This is where posts that take place in the town streets and not in a specific building should take place.....
This message was last updated by the GM at 02:04, Fri 26 July 2013.

Ramsey stepped out into the packed earth street outside his office; it was still soft from the previous day's rain, but he knew come the summer the wind would kick up dry dust all around town.

It wasn't far to walk to the Marshall's office; Escondido was nothing like Baltimore or St. Louis.  It might be a small puddle now, but with luck it could grow into something bigger and better, and those already established would be in a good position to take advantage of new opportunities.

It was a good morning to be outside; he walked slowly, enjoying his preamble across the small town, feeling good to get away from his latest near-misstep off the sobriety wagon.  He gave a longing eye to the Rio as he passed it by, but enjoyed the smell of frying peppers and meat emanating from it.  One of the best things about moving to a town so close to Mexico was the discovery that he truly enjoyed hot, spicy Mexican food; and if a cold beer washed down that food well then all the better.  As long as he kept it to a beer or two he was golden, and his wife need never know.  It was the whiskey that got him into trouble, or almost, as it was today.  He was sorely tempted to stop by the Rio for peppers and eggs, but it was too early even for him to be drinking beer.

And besides, he needed to tell the Marshall that the girl was awake, her brains weren't scrambled, and she was in a talkative move.  His wife would see to her, he could count on that, and when he returned with the Marshall the morning's almost-incident would largely be forgotten.

Until the next one.  But as long as he kept nipping them in the bud it was ok, at least in his eyes.  But he knew Clem was very worried abut him - and them.  How could he ever provide them with a child and a proper family life if she was constantly worried if he was going to turn into the town drunk on a given day?

Like the walk to the Marshall's office, all he could do was take it a step at a time, and hope his path was not beset with temptation, malefactions, misfortune, or poor timing.  With a little luck, anything was possible.

(OOC: slowly walk towards the Marshall's Office)
This message was last edited by the player at 12:03, Wed 24 July 2013.

As the good Doctor crosses the street, he sees a sun baked stranger enter the far end, on a travel weary gray horse, leading a matched pair of heavy palomino pack animals.  Rider and mounts wear a layer of dust that shows they have come some distance.

The man is sitting the saddle effortlessly as if he was born to it.  He is dressed the range clothes of a man who is no stranger to working with stock.  Although his dark colored shirt, pants and hat are dirty for the trail, his gun-belt and boot show signs of being cleaned recently, and if the Doc took the time to look he would note the big pistol and knife on his belt along with the rifle in its scabbard under his left leg were well oiled and cared for.

As the stranger nears the Doctor he nods a “howdy” and keeps his mount moving at it easy pace, towards the livery.

--> from Marshal's Office

As Cyrus stepped out of his office, he noted the rider in the distance leading two pack animals and he noted the trail dust covering all of them.  Hmm... looks like Escondido just got an early morning visitor.  Just passing through... or with a mind to stickin' around for a spell, I wonder?

Of course as long as the stranger didn't break any laws, his business was his business and thus no business of Cyrus'.  As Cyrus continued towards the Doc's office, he spotted a man up ahead that his keen eyes identified as none other than the "man of the hour", Dr. McQueen.  Cyrus sped up his pace as his mind began to race.  Now the Doc could be out here for any number of reasons, most of which would have nothin' ta do with me.  But he's gotta know my routine by now, so he'd have ta be suspectin' that I'd be along to check on Becky any time now.  Of course that doesn't mean he's got to plan his mornings around my self-imposed schedule... still... maybe he's coming this way to seek me out?  And why that if there wasn't news regarding Becky?

The question is, good news... or bad news?

As he closed in on Ramsey, Cyrus politely touched the brim of his hat and said in a friendly with just a hint of concern in the undercurrent, "Good mornin' Dr. McQueen, I trust I find you well and all's well back at the office?"

