Post by T-Robosaurus Rex on Sept 24, 2016 16:17:44 GMT -5
To many the town of Last Out, Nevada was known as a wretched hive of scum and villainy and to others it was your typical frontier town struggling to keep existing despite the harsh conditions it found itself in. To Wilson Mayer, small ranch owner and gunslinger, it was simply ‘Home’. He had made a life there nearly a decade ago not because he was chasing his fortune, not because he was hiding from the consequences of actions he had undertaken back East, but because nowhere else had ever felt so right.
Life in Last Out was neither easy nor comfortable. Like many towns in the West its population fluctuated greatly from month to month, some drifters would pass by looking for work but very few put down roots and tried to build a future for themselves there, Wilson Mayer considered that to be their loss. In his experience those that stuck around became stronger as a result of their determination to survive and would be prepared for anything that fate could throw their way.
He was aware that the permanent residents of Last Out were an eclectic bunch, each of them possessing strength of character and personal history that he hadn’t experienced in any settlement before he chose to stop wandering. Behind every face there was a story that would excite, frighten or mystify, and it was the people that had convinced him to make this ramshackle town his home. However as colorful and intriguing as his neighbors were, there were few to none that he would trust further than he could throw a heavy set Native.
Living with a permanent distrust of those around you was not pleasant, but it was also the way the world worked now. It would be no different if he wandered from town to town, he had witnessed the disdain strangers would be greeted with on their arrival first hand and had no wish to repeat such an experience at regular intervals. No, it was far better to stay in one place, that way you were able to ascertain who the biggest threats to your survival were over time, and plan your defense accordingly instead of blindly guessing and relying on Lady Luck.
Observation and assessment, they were the secret to surviving the wild nature of this day and age, and Wilson had lived by that code ever since he settled in Last Out. For many years the other residents had thought of him as nothing more than a washed up gunslinger living on past tales of glory and heroism, they respected his past but not his present, however through his ability to learn and adapt that had changed.
After years of relative obscurity Wilson Mayer had challenged Last Out’s legendary quick draw artist, ‘Handsome’ Rufus Chambers, to a duel. Chambers was renowned for being the most talented gunslinger Nevada had ever seen, the stories of his duels destined to be passed down from generation to generation, and it was the ‘washed up’ Wilson Mayer who finally dealt him a definitive defeat. Ever since that day the residents saw him in a whole new light.
After defeating 'Handsome' Rufus he made it his goal to create legends of his own so that he could be spoken about in the same breath as the other great duelists in Last Out's history. He gained a reputation for never backing down from a challenge and that had led to him taking part in more successful quick draw's in succession than any other desperado in the towns history. Wilson Mayer was now feared and respected by the townsfolk in the place he was proud to call home, and it felt good.
But Wilson Mayer was about to find out that notoriety comes at a price.
~~~
Wilson decided to walk into town that day, if you'd have asked him why he didn't ride in on his faithful steed, Roach, he wouldn't be able to give you an honest answer. All he knew was that he had the urge to take in the surroundings of the town at a more leisurely pace so that he could appreciate his home fully. He savored the smell of the sun baked sand, he let his eyes linger on some of the more questionable architecture, and he listened to the sound of the comings and goings around him.
As he approached the General Store and Pony Express station it's owner, Marvin Whitaker, was hastily readying his own horse to ride out. The pace in which he secured the saddle and mounted it suggested to Mayer that there was urgency and something wasn't right.
'Trouble?' he enquired as he approached.
Marvin nodded, 'Bandits from Outer Ridge'
Wilson raised his eyebrows. Outer Ridge was the closest settlement to them and he had heard much about them. They were also a town with a reputation for fearsome gunslinger's but that's where the similarities ended. He'd heard they did not share the same code of honor as his home did, the residents of Last Out were proud of the fact that everyone carried responsibility for it's success and failings, but he had heard that in Outer Ridge their Sheriff held all the power and it citizens were bound to his whims. It was also said that if a duel was scheduled for noon in Outer Ridge, you'd be lucky if it got underway before sunset.
