look unassuming.

But then, a drunk man came up. And that was one thing they didn't want, was a drunk man catching a glimpse of them, or trying to dishonestly take some more gold and ruin their honest theft!

[spoiler=Two Italian Men and a drunk guard a wagon]

Trapmann grinned at the two men.

"Well thats mighty fine of you gentleman, you can trust me to keep one hell ofa eye on it." Trapmann said, tapping his temple for added effect.

"Ill just grab my gear." He said, continuing to grin. He stumbled over to his horse, vomiting quickly and quietly to get the alcohol out, before grabbing his carbine and revolver from where he had stored them on Bullhorn. From there he made his way over to the wagons, sitting on a barrel with his carbine laying across his legs. He saw the two Italian men, standing suspiciously close to the wagons. He shifted a little closer.

"Well partners, I do reckon that these wagons are a little overburdened, whaddya y'all think?"

The two Italians didn't change the expression on their stupid faces. One pretended like he didn't hear the drunk. The other said, "It wasn't me. I was in Jersey. I mean, we was jus' guarding deze wagons."

The other piped up and said, "Yeah."

And to make his point known, the first repeated himself again. "We was jus' guarding deze wagons."

And to make his point known too, the second also repeated himself again. "Yeah."

But just then, an unexpected surprise unexpectedly surprised them.

No sooner said than done, Blondie unlocked the cell, with the dinner roll in her other hand, took a bite, stepped inside, past Buckaroo, and walked through the hole in the wall. Once outside, she saw two Italian guys stand next to a stagecoach. Rather dapper fellows, she thought.

"Bawnjorno!" she greeted them. "Is that gold in your pockets or are you just happy to see me?"

Glancing at the extremely beautiful woman, the two Italian swarthy thugs got the barest hint of an appreciating smile on their lips. But then, the first said to her, "Look, lady, this ain't the safest of places. You should vamoose. Thugs could be trying to rob deze poor wagon men blind. We won't let that happen."

And the second, true to form, said, "Yeah."

(They were telling the truth, after all. For indeed, the two Italian thugs hadn't stolen from the Fells Cargo men blind. Guido and Lefty had left their eyes in their sockets, so that the wagon men could still see, and then they stole. Technicalities.)

[/spoiler]

Trapmann was about to explain his intentions to the large, cranially deficient Italian men when a stunning woman walked up. Being a proper *hic* gentleman he staggered to his feet, tipping his hat to the lady.

"Why a good afternoon *hic* ma'am. I muss agree with mah colleagues, you should stay back in case a shootin' starts"

[Voxija]

[quote="Talchyon";p="37932079"]
Meanwhile, out in the street, the town undertaker and his men appeared and began trying to take care of the bodies of the stampeded. Clearly ignoring the quack medicine dealer, they were doing their part to get these stiffs out of the way.

Doc Festy was confounded at what he done just saw. No one was listening to him, and the town undertaker was trying to take them corpses away without even listening to what he had to say.

"Hey! Don't you need at least a chance of them stiffs getting up and walking and talking again! I'm offering them for free now!"

Doc sighed. This was the punishment of Gawd, for trying to sell potions to bring back the dead. "I know it's karma." Wait, what was karma? "Or a running gag." What was that too? Honestly, Doc was just talking random gibberish now. "I guess it's just fate's way of keepin' me in East Zilch. No one's listenin' ta me, so I'll stay here until they do listen."

Festy's parked his wagon up against the wall. He'll just stay right there and sleep here. He didn't care about those two fellers that looked like someone's terrible Italian stereotypes, or the proximity to the town jail. No siree.

[Islamic Republic e Jariri]

---

The Fells Cargo Wagon The two shady Italian thugs Taking the gold hadn't been an issue, just as the two cohorts of the mayor knew it wouldn't be. Which said less about the brilliance of their plan, and more about their lack of intelligence than anything else. The two swarthy Italians, Guido and Lefty, pocketed the gold hiding it behind their ponchos, and looking as unassuming as they had before. That is, if two large, swarthy, muscular Italians can look unassuming. But then, a drunk man came up. And that was one thing they didn't want, was a drunk man catching a glimpse of them, or trying to dishonestly take some more gold and ruin their honest theft! [spoiler=Two Italian Men and a drunk guard a wagon]

The two Italians didn't change the expression on their stupid faces. One pretended like he didn't hear the drunk. The other said, "It wasn't me. I was in Jersey. I mean, we was jus' guarding deze wagons." The other piped up and said, "Yeah." And to make his point known, the first repeated himself again. "We was jus' guarding deze wagons." And to make his point known too, the second also repeated himself again. "Yeah." But just then, an unexpected surprise unexpectedly surprised them.

Glancing at the extremely beautiful woman, the two Italian swarthy thugs got the barest hint of an appreciating smile on their lips. But then, the first said to her, "Look, lady, this ain't the safest of places. You should vamoose. Thugs could be trying to rob deze poor wagon men blind. We won't let that happen." And the second, true to form, said, "Yeah." (They were telling the truth, after all. For indeed, the two Italian thugs hadn't stolen from the Fells Cargo men blind. Guido and Lefty had left their eyes in their sockets, so that the wagon men could still see, and then they stole. Technicalities.)

[/spoiler] Trapmann was about to explain his intentions to the large, cranially deficient Italian men when a stunning woman walked up. Being a proper *hic* gentleman he staggered to his feet, tipping his hat to the lady. "Why a good afternoon *hic* ma'am. I muss agree with mah colleagues, you should stay back in case a shootin' starts"

[Danubian Peoples]

East Zilch Saloon
John Joseph Jones

Joe Joseph Jones may have been Sarah Stein's worst enemy, if she didn't laugh at him so much. Sarah'd seen a lot of kooks before, in the history books, in the South. Sarah Stein would prefer to hold onto what little religion she had left thank you very much. If Stein hadn't converted to Christianity in all the five years she'd been in East Zilch, she was never gonna convert to Jones's
Jonesism. Seriously, a faith that claimed her profession was heretical?! Sinful, she could understand. But heretical?!

Jones was complaining about a bad hand, it seemed. Sarah Stein wished she'd a done that to his hand. But—Stein racked her memory—she didn't. Not even when she'd first met him. Knocked him upside the head with a whisky bottle, she did. But not on his hand.

"I'm sorry," Stein said to Jones. If she really was going to be a proper rival to Jones, her name should've been Smith. "I would've loved to break your hand, but I didn't. If your quack faith didn't forbid it, I could've poured you a nice drink to make you forget your pains. What a shame."

