Stinky Pete, Mad Jack and I walked slowly down the street, 3 abreast. On the street side, townsfolk scurried into the buildings and slammed and bolted the doors behind them, and pulled down the shades. A few brave souls peered at us from the windows as we passed. We were here to wreck this town, starting with its law men first.
Facing us 30 paces away, they stared back at us. Grim. Silent. Sheriff Toirdhealbeach Beaucail swept his duster behind him with dramatic flourish to expose the two nickel plated Colts on his hip. Flies buzzed around Deputy Quartermain as he slammed the action shut on his double barrelled 12 bore. BP said nothing as he flexed his hands near his ivory handled Schofields. “We really gonna do this, Filthie?” the Sherriff asked.
Without taking my eyes off them, I noisily spat out my chewing tobacco and said, “Ayep….”