This is the town's most popular saloon (maybe because of the saloon girls). Though it can't boast the Mexican cuisine it has a full fledged kitchen like all good saloon's of the time, many gambling tables, and a room or three upstairs to rent for the night or for...whatever.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:59, Thu 25 July 2013.

Battles walked into the Shady Lady with one thought on his mind. Bacon! He paused at the swinging doors as he walked in to let his eyes adjust to the darker interior, then headed straight to the bar. There was only one other occupant in the place and he was face down on a table and looked like he'd been there all night. Town drunk most likely.

There was nobody tending the bar so Battles assumed they were in the kitchen where the heavenly smell of bacon wafted from. No matter. He leaned over the bar and grabbed a bottle. Tequila. Not Whiskey. Oh well. Good enough. He didn't bother grabbing a glass and drank straight from the bottle.
It burned going down and Battles slammed the bottle down on the counter.

"Can I get some service here?"

“You have somewhere to be that you can’t wait?” Molly retorted as she pushed through the batwing doors that led from the kitchen. “Your shoutin’ won’t make me move any faster.”

Molly Malone eyed the stranger who glowered at her as she came near, taking her own sweet time so that he could get a good look at what was coming and rile him some. Peeving a man was how she kept herself at a distance and made business go slow; and it bolstered her confidence so that she felt she was the one in control.

“You look as fierce as the devil himself, mister; but I’ve seen worse than you,” she laughed huskily, eying his guns and his get-up as she placed a shot glass alongside the bottle. “That tequila is sold by the glass or by the bottle, whichever way you like your poison.”

She stopped talking then giving herself time to appraise him, needing to know. Molly fancied herself a fair judge of most folk. A thick growth of whiskers and an eye patch obscured the gunman’s features, but the threat in his gaze was palpable. Grit dusted his clothes like it dusted everything when the weather was dry, but something told her that the menace she saw in him wasn’t anything that a visit to the bathhouse might wash away.

“This legitimate?” Molly playfully flicked the bit of shine on his vest with the tip of her finger; deciding at last to smile as her Irish-green eyes locked on the bluest blue.

He was fast. Very fast. No sooner had she flicked the badge on his chest then he had her hand in his grip, her index finger still extended where it had flicked his badge. He could have easily broken her finger if he had wanted.

"I hate Tequila. I want whiskey. And not some watered down rotgut. And I want breakfast and cold beer. Bacon if you have it but ham will do."

His one eye blazed at her, and he didn't seem to mind he was being a bit brutal with his grip on her hand.

"And yes. The badge is real."

He let go of her hand and slowly pulled the pistol from his left hip and set it on the bar.

"Now about breakfast?"

Startled by his cruelty, Molly would have slapped him hard then and there if she had thought she could get it done; but the bastard was on his guard and Molly figured he would quickly block her swing before she could lay a hand on him. Yet she stood her ground, assaulting him with a look and a sneer that made it plain he wasn’t worth the trouble he might bring her.

“There was no cause for that,” Molly hissed through even white teeth as she slowly raised her hand so that he might see the red mark of his grip where he had bruised her. “But then again some men are just mean to the bone.” Then, quicker than he expected she might be, Molly snatched back the bottle of tequila and placed it behind the polished mahogany long bar that had come second-hand from St. Louis and was the pièce de résistance that set the saloon apart and above the rest.

“If ‘tis breakfast your wantin’ then you best get movin’, me boyo . . .” Molly’s temper was up although she remained in control. Her voice was husky and threateningly soft, only her Irish intonation revealing her upset, “For you’ll be gettin’ nothin’ from me here and now,” she smiled again but her emerald eyes were as cold as ice. “You see the door . . . there is a cantina down the road,” she said before locking her jaw tight. And although Molly’s heart was thrumming to beat the band, she met the stranger’s steely gaze and did not flinch.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:56, Sat 10 Aug 2013.

A slow smile came to John's lips. He looked at the barkeep with his one good eye, and out of the blue, he winked.

"I AM as fierce as the devil himself, Sister. I have to be in my line of work. I'd be dead by now otherwise." Battles looked to where she was holding her wrist. "I'm...uh...I'm sorry about that. Sometimes I move on instinct before I think about things." Slowly he pulled his revolver back off the bar and re-holstered it. "You have my true apology, Miss. I'll be seeking my breakfast elsewhere. I am earnestly sorry for the trouble I've caused. I'm saddle sore and tired but that's no excuse. I'd probably have shot any other man I seen treat you thus. I'm truly ashamed. G'day to you, Miss."

Battles turned and red faced headed to the door.

Molly had been expecting mean from the one-eyed devil, and she had set herself to be as fierce as Saint Michael himself if the bullying gunman came at her again, so she was caught off guard when he winked at her, and she was speechless when she realized that his grumble of words was an apology.

He was at the door when Molly thought to call out to him; she had sensed something tender under the brash scruff, something vulnerable which had softened her heart and melted the emerald ice in her eyes. Yet Molly kept silent unsure after so many times hurt; only staring after him as she rubbed her bruised hand. 'If he looks at me,' she bargained, 'then I will beckon him in.'

It was only as he reached the door that John remembered his manners. Turning back slowly he tipped his hat.

"Beggin' your pardon again, Miss. I won't be troubling you further."

Battles paused briefly before pushing his way through the bat wing doors. What had he been thinking? To many months on the outlaw trail had made him to hard. He looked back briefly and tipped his hat again then made to leave...

“Hold on, mister,” Molly called out at the last moment, a wry smile crooking her soft mouth as her teasing glance met his gaze, “If you think you get to sashay on out a’ here without puttin’ a nickel down for that swig of tequila, you’ve got another think comin’,” Molly laughed invitingly as she curled her finger beckoning him back.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:19, Mon 29 July 2013.