John really didn't know how to respond to that. As it turns out, an education in 'Jonesian Theology' does not make a good foundation for clapbacks at the saloon. So dumbfounded he was that Jones merely stood still in shock and contemplation. But, what he did have was faith, a metric-ton (err.. American ton? Cubic Bald Eagle? 10 kilo-gallon-hat?) of it at that. So after taking the time to be shocked and astonished as Sarah's behavior, Jones spoke.

"How dare you do this? First you reject my Gospel and now you go out of way to defy me! I say! Damn you Miss Stein, I truely damn -ouch- you for the insolence you have greeted -oww- your true liege since time immemorial! May your soul burn at the -aargh!- hands of judgement! Boiled hot and served with a side of 'taters on the devil's platter! Over an Indian fire pit on the heat of the midday sun! I say, DAMN YOOUUU-ARGH! And damn this peskily inflamed hand too! Take some table 'en, you pervasive appen-AHH! Only made it worse!" Hand hurting far too much to even speak in anything but loud tongues, Jones quickly turned tails and scrambled out of the saloon.

[Voxija]

John really didn't know how to respond to that. As it turns out, an education in 'Jonesian Theology' does not make a good foundation for clapbacks at the saloon. So dumbfounded he was that Jones merely stood still in shock and contemplation. But, what he did have was faith, a metric-ton (err.. American ton? Cubic Bald Eagle? 10 kilo-gallon-hat?) of it at that. So after taking the time to be shocked and astonished as Sarah's behavior, Jones spoke.

"How dare you do this? First you reject my Gospel and now you go out of way to defy me! I say! Damn you Miss Stein, I truely damn -ouch- you for the insolence you have greeted -oww- your true liege since time immemorial! May your soul burn at the -aargh!- hands of judgement! Boiled hot and served with a side of 'taters on the devil's platter! Over an Indian fire pit on the heat of the midday sun! I say, DAMN YOOUUU-ARGH! And damn this peskily inflamed hand too! Take some table 'en, you pervasive appen-AHH! Only made it worse!" Hand hurting far too much to even speak in anything but loud tongues, Jones quickly turned tails and scrambled out of the saloon.

Sarah Stein smirked as she listened to Jones preach fire and brimstone at her. Thoughts of her ancestors getting similarly insulted flicked into her mind, and then left. "Heard it before," muttered Stein, so that Jones couldn't hear. When Jones mentioned that Sarah would burn over an Indian fire pit, she perked up a bit. She'd never heard that before.

When Jones screamed DAMN YOU!, Sarah said, quite calmly, "Thank you." That's how she usually responded to verbal insults. Would confuse the bully.

When Jones's pain got too much for him and he fled the saloon, Sarah Stein pulled a handkerchief out of her right boot and waved goodbye at him. "Bye, Jones, y'all. Nice havin' a little old argument." Stein put the handkerchief back in her shoe and addressed the folk in the saloon. "What're y'all staring at for? Don't you want to buy some drinks? Or hides? Or not?"

[Bolslania]

Fells Cargo Wagon
Deputy Sheriff Booth

A fourth player entered the fray: the devious, despicable and dastardly deputy with a mind for infamy. ''Gentlemen,'' he first greeted the two workers with a facetious grin and a tip from his hat. He was saddled atop a buckskin horse and made circles around the two men and the wagon they supposedly guarded. So close he could practically smell the gold itself, his nose wrinkling in delight as he marked out his territory surrounding the treasure. With his 'devil-eyes' and physically elevated position atop his mount he was confident in cowing those below him into submission.

''So you're the hired help for this here wagon? Hmm...'' he nodded his head in understanding.

The deputy knew a fellow crook when he saw one and pondered if he should deal with the pair as foes or allies, for in truth he hadn't quite decided upon whether to actually guard the wagon or help himself to the gold inside. Taking control was what mattered at the moment.

Turning to the inebriated Trapmann and then to the nameless blonde woman he sneered at the both of them, suspecting trouble that could foil his half-baked plan.

''And you kids... '' he sneered contemptuously. ''No doubt trying to stir up a hornet's nest. I'll have you know this wagon is under my protection, so pray tell what is your business here, hmmm?''

Trapmann turned to face the deputy.

"Well deputy I have been hired to help protect this here wagon." Trapmann narrowed his eyes at the deputy, something was happening, and Trapmann didn't like it at all.

"So unless you have been asked by the good sirs of Fells Cargo to protect this wagon, or you have some kind o' warrant to search the wagon, I'm gonna have to ask ye to vacate the area of the wagon deputy." Trapmann said, his rifle was leaning against the barrel he had been sitting on, but his pistol was still on his hip.

[Islamic Republic e Jariri]

Fells Cargo Wagon
Deputy Sheriff Booth

A fourth player entered the fray: the devious, despicable and dastardly deputy with a mind for infamy. ''Gentlemen,'' he first greeted the two workers with a facetious grin and a tip from his hat. He was saddled atop a buckskin horse and made circles around the two men and the wagon they supposedly guarded. So close he could practically smell the gold itself, his nose wrinkling in delight as he marked out his territory surrounding the treasure. With his 'devil-eyes' and physically elevated position atop his mount he was confident in cowing those below him into submission.

''So you're the hired help for this here wagon? Hmm...'' he nodded his head in understanding.

The deputy knew a fellow crook when he saw one and pondered if he should deal with the pair as foes or allies, for in truth he hadn't quite decided upon whether to actually guard the wagon or help himself to the gold inside. Taking control was what mattered at the moment.

Turning to the inebriated Trapmann and then to the nameless blonde woman he sneered at the both of them, suspecting trouble that could foil his half-baked plan.

''And you kids... '' he sneered contemptuously. ''No doubt trying to stir up a hornet's nest. I'll have you know this wagon is under my protection, so pray tell what is your business here, hmmm?''

Trapmann turned to face the deputy.

"Well deputy I have been hired to help protect this here wagon." Trapmann narrowed his eyes at the deputy, something was happening, and Trapmann didn't like it at all.

"So unless you have been asked by the good sirs of Fells Cargo to protect this wagon, or you have some kind o' warrant to search the wagon, I'm gonna have to ask ye to vacate the area of the wagon deputy." Trapmann said, his rifle was leaning against the barrel he had been sitting on, but his pistol was still on his hip.

Fells Cargo
Deputy Sheriff Booth

Booth suppressed a nervous gulp before pulling up the spurs on his horse and delivering a quick kick with the metallic tip of his left boot to its side, causing the animal to grunt loudly in contempt and rise up on its hind legs for a brief moment, a classic display of the rider's martial dominance and sinister intimidation, which might have worked had the willful beast not proceeded to throw the man off its rear.