A number of Outer Ridge's residents had come to Last Out to try their luck over the past few years, either on bandit raids, or as part of the annual summer tournament, and while they had enjoyed some successes, in the end they had always found the challenge of this unique town too much to handle and had headed back. None that he had seen were cause for the sort of urgency he observed in Marvin Whitaker at this moment.
'It's the Bradfords', Marvin informed him having noticed his dubious reaction.
The Bradfords. Wilson had heard of them, they were a Husband and Wife duo and their gang was infamous in Nevada. Their many years of marriage had lead to an understanding during shootouts that gave them a great advantage their enemies would need substantial numbers to match. They also counted Abraham 'Quickdraw' Caldwell and Wiley Jacobs amongst their ranks. 'Quickdraw' was renowned for being one of Outer Ridge's longest undefeated duelists and Jacobs was an ex-con who was raised by his mother and was forced to learn the dirtiest of tricks to survive from a young age. These weren't the usual Outer Ridge bandits, these ones could pose a threat.
'Need help?', Wilson enquired having realized the potentially severity of the situation.
'Nah, got me a Posse, besides if they leave us to the buzzards I'm sure they'll come looking for ya.' Marvin replied as he tipped his hat as his horse moves off at a canter.
Wilson had stopped listening the moment Whitaker had indicated that he was leading a posse. He was well aware that people could undergo drastic changes, he was evidence of that himself, but the General Store owner's transformation was barely believable. Just a year ago Marvin had been more content with gossipin' about the other gunslingers deeds than actually accomplishing anything himself. With his access to the Pony Express he would often regale his customers with entertaining tales about other places across the land, and used that forum to ridicule those like Wilson that actually had the guts to take risks.
In recent months something had changed, he had for some reason decided he too wanted to be known as a gunslinger extraordinaire, despite lacking neither the skill nor resolve to reach the heights he had set for himself. This venture had proven to go as underwhelmingly as many had expected, yet here he was leading a posse intended to fend off one of the bigger threats Last Out had seen in it's existence. This struck Wilson as unwise.
He was relieved of his fear when he saw the other members of Whitaker's entourage. On a burgundy horse sat Felix Wolf, Last Out's longest serving resident, he'd actually lived there since it was a previous settlement named Locked Out. He was also one of the towns creepiest residents, which was almost unavoidable being the owner of the Funeral Parlor and the towns resident undertaker. Some say he has an encyclopedic knowledge of everyone that has ever set foot in the town's borders, and with this knowledge he is rumored to be able to predict when each and every one of us will die. Of course Wilson didn't believe this, but it was a nice explanation for the ungodly speed at which Wolf could prepare an appropriate casket.
At his side was the village Smithy, Bert 'Iron Knuckles' Hardin, and if you thought a showdown was going to get dirty there was no better man to bring to the fight. He was the star of the Last Out bare knuckle fighting ring, and had even ventured to Outer Ridge only weeks ago and used his famed fists to defeat their best. He had earned a reputation for having one of the thickest skulls in the West due to his resilience, Wilson Mayer had heard many claim to have seen a piano drop on top of him and he walked away with barely a shrug. He also brewed the most potent moonshine in Nevada.
Wilson was surprised to see Amos Booth join the group, he was a former business partner of Marvin Whitaker and there was bad blood between the two. Much of this stemmed from Amos' love of gambling with what Marvin considered his money and the fact that when he did win big Whitaker was unhappy with his piece of the pot. Wilson had always though Marvin was a fool for ever getting into bed with a gambler like Booth who lost big more than he won. It was clear to Mayer that Amos Booth wasn't as excited about winning as he was about risking everything to do so and that would always be bad for business. But he was fiercely loyal to Last Out and while Wilson was surprised to seem him next to Marvin Whitaker once more, his presence was reassuring.
As they rode off towards the invaders from Outer Ridge he turned to head towards the Saloon but the sound of yippin' and hollerin' drew his attention further down Main Street. The noise drew many residents out of the surrounding buildings and they lined the street to witness a gleaming white horse come steaming down the middle. Riding the horse was Pancho Sebastian.