As he walked a man on horseback with two other horses trailing behind him passed him on the street and nodded hello; Ramsey nodded back, and continued to walk.  Looks like the town got bigger and bigger each day, and that was a good thing, as long as everybody behaved and treated each other with respect.  He knew the reputation that a dusty little Texas border puddle like Escondido had back East, but so far, apart from whatever happened to the O'Dell girl, things had been fairly quiet - and that was a good thing too.  Ramsey McQueen had seen more than enough violence his time, and needed to see no more.  If all he had to deal with were births, colds, and busted arms the rest of his career he'd be a happy man indeed.

Soon he saw the Marshall coming up to him - just the man he sought.  It was an odd situation between them: he never in a thousand years figured he'd run into the man again, or any patient for that matter from the War, but especially his particular case, in which the hand of God himself must have interceded on both their behalves for things to have turned out so well.  Of course, that was before he'd been beaten down by the War, before he'd learn to lean on medicinal crutches and distilled bravery.  Marshall Jericho seemed to have prospered much since their last meeting, and Ramsey was glad for it; but it also reminded him of how far he fell himself.  He had no idea what Jericho thought about him now but he was sure there was some level of lost respect in his eyes.

On the other hand, at least the man hadn't seen him at his worst, either, and therefore be bereft of any respect at all in him.  He had big shoes to fill in the Marshall's memory of him, but it was a task he felt he might accomplish in time, given some luck.

He nodded good morning as he accepted the Marshall's salutation.

"Morning, Marshall.  The kid's awake; I just caught her trying to get up and wander about the office.  I stopped her before she keeled over and busted something else.  My wife is lookin' in on her now.  She's asking questions...and I expect you'll have some questions for her too.  Long as we don't wear her out I don't expect that would be a problem, if you don't mind talking to her in my office.  She shouldn't be walking around anywhere with those injuries right now."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:19, Thu 25 July 2013.

Given the darkness of the doctor's current thoughts, Dr. McQueen probably would have been surprised to learn that Cyrus's opinion of the doctor was far from being as negative as Ramsey projected.  Of course Cyrus had not really seen Ramsey at his low point nor had he heard any bad words spoken against the doctor's skill or character.  While he may have picked up the occasional tension between Mrs. McQueen and her husband, and perhaps the thought had occurred as to why Dr. McQueen had moved all the way out to Escondido to setup shop, Cyrus really had no reason to think poorly of the doctor.  From what Cyrus had seen over the last month or so, Dr. McQueen seemed to be a sharp, competent professional and the Good Lord knew that a place like Escondido could really benefit from a skilled physician when times got rough.

Then again, Cyrus didn't know about Ramsey's bout with alcoholism or the fallout to his medical career back East as a result of his "weakness".  But it wasn't as if Cyrus was unfamiliar with the psyche shattering effects of war upon good men who had made good soldiers until one day they just couldn't take the killing and the death of friends a moment longer.  Cyrus had been forced to deal with men under his command (and on thankfully rarer occasions a superior officer) who "just couldn't take it anymore" and had either turned to drink or other similarly self-destructive behavior.  Sometimes they were Civil War veterans of numerous bloody battles who felt they had no right to survive when so many of their friends and family had not and sometimes they were fighters in the Indian Wars who felt the United States had lost the "moral high ground" in their fight against the Indians because of certain "atrocities" perpetrated against "civilian" Indians (old men, women and children).  Cyrus would be lying if he didn't admit that seeing strong, brave men shaken to their core did not disturb him or on occasion make him privately question the path his own life had taken.

If Cyrus had been "sparred" the psychological trauma it was because of four things.  First there was his strong Methodist faith and belief in God's mercy & justice.  Second there was his deep sense of family pride following in the footsteps of his father and generations of Jerichos who had served honorably in the military.  Third there was his firm belief that his military service had been in furtherance of worthy causes, first in abolishing slavery in the Civil War and second in securing the rightful expansion of his beloved country through the protection of hard working, innocent Western settlers during the Indian Wars.  And finally, his fourth "saving grace" was having been engaged in some form of active combat practically since the moment he graduated West Point, thus Cyrus had never really had a "moment's peace" for serious introspective self-reflection on the death and suffering he had witnessed (and, in his own way, even caused).  While he might not admit it to himself, part of the reason Cyrus had moved from a military career into a "civilian" career in law enforcement where his life was still in danger and the threat of death in the line of duty came with the shiny badge of authority & responsibility was that a more mundane, "ordinary life" might force the warrior to reflect upon his life once he had set aside his ways of war.  In truth, who knows how a man like Cyrus Jericho would fare if danger and conflict were not an intimate part of his life and perhaps it was a subconscious fear of finding out that drove him to wear a badge & gun even though he had put his uniform away.