The Deputy fell backwards with an audible bump on the ground, his hat falling flat on his face. He lay there in silence, hiding a look of pure embarassment as the horse trotted away.

''One of these days John...'' he muttered in agony.

Slowly sitting up and fixing his hat back in place he eyed Trapmann warily, wondering if he should simply save face and walk away. Instead he chose to continue the performance.

''Course, you could say I've been informally invited to watch over the Fells Cargo goods, you can say its my duty as deputy sheriff. Can't have no wayward downtrodden deadbeat desperados making off with the gold.''

Not so subtly he showed off the Derringer pistol on his side, silently stating how he could draw it if needed though in truth he had been out of practice for some time now and was relying more on his words and status as deputy to sway the situation in his favor. Yet it was also a feint, a gesture to distract Trapmann, for his true talent lay with the lasso.

[Bolslania]

Fells Cargo
Deputy Sheriff Booth

Booth suppressed a nervous gulp before pulling up the spurs on his horse and delivering a quick kick with the metallic tip of his left boot to its side, causing the animal to grunt loudly in contempt and rise up on its hind legs for a brief moment, a classic display of the rider's martial dominance and sinister intimidation, which might have worked had the willful beast not proceeded to throw the man off its rear.

The Deputy fell backwards with an audible bump on the ground, his hat falling flat on his face. He lay there in silence, hiding a look of pure embarassment as the horse trotted away.

''One of these days John...'' he muttered in agony.

Slowly sitting up and fixing his hat back in place he eyed Trapmann warily, wondering if he should simply save face and walk away. Instead he chose to continue the performance.

''Course, you could say I've been informally invited to watch over the Fells Cargo goods, you can say its my duty as deputy sheriff. Can't have no wayward downtrodden deadbeat desperados making off with the gold.''

Not so subtly he showed off the Derringer pistol on his side, silently stating how he could draw it if needed though in truth he had been out of practice for some time now and was relying more on his words and status as deputy to sway the situation in his favor. Yet it was also a feint, a gesture to distract Trapmann, for his true talent lay with the lasso.

Trapmann raised a amused eyebrow.

"You could say that there is no law stating that you are given implied consent to oversee commercial affairs Deputy. If you were any normal man I would've laid you out, but seeing as how you are a deputy, I'll give you one more chance to walk away." Trapmann said cockily. He was quick on the draw, and the deputy was close enough so that Trapmann wouldn't miss. But Trapmann's inebriation wasn't helping to defuse the hostility of the situation.

Trapmann's hand fell to where his revolver was, but it wasn't quite touching the pistol.

[Islamic Republic e Jariri]

Fells Cargo
Deputy Sheriff Booth

Booth suppressed a nervous gulp before pulling up the spurs on his horse and delivering a quick kick with the metallic tip of his left boot to its side, causing the animal to grunt loudly in contempt and rise up on its hind legs for a brief moment, a classic display of the rider's martial dominance and sinister intimidation, which might have worked had the willful beast not proceeded to throw the man off its rear.

The Deputy fell backwards with an audible bump on the ground, his hat falling flat on his face. He lay there in silence, hiding a look of pure embarassment as the horse trotted away.

''One of these days John...'' he muttered in agony.

Slowly sitting up and fixing his hat back in place he eyed Trapmann warily, wondering if he should simply save face and walk away. Instead he chose to continue the performance.

''Course, you could say I've been informally invited to watch over the Fells Cargo goods, you can say its my duty as deputy sheriff. Can't have no wayward downtrodden deadbeat desperados making off with the gold.''

Not so subtly he showed off the Derringer pistol on his side, silently stating how he could draw it if needed though in truth he had been out of practice for some time now and was relying more on his words and status as deputy to sway the situation in his favor. Yet it was also a feint, a gesture to distract Trapmann, for his true talent lay with the lasso.

Trapmann raised a amused eyebrow.

"You could say that there is no law stating that you are given implied consent to oversee commercial affairs Deputy. If you were any normal man I would've laid you out, but seeing as how you are a deputy, I'll give you one more chance to walk away." Trapmann said cockily. He was quick on the draw, and the deputy was close enough so that Trapmann wouldn't miss. But Trapmann's inebriation wasn't helping to defuse the hostility of the situation.

Trapmann's hand fell to where his revolver was, but it wasn't quite touching the pistol.

''Will you now?'' Booth responded, his face pink with a rising rage that drowned out his reasoning.

''Boy, I've killed men just for looking at me the wrong way. I've killed them dead. My own father threatened to kill Old Hickory himself, so believe me boy, you should watch your hide when crossing me.''

In a blink of an eye he whipped out his lasso towards Trapmann, arced like an attacking viper that lunged atop his head, wrapping itself around the young man's forehead where it immediately locked itself in a tight hold while the deputy smiled once more with a smug glee as he pulled the rope, intending to slam Trapmann face first into the ground.

If only the fool had kept his sights on the revolver instead...

[Bolslania]

Trapmann raised a amused eyebrow.

"You could say that there is no law stating that you are given implied consent to oversee commercial affairs Deputy. If you were any normal man I would've laid you out, but seeing as how you are a deputy, I'll give you one more chance to walk away." Trapmann said cockily. He was quick on the draw, and the deputy was close enough so that Trapmann wouldn't miss. But Trapmann's inebriation wasn't helping to defuse the hostility of the situation.

Trapmann's hand fell to where his revolver was, but it wasn't quite touching the pistol.

''Will you now?'' Booth responded, his face pink with a rising rage that drowned out his reasoning.

''Boy, I've killed men just for looking at me the wrong way. I've killed them dead. My own father threatened to kill Old Hickory himself, so believe me boy, you should watch your hide when crossing me.''

In a blink of an eye he whipped out his lasso towards Trapmann, arced like an attacking viper that lunged atop his head, wrapping itself around the young man's forehead where it immediately locked itself in a tight hold while the deputy smiled once more with a smug glee as he pulled the rope, intending to slam Trapmann face first into the ground.

If only the fool had kept his sights on the revolver instead...

Trapmann swore as the lasso went around his forehead, he had drawn the revolver with the intent of laying the deputy out, but the pull of the lasso caused Trapmann to shoot Booth in the foot. This didnt prevent Trapmann from hitting the ground with an audible thump and groan.

[Confederate American SU]

A Stagecoach near East Zilch

A small man with a legendary Napoleon Complex was sleeping quietly in the stagecoach. The other passengers were awake, but the tired redhead, who had been running from every player in Bleeding Kansas, was oddly peaceful in his sleep. Unlike the rest of his life, the violent bushwhacker was in a state of tranquility.