However 'riding' was not an adequate explanation for what Pancho was doing, people didn't line the streets just to watch a man sit on a fast moving horse. Pancho was a Vaqueros from far south in Mexico, his family had been rearing cattle long before Wilson's ancestors had landed on Plymouth Rock, and they were legendary in their country. Pancho did not just ride a horse, he made art with it.
He wowed the crowd with a number of his tricks, he was able to stand fully erect upon a galloping horse, his balance was impeccable. He would sit backwards and even upside down on the horse, and could make his lasso break what most considered the natural order of things. He had only been a resident of Last Out for a relatively short time but his antics had made him incredibly popular with the townsfolk, including the children.
Wilson was not as impressed as the others, he considered Pancho's tricks to be nothing more than a redundant sideshow for kids, and hugely inefficient when it came to actually herding cattle. He'd also seen him handle a six shooter, and he was as bad with it as he was good with a horse. Wilson Mayer wasn't really sure what the point of Pancho's act was, sure it made the dimwitted smile for a few minutes, but what honor was there in that?
Wilson had the feeling that Pancho Sebastian had put down roots in Last Out because he couldn't handle the pressure he faced back home. Here he was a unique spectacle, no-one could do the things he displayed, but back in Mexico he was nothing special. The pressure of living up to the respected name of his family had obviously been too much for him and he had turned northwards to escape the scrutiny under the pretense of spreading the name Sebastian farther than anyone before. Underneath the show and the spectacle was a man riddled with insecurity, and that kind of individual rarely fared well here.
When the display had finished the crowd dispersed but Wilson was prevented from entering the saloon once more as from the crowd he was approached by two men. The first was the Rappite Preacher, Floyd Blackenship, and at his side was the towns sawbones, 'Doc' Noah Pittman. Both men walked up to Wilson with broad smiles across their faces, which made him uneasy.
His unease was justified as it was a near certainty that their smiles were due to something nefarious. When Blackenship had first come to Last Out a few months prior he had initially preached about the virtues of compassion and forgiveness, but the true nature of this untamed frontier had quickly revealed his malevolent side and he was soon ranting about damnation and retribution. He had proclaimed that Last Out was a town filled with sinners of the worst kind and only he could save us all from God's wrath, and even then he still expected much torment and distress to befall the settlement.
He was no longer fuelled by his faith, instead by his bitterness that no-one in Last Out really took him seriously. The fact his sermons had gained few followers to his cause had driven him further and further into the dark depths of loathing. He had tried to show them the path, he had tried to convince them that he was their only hope, but even when he and 'Doc' had displayed God's judgement to one and all by gunning down Last Out's other preacher and taking over his church, he was just labeled a yellow bellied coward.
Wilson did not put any stock in Blackenship's mantra, nor was he impressed by two men blindsiding another in broad daylight, but he did not consider Floyd to be the fool that many others did. Wilson could see a dead eyed determination in the preacher, a willingness to do whatever he deemed necessary to attain the virtuous society he dreamed of. He was also aware that the few Floyd's sermons did speak to were fiercely committed to upholding his vision. He had seen the strength such commitment and loyalty could breed, and what a man in command of it could inspire before, and it wasn't something to take lightly.
The fact that he had the town's only Doctor as one of his followers was of great concern due to the power that gave to his cause. Many relied on 'Doc' Pittman's services but Wilson was not one of them. The Doctor claimed to know everything there is to know about the human body, that he could repair any break, suture all wounds and even cure someone of malaise of the mind. From the few major operations that Wilson had witnessed Noah Pittman undertake the evidence told him that the assurances of this sawbones were worth as much as the dung on his ranch.
Not long ago Pittman would not have been the one following another man, he would have insisted he lead the way himself, he had been full of confidence and bravado. Two duels changed that. Noah was one of the first to challenge Wilson to a showdown after his famous besting of 'Handsome' Rufus, and despite his insistence that he knew as much about gunslinging as he did about human anatomy he failed. Wilson did his best to not mortally wound his opponents, but in Noah's case he felt this would be a mistake.
