Outside the saloon, a crowd had been gathering and hot words soon turned to shouting, and looked to turn into something else. In the din of the crowd, the bullet like sound that came from the raven perched on the establishment's sign that hung outside the door was all but lost. Those closest by gave the bird a strange look, but even they seemed more interested in what was going on between the men in the middle of the circle. Down the street, Daniel and Clementine had followed a trail of tracks into the street where they were lost in the sight and smells of a well traveled area.

By the time Caleb walked out of the saloon, he saw that the crowd seemed to be yelling about a fight that was going on. A burly man was physically laying into a younger man in the middle of the road.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:18, Wed 06 Mar 2013.

At that moment, the man who was clearly winning the fight looked down at the man who now lay on the ground, lifted up his leg and brought it down hard on the man's arm, causing a sickening crunch.

The young man laying there helplessly at his attacker's feet in the middle of the crowd cried out in pain.

With a single motion, Morgan drew his peacemaker and fired it once in the air.

Keeping the weapon in hand, he addressed the gathering. "My name is Deputy Marshal Morgan, and I would appreciate it if everyone would calm down and stop what they're doing. NOW."

He glanced down at the young man on the ground. The crack he had heard told him that the man was likely badly hurt and would need a doctor's help, but Morgan knew that he needed to be certain the crowd was settled first before he could assist him.

"Would anyone like to tell me exactly what's going on out here?"

Following the fight as it brawled out beside the saloon, Korpi hopped to the end of her perch and tried being louder, Clemya style:
"WOOF! WOOF WAF WAF WOUF WOOF WOOF!"

Morgan's shot caused the raven to crouch, startled. Seeing who it was, she tried to pretend she hadn't jumped at all, whetting her beak casually against the sign.

"Zhliev diaboli," she told him, in a voice like someone striking lead plates together at the bottom of a crypt.

Morgan's gunshot in the air caused the crowd to part, making way for him to approach the group. Ralph backed away from the man he had been beating.

Just as that happens, from the other side, another gun cried out into the night. The crowd parted again and a man walked out into the space that opened up around him. He holstered his smokewagon, though a few of the men around him had their hands nearby their weapons, as if waiting for a chance to draw.

"Now, leave that man be, deputy. He was just defendin' himself from that troublemakin' nigger there. We were just mindin' our own business havin' a drink and that boy comes in and starts callin' us names, sayin' things about our mothers as ain't proper. So we figure we oughta defend our good names." He glared at everyone standing around, and then at Caleb.

Korpi's hackles rose, reading threat in the raggedy iron devil's stance. Silent now, she flew up to the next building and began working across the roof above the level of the street lighting to get behind the man, black on black.

The drunk stumbled through the crowd, and into the clearing, seemingly oblivious to what had been going on. He grabbed Walter’s broken arm and quickly set it. When Walter’s scream of agony died out, the drunk stood back up and muttered, "broken arm, needed setting," speaking in his usual aristocratic Carolinian accent. He then drew himself up to his full height and began to walk away with the deliberate, oversteady steps of a man who's had too much liquor. He came up to Morgan as if to say something, but ended up just releasing a loud belch, and grinned like a canary-eating cat.

It wasn't the first time that Morgan had been confronted with an angry crowd, the lone voice of the law amongst a growing rabble. But this was likely, in his estimation, the worst. Dodge was a powderkeg of lingering hostilities, wounds that had opened up long before the War that stubbornly refused to heal. Morgan immediately understood that one wrong word, one misinterpreted action could inspire violence. Above all, Morgan wanted to avoid bloodshed.

When the man had fired his weapon, Morgan's immediate instinct was to shoot, momentarily presuming he was being attacked. He had his gun trained on the man in an instant, but was thankful that the presence of the crowd made him hesitate when he saw the impulsive fool holster the pistol. The Marshal made no such concession, keeping his own firearm in his hand.

Glancing up, he noticed Korpi flutter into the shadows behind the newcomer as he spoke. "Well, I'm not completely alone," he thought gratefully.

Morgan did his utmost to remain expressionless, despite the flash of anger he felt over the man's racist remark. Even before the man had finished talking, the Marshal felt his spirit sink. Stubbornness filled every word the man had said. The kind of stubbornness that could lead to a tragic outcome. Morgan felt certain that anything he said would likely fall on deaf ears.