That was until he was woken up. The reason he went to East Zilch was to use the railroad to return to the East Coast. That or try to make an honest living in the West. Whatever would have him avoid the wrath of law enforcement.

"Wake up, we're there. What's your name?" one of the other passengers asked.

Fuck! I'm not going to tell him! Or, anybody! Not until things cool down. Or, a war between states happens. I mean, I've seen it in Kansas.

"Uh...Cass?" Cassidy answered.

"Well, I heard that we've reached East Zilch," the fellow passenger informed him.

The stagecoach headed towards the central street of East Zilch before dropping off the bushwhacker, who took his belongings as he left the stagecoach.

[Islamic Republic e Jariri]

''Will you now?'' Booth responded, his face pink with a rising rage that drowned out his reasoning.

''Boy, I've killed men just for looking at me the wrong way. I've killed them dead. My own father threatened to kill Old Hickory himself, so believe me boy, you should watch your hide when crossing me.''

In a blink of an eye he whipped out his lasso towards Trapmann, arced like an attacking viper that lunged atop his head, wrapping itself around the young man's forehead where it immediately locked itself in a tight hold while the deputy smiled once more with a smug glee as he pulled the rope, intending to slam Trapmann face first into the ground.

If only the fool had kept his sights on the revolver instead...

Trapmann swore as the lasso went around his forehead, he had drawn the revolver with the intent of laying the deputy out, but the pull of the lasso caused Trapmann to shoot Booth in the foot. This didnt prevent Trapmann from hitting the ground with an audible thump and groan.

So about that severed toe...

On that day at the Fells Cargo wagon, tempers flared and common sense derailed and the so-called Devil's Deputy was said to have recieved his just comeuppance for defying Miss Karen's warnings. The bullet Trapmann fired passed through Booth's left leather boot and ended up lodged in a small smoking pit beneath. Booth's big toe was completely severed with the impact of the shot blasting it out of sight.

The Deputy would no longer walk without a cane to assist him from that day on.

As for the whereabouts of the missing toe itself, legend says Trapmann later found it and kept its crooked bones as a trophy while other accounts state it probably fell near a carnivorous ant colony that devoured it's foul flesh. One must wonder how the toe felt to suffer such an ignoble and meaningless end. It had served Booth well all his life, from taking his first steps to taking the stage to fleeing the battlefield, always there to provide the vital balance a leg needs, only to end up lost forever from a random scuffle with a drunk.

Deputy Booth, Fells Cargo Wagon

''GET BACK BOY! BOYYYY! YOU CAN'T ESCAPE MEEEE! I'LL CHASE YOU TO THE ENDS OF THE EEEEEARTH!''
OOC: Spiderman TAS

Most people would yelp in pain when shot through the foot and losing a toe. But Abraham Ford 'Devil-Eyed' Booth was a trained thespian of family tradition and channeled his terrible pain into a declaration of war against the nameless inebriated kid who had shot at him. He shouted loud enough to be heard well outside the vicinity of the wagon, a voice so loud and booming it nearly ecliped the prior gunshot.

All the while he was the one actually limping away from the scene all-together, fully fearful for his life.

[Bolslania]

Trapmann looked up, rubbing at his head, watching the deputy hop into the distance on one foot.

"What in tarnation?" He said as the deputy screamed threats of death. He pushed himself up, seeing a gold glitter under on of the Italian men's poncho, he decided not to comment on it until the woman had left.


"See what I mean ma'am?" He said, placing his pistol back in its holster.

[New Visayan Islands]

East Zilch Saloon
Tater Frye

Tater was sitting, trying to drown his sorrows in sarsaparilla, when all of a sudden, a stranger started saying the most uncivilized things ever that a man could say to a lady. Ever!

John really didn't know how to respond to that. As it turns out, an education in 'Jonesian Theology' does not make a good foundation for clapbacks at the saloon. So dumbfounded he was that Jones merely stood still in shock and contemplation. But, what he did have was faith, a metric-ton (err.. American ton? Cubic Bald Eagle? 10 kilo-gallon-hat?) of it at that. So after taking the time to be shocked and astonished as Sarah's behavior, Jones spoke.

"How dare you do this? First you reject my Gospel and now you go out of way to defy me! I say! Damn you Miss Stein, I truely damn -ouch- you for the insolence you have greeted -oww- your true liege since time immemorial! May your soul burn at the -aargh!- hands of judgement! Boiled hot and served with a side of 'taters on the devil's platter! Over an Indian fire pit on the heat of the midday sun! I say, DAMN YOOUUU-ARGH! And damn this peskily inflamed hand too! Take some table 'en, you pervasive appen-AHH! Only made it worse!" Hand hurting far too much to even speak in anything but loud tongues, Jones quickly turned tails and scrambled out of the saloon.

Sarah Stein smirked as she listened to Jones preach fire and brimstone at her. Thoughts of her ancestors getting similarly insulted flicked into her mind, and then left. "Heard it before," muttered Stein, so that Jones couldn't hear. When Jones mentioned that Sarah would burn over an Indian fire pit, she perked up a bit. She'd never heard that before.

When Jones screamed DAMN YOU!, Sarah said, quite calmly, "Thank you." That's how she usually responded to verbal insults. Would confuse the bully.

When Jones's pain got too much for him and he fled the saloon, Sarah Stein pulled a handkerchief out of her right boot and waved goodbye at him. "Bye, Jones, y'all. Nice havin' a little old argument." Stein put the handkerchief back in her shoe and addressed the folk in the saloon. "What're y'all staring at for? Don't you want to buy some drinks? Or hides? Or not?"

At that, Tater stood up and said to the bartender, "Miss Sarah, that was the most low-down, dirty, rotten, despicably underhanded, yellow-bellied, God-despising diatribe I have ever witnessed. That man insulted your honor! He doesn't know the first thing about talking to a lady! I'm going to go and show him he needs to learn manners!" And Tater stormed out the swinging doors.

Back on the street, Tater noticed the town coroner and his men were mostly done cleaning up the dead bodies from before. A twinge of grief rose up in his heart, along with the increased alertness from the caffeine in the drink he'd downed. The heretic was nowhere to be seen immediately. Instead, Tater saw the medicine man who was trying to sell his concoctions, and a new feller, who had just gotten off a stagecoach. Tater approached them, and nodded out of respect.