Then again, perhaps Cyrus had not been spared the emotional and psychological damage from nearly constant warfare, perhaps the manifestation of his "trauma" was the fact that Cyrus could not turn away from a path of violence to embrace a life of peace?  And it was also true that he had lost loved ones in the Civil War whose deaths haunted him to this very day.  The senseless, wanton loss of his kid brother and maternal grandfather in the Lawrence Massacre still boiled his blood every time he thought about it or them.  That burning hatred fed a loathing for former Confederate "Bushwhackers" that hardly knew any bounds, save the thin restraint provided by Cyrus's sense of personal honor and devotion to duty.  Such was what kept him from hunting down the dregs of Quantrill's "Raiders" who had fled to Texas after things had gotten too hot for them in Kansas, but woe to any such man should he dare to cross the line and break the law.  Cyrus would show that man as much "mercy" as had been shown to the nearly 200 victims of Lawrence, Kansas... and may God have mercy on that man's soul because Marshal Cyrus Jericho certainly would not.

As brief thoughts along these lines flashed through Cyrus's mind, he gently shook his head to clear his mind of them and wondered privately as to the source of such thoughts.  It must be due to seeing Becky... Rebecca... Miss O'Dell again.  Seeing her and finding the grisly remains of her parents brings back memories of home... the bad with the good.  I suppose a man can only keep "running away" from his past and his home for so long before it catches up to you.  Though it takes an incident like what happened to Miss O'Dell to bring it all home again.

I don't think I even fully realized, until now, that my being constantly on the move in the Service was my own way of staying away from my home back in Kansas... and thus not having to face the results of the War on my home nor the consequences of my own part played in the Kansas-Missouri misery during the War.

I wonder what Dr. McQueen thinks about when he reflects on his own service during the War and how he handles those memories?  At least he has the solace of knowing he strived each day to Save Lives... not to take them.

Cyrus's mood visibly brightened upon hearing the good news about Becky and he said with a smile, "Well that's excellent news to brighten the start of my day Doctor.  While it is still a sorrowful tragedy, what happened to her folks and the other innocent travelers, at least she survived... no doubt thanks to your considerably skill and the tender mercies administered by your charming wife and yourself.  Congratulations on yet another patient saved from the predations of the Grim Reaper Dr. McQueen.

I must admit, even as talented as I personally know you are, given the dire state of her condition when I brought her to you, I had my doubts as to whether you could pull off yet another medical miracle.  But now I feel a mite ashamed for having doubted your skills.

As for questions, certainly I have them but I promise I won't do anything to unduly tax the poor girl or risk jeopardizing her speedy recovery.  If you say she needs to stay put and rest, that's good enough for me.  I'll come to her bedside with my questions.  You can stay close by and, if you feel I'm wearing her out, you just let me know and I'll come back another day when she's better rested."  It was clear by the upbeat tone in Cyrus's voice, especially when talking about Ramsey's medical skills, that Cyrus had not forgotten that Dr. McQueen had saved a leg that less talented (or perhaps just less concerned or interested) Union surgeons had been all too willing to "write off" as yet another quick amputation to be tossed on the every growing gruesome pile of bloodied mangled limbs.  It certain sounded as if Cyrus still held Dr. McQueen in the highest regard as a medical professional.

Cyrus caught up to Ramsey and accompanied the doctor back in the direction Ramsey had just come from heading back to the doctor's office.

Ramsey accompanied the Marshall back towards his office.

"We all have our doubts, myself included.  I don't take any offense.  In many respects, medicine is equal parts skill and luck.  I don't always have the best of luck, but it appears that Miss Becky does, at least today.  C'mon, let me show her to you."