Battles sighed as he slowly shook his head and walked back to the bar, reaching into his pants pocket for a ready coin. Here he was a lawman and he'd damn near stole a drink from a saloon. He was tired. No more over-night rides for him. Maybe he was getting old before his time.

"I'm sorry, Miss." Battles said again as he tossed a half dollar on the bar. "It's been a long over-night ride and my wits just ain't about me. For your troubles and my poor manners. You said there was a place down the street I could get some breakfast? If I might inquire, I noticed the US Marshall's office across the street. Is there a town sheriff or constable, or should I be reporting in to the marshal once I've had my vittles? I like to pay my respects to the local law when I'm in town."

As Molly listened to the stranger talk she recognized what had been indiscernible at first, that there was a decent man beneath the scars and guns and leather bandolier which were the devil's armor. The notion shed a ray of light upon him, enough so that Molly put aside her first impression and set about satisfying the customer.

"Whiskey not rotgut," Molly's honeyed laughter was soothing as she set the bottle and a shot glass before him. “The beer and bacon need fetchin’ so you stand or sit as it pleases you while I see about makin’ you happy.” There was wile in Molly’s beguiling which may have been business as usual or something else entirely.

“The marshal’s office is down the street to the left, near enough for when there’s trouble but not so close as to put a damper on the good times, if you know what I mean,” Molly answered easily, her smiling eyes sweet on him as she scooped up the coin with the hand that had turned livid from his roughness. “Marshal Jericho comes by like clockwork, you tarry long enough you’re bound to meet.”

Battles wasn't sure what to make of the barmaid. She had a mercurial personality.

"Well...then... if I may still get breakfast here, add the ham to the eggs and bacon. And some fried 'taters if you have them?  I like my eggs over the 'taters. And a biscuit. I'd surely appreciate a biscuit with butter and honey. I've eaten nothing but venison jerky for two days. I've a powerful hunger. But I'll take what you got, mind you."

Battles slung his leg back over the bar stool he had occupied earlier, then paused briefly, looking thoughtful.

"Uhm....did you say Marshal Jericho? I've done some fightin' with a man named Jericho in the war with the Apache. But is was Major Jericho. He was a cavalry officer. You wouldn't know his full name would you? Can't be to many Jericho's about?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:10, Tue 30 July 2013.

"Cy is Cy as far as I know. When we talk it's not about where he's been." Molly replied, her answer saying everything and nothing which was her way. Then she flashed a breathtaking smile as she backed away from the bar. "I'll see to your breakfast now."

The food was hot and tasty, just as he had ordered and quick to arrive; but the hand that served up the plate was not Molly Malone's.

Battles couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a breakfast. It had been a month or two at the least. On the trail he'd been riding you ate what was at hand when time allowed. Breakfast was usually coffee and beans, and sometime jerky. In fact, lunch and dinner were pretty much the same if you got them. The occasional rabbit or deer if you were lucky would cut your trail. He'd found one night when he'd set his bedroll down in the wrong place and was particularly hungry, even rattlesnake made good eatin'.

But though he rode the fabled outlaw trail, John J. Battles was no outlaw, so he didn't poach from the few who farmed the area, or steal cattle, though he'd sorely have liked a steak. Steak. Even though he was plumb full from the breakfast he'd just finished Battles knew what he wanted for lunch or dinner already. He was in a town now so no reason he couldn't have three squares and a cot, right?

Battles pushed away from the table and stood, dropping two silver dollar pieces on the table to pay for the meal and bottle. The fiery Irish redhead hadn't brought him his meal, nor had he seen her since but he imagined that was because of the rude way he'd behaved. He'd been out on that trail learning the lay of the land to long. He knew the first half dollar would have payed for the meal, but he'd meant that for the young lady not for the food. He didn't imagine the bottle cost more than two dollars but he'd make it good later if it did. Hell a gallon of whiskey could be got for three dollars. The expense should be covered he reckoned.

He grabbed the full bottle of whiskey from the table. He hadn't had a drop because he figured he'd already been mean enough, though he still planned on having his fill. He'd had a beer which he'd been gratified to find had indeed been cold, but coffee had actually washed down such a fine breakfast best so he'd stuck to that. For now.

Turning, Battles headed for the door, but looking back hoping for one more glance at the redheaded firebrand, he very nearly plowed over a young cowhand coming through the door.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Mister. Careless of me." Battles said tipping his hat, but checking to make sure he still had a firm grip on his whiskey bottle.

As he climbed the few steps up onto the sidewalk in front of the saloon, Clay couldn’t help but gaze back to towards the stage office and wonder after the young woman, she was after all the first female he’d seen in a while.

His periphery vision and more than a little instinct drug his attention back the entrance to the saloon, as a rough looking character sporting an eye patch steps through the doors although he is looking behind him "Beggin' yer pardon, Mister.Careless of me.” He says.  Clay deftly sidesteps the approaching man “’Ant no bother mister, was part distracted myself “he replies as the stranger passes him.

Balancing a tray of clean glasses and mugs with one hand and carrying a pot of fresh hot coffee with the other, Molly backed through the bat-wing doors that led from the cookery to the main of the saloon with a practiced  swish of her hip, leveraging the doors wide enough for her to pass through without calamity. She had come and gone in just such a sassy manner too many times to count, and the many who looked up to watch Molly make such good use of her God-given talent appreciated the sight of her every time.

Molly came this time with her smile wide and ready, but when there was no one to witness the pretty picture that she made with her arms raised and her fine, full tits high and mighty the smile that had curled her lips faded away. Setting down her burdens Molly pushed back the silken tumble of coppery waves that cascaded about her shoulders, and looking about for who wasn't there she exhaled a soft sigh. Then with a last glance toward the front of the saloon, and with an ear cocked to hear what next might be coming through the wide swinging doors, Molly made her way to the far corner of the gambling floor where the last of the previous night’s leftover remained.