"Gentlemen. Did either of you boys see a wild-eyed, crazy lookin' man just now leaving the saloon? Because he just insulted Miss Sarah, and I was gonna teach him some manners."

---

Guarding the Fells Cargo wagon
The two Italian thugs

At the first sign of the deputy, the two thugs began to sweat. Whispering to each other, the one said, "How did the coppers find us so soon?!" And the other, true to form, whispered, "Yeah!"

But the deputy wasn't there to arrest them, as much as he was to pick a fight with the drunk. Guido and Lefty breathed a little easier as they watched the scene unfold. And that numbskull drunk took out his gun and shot the deputy! He literally shot the man! There was a growing appreciation for the drunk among the two thugs, even though they questioned the tactics. For example, if he had gone and shot the sheriff, then he wouldn't shoot the deputy. At least, he wouldn't have to.

But the fight was done, and the deputy was limping off. Nodding in appreciation, the one said to the drunk, "That was a nice shot."

And, not to be outdone, the other said, "Yeah."

---

Mayor's office
Mayor Jeremiah Slick

Now that the old scholarly geologist had gone, the mayor started cleaning up the plans of his nefarious fake gold rush scheme. It wouldn't do to have those around when the newspapermen came out for interviews. They might get the wrong idea. Like, the part of the map that said, "plant fake gold here" might draw suspicions. So he rolled up the map, took some of the fraudulent papers he would need for later in a stack, and put them both in his center desk drawer, making sure to lock it.

The only unfortunate thing was that the old geologist had seen this. Mayor Slick made the 47th mental note of the day and reminded himself that he was going to have to have that old scholar killed in some accidental way. Maybe a rockslide. Maybe quicksand. Whatever it was, he needed to do it sooner than later.

Because he had already sent out the telegrams weeks ago, by his calculations, the newspaper men should be coming any time now...

---

Stagecoach on Main Street

Two thin, smallish men exited the stagecoach after the bushwhacker. They had had the most dreary of conversations with the other riders on the stagecoach. Things like, their dreams of moving to the Old West to start herding cattle, or raising a family, or starting a cucumber farm. The two men were bored to tears. Sure, these wide-eyed passengers on the stagecoach could dream. Dream, dream, dream. Whenever they wanted to, all they had to do was dream. The problem, their dreams bored them. None of them had heard any faint whisper of the news they were here to search out.

They were newsmen, from out East. Boston and New York, to be precise. And from the telegrams their major newspapers had gotten, there was a gold rush to be starting in this small Texas town.

Ignoring Tater Frye, they looked in distaste as the coroners' men were finishing up hauling off the dead bodies. "Savages," the one said to the other. (Only with his Boston accent, the word came out rhyming with "sausages"). Not wanting to get their prissy East coast suits fouled with the bloodshed, they made their way around the horse droppings in the street to the saloon. The barkeep was a no-nonsense woman, glad to sell drinks. Other folk were in the saloon ("On the Sabbath, even!" the two newsmen thought), including a wild, grizzly-looking trapper who seemed to be trying to sell hides to the poor drunks who obviously were annoyed with him.

Sauntering up to the bar, the two newsmen asked for sarsaparillas, and having paid for their drinks, leaned over to the barkeep and said, "Now, we're here from out East. We're reporters from the Boston Forum and the New York Gazette. And the reason we're here is to find out where the mayor's office is. Our newspapers want to know if the rumors are true."

---

So about that severed toe...

On that day at the Fells Cargo wagon, tempers flared and common sense derailed and the so-called Devil's Deputy was said to have recieved his just comeuppance for defying Miss Karen's warnings. The bullet Trapmann fired passed through Booth's left leather boot and ended up lodged in a small smoking pit beneath. Booth's big toe was completely severed with the impact of the shot blasting it out of sight.

The Deputy would no longer walk without a cane to assist him from that day on.

As for the whereabouts of the missing toe itself, legend says Trapmann later found it and kept its crooked bones as a trophy while other accounts state it probably fell near a carnivorous ant colony that devoured it's foul flesh. One must wonder how the toe felt to suffer such an ignoble and meaningless end. It had served Booth well all his life, from taking his first steps to taking the stage to fleeing the battlefield, always there to provide the vital balance a leg needs, only to end up lost forever from a random scuffle with a drunk.

One would wonder, indeed, how that blasted toe felt in that terrible, meaningless end. However, if anyone had the wherewithal to ask, they might have found the toe was thinking along the lines of these last thoughts before it met its mysterious end.

"What is the tableness of a table? Where is Plato's cave, and do bats live there? If one was to hang a sign on a university's philosophy department, it should read, 'Trespassers will be.' If potatoes had sentience, one could easily say, 'I think, therefore I am a yam.' If a tree falls on a pregnant dog, does it make a hound?"

Perhaps it was better nobody had ever asked the toe about it's thoughts on life. It was an absurdist, after all, and no one takes those types of thinkers seriously.

[Stollberg-Stolberg]

Mayor's office
Mayor Jeremiah Slick

Now that the old scholarly geologist had gone, the mayor started cleaning up the plans of his nefarious fake gold rush scheme. It wouldn't do to have those around when the newspapermen came out for interviews. They might get the wrong idea. Like, the part of the map that said, "plant fake gold here" might draw suspicions. So he rolled up the map, took some of the fraudulent papers he would need for later in a stack, and put them both in his center desk drawer, making sure to lock it.

The only unfortunate thing was that the old geologist had seen this. Mayor Slick made the 47th mental note of the day and reminded himself that he was going to have to have that old scholar killed in some accidental way. Maybe a rockslide. Maybe quicksand. Whatever it was, he needed to do it sooner than later.

Because he had already sent out the telegrams weeks ago, by his calculations, the newspaper men should be coming any time now...

---

Stagecoach on Main Street

Two thin, smallish men exited the stagecoach after the bushwhacker. They had had the most dreary of conversations with the other riders on the stagecoach. Things like, their dreams of moving to the Old West to start herding cattle, or raising a family, or starting a cucumber farm. The two men were bored to tears. Sure, these wide-eyed passengers on the stagecoach could dream. Dream, dream, dream. Whenever they wanted to, all they had to do was dream. The problem, their dreams bored them. None of them had heard any faint whisper of the news they were here to search out.

They were newsmen, from out East. Boston and New York, to be precise. And from the telegrams their major newspapers had gotten, there was a gold rush to be starting in this small Texas town.