He wasn't counting any chickens before they hatched; the infection could come back, maybe even turn to gangrene.  There would be no praises of his skill if that happened, and so Ramsey was determined not to let go of her until he felt she was out of the danger zone, no matter how much it vexed her.  It also kept him busy and kept his mind from wandering onto other, less-productive activities.

"As I was leaving my wife promised breakfast; perhaps you'll stay and partake."

---> to The McQueen residence and Doctor's Office

Cyrus smiled as he nodded his head and said in a polite tone, "A good & proper home cooked meal to start the day off right?  How could I, or any "starving bachelor", possible refuse such a gracious offer?

I would be glad to stay and break bread with you and your wife doctor, much obliged."

So she cooks as well?  I suppose I ought not be surprised but... well... bright, educated, classy, and quite the looker if I do say so myself... and she cooks too, a man has to admire the Doc's taste in women not to mention his extreme good fortune in winning the hand of young Miss Clementine... well Mrs. McQueen.  Ladies like her sure don't grow on trees, especially out in the "wild west".

---> to The McQueen residence and Doctor's Office

Traveling a few buildings away from the Pinkerton office, Temperance steps into a reasonably clean alley. Turns and gives her oldest daughter an icy look.

"If I had a hickory switch one of you would be eating her supper standing up to night." Prudence takes a small step away from her sister not wanting to stand so close to the accused.

"Emily Joy Peters you have pushed me too far this day. When I tell you girls ‘children are to be seen not heard’ I mean it. Mr. Jennings is a very important man in this town. And you, sassing off just like you were a couple of ole chums. Taron Biehn may put up with your nonsense but not every adult will."

"And don’t you get too smug there Miss Prim." Looking at the younger of the two. "I don’t see any angel’s wings sprouting on your back. Now we have a lot to get done today. This is the only time I’m given you a talkin’ to.  Be good or be sorry."



---> to The McQueen residence and Doctor's Office
This message was last edited by the player at 01:13, Sat 27 July 2013.

It had been a long and dusty ride and John Battles was thirsty. He'd passed the stage not far back down the road so he was hoping there would be a saloon open ready to serve breakfast to the new arrivals. He fancied some bacon and eggs with a whiskey chaser. Or two whiskey chasers. If he were lucky they'd even have an ice house so the beer would be cold. If not he'd drink it warm. He was thirsty after all.

He'd been riding all night, so as he entered Escondido his horse walked at a slow pace. That was fine with Battles. He'd have slowed the horse to a walk anyway so he could survey the town as he rode in. Unfortunately John couldn't be nonchalant as he looked about. He had lost his left eye in the war so he had to turn his head to survey his surroundings properly. Anyone paying attention would have noticed him studying everything intently as he rode by. He didn't care. It was in his nature to always understand his surroundings in case trouble raised it's ugly head. A man who didn't know his surroundings could be a dead man very fast.

Battles reigned his horse in in front of The Shady Lady Saloon. He was happy to smell bacon already cooking, and even happier to see The Marshal's Office was only a few buildings down the road. His first stop after having a drink and breakfast would be to the Marshal's office to introduce himself proper. But first, that bacon smelled damn fine!

Battles swung his leg over the black horses flanks and dropped to the ground, lowering himself slowly with his right foot in the stirrup. The left leg seemed a little stiff. He kept his right hand on the pommel of the saddle as well where as the left would have been more convenient dismounting to the left. Anyone could see the reason. His left hand was covered with a hard black leather brace with only his fingers free. His thumb and wrist seemed to be immobilized. A matching black leather band surrounded his right wrist though there was no apparent reason for it.

Battles stretched his arms out and rubbed his backside. It had been a long night's ride. He was a tall, lean man standing every bit of six foot. He needed a shave and had a grizzled look about him that even a shave might not help. His lone eye was a piercing light blue and his hair was longer than it should be, dark blonde almost brown. He was wide in the shoulder and slim in the hip. A two gun rig surrounded those hips. The right was tied down low, and the left sat across his hip Texas cross-draw fashion.

Other than his dark grey shirt Battles was dressed all in black. His duster overcoat was black leather. His flat brimmed hat was black. His vest and trousers were black, and his boots, except for the silver Mexican rowel spurs were black. His belt and gun-belt buckles shined silver as well.