“’Tis a fine day out there and well past time for you to rise and shine, Amos,” Molly crooned softly, gently poking at the sprawled and stupefied form of Amos McCoy. It was not the first time that the worn and weary miner had drunk himself into a rotgut coma and had passed the night in sonorous sleep, his arms and legs spread wide and awkward with his head face down on the poker table that had seen his last cent. Yet, concerned as she was about Amos, Molly’s head came up quickly when footfalls sounded on the planked wooden floor.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:05, Sat 03 Aug 2013.

Pausing momentarily to let his eyes adjust to the dimly lit area prior to entering the saloon, he hears the sweet sound of a woman’s voice, although he can’t make out what is said.  Inside he scans the barroom and quickly locates the woman standing next to a motionless figure sprawled on a card table.

Tipping his hat he adds “’Morning Mam” as he makes his way up to the bar, reaching the bar he takes out his tobacco and his fingers deftly fashions the leaf and rice paper into a well practiced cigarette, and striking a match on his pants touches the flame to the weed and inhales deeply.

As was her way, Molly scrutinized the newcomer from the crown of his wide-brimmed hat to the stirrup-scraped heels of his dusty boots, not missing the pistol holstered on his right side or the lethal-looking knife sheathed on his hip and everything else that was in between. Molly never took anything for granted, and just then she was on her guard. But Molly liked the sound of his greeting, and when she was satisfied that the stranger was more than likely friendly enough she spoke up pleasantly.

“I’ll be with you soon as I rouse this sorry soul and see ‘im out the door,” Molly flashed  a friendly smile to the man at the long bar when she caught his eye. “There’s a fresh pot of coffee and a clean mug right there just waitin’ for you,” Molly’s honeyed voice carried across the hall. “Help yourself if you have a mind to . . .” Then Molly turned back to the work of wrangling Amos to his feet.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 00:09, Mon 05 Aug 2013.

Clay could feel the woman measuring his sand as he approached the bar, with his fingers working the tobacco he turned to the woman “how far you got to go with that gent, If it’s only out front, it don’t look much like he’s going to care if it’s you or me what’s carries him, and as I’m already dirty Mam, be my pleasure to help.”

Without really waiting for a reply he started over to the table with a friendly smile on his sun darkened and dusty face.  “Allow me” he said as he reached under the drunks arm and lifted him with relative ease, with one arm around his waist the other atop of his shoulder he headed for the light.

Making the doors he turned right and finding a quite, shady spot out of the way, next to the saloon, he set the man down in a sitting position with a “Rest there Amigo” as he headed back into the bar and helped himself to a strong cup of hot coffee, It tasted dam good he’d run out of coffee 4-5 days back.  Turning back from the coffee pot he look for the woman.

Molly was right there before the stranger had cause to look too far. “That was mighty fine of you to help Amos out so gentlemanly-like without bein’ asked,” she said, her glance searching beneath the wide brimmed hat pulled down low to see what she might find. Molly wasn’t one for pretense so she made no effort to hide the fact that his manners had impressed her.

“One good turn deserves another, cowboy,” she said with a  laugh smooth as silk to his ears as she slid a basin of cool fresh water before the accommodating Samaritan; and then Molly handed over a clean cloth which she had  neatly pressed. “You look as though you’ve come a far piece from the dust you’re wearing . . . the wind whips up the dry prairie something fierce this time of year,” Molly remarked offhandedly without passing judgment on the hard ride that appeared to be covering him.

“Could be you’d like to wipe away some of that grit before we get down to the business of seeing to what you’re after . . .” Molly said, her Irish eyes twinkling as an irrepressible smile slowly curved her mouth to reveal a flash of even white teeth and the dimple in her cheek.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:52, Mon 05 Aug 2013.

He couldn't help smiling back at her she had that sweet infectious smile "much obliged mam" he said as he great fully took the bowl and cloth "I apologies, I must look a sight, I guess I been on the trail a whiles to get here.  I tried the bath house but it's a little early for them yet I guess."


Removing his hat and placing it on the counter, he scoops up a few hand fulls of water and gently splashes them over hs face, then pats it dry.  "hopefully that makes me a bit more presentable mam" he adds as he roughly slaps the dust off his shirt and pants withhis hat, he ccan't help but let out a little chuckle as he watched the small clouds of dust float quietly away to eventually land on floor a short distance away, yes he'd definitely been on the trail a while.

finishing off his coffee he asked "Mam I was hoping you could tell me what time the general store opens and where I might find a room for the night" and then suddenly remembering his manners "Sorry mam I guess I been alone so long I plum fotgot my manners the names  Taylor, Clay Taylor. "

“And I’m Molly Malone,” she answered with a little laugh and a warm smile that conveyed how pleased she was to make his acquaintance. “The likes of you are more than welcome, Mister Taylor,” Molly said as she cleaned up after him and then replenished his coffee. “Some days it seems to me that Escondido is smack dab in the middle of the road from Perdition to No Return with every weary cowboy brushing off trail dust in this saloon.” She laughed softly taking any sting there might be from her words, but for a moment there was a trace of sorrow in her voice and a heavy lifting of her shoulders as she sighed that might make a man who noticed such things realize that Molly was weary.

“There are rooms to be had in this fine establishment,” Molly tipped her chin pointing out the wide staircase that led to the open gallery on the second level. “Behind every door there is a clean bed . . . of course the rate depends on whether or not you want some company . . .” her green eyes locked on his for a long moment until Molly lowered her gaze, the fringe of silken copper shielding  her thoughts from his view.