The second duel was more recent, and the Doctor fell to the owner of the Saloon, Blanche Skinner. He had underestimated her because all he saw was a 'purty lil' filly', yet everyone in Last Out knew she was much more than that. Having been raised in a family of gunslingers, her brother had reluctantly taught her to be one of the quickest draws in Nevada, and as the owner of the only Saloon in town she had had plenty of opportunities to prove that. There was no shame in falling to defeat against Blanche, but it had shattered Pittman's confidence in himself.
The combination of a bitter zealot and a soul with little self belief could not lead to anything good. As they approached 'Doc' Pittman was the first to speak.
'Bet ya he's going into the Devil's Cavern of Whores' he says to the Preacher as they come to a stop in front of Wilson.
'Now, now Noah, have we not learned that we cannot make assumptions? Maybe Wilson was considering a private sermon from me? It would not be Christian to jump to the conclusion that he was going to imbibe in sinful behavior in the home of blasphemy.' Blackenship replies as he smiles at Mayer.
Wilson furrows his brow before responding, 'Y'all mean the Waterin' Hole?', he motions to the Saloon.
'That is the place of degradation which we speak', the Preacher confirms.
'No law against it.' Wilson shrugs.
The smile disappears from Floyd Blankenship's face and he narrows his eyes as he steps closer to Wilson leaning into his ear.
'On the day of reckoning thou shall be judged', he whispers before he motions to the Doctor that it is time to leave. But as they do 'Doc' Pittman leans in.
'And that day is comin' sooner than ya think, and we will stand tall'
When you are the most respected and feared gunslinger in town you get used to people making threats against you, every man and his dog wants to prove to everyone else that they are not afraid of you, but until they actually challenge you to a showdown its nothing more than empty words. When numerous individuals threaten you in unison it is a sign that you are held in high esteem by even your enemies. However when they do it quietly and cryptically in the manner Wilson just experience it means you have to be on high alert at all times, because folks like that don't tend to put much stock in honor.
Wilson needed a drink and he put his head down and ignored all other distractions until he made it to the saloon.
~~~
Blanche Skinner's Saloon was the only one in Last Out and it never laid empty. Under her stewardship it had become one of the finest establishments in the West, and this was down to her keen attention to detail and planning. The bar was stocked with a variety drinks from far and wide, and trouble rarely found it's way inside her doors due to her well known proficiency with a six shooter. She had also allowed 'Handsome' Rufus Chambers to rent out a number of rooms on the second floor for the ladies he called his 'Chambers Maids' and along with a steady flow of business having a legendary gunslinger like Rufus around also helped with issues of security.
As he approached the sound of an upbeat piano ditty and the laughter of the Saloon's patron's made him smile, he'd been up since the crack of dawn to tending to affairs on the ranch, he had earned this drink. As he swung the doors open and stepped inside the entire room fell silent bar the sound of the hinges squeaking behind him. All eyes were on him momentarily before everyone then turned back to their tables continuing their conversations in hushed tones and the piano starts up with a more somber tune.
Wilson isn't stupid and he knows this was not a good sign, but before he is able to contemplate what it could mean a bar stool collapses onto the floor as the man sitting on it gets to his feet and staggers a few steps forwards before stopping and swaying in place while looking at Wilson.
The man's name was Reuben Hodge, and he was Last Out's resident drunk. Years ago he had been involved in many a battle against the Native's and the things he had witnessed first hand had driven him to a life ruled by drink and delusion. Wilson did not judge him for this, he could not imagine the horrors Hodge must have experienced and it filled him with pity.
What Wilson could not abide however was Reuben's reaction to alcohol, he became belligerent and combative, and despite the fact that the majority of the times that he swung a punch or drew his gun he would miss wildly, Hodge never learned from his many humiliations and would repeat the same cycle. And thus what happened next was of no surprise to Mayer.