When Battles removed his Duster and tossed it across his horses flanks, there was a flash of silver revealed on his chest as well.

The badge of a Texas Ranger.

John stretched again, noticing the stage he had passed was finally pulling in behind him, then walked into The Shady Lady intent on having some of that bacon. And  whiskey. And a beer.

As he rises into the saddle, the horse instinctively moved off once the rider’s full weight was taken by his last foot leaving the ground.  Being a son of the south Clay had inherited the notion of why walk when you can ride.  Turn his stead and heads back down the street stopping at the barbers he notes it isn’t open yet in fact about the only place showing any sign of life is a two story saloon further down the street, at this early hour there is but one horse hitched at the rail.

As the horse lazily picks it way down the street Clay’s ever watchful eyes pick up in the minor comings and goings of some of the local folks and pegs the town for what it is, it’ll make do as the closed settlement to the ranch he thinks to himself.  Reaching the saloon presently he hitches his mount and leaving his rifle with the horse heads through the doors to inquire after a room for the night

---->From The McQueen residence and Doctor's Office

Skirting around towards the front of the McQueen residence. The young mother found herself enjoying the rare silence. Both girls being well aware of what could happen if she tried to speak with candy in her mouth.

Hesitating before entering the street, Temperance once again checked the activity. It all seemed normal for the time of day. Roughshod cowboys traversing the road. The doors of the Shady Lady swinging to and fro. But that mattered surprisingly little to her although she was named Temperance.

A man needs a beer and a little time to himself once in a while Woman and Shady Lady is just as good as any place for him to find them. Daniel’s words still strong in her mind although his voice was fading into the past.

"Stay with me girls. I need to visit the bank and we must not dawdle."

'Crack' The sound of Emily chomping down hard and breaking her candy. Prim for the time being remaining mum.

"Ma." (crunch, crunch, crunch ) "I got a question. You said the Mrs. McQueen is a fine lady. And you said ladies never lie. Then why did you tell her to play act that she made breakfast all by herself? Wasn’t that a lie?"

The widow Peters fought hard to keep the look of shock and horror off her face. Lord have mercy she’s got me. Said one thing and did another. What now? Do I get mad? Fess up? Change the subject? Nope that never works. I’m their mother. I need to stand my ground. Shaky as it is.

"Now I want you to listen to me Em and you too Prim. Mrs. McQueen and I are grown up adult women. And sometime when adults want to have fun they play little pranks or jokes on each other. That’s all that was. Just a small prank. Nobody was hurt. If the truth comes out it will be a good laugh all around. Now this doesn’t change the rules for you two. No fibs! At least not until you are married ladies too. And that’s an end to it."

Suddenly a street full of ruffians seemed safer than chatting with her seven year old daughter. So they proceeded on.

---->To The Escondido Bank and Essay Office

The axles creaked loudly and the box wagon seemed to sway heavily as the two sturdy mules the color of dried mud plodded along.  The box was painted white, almost like a house, and on both sides in beg red letters The Natchez Nightingale.  A gilded cage with a beautiful bird was part of the artwork, little music notes flowing from its mouth through the bars and into the open space.

The old man driving it was hunched over, waving at people as they passed by.  "If ye wanna hear the voice of an angel but see a vision surely sent to tempt by the devil, come on out tonight Boys!  Fer a limited time only, The Natchez Nightingale will treat ya to a show you won't soon forget.  Oh pardon ma'am, I weren't talkin' to yer man ..." he said as one woman puffed up and smacked the man next to her.

Robert gave him a big wink and a grin before clucking to the mules and easing them off to the side.  He eyed the sign and grinned, a mirthless chuckle.  "The Shady Lady, eh?  Don't that jus' fit the bill ... yeah, this'll do."  Looking over his shoulder, he smacked the wood.  "Well get yerself ready, Girl!  Tighten them laces an' let's get a move on.  Gotta talk to a man 'bout you bringin' in business fer 'im."  Then he hopped off and went to the back of the wagon, dropping down the metal steps and flinging the door open.