Ignoring Tater Frye, they looked in distaste as the coroners' men were finishing up hauling off the dead bodies. "Savages," the one said to the other. (Only with his Boston accent, the word came out rhyming with "sausages"). Not wanting to get their prissy East coast suits fouled with the bloodshed, they made their way around the horse droppings in the street to the saloon. The barkeep was a no-nonsense woman, glad to sell drinks. Other folk were in the saloon ("On the Sabbath, even!" the two newsmen thought), including a wild, grizzly-looking trapper who seemed to be trying to sell hides to the poor drunks who obviously were annoyed with him.

Sauntering up to the bar, the two newsmen asked for sarsaparillas, and having paid for their drinks, leaned over to the barkeep and said, "Now, we're here from out East. We're reporters from the Boston Forum and the New York Gazette. And the reason we're here is to find out where the mayor's office is. Our newspapers want to know if the rumors are true."

Mayors Office, East Zilch
Sigmund von Schoppen

Noticing that he had forgotten his Hat in the Mayor's Office, Sigmund had gone from the River to the Main street. He went by the Saloon were he heard people talking about a "Gold Rush" in East Zilch, he wanted to correct them but he wanted to first collect his Hat. While he goed up the stairs he looked at a map of the Mineral Deposits which he wanted to give to the Mayor anyway. As he knocked at the door he heard the sound of Paper being rolled up, but since the Mayor was a government entity he wouldn´t question it, and with that he entered the Office.

"Hello there I have forgotten my Hat" He picket his Square academic cap up, and took the map out of his pocket "And here is the Map of the Mineral Deposits, so Tschüsele!" With that he left the Office [again].

[Voxija]

At that, Tater stood up and said to the bartender, "Miss Sarah, that was the most low-down, dirty, rotten, despicably underhanded, yellow-bellied, God-despising diatribe I have ever witnessed. That man insulted your honor! He doesn't know the first thing about talking to a lady! I'm going to go and show him he needs to learn manners!" And Tater stormed out the swinging doors.

Sarah Stein completely agreed with that man. Jones was definitely G-d-despising, much more than any other person she knew. She didn't join Tater Frye out the saloon doors, because she had a job right here. Sarah, however, hoped Tater would give Jones what he deserved.

Back on the street, Tater noticed the town coroner and his men were mostly done cleaning up the dead bodies from before. A twinge of grief rose up in his heart, along with the increased alertness from the caffeine in the drink he'd downed. The heretic was nowhere to be seen immediately. Instead, Tater saw the medicine man who was trying to sell his concoctions, and a new feller, who had just gotten off a stagecoach. Tater approached them, and nodded out of respect.

"Gentlemen. Did either of you boys see a wild-eyed, crazy lookin' man just now leaving the saloon? Because he just insulted Miss Sarah, and I was gonna teach him some manners."

Doc Festy was still reeling from what he had just saw. A man had challenged another man to a duel, but nothing came of it but being shot in the toe. Doc hadn't seen anything else, bein' focused on the duel.

"No sir. I ain't seen anyone. And do you want to buy any of my medicines, tonics, miracle elixirs? They can cure cholera, coronavirus, cancer, even the common cold. This one can even raise the dead. I learned most of my trade from an Indian medicine man. You interested?"

Ignoring Tater Frye, they looked in distaste as the coroners' men were finishing up hauling off the dead bodies. "Savages," the one said to the other. (Only with his Boston accent, the word came out rhyming with "sausages"). Not wanting to get their prissy East coast suits fouled with the bloodshed, they made their way around the horse droppings in the street to the saloon. The barkeep was a no-nonsense woman, glad to sell drinks. Other folk were in the saloon ("On the Sabbath, even!" the two newsmen thought), including a wild, grizzly-looking trapper who seemed to be trying to sell hides to the poor drunks who obviously were annoyed with him.

Sauntering up to the bar, the two newsmen asked for sarsaparillas, and having paid for their drinks, leaned over to the barkeep and said, "Now, we're here from out East. We're reporters from the Boston Forum and the New York Gazette. And the reason we're here is to find out where the mayor's office is. Our newspapers want to know if the rumors are true."

Sarah didn't trust these Yankee newspaper journos. She knew it, right down to their too-clean suits. And they ordered sarsaparilla too, rather than real drinks. These newspapermen were sus. Sarah served them, of course. They were customers. But when they asked where the mayor's office is, Sarah let her true feelings shine through.

"The mayor's office! Reporters from the East! Rumors! Why, you'll destroy the peace of the town! I won't have you tramping around East Zilch looking for a scoop. And if you publish your libel back in the North, you'll bring crazy types into this town. Crazy types who'll shoot everyone who ain't dead already and who'll break my furniture without paying for it! So, what're these rumors you're investigating?" Sarah couldn't help it if she was curious.

[Barapam]

Yang Guo

The oriental outlaw didn't recieve any response from the lady he had greeted, which he found a bit impolite. Who did she think she was? Unless she wasn't arrogant, but shy, and...

"Ow! What in tarnation?" Yang felt a sudden pain in his ear, causing him to grimace and cover said body part. When he removed his hand, as the pain slowly gave away, something odd had appeared in his palm. A... toe!? How... And...

Confused as he was, Yang tried to put two and two together, and quickly came to the following conclusion, based on what had been observed (although since he hadn't observed the deputy's toe being shot off, his solution was based on a fawlty premise): He had gotten some peculiar illness, and the physical symptoms were the reason the lady hadn't greeted him back. Of course! It couldn't be in any other way. Luckily, there seemed to be a man just around the corner who possibly could help him: Doc Festy.

"What's up, Doc?" Yang said as he approached the quack, Because the matter was embarassing, he stepped really close to Festy, and quietely spoke to him with a really low, deep, and raspy voice, so that no one else would hear. Yang wanted his full attention, so he squinted and locked eyes with him.

"Does any of your tonics work against toes that suddenly start to grow out of your ears?" he asked, in a very seriuos (and I mean very serious, to the point of uintentionally sounding threatening) tone.

Blondie

The absent-minded Englishwoman meanwhile, had seen what had happened, but was mostly just pouty that she hadn't got to shoot anybody as well. It had after all been the sole reason she had stayed around even though all the men had warned her. Why should they get all the fun of shooting robbers for themselves? She wanted in on it too.

But before she really got the chance to speak her mind, things got heated when a devil-eyed gentleman came by. But now the fight was over, and everything was back to boring again.

But wait! Wasn't that a deputy? Blondie thought she might've heard someone say so a few seconds ago. In that case, he could give her the reward she had came to the sheriff's office for in the first place! Happy again, and having forgotten that she had released the wanted man not long at all ago, she limped after Booth. Better get on his good side by copying his manners, she figured.

"Oi! You there! Deputy! With the sheriff gone, I reckon it's you that owe me money now, right?"