'Wilshon...' No one could remember Reuben ever speaking without slurring his words, 'Wilshon fucking Mayer...what makesh you sho speshal!?!? Huh? You're nuffin' but a phoney! Walkin' around like you own ush! I built thish town! I keep everyone shafe! People know I can shhhhhhooot a thimble offa shnakesh head! They know I can takesh you down! Don't you?!?!'
Reuben Hodge turns appealing to everyone else, and silence befalls the saloon once more, and a solitary tumbleweed rolls across the floor.
'CUNTSH!', Hodges screams as he reaches for his holster as he sways backwards and forwards, after a few attempts are thwarted by getting in his own way with his drunken limbs he finally raises the six shooter...
A shot echo's around the saloon and Reuben drops his pistol falling to the ground clutching his bloodied hand. Wilson and the room look across towards the foot of the staircase where 'Handsome' Rufus Chambers is sat upon a stool clutching a smoking gun. He nods at Wilson.
'Ain't nobody suckerin' you 'till 'Handsome' Rufus gets his re-duel', he smiles and tips his hat as if to say you're welcome.
'He couldn't hit a bull's rump with a handful of banjos', Wilson points out.
'Rufus knows this, he was just protecting his newest 'Chamber Maid', have you met Young Lady Levine?', he asks gesturing towards a slim young women with long blonde hair.
'M'Lady,' Wilson tips his hat and smiles as the young girl turns a bright shade of red before he turs to the bar and raises a finger to indicate he would like a drink.
The barman was Nelson Allen, he was another example of Blanche Skinners excellent business mind. She had brought him in to tend bar due to looks that made the girls swoon, he had a natural charisma that made him get along with the men and he had an accent no-one could quite put their finger on but everyone found delightful. With Rufus' 'Chamber Maids' fulfilling the needs of her male clientele, Nelson had been successful in pulling in the ladies.
Not only was Nelson Allen a selling point for the saloon, he was also an adept gunslinger who had once been considered the biggest threat to 'Handsome' Rufus. But as skilled as Nelson was with his pistol it wasn't always his passion, he found more reward in the company of the opposite sex and was known to often neglect his duties behind the bar in favor of unbelievably long stretches of time with the 'Chamber Maids' upstairs. This meant his focus was rarely where it should be, especially before the biggest of duels.
Due to their association in the Saloon 'Handsome' Rufus and Nelson Allen had become close friends. After Rufus lost his duel with Wilson he had spent an increasing amount of time with Nelson and many suspected this was why he had not engaged in a significant showdown since his famous defeat. He often tended bar to cover for Nelson's absence, and many suspected Rufus had been held back by this association. He had spent more time bounty hunting rag tag bands of outlaws with Nelson than he had attempting to rebuild his own reputation. But given his comments earlier a change in attitude may be on the horizon.
Wilson turns away from the bar with his whiskey and scans the room until he sees his friend, Railway Baron Irvin Whitley, he saunters over and sits down next to him'
'Howdy partner', he says as he takes his seat.
'Howdy' Irvin replies.
'How's business?', Wilson enquires.
'Good,' Irvin smiles as he answers 'We should have some track laid all the way to Outer Ridge soon, shouldn’t be more than a year or so until we connect Last Out to my glorious network.'
'You've been sayin' that for the last 3 years.' Mayer says followed by a chuckle.
'And what would you know about being a Railway Baron, hmm? Delay's are inevitable in this line of work.' Comes the reply.
'I still ain't seen any of your fancy locomotives you been yammering about.' Wilson says accusingly.
'Of course you haven't! You never leave this godforsaken town.' Irvin points out.
'That's true, Irv. But what about everyone else? Even the Pony Express riders say they haven't seen them, and if they're painted gold like you say they shouldn't be hard to miss!', he asks Irvin with a grin.
'Well everyone else is a idiot, you know this.' Irvin answers' As for the Pony Express, you know the types they hire, if their brains were dynamite they wouldn't have enough to blow their noses.'
Both men take a swig of their drinks.
'I'm surprised to see you here' the Rail Baron says with a concerned look on his face.
'Can't a man drink with his friend?' Wilson replies,
'You haven't seen, have you?', The concern on Irvin Whitley's face grows.