“Walsh’s Mercantile is just down the road apiece, seems that’s where everything can be found in this town . . . just down the road apiece. I expect he’s open 'bout now. Mister Walsh likes to get an early start . . .”
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:27, Tue 06 Aug 2013.

“Nice to meet you Miss Malone” Clay replied with a nod. “It could just be them boys has heard about the barmaid and want to check for themselves” he added a little flirtatious but not meaning any offence.  Swallowing a mouthful of the fresh coffee “it sure is good coffee Miss Malone” he commented.

Finishing his smoke he flicked the butt into the nearby spittoon with well practised ease. Glancing up stairs he guessed these rooms would be as good as any, he was sure the pretty girl would not have mentioned them otherwise. “Seems a little early for ‘company’, but I’ll take a room for the night if it’s all the same. I’ve only got a couple of things to do in town, but won’t be leaving till morning”.  He was finding it easy to talk to the alluring barmaid with the fiery red hair, it could have been that he’d been on the trail for the better part of a month, but it was most likely due to her skill of making folks feel at ease, which is generally a pre required talent for a good barkeep.

Finishing his coffee but not entirely ready to leave the presence of the young beauty, he started building another smoke, in doing so he realised the makings was another thing he would have to add to his list of supplies.

“Cowboys like to talk big so don’t you be believin’ everything you’ve heard,” Molly flashed him an uncertain glance wondering if there had been bold talk of her; but there was a manner about this one that tempted Molly to give him the benefit of the doubt and so she countered his flirtation with honeyed laughter. “Why, Mister Taylor, if I didn’t know better I’d be thinkin’ that there's a wee bit o' the Irish in you. Such pretty talk . . . are you attemptin’ to wrangle bacon and biscuits from me?”

“There’s breakfast that comes with the bed and you can have that now or tomorrow mornin’ before you’re on your way depending on what suits your fancy,” Molly was fishing, surprised that this Clay Taylor had roused her interest. “So are you on your way from here to someplace else, Mister Taylor? You go much further and you’ll be halfway to Mexico. I can’t say that I’ve been but I’ve been told that there are fortunes to be made if your enterprisin’. . .” Molly’s voice went husky for a moment as she recollected the horror that might have been.

‘Fortunes to be made with a girl like me . . .’ she thought bitterly.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:31, Wed 07 Aug 2013.

“Well Mam, my Grandpapy came to Kentucky from Ireland, but I never did meet him.” Drawing hard on his smoke the hot end glowed orange like a lazy sun on a clear winter morning.  “Bacon and Biscuits sounds mighty fine to me Mam if’n it’s not too much trouble. I won’t be needing them tomorrow I hope to be gone by first light.”

“You know Miss Malone I‘ve never seen Mexico either, I guess that’s something we have in common.”  He paused for a moment as if he was going to add something and then continued “No Mam I guess you all are stuck with me, for a whiles anyway, I brought a place about a days ride north, beside the river, off old Boss O’Brian up Oklahoma way, you might know it, think he said he got it off the Jennings, but never set foot on the place.

Apparently there’s an old timer up there keeping an eye on the place for him till the end of the month.  So I aim to get some supplies today and head up there tomorrow to see what’s left of the place.”  Pausing he realised this was the first conversation he had in almost a week, and we was already prattling on like a school girl.  Pulling a couple of coins out of his coat pocket he asks “what do I owe you for the room and breakfast.”

“Then your pap kissed the Blarney stone for sure for you’ve put a twinkle in this Irish lass’ eyes,” Molly laughed heartily in a way that she hadn’t laughed in a good long time. She wondered why because there was nothing extraordinary in what Clay Taylor had said, yet it made her feel good to look at him. “Bacon with biscuits and gravy is the specialty of the house, and a delivery of fresh eggs came in just this morning so this is your lucky day, Mister Taylor.”

Molly wasn’t one for talking about herself; she had learned early on that holding tight was the only protection she’d ever have. There had never yet been anyone who cared to watch over her. Six years back when she was fragile and broken again and again and again she had let go of the childish dream that there ever would be; and since then she had done whatever was wanted to get by. Yet a niggling emotion was stirring inside Molly that was confusing and unsettling; she realized suddenly that she wanted this cowboy to know something of her although she couldn’t figure why.

“I’m new to town myself,” Molly offered hesitantly, glancing up at him and suddenly feeling jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof. “I’ve not seen much more than what’s up and down the road apiece, so I can’t say that I know where you’re headin’”, a nervous laugh escaped her making her feel such a fool  that apricot color flooded her cheeks, but she wouldn’t allow herself to draw her eyes from his gaze. Yet when the cowboy put his money down Molly seized the distraction and busily sorted the coins, taking what was owed and pushing back the rest; noticing embarrassedly that the bruise marks on her hand had turned livid.

“So you’re homesteading a day’s ride north of here,” Molly latched on the notion as she snatched up the coins and then quickly hid her hand in the folds of her skirt. “That’s got to be mighty lonely bein’ so far out . . . is your missus plannin’ to join you?” she tossed out the question slow and easy, and then Molly realized that she was holding her breath.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:07, Thu 08 Aug 2013.

Clay smiled and nodded at her mention of the Blarney Stone, although more than a little embarrassed by his lack of knowledge in his ancestry.  It seemed the more Molly talked up this breakfast the hungrier he was getting.

“I’m sorry Miss Malone, you seem so comfortable here I thought you must have been here a while, my mistake.” The sound of a woman’s laugh was a wonderful thing and it did him good to hear it, as she sorted the coins.

