Conveniently located right across the railroad tracks from a number of saloons and down the street from an establishment for those interested in the most soiled doves in Dodge City was the city jail. Most troublemakers didn't stay here for more than a spell, usually just long enough to be hauled in front of Judge Moreland. On this particular morning most of the cells were open, save for one in which Vinton Radcliffe awaited his own showdown with justice.

Right across the way sat one of the most well known law men in town, Wyatt Earp. There was a bench, a chair and a couple of stools across from the table that made do as a desk. On the wall were several Wanted posters. One poster depicted a thin beardless man with smoked glasses by the name of Chuckles Ryan, promising a reward of $500, wanted dead or alive for murder. Clay Allison, a vicious grizzled looking man with a mustache was wanted for the same amount and the same thing. There was $300 on Black Bart, a stagecoach robber, and another $500 dead or alive for Sam Bass. The James Gang featured fairly prominently on the wall. A whole $10,000 was on Jesse's head, Frank James had $2,000 and some of the others had $1,000 each. At the end there was a small wanted poster for a youth named Luke Cain for $100, wanted alive for train robbery.

At the moment, the deputy didn't seem too concerned by the posters, instead focused on the man in front of him. A strange fellow by all accounts. Some kinda Injun, if he reckoned right from what the fella had told him. He had first been called down to deal with the man who apparently had insisted on exorcising the property of a slaughterhouse and was making something of a nuisance of himself in doing so. Having gone down to peacably remove the man...well, it turned out that the Injun had been onto something.

"Thanks for stopping by. You did us a good one with that slaughterhouse the other day. This isn't nothin' like that, but you seemed handy in a tight spot so I thought you might be interested in the opportunity. I don't recall whether I've mentioned it, but I can offer $10 a day - from today until dawn on the fifth. There's a certain part of town I won't have manpower to cover for the celebrations, and I just wanted a few tough folks to act as deputies - keep things quiet for visitors."

The pale man laughed, and the tin beasts sewn to his shirt clattered after.
"What is ten dollars?" he asked, eyes the thin blue of a clear winter sky meeting Earp's, then swiftly roving to the join of the ceiling as he paced about, caged-wolf quiet in moccasins. The shaman did not trust buildings with corners.

"Do we eat fresh meat, are bandits chasing us for our riches?" A grin suggested Sky Dog believed ten dollars a day fell somewhere between these states, but it didn't matter all that much.

The sunlight caught like witched flame in the greenish glass of the goggles around the shaman's neck as he paced back into shadow. "Maybe we are tough guys, yes. Ha! Ha! Maybe. I like you, I will think on it. These men-" white fingers traced across the posters, "-if we see them with the many nothings, I bring you the hairs from their little heads, yes? Like the kossaki - the Sioux, for their enemies?" Sky Dog looked across at Earp, the grin half-there, an almost-joke.

He quirked an eyebrow at the man. Surely even having been a native he had to understand the value of money, or at least the purpose. He'd done some trades with them before. Of course, this man didn't look like any Injun he'd ever seen before. At first, he thought that perhaps the man was part white, but it seemed more like he was just an albino. He'd known an albino fella back in Wichita. Didn't do too well in the sun. There was something about this man though, the way he'd tried to help back at the Slaughterhouse. If he was new to white society, Earp thought he might owe it to the man to see that he found his way well enough in it.

"Dollars are what white folks use to trade for things with each other. Except instead of giving away beads or furs for food or firewater, we give away this stuff." He pulled out an example of a little money, and held it up.

"With ten dollars, you can buy good meat and good firewater. Or you can buy the cheap kind and make it last a damn sight longer. Depends on whether you plan to get ten more dollars after, I suppose or just hunt it yourself. If you're in a place like Dodge, you'll need the dollars at some point. You can use it to trade with white people anywhere. Almost anywhere - depends on where you're gonna travel."

He looked at the man to see whether he seemed to understand or not, before looking at the posters. "Not all of them need to be killed. Some of 'em ain't worth money dead, just alive like the kid down there. Hell, if you can bring 'em alive that's better. I can't do much with their scalps. If you kill 'em, bring 'em in dead or I guess maybe take their head. I fear some of them may be long gone."
This message was lightly edited by the player at 17:46, Mon 07 Jan 2013.