[Louisianan]

Ozane Gaspard
After the bar encounter was over, Ozane decided to check out some sights around the town, there was the jail, nah. Ozane had seen enough of them, ooh, what was that straight ahead? The city hall, hmmm. Maybe the mayor was someone Ozane could fool. Ozane made his way to the building and asked to speak directly to the mayor!

[Voxija]

Yang Guo

The oriental outlaw didn't recieve any response from the lady he had greeted, which he found a bit impolite. Who did she think she was? Unless she wasn't arrogant, but shy, and...

"Ow! What in tarnation?" Yang felt a sudden pain in his ear, causing him to grimace and cover said body part. When he removed his hand, as the pain slowly gave away, something odd had appeared in his palm. A... toe!? How... And...

Confused as he was, Yang tried to put two and two together, and quickly came to the following conclusion, based on what had been observed (although since he hadn't observed the deputy's toe being shot off, his solution was based on a fawlty premise): He had gotten some peculiar illness, and the physical symptoms were the reason the lady hadn't greeted him back. Of course! It couldn't be in any other way. Luckily, there seemed to be a man just around the corner who possibly could help him: Doc Festy.

"What's up, Doc?" Yang said as he approached the quack, Because the matter was embarassing, he stepped really close to Festy, and quietely spoke to him with a really low, deep, and raspy voice, so that no one else would hear. Yang wanted his full attention, so he squinted and locked eyes with him.

"Does any of your tonics work against toes that suddenly start to grow out of your ears?" he asked, in a very seriuos (and I mean very serious, to the point of uintentionally sounding threatening) tone.

Doc Festy was jest hanging around when some random Chinese got up in his face. Okay. That was kind of scary for a bit. And then the Chinese stared at him. Doc was ready to flee.

When the Chinese asked about toes growing out of his ears, Doc almost laughed. Half in fear, half in shock. He almost told him about the gun fight, but a part of Doc Festy's brain started to work on its own accord, the part that always looked for money.

"Sure! I, I think I can find you something in this wagon!" Doc began shuffling, looking for an unlabeled tonic. "Ah, here it is!" It was an old purple bottle with a cork stopper, labeled simply "Doc Festy's Miracle Tonic". It was one of the oldest elixirs Doc had made, the last of its kind. Drinking it would probably kill ya.

"If you pour this bad baby into both of your ears—mind you, both of your ears—you'll never worry about toes coming out of your ears agin. And what's yer name? Prolly not Django. I don't wanna keep calling ya 'the Chinaman' in my head forever."

[Barapam]

Doc Festy was jest hanging around when some random Chinese got up in his face. Okay. That was kind of scary for a bit. And then the Chinese stared at him. Doc was ready to flee.

When the Chinese asked about toes growing out of his ears, Doc almost laughed. Half in fear, half in shock. He almost told him about the gun fight, but a part of Doc Festy's brain started to work on its own accord, the part that always looked for money.

"Sure! I, I think I can find you something in this wagon!" Doc began shuffling, looking for an unlabeled tonic. "Ah, here it is!" It was an old purple bottle with a cork stopper, labeled simply "Doc Festy's Miracle Tonic". It was one of the oldest elixirs Doc had made, the last of its kind. Drinking it would probably kill ya.

"If you pour this bad baby into both of your ears—mind you, both of your ears—you'll never worry about toes coming out of your ears agin. And what's yer name? Prolly not Django. I don't wanna keep calling ya 'the Chinaman' in my head forever."

"Yeah, how did you know?" Yang asked, happily surprised. "The name's Yang Guo, not Django. And I must say that I appreciate that you prefer proper names over racist remarks."

Something that he didn't appreciate quite as much was the look of that bottle that was offered. It didn't seem to be either safe or tested. Not that Yang was unwilling to try it, he just didn't have any inclination to buy a pig in a poke, and waste dollars on something that in the end might turn out to be completely worthless. He thought for a moment, and came up with an idea. A risky idea, perhaps. Its success depended completely on the notion that Doc Festy wasn't the most progressive soul, despite the fact that his language a few seconds ago pointed in the very opposite direction.

Yang put his palms together, quickly bowed, and exaggerated his accent with added stereotypisms.

"Thank yuo so much, Mistel Doctol! How can I evel lepay yuo?" Yang paused, still bowing with his eyes on the ground, and when enough time had gone by (say, a second or so) he rose up again, with a bewildered look on his face, as if he had come up with a really good idea and was surprised himself over just how good it was.

"I know! I see yuo not have many body palts in jals! Bad fol business! In China arways body palts on dispray!" That was a lie, but Yang hoped that Festy didn't know that. He bowed down again, and held up the deputy's offshoot with both hands, towards the tonic seller.

"Ord Chinese wisdom says eal-toes have magic healing powels and bling good ruck! Toe bad in eal, it hult, but can make medicine off it! I offa yuo this toe! Yuo pleselve in jal with riquol, get many customels! Rike Ilish shamlock! Ol make tonic, cule maaany diseases!

We have a dear?"

[Talchyon]

By the medicine man's wagon
Tater Frye

Tater had been somewhat surprised that the mysterious insulter of Miss Sarah had supposedly vanished into thin air. Neither the medicine man nor the silent new guy had seen where he had gone at all.

Doc Festy was still reeling from what he had just saw. A man had challenged another man to a duel, but nothing came of it but being shot in the toe. Doc hadn't seen anything else, bein' focused on the duel.

"No sir. I ain't seen anyone. And do you want to buy any of my medicines, tonics, miracle elixirs? They can cure cholera, coronavirus, cancer, even the common cold. This one can even raise the dead. I learned most of my trade from an Indian medicine man. You interested?"

Tater's face scrunched up in confusion and his mouth opened a bit. "Huh? Coronawhat? That sounds like some Mexican kind of beer or something. But, uh, no thanks, I guess."

And then all of a sudden, a very familiar looking person came to the medicine man's wagon... only, he wasn't talking like his friend and compadre at all!

Doc Festy said, "And what's yer name? Prolly not Django. I don't wanna keep calling ya 'the Chinaman' in my head forever."

"Yeah, how did you know?" Yang asked, happily surprised. "The name's Yang Guo, not Django. And I must say that I appreciate that you prefer proper names over racist remarks."

Something that he didn't appreciate quite as much was the look of that bottle that was offered. It didn't seem to be either safe or tested. Not that Yang was unwilling to try it, he just didn't have any inclination to buy a pig in a poke, and waste dollars on something that in the end might turn out to be completely worthless. He thought for a moment, and came up with an idea. A risky idea, perhaps. Its success depended completely on the notion that Doc Festy wasn't the most progressive soul, despite the fact that his language a few seconds ago pointed in the very opposite direction.