“Homesteading ah”, he gave a little chuckle, he had sunk his life savings into what was described as 1200 acres with 12 blades of grass, a one room shake and whatever mangy cattle hadn’t been rustled or turned up their toes and died,  and he dearly hoped the 12 blades of grass was a gross miscalculation. “I guess you could call it that, No Mam living rough is no place for a lady, I ‘ant married.”

After leaving the saloon Battles had slipped his bottle of whiskey into his saddle bags, then leaving Old Buck tied in front of the saloon he'd crossed the street on foot to the Marshal's office. Finding the office empty he'd found a scrap of paper on the desk and a pen and ink well and quickly scribbled a note to the Marshal informing him of his status as a Texas Ranger and asking the Marshal to please meet him at The Shady Lady at his earliest convenience. Having no idea how long the Marshal would be he figured that would be the quickest way to get his attention unless he ran into him by accident.

As Battles strode back across the street then headed the two doors down to return to the saloon he thought of the fiery redhead and wondered briefly what had become of her and why she hadn't brought his breakfast. Of course he couldn't fault her after what he'd done but here in the border country a man lived and died by his instinct and Battles had reacted strictly on instinct. He hoped he hadn't hurt her but it was best she learn early the kind of men she'd be dealing with out here. Escondido was on the outlaw trail and the men who rode that trail were hard men. Many were desperate men. And some were down right mean and evil.

It took an equally mean and hard man to combat the scum that preyed on the weak out here, not to mention to stand against the Apache and the Bandidos. Some in the know said John J. Battles was the meanest and hardest of the lot to stand against them next to Leander McNelly himself.

Some said because of his skill and speed with a gun he was worse than McNelly ever could be.

Right now Battles wasn't feeling mean though. He was feeling...he didn't know what he was feeling. Apologetic? Battles hadn't made much of a practice of apologizing in his life, but he was feeling bad for how he'd treated the young red-haired barkeep and for some reason he wanted to make up for it somehow.

As he approached he noticed the stage a little further down the road and knew the saloon would be gaining some breakfast customers soon. Even as he thought it a couple of cowboys made their way inside ahead of him, stepping over a drunk sleeping against the wall by the door who hadn't been there when he'd left. If Battles wanted to get a table to wait for the Marshal he figured he'd better hop to it.

Stepping through the batwing doors and stepping slightly to his right to clear the doorway he paused briefly to allow his eye to adjust to the light. He quickly spied the table he wanted in the corner by the doorway into the back kitchen, just across from the end of the bar. He noticed the red-haired girl was again behind the bar immediately, and that she was talking to the young drifter he had almost collided with just a bit ago. Irrationally he felt a quick pang of jealousy but he squashed the feeling quick. He had no right to be jealous of anyone or anything.

He tipped his hat to the red-head as he crossed to the table he wanted then seated himself with his back against the wall, hanging his hat on the back of the chair next to him, then waited for the red-head or somebody else to take his order. He'd eaten his fill already of course, but another beer or two would help wash the rest of the trail dust from his throat.

[From The Streets]

"C'mon now, time's a wastin' an' there's a bottle in here with me name on it an' maybe you can find out where the bathhouse is, get a nap, an' be ready for tonight," a gravely old man's voice could be heard just before the swinging doors pushed open and revealed an old man bent slightly at the shoulder.  His breeches were baggy and belted tightly just above his hips, a gunbelt slung over that with a colt dangling at his side.  His shirt had several tears that had been repaired with neat stitches.  There was a fair amount of dust on him and with a tug pulled in the young woman behind him, making her trip and the ample cleavage seem like it would spill out over the corset making her already tiny waist seem even smaller.

While she regained her composure, pulling her hand away from him and adjusting the blouse and her hair, the man looked around. "Who might be the owner of this here fine place?  I got some business to talk.  My gal here's a singer, finest in the land.  She can dance too.  You seen the Can-Can?  She kin do that.  A waltz?  Yep, you bet!  Now ... I'm willin' to cut a real nice deal fer everythin," he said with a greasy grin as he looked from man to man and all the while Flossie was standing behind him parroting him, her lips moving exactly to his speech as her eyes rolled.  Her hand was on her hip and she leaned on that side, her other hand fluttering up to her mouth as she politely hid a yawn.

“Well then, I surely do hope you mark the trail so that you’ll be able to find your way back to the Shady Lady when you’re in need of a bit of company, Mister Taylor. I have enjoyed making your acquaintance,” her glance swept his face as though she were committing what she saw to memory. “You’ve a way about you that makes me feel like a lady, which doesn’t happen near so often as I’d like,” Molly spoke softly from the heart so that only he might hear, in a way that wasn’t pleading so much as asking, yet nerve-wracking for her just the same; for Molly Malone knew for a fact that she was a soiled dove and no kind of lady at all. But perhaps the hope that lit her green eyes as she smiled at him was enough for Clay Taylor to see beyond the grit and mean and coarse vulgarity of the place, and simply see Molly not as the tattered doll that she was but as what she might have been had she not been forced to walk the road to perdition.

“I’ve customers that need tendin’,” Molly spoke softly reluctantly  taking a step back, “But I’ll see that your breakfast is delivered without keepin’ you waitin’ too long.” Molly pushed through the doors that led to the cookery and in no time flat she was back again; her smile and nod letting Clay Taylor know that his breakfast was on the way.

Molly was on guard like a mouse with her ears twitchin’ for the tinkle of the bell that would warn her of the cat ready to pounce from the instant the fierce-looking stranger reappeared, pushing his way through the bat-wing doors and looking her way. She had no way of knowing if he was in a better or worse way than he had been before. Earlier he had come in growling and grabbing and hurting her, but then he had come around finding his manners and making amends. What Molly did know was that he had left with a full bottle of whiskey, and what she didn’t know was how much of that fire water was in him and riling him now.