"Watch yer step now.  Don' go makin' them ankles tender.  Got too much dancin' t' do," he chortled and took Flossie's hand.  The woman paused in the door, thick lashes blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight.  Her skin was pale, like fine porcelain and her silvery white hair was coiffed up with ringlets framing her face.  Big blue eyes looked out at the people staring their way and her lips painted red turned up into a practiced smile.  "Now don't you worry Daddy," she said lightly though inside her stomach was churning as she took his hand.  "It's a beautiful day ... what could possibly go wrong?"

[To The Shady Lady]
This message was last edited by the player at 21:02, Sat 10 Aug 2013.

Battles was standing in the street cussing himself. His momma would surely show no pride toward his actions so far this morning, bless her soul. He was bone tired sure, but that was no excuse. These people weren't the people he met riding the trail he rode and he had no business treating them as such. He was untying Ol' Buck from the hitching rail when the old man came crashing through the saloon doors, and his gun was in his hand before he knew it. The hulking man who followed the old timer out of the door was unarmed, but Battles kept the gun in hand in any case. He was ignored by the two men though so for a change he kept his peace.

After the big man had returned to the saloon the older man dusted himself off and straightened up tall and proud and bellowed back into the saloon. Battles had to credit him. He had grit if not good sense. When the man began hollering for his daughter to bring his whiskey Battles remembered the bottle in his saddlebags. He took it out and was about to offer it to the old man when the buxom young blonde came from the saloon and they mounted their wagon which was parked just across the doorway from Battles had tied up Buck.

Battles again felt the unfamiliar need to apologize twice in just one morning, but then he seen the way the old man treated the blond again and his ire raised once more! This time however he was able to control it. With a sigh he walked to the wagon.

"Beggin' your pardon, Folks." he said slowly. "I'd uh...I'd like to apologize for what I did in yonder. I had no business acting that way. My only excuse is I'm bone tired and trail worn and not used to civilized company. If'n you can accept my apologies, I can accommodate you on that whiskey, Sir." he said holding up his bottle for the old man to see. "I'd be happy to pull the cork with you if you're of a mind to be forgivin'"

Battles looked up into the eyes of the young blond beauty and for a second, just a fraction of a second, he thought he saw a sadness there one as young as her shouldn't know. But what did he know. He was no judge of civilized people. Just the dregs of the earth which he feared he himself was fast becoming.

"Don't judge the folks of this town by my actions. I'm not a resident. Just rode into town this mornin'. So what do you say? Peace?"

Robert barely got the mules going before the one-eyed man stepped up and with a sour expression stopped the mules again.  He wanted to lay into the man but he was actually apologizing and it clearly caught the old man off guard.  Seeing the bottle of whiskey seemed to settle his mind and he wiped his mouth with his dusty hand, his eyes squinting as if part of him still expected trouble.

”I kin understand bone tired,” he admitted slowly.  ”Guess it’s okay t’ let bygones be bygones.  Mebbe ye’d like to join us at that little cantina fer that drink?  I gotta get my gal here set up to work an’ that looks ‘bout the only other place got drinks.  Hopefully that got a pi-any plunker but she kin sing without.  Main money comes after anyway.”

Flossie was silent though her large eyes took in the lawman’s every feature.  There was a definite flood of redness to her cheeks when Robert spoke of her working so flippantly.  Her father noticed the glance Battles made at his daughter and he started to grin though it faltered when he brought up the people of the town, that scowl setting in again.

”You mighta been sharp tongued but ye apologized which is a helluva lot more than that monster back there.  I put my money down fer a bottle, was gonna sit an’ wait for that there Missus Lee, and the bastard grabbed me up an’ threw me out fer no reason.  I’m gonna file charges I tell ye.  I hadn’t teched nobody an’ was mindin’ my own business.  You got a star there boy.  Mebbe you kin do somethin’ ‘bout that?”

FROM the SHADY LADY

Her copper-colored hair alive in a fiery tumble about her shoulders, Molly Malone flew through the bat-wing doors almost clipping the heels of Flossie's fancy boots as the girl hurried to do her father's bidding. The nasty spite that the old man was bellowing as he belittled his daughter had overwhelmed Molly dragging her back to the dark, desperate days when she had crossed her heart and hoped to die; and the fury that had erupted on the day when Molly had finally set herself free came rumbling up in her once more as though she were an awakening volcano hissing steam.