Yang put his palms together, quickly bowed, and exaggerated his accent with added stereotypisms.

"Thank yuo so much, Mistel Doctol! How can I evel lepay yuo?" Yang paused, still bowing with his eyes on the ground, and when enough time had gone by (say, a second or so) he rose up again, with a bewildered look on his face, as if he had come up with a really good idea and was surprised himself over just how good it was.

"I know! I see yuo not have many body palts in jals! Bad fol business! In China arways body palts on dispray!" That was a lie, but Yang hoped that Festy didn't know that. He bowed down again, and held up the deputy's offshoot with both hands, towards the tonic seller.

"Ord Chinese wisdom says eal-toes have magic healing powels and bling good ruck! Toe bad in eal, it hult, but can make medicine off it! I offa yuo this toe! Yuo pleselve in jal with riquol, get many customels! Rike Ilish shamlock! Ol make tonic, cule maaany diseases!

We have a dear?"

Tater's jaw dropped as he stared at the man who was the spittin' image of his friend, Buckaroo Bunjin. "But... but... yer name's not Yang Go, or whatever you said. You are Buckaroo Bunjin. And you've been my closest friend from ever since we were kids. Kids! Oh, Buck... Is that what jail did to you? I mean, I'm glad the sheriff let you out an' all, but I can't believe you're saying these things!"

---

Mayor's office
Mayor Jeremiah Slick

The sudden opening of the door to his office caught the corrupt mayor by surprise. "Guards! Guards!", was his thought, as if he were some tyrannical medieval king. His face rivaled that of most deer when caught in wagon lights. But the moment was quick for Mayor Jeremiah Slick, and he got his politician's smile out again.

"Why, hello again, dear citizen!"

Mayors Office, East Zilch
Sigmund von Schoppen

Noticing that he had forgotten his Hat in the Mayor's Office, Sigmund had gone from the River to the Main street. He went by the Saloon were he heard people talking about a "Gold Rush" in East Zilch, he wanted to correct them but he wanted to first collect his Hat. While he goed up the stairs he looked at a map of the Mineral Deposits which he wanted to give to the Mayor anyway. As he knocked at the door he heard the sound of Paper being rolled up, but since the Mayor was a government entity he wouldn´t question it, and with that he entered the Office.

"Hello there I have forgotten my Hat" He picket his Square academic cap up, and took the map out of his pocket "And here is the Map of the Mineral Deposits, so Tschüsele!" With that he left the Office [again].

His smile flashed, while his eyes glared holes into the old geologist. "Of course, fellow man. Good thing you remembered your hat. And I look forward to examining your map!"

As the man left, Mayor Slick's face matched his eyes as he glared at the closed door. As if he needed another map. This more realistic map of geological mineral deposits was exactly what Jeremiah Slick was trying to fool everyone into not believing. Absent-mindedly, he started rolling it up while he thought of a way he could make the real map seem like a fraud. Accuse the geologist of fraud, perhaps? Character assassination? (Which, granted, wasn't as politically satisfying as real assassinations, but it did serve its purposes). Or maybe just call anyone who talked about it a spreader of fake news? Hmm. That could work.

However, as he was rolling up a map, the mayor heard the sound of another voice. Why were all these people wanting to talk to him on a Sunday afternoon of all days?

Ozane Gaspard
After the bar encounter was over, Ozane decided to check out some sights around the town, there was the jail, nah. Ozane had seen enough of them, ooh, what was that straight ahead? The city hall, hmmm. Maybe the mayor was someone Ozane could fool. Ozane made his way to the building and asked to speak directly to the mayor!

Annoyed again, the mayor put the real map of mineral deposits into his desk, next to the other one as he called out to the empty waiting area, "Yes, friendly citizen. How can I help you?" However, his mind was thinking of ways that he could cut the conversation short and steer this person away. He had plans to set in motion.

---

Miss Sarah's saloon
The newspapermen and Beaux Lagged

Sarah didn't trust these Yankee newspaper journos. She knew it, right down to their too-clean suits. And they ordered sarsaparilla too, rather than real drinks. These newspapermen were sus. Sarah served them, of course. They were customers. But when they asked where the mayor's office is, Sarah let her true feelings shine through.

"The mayor's office! Reporters from the East! Rumors! Why, you'll destroy the peace of the town! I won't have you tramping around East Zilch looking for a scoop. And if you publish your libel back in the North, you'll bring crazy types into this town. Crazy types who'll shoot everyone who ain't dead already and who'll break my furniture without paying for it! So, what're these rumors you're investigating?" Sarah couldn't help it if she was curious.

The newspapermen from back East were affronted with the caustic remarks of the saloon owner. The lady had a tongue to her, that was clear. They were shocked to say the least. "We do not print libel!," they said with a huff. "We print stories that are true, verified by experts, on the highest journalistic integrity. So if you cannot help us, we will just ask others where to find the mayor." And, finishing their sarsaparillas, they put them down on the bar and walked over to one side of the room, far from the bar. They were bitterly sharing their accounts of the tongue-lashing they just received, when an old grizzled man approached them. H was dressed all in animal skins, and had been trying without much success to sell hides to drunks.

Beaux said to the newsmen, "Oui oui, would'a yieu lahke to bahy some hahdes? Low cohst. Ah hahve rahhbit, and beayver, and moohse."

One of the newsmen, just to amuse the old coot and perhaps get a source said, "Do you have any badger skins?"

Beaux responded, "Badgers? Badgers? Ah don't got no steenkeeng badgers!"

The newsman just grinned anyway and said, "Never mind then. We were looking to find the mayor's office. We hear there may be gold here in this town!"

Beaux looked at them curiously. "Ahy know where ze mayieur ees. But gold?"

The other newsman nodded. "Gold. We hear it's in the river. East Zilch is soon going to have a gold boom, and we are going to cover it all!"

Beaux's eyes frosted over with the idea of gold flowing through the town. Where there was gold, there were gold miners. Where there were gold miners, there are gold miners who need to stay warm. Where people need to stay warm, they might buy hides. And if they need to buy hides, Beaux had a bunch! Or, there was the possibility that Beaux could just go off and become a gold miner himself. He had laid traps down by the river. It was possible that he had already gotten gold in the river in some of those already! This could be the answer to all his problems!

Beaux smiled at the two newsmen. "Ahy can take you to ze mayieur. Fohhlohh me."