Taking her time without making him wait, Molly was wary as she approached his table. ’He’s a firecracker that one is . . . ready for trouble,’ she thought to herself as she weaved her way among the empty gaming tables to where the familiar stranger sat with his back to the wall.

“Hope that breakfast was to your likin’ . . .” Molly stood out of his reach,  commenting with just enough sugar and spice to her tone to keep him in his seat and happy. Keeping the clientele happy, that was what Annabelle Lee expected from Molly; and knowing when to be sweet and when to be sassy was how Molly earned her keep and the money she put by for saving. “Are you back for seconds?” she asked, smiling teasingly as she rested her hands on the curve of her hips while her green eyes watched him closely.

Before the stranger might reply a bit of bluster and commotion came through the door, followed by a sight to make any man’s eyes go wide. Molly looked the pair over and grinned. “Sounds like quite the proposition, mister,” Molly replied to the old man’s grand offer. “Missus Lee is the owner of this establishment. What you want has to be negotiated with her, but Missus Lee doesn’t see anyone until she says that she’s ready, and she hasn’t said so yet.”
This message was last edited by the player at 07:18, Sat 10 Aug 2013.

“Your to kind Mam” Clay replied “Being as this is the closest place to my spread you can guaranty I’ll be back, if I was a gambling man I’d say within the week I’ll be back for supplies to start on the repairs at least” just then he realised he was still wearing the smile she had put on his face earlier.  “Thank you Miss Malone” he continued to her breakfast offer “I might see you around here later on, after all you know where I’m stopping the night” he inquired, as she left to attend her business.

Lazily constructing another cigarette he wondered if they would have any descent cigars at the store, he did enjoy a good cigar. Igniting the smoke, his casual gaze meet with the hard riding mans from his entrance that morning, and his reappearance seemed a little unusual, however Clay offered him his usual friendly nod of recognition, as the man made his way to his chosen table.

The smells of hot food from the kitchen distracted him momentarily so he only detected the pair of strangers a half dozen steps prior to them entering the saloon.  The first new comer was fairly par for the course and you could expect to see a hand full of men like him in here on any given day, but his companion now that was another story.  He couldn’t help following her as she moved forward and although he told himself it was only to make sure she had recovered from her seemingly innocent stumbled he was have trouble believing himself.

Diverting his look he found himself checking if Molly had seen him, although he didn’t know why.  Taking another drag on his hand rolled smoke, he decided he had definitely made a good decision in taking the room upstairs for the night.

The old man didn't look happy at all to be put off and worse that it was by a woman.  Flossie's nonchalant attitude shifted subtly to standing a little straighter and her lips pursing ever so slightly.  "Well where might I find this Missus Lee?  I'd prefer t' get things lined out so my gal here can rest up proper."  There was more than a bit of lewdness, almost bordering menace as he looked at the pretty bar maid.

Reaching out, Flossing touched Robert's arm.  "C'mon Daddy.  The lady's likely still asleep.  You can talk business later," she tried to placate, only to cringe as he grabbed her wrist and tugged her forward, causing her to bobble again.

"Now you listen and you listen good, wench.  I'm the one does the talkin' an' yer the one does the smilin'.  An' how many times I gotta tell ya not t' call me Daddy," he growled in a low voice.

The blonde had somehow turned even more pale and her lashes fluttered as she tried to collect herself yet again, making about three attempts to smile before it finally stuck.  "Yessir ... sorry," she whispered contritely.  When he let go of her, she automatically grabbed the wrist and rubbed it, a look full of hurt and anger burning into the back of her father's head for an instant before she snapped back to the pleasant expression.

"As I was sayin'," Robert said as he turned back to the maid, "What time might a business man expect the Lady t' be here?  If there's enough time, I just might like some comp'ny," he finished with another leer at Molly's bust.

Battles couldn't help but smile at the redheads moxy. She was smart enough to fear him which was obvious by the way she stood her distance, but she had the backbone to ignore her fears and faced him head-on. Brains and guts was a hell of a combination. Not many men had both let alone a woman on her own in the west. Battles assumed she was on her own making her way or she wouldn't be working a saloon.

Before Battles could reply however a bit of bluster and commotion came through the door.

Battles was briefly embarrassed when his temper flared at the way the old man treated the young lady. Hadn't he treated the red-haired bartender much the same way earlier? There had been no malice in Battles' reaction earlier, just instinct, but had it been much different from the pure cruelty the old man was displaying toward the young lady who it seemed may be his daughter? She had called him "Daddy" and he had reacted violently to it.

Battles looked to the red-head as she answered the old man, and he smiled again as she told him in no uncertain terms that the owner of the saloon, a woman, would deal with him at her own convenience. Oh yes. The Irish lass had moxy to spare!

But the old man's crudeness didn't end with abusing his daughter...



Battles didn't like the way the old man leered at the red-head. Not even a little bit. Before he knew it he had come out of his seat and walked right up to the old letch. The man instantly cowered away though and even Battles didn't have it in him to strike such a coward.

"Mister, you're making it hard for me to enjoy my breakfast. But I'm a peaceable man and I'd be all to happy to oblige your wish for company. I have a pack mule down the livery. That ol' pack mule ain't as  likely to enjoy your company any more than the ladies here present, but he's less likely to stove your head in than I am right now! Now you make your apologies and GIT!!!"

The look in his eye was unmistakable, and Battles realized he was again being the hardass and was probably putting a scare into the women as well as the old man. Slowly his frame relaxed, but he didn't take his gaze from the old man for a second or two. Finally he looked at the young woman. Then he looked back to where the red-head stood at his table. Then back to the young blonde.