Glowering at the lecherous old-man Molly caught up her short skirt, and with a flash of long legs that fluttered the flounces of Molly's emerald-striped satin petticoat the Irish dance hall girl jumped the steps, meaning to fly after Flossie and urge her to return to the saloon. Coming closer Molly was near enough to hear every nasty threat and promise that the old man sputtered, and she made mental notes intending to report back to Annabelle every word that was spoken.

Molly listened cringing inwardly as Flossie was shamed by her father's lascivious boasts and dirty innuendo, but she felt a kindred pride  for the girl as she recognized the true grit and fortitude that was keeping Flossie's head held high. When the Texas ranger approached attempting to placate the old fool Molly took a step back but she made a show of being right there so no one might miss her; standing firm with her  French-cut high-buttoned boots planted on the rutted road and with a furious spark in her eye that warned she wasn't going away.

"You have a place here if you want one, Flossie," Molly called out loudly, making sure that her shout captured Flossie's gaze so that Molly might affirm the promise with a certain nod of her head. Then Molly's attention shifted as her glance settled on the inscrutable 'one-eyed' stranger.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:32, Tue 13 Aug 2013.

Battles had to bite down on the comments he wanted to make when the old man talked about how his daughter might make money, even if the comments were only alluding to something and not actually vulgarly said. It was his daughter for Christ sake! Battles knew at once he was actually dealing with the dregs of humanity once again. But Battles had learned in his life such men didn't always have to be handled with a gun. Leander McNelly had preached how sometimes diplomacy worked better than a bullet, even if he didn't always follow his own edicts.

Battles was all to aware when the young red-head came from the saloon herself, but he didn't let his gaze slip far from the old man.



"Well, Sir I'm afraid I can't help you there. I'm a Texas Ranger, not the local law. I honestly don't believe this town has a local Sheriff though I could be mistakin'. There is a US Marshal here abouts. He may be able to take your complaint. I'd suggest an alternative though if you've a mind to listen. You have to understand, Sir, out here in the wilds a woman is a treasured commodity and many of the men of the west would rather see a horse beat than hear or see a woman mistreated. And most of us would kill a man who mistreated our horse. Sometimes, like myself in yonder, we act before we think."

"Now I'm not saying you done any wrong." Battles quickly interjected. "And you are obviously a man with a forgivin' nature since you've let my own transgressions pass. Maybe the big man can be made to see the error of his ways as well and we can all let this be history? This is a hard land an many of us react on instinct before we think. You climb down off that wagon and come back inside with me and I bet we can get this all settled without anyone having to go to jail, and you can show everyone you're the better man, and a right smart business man to boot. If the young lady is going to sing this is the place she should be doing it in."



Battles looked quickly to the red-head but he instantly looked back to the old man. "You see there? We can all put hurt feelings aside and do business like proper folks do. You and I can have our drinks while I wait for the Marshal who I have dealings with, and you wait for the saloon owner. I wouldn't be expecting no apologies from the big man, but I'm sure the young lady here running things right now will keep him in check."

Battles finally looked to the red-head again, his pale blue eye almost daring her to contradict him but at the same time his expression seemed to beg her to agree and help him. All he wanted to do was diffuse the situation and get the young blond in a place she may be better looked after. He thought the red-head would definitely look after her if she could.

"Ain't that right, Miss? This is all a big misunderstanding that can be worked out?"

Then Battles turned back to the wagon and smiled, unexpected dimples appearing on his cheeks. He held the bottle up again and winked at the old man. "Shall we wet our whistle? Let bygones be bygones as you said, conduct our business like gentlemen and keep me from having to shoot anyone? You want what's best for your daughter after all, and I want a drink with good company. What do you say?"

Battles wouldn't really mind shooting the old fool, he knew, but his thoughts were currently on the young girl. She deserved a chance and he thought maybe she'd get one at the Shady Lady if the young red-haired barmaid was any true indication of the place.