But he was the law. And the law didn't always get to choose its battles.

"I'm certain you believe this man was only acting in self defense, " Morgan said, his voice calm, "But from what I just witnessed, it didn't appear so. When I approached, I saw him strike this other fellow when he was already on the ground and helpless, and from the sound of it, he broke some of his bones."

"Of course, I may not know all of the facts. I'm more than willing to listen to anything that anyone here saw that might help us figure out what the truth is. If this man is truly innocent, he needn't fear telling his story to a Judge."

When the drunk approached, Morgan nodded silently at his report, hoping that the man's inebriation hadn't prevented him from setting the arm properly.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:36, Thu 07 Mar 2013.

Clementine was frustrated. She'd been able to pick up a scent, down behind the saloon with the broken glass, then followed it east behind the buildings, then south around a building that smelled of ink and paper. Then the scent rached a big road, and got lost in all the other scents. She tried to pick it up again...but it was lost.

She looked at Danial, and whimpered. She was trying to be a good dog! Really she was!

"He's a liar!" called out an old woman. During the daytime, she had been seen by most of these folks holding up signs about temperance, and shook her head sadly at the drunk. She walked right up to Caleb, and pointed to Jake.

"This man is telling lies. That young man, the negro, was just strolling along and minding his own business and they came and accosted him! When he refused the fight him, all this nonsense here started." She pointed to Ralphie and to the fallen Walter.

"You callin' my brother a liar, old lady? You know what I think? You're the liar!" he said, shoving the little old lady backward.

The old lady flew backward at the push from the muscular man, knocking into the drunk, and tried to get a handhold on him to steady herself but ended up falling into the horse trough, and taking him with her.

The tension in the crowd seemed to break a little as a general laughter started in the crowd at the comical sight. The old woman and the drunk got up slowly after being drenched in water. But it didn't take long for the tension to come back.

"It's her word against ours, deputy," he said, pulling his hand down near his pistol grip. "What's it gonna be?"

The raven picked out the most common noise the angry iron devils were making and joined in: a voice sang out from high in the shadows behind Jake. A voice like the deadly crack of a snow-laden branch, knowing no human pity.

"Liar."

The Marshal returned his gun to its holster.

"I'm afraid that I'm inclined to take you and your brother in," Morgan said, taking three long strides directly toward Jake Simpkins, his eyes locked on the man, "And let a Judge hear what he, you, that young man he was beating on, and this lady have to say. If you've done nothing wrong, I'm sure the Judge will release you both. Otherwise, you're both going to spend some time in jail."

Today, just as every day, Morgan had held it in. There had been struggles. The terrors visited on Hays. The horrendous murder. Even Darling implying he didn't give a damn about helping the girl. Through it all he had stayed calm. In the long years since that night in Missouri he had learned to remain focused, steady, level headed. Very simply, he had no choice.

But now, confronted with the Simpkins brothers and their eagerness for violence, surrounded by an uneasy crowd of innocents, Morgan did what he rarely allowed.

He let it slip.

Standing two steps away, he let Jake Simpkins have a glimpse of what he really was.

Morgan spoke, his voice deep, almost unearthly. "Or we can settle it here. And you and your brother will die. You'll die right where you stand."

"Which do you want?"

Unsure what was going on or where the others were, the shaman dealt with what he could hear and see, loping across the open space to circle in nearer to Morgan. Those at the crowd's edge that did not recoil in confusion from the wild white hair and the young man beneath were gently pushed aside with his hilt.

A confrontation seemed to be in progress, but Sky Dog was distracted by a detail closer to him, moving to her side after giving the big thug nearby some seconds of warning glare not to draw on Morgan, tapping the metal of the star at his throat with the butt of his knife. Colour was back in the shaman's cheeks.
"You are very wet, grandmother! How is it your people do not help you? If you are not near your house, perhaps you will go into Dog Eye's building, yes? He will allow me to make chai there, I think."

Although his words were soft and concerned, the tension in his frame did not let up; nor was his attention entirely diverted from the nearer thug whilst Morgan faced down the leader.