"My apologies." he said awkwardly, then slowly he returned to his table keeping his gaze lowered so as not to meet that of the red-head. He took his hat from the back of the chair he'd set it on and placed it on his head pulling it down to hide his eyes. But then he looked up to meet the red-heads gaze and said again, "My apologies. I've been away from fit company for some time and I have no excuse. If you could point the Marshal toward the stables if you see him I'd very much appreciate it." Then bowing his head again he headed for the door again, but not before glaring at the old man one more time.

Robert cringed at first but then he stood back straight and glared right back at the man.  He didn't say anything and he wasn't leaving but it seemed the one-eyed man was and that suited him just fine.  Flossie had watched the incident, seeming like a statue and only the tiny bit of rise and fall of her ample bosom indicated she was breathing at all.

When the man was out the door, he grinned maliciously.  "Ain't apologizin' 'cause I ain't done nothin' he ain't done.  Now," he said looking at Molly as he made his way to the bar.  "I want a bottle of whiskey, good stuff an' none a that rotgut shit," he ordered and pulled out some coins before tossing down eight bits.  "That should more'n cover a bottle an' don't need no glass.  I'm just gonna plunk down here an' wait for this Missus Lee."

He wasn't paying any attention to her which Flossie found a relief and yet standing there like a dolt wasn't any good either.  Still rubbing her wrist, she sashayed slowly over to the piano and eased onto the bench.  A few notes rang out under her delicate touch along the ivories and then she started to hum softly, a well known tune called Beautiful Dreamer.  Though she wasn't singing with words, there was a richness to her voice that was soothing and served well as a soft background noise.

There it was again, that rawhide-rough vulnerability that had tugged at Molly’s heartstrings when the Texas Ranger had apologized earlier for having manhandled her; but before Molly had a moment to soften and thank the stranger for standing up to the obnoxious lecher who was making her skin crawl the stranger pushed his way through the bat-wing doors and was gone before the resounding slap-slap-slap of the swinging doors had stilled. ‘She’d go after him . . .’ Molly thought . . . 'but not yet.'

He came seemingly from nowhere, moving so fast that the dirty old man never saw him coming until he was sprawled flat on his front breathing in the hot dust of the street that swirled around him; so rattled that his bones shook. “I’ll see that Missus Lee gets yer message, old man,” Jamie Galbraith growled as he kicked up another spit of dirt over the tramp for good measure, “And if the lady fancies talkin’ to ya’ I’ll be right in yer face lettin’ you know when.”

Strange bedfellows were they; Annabelle Lee and Jamie Galbraith. They had come together a few years back out of want and need, and they had remained united by love and loyalty that was uniquely their own and nobody’s business. A bear of a man, Jamie had been a fierce, prize-winning pugilist before Annabelle gentled him some. But as the old man looked up at near seven feet of brawn and muscle that was blocking out the sun there was nothing but Jamie’s threatening glower to be seen. “You don’t step foot through that door lessen’ I escorted you in, you hear me old man?” Jamie barked making it plain he was not a man who spoke twice.

The music stopped just as Flossie saw a bear of a man grab her father and basically shook him like a rag doll before tossing him out the door.  The sound of his body slamming into the dirt made her wince and she closed her eyes almost as if in prayer since she knew what was next.

"Ye big dumb sonuvabitch!" Robert bellowed and struggled to stand, his bad knee refusing to hold him.  "I want the sheriff o' this town an' I want 'im now!  All I did was ask to talk to the owner an' put my money down fer a bottle.  Woulda put money down fer yer whore too, hadn't e'en teched her yet.  Ye had no right tossin' me out like that an' I'm gonna make sure yer ass is put in a cage where it belongs!"

His face was red and he was wheezing a bit but there was no doubt he didn't mind making a scene.  He was also quite deliberately not putting a hand anywhere near his gun so no one could say he was doing anything offensive other than looking at a whore's tits, something he knew just about every man in this town had done.  By law, he knew he was in the right and this bear of a man and the one-eyed man had no business telling him what to do or manhandling him.

Flossie's eyes opened and she looked toward the door, a hard pout on her lips.  "You're the dumb sunovabitch ... never gonna learn are you?" she said softly and then looked to Molly.  "I'm sorry about my d-- manager," she said as she rose gracefully from the bench.  "I'll either take the bottle he wanted or the money back and get out of you're hair.  If he gets enough liquor in him, he'll go to sleep and won't bother anyone," she offered as a suggestion and knowing they wouldn't deal with her father now gave a little one-shouldered shrug with a disappointed smile.  "Would have been nice working in a clean place."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:27, Mon 12 Aug 2013.

From his towering height Jamie glowered down on the old man listening to the squawk the old geezer was sputtering until Jamie had heard enough. “Down the road apiece,” Jamie laughed a deep rumbling sound that carried into the saloon. “When you find him tell him Jamie Galbraith says ‘Much obliged for last night and that the next round of drinks are mine for the buyin’.’” Then, chuckling the champion of shady ladies turned and with a cat-like grace and agility unexpected in such a huge man Jamie Galbraith returned to the saloon.

“Don’t you fret about your pap,” Molly said as she approached the young woman, impulsively reaching out to gently touch the wrist that the old man had bruised with her own injured hand. “Jamie can’t abide hurt to a woman no matter who she is or where she might be, and he won’t tolerate any disrespect to Missus Lee,”  Molly said, hoping her easy laughter would soften the  explaining of the way business was conducted  at the saloon. “I suspect that mostly Jamie scared the piss and vinegar out of your old man,” Molly meant to take away the upset and sorrow that she heard  in the young woman’s sweet voice.

“I’m Molly,” Molly continued, her reassuring smile warming the cool emerald-green of her eyes. “Missus Lee has a heart of gold. I know that she’ll talk with you although I’ll wager what’s in my pocket that she won’t give your pap the time of day.” An inelegant little snort escaped Molly as she visualized Missus Lee coming face to face with the baggy-pants clown. “If you are a songbird then Missus Lee is a nightingale, I’d say,” Molly mused aloud, wondering inwardly what sort of bird she herself might be.  “Missus Lee is her own woman and smarter than any man I’ve ever met, but she keeps to herself at this hour of the day. I don’t expect that she’ll appear before mid-afternoon. You are welcome to wait if you like . . . but I won’t be selling any liquor to your pap so you be sure to take his money back.”
This message was last edited by the player at 21:37, Mon 12 Aug 2013.

Too many times other saloon girls were rude to Flossie, afraid she was going to take away their business and a lot of times her father managed to wrangle two or three a night away.  Molly was different and kind, something much more than she expected and it made her smile more genuine.  ”It’d take more than that to scare the piss and vinegar out of him, he’s too angry right now.  I have to admit he gets himself into these pickles but that just means my night’s gonna be hell.  For what it’s worth, it was nice seeing a man stand up for you and Missus Lee.”

That gentle touch to her wrist had given her a pang, that empty place inside where her mother and sister used to be seemed to ache more.  “I’m Flossie and Missus Lee sounds like a lady I’d love to meet.  Don’t think I’ll get the chance now but if you have some time off tonight, maybe you can sneak a peek at that cantina we saw down the street a ways.  I figure that’s where he’s going next to talk someone into showcasing the Natchez Nightingale,” she said with a fluttering of her hands about her face, obviously being facetious.

“FLOSSIE!  YOU COME OUTTA THERE NOW AN’ BRING ME THAT WHISKEY!”

The buxom blonde flinched and then sighed as she went to the bar and hurriedly scooped up the money.  ”Wish I could stay, maybe even help a little …”

“FLOSSIE DAMMIT GIT YER ASS OUT HERE NOW!”

”… but I have to go,” she finished apologetically.  Why couldn’t he have popped off a bit more and that big man finished him for good?  Her throat tightened as she hurried out the doors, skirt a-swishing and her long fishnet covered legs flashing in the sunlight, wondering when she’d ever be able to escape the horrid man who was her father.  ”I’m here now stop you’re shoutin’.  You’ve got everyone looking,” she said as she leaned over to help him up to his feet.

”I mean for everyone to be looking.  They just got a good look at ye didn’ they?  They’ll come runnin’ to that other place when they find out yer workin’ there.  That whore runnin’ that place is gonna be real sorry her people treated me like this when they ain’t got no business tonight.  You best get a good long nap an’ supper ‘cuz yer gonna be up all night.  Figure we can push things a bit, get ‘bout four fellas in an’ don’t ye even say a word.  Ye coulda stood up an’ helped me out there.”  He glared at her and she knew her theatrics wouldn’t work on him so bowed her head.  ”Yessir,” she whispered.

“Get me up on th’ wagon an head back t’ that cantina.  After I get ye set up there, we’re goin’ t’ the sheriff an’ I’m filin’ a complaint.  Don’t care what that lump said, he assaulted me with no proper cause.  If I have t’ find a fancy pants lawyer, I will by God, an’ that place is gonna pay.”  By that point he was trying to climb up on the wagon and Flossie rolled her eyes.  Maybe she’d be lucky and the sheriff would arrest him for disorderly conduct.  Maybe she’d be able to go back and talk with Missus Lee herself and cut a deal.  Maybe maybe maybe ….  Maybe one day she’d refuse to do what he said and try to be her own person and not something like a slave.

"Well where's my whiskey?" he asked when he was settled into the seat and she reached up to hand him his money.  "She wouldn't serve you and you'll just have to get it elsewhere," she said and then squeaked as he suddenly grabbed her by the upper arm as she was climbing up and slammed her down into the seat next to him.  His eyes were bulging with anger and she shrank down, holding her breath.  "Ye'll wear the red t'night an' hitch up that skirt.  When ye dance ye give 'em a peek at them bloomers an' drive 'em wild.  We're gonna stay a while an' run that bitch outta business," Robert said with a snarl before slapping the reins on the mule's behinds to get a move on to the cantina.

[To The Rio Cantina]

Clay’s piping hot breakfast arrived almost on cue, as the recent arrivals made their noisy exit to the street.  He was pleased he didn’t have to listen to their bickering while trying to enjoy his meal.  After weeks on the trail there was something about eating something you didn’t have to cook yourself that makes it taste that much better.

With the hearty breakfast nearly completely put away, his thoughts turned to his list of thing to do for the day, get re-supplies from the general store so he can leave early in the morning, get himself a hot bath and a shave, talk to the black smith about what steel work had can undertake, find a little entertainment for the evening and maybe a drinking partner.  It all sounded fairly achievable from where he was sitting. Pushing back his plate, he fancied a smoke before he headed off to run his errands.

Finishing his smoke he deftly flicked what was left of the smouldering butt into the spittoon and collecting his room key and dirty dishes, tucked the key into his pocket and placed the plate on the bar he said to no one in particular at a volume that was louder than his usual “thank you kindly, that was delicious” turning on his heels he headed for the door.

Outside he loosed his old war bag from his mount, opening the draw string he retrieved some clean clothes and stowed them in his saddle bags before climbing the skinny external stairs of the saloon which gave an addition access the rooms on the second floor.  Entering his room from the generous hallway he was pleased to fined the feisty barmaid had given him the end room and although at the back of the establishment did have two windows being a corner room.  The room was small and plain but clean, after putting his war bag down in the corner behind the door he exited the same way he arrived.

Swinging into the saddle as he reached the horse, he pointed it in the direction of the bath house.

[to the bath house]