Wilson just looks at his friend and this lack of response compels his friend to slide a sheet of paper across the table towards him, when he picks it up and examines it his eyes widen.
'That's not flattering', Wilson notes.
'You're being hunted, and your worried they didn't capture your good side?' Irvin says incredulously.
'I already had a target on my back.', Wilson replies with a shrug.
'This is different, Wilson. Look at the reward!', Irvin jabs his finger down on the paper where it says $5000. 'That's enough to set a man up for life.'
'Well that explains a few things,', Mayer says while nodding his head.'Blackenship and Pittman made a very specific threat to me earlier, the change in tone when I walked into this room, and I can guess that Marvin not wanting me on his posse had something to do with this.'
'You've no idea, Wilson.' Irvin says as he shakes his head, 'This got real serious, real fast. Everyone has formed a posse, and they're all after you. Marvin and his boys were sent out to make sure those bandits from Outer Ridge didn't claim the bounty.'
'How do you know all this?' Wilson enquires suspiciously.
'I'm in a posse.'
'You're hunting me!?!?' Wilson's jaw drops down.
'People would have been suspicious if I hadn't. Besides I joined Hodge's group' Irvin motions over to Reuben Hodge who is still on the floor clutching his bloodied hand. 'He also got 'Two Lives' Miller and Wesley O'Neill.'
Wilson wasn't too worried by this, Wesley O'Neill was an arrogant upstart with a very high opinion of himself, but Wilson had only ever seen him fall under the feet of his own horse on a number of occasions.
Leo 'Two Lives' Miller was a different matter however. Leo got his nickname because the residents of Last out had been certain he had died many years ago after a mine caved in after a psychopath decided it would be fun to set off some dynamite at it's entrance. When he reappeared a few months ago people could not believe what they were seeing, and when the Preacher Floyd Blackenship had called him an abomination on his return he had knocked the holy man out in front of the entire town. Being a trapper he was far better with his hands than a six shooter, but he would be very dangerous in close combat.
Wilson motions with his head to a darkened corner where a man dressed all in black does his best to sit in the shadows mysteriously.
'I 'spose he's with The Preacher, The Doctor and the Snake Oil Salesman, they've been meeting a lot recently.' Wilson enquires.
'Surprisingly, no. The Preacher enlisted the services of Nelson the Barman and Clifford Harman' Irvin informs him.
'Harman? Isn't he the slow kid? Got dropped on his head by his uncle a few times?'
'That's the one!' Irvin confirms.
'They found him?'
'Yup, apparently he was in an old mine searching for leprechauns.' Irvin says unable to hold back a smirk.
'That seems like a strange choice', Wilson replies.
'They probably figure they can easily cut him out of the bounty if they are successful, which I imagine was a thought most of the people hunting you had.' Irvin surmises.
'So who else has a posse?'
'Well Pancho got Blanche to agree to watch his back...' Irvin begins.
Blanche was a wise choice in Wilson's eyes, he wouldn't underestimate her, all he needed to do was look at the town's Doctor to see what happened if you did.
'Frederick Lyndsey...'
Wilson raises his eyebrows.
'I know...I know...' Is Irvins response to Wilson's reaction. This was because Lyndsey was Last Out's most infamous lowlife, not because he was a criminal mastermind but because he had a skill for getting caught in the worst possible positions. He was so untrustworthy he'd been known to try and double cross himself, he was one of the last men Mayer would want watching his back.
'And remember that kid, who looked about twelve that did odd jobs around town a few years ago, the kid with the funny accent?' Irvin asks.
'You mean...Jack Aroo?', Mayer replies and his friend nods to acknowledge that is correct. Wilson remembered Jack, nice kid and from an early age he'd shown his potential to one day be a great gunslinger. However during his years in Last Out his progress had ground to a halt and he left barely any better than he arrived. Maybe his time away had turned him into someone Wilson should keep an eye on, but he doubted it.
'So what about him?' Wilson motions towards the man in the shadows once more.
As soon as he asks the question the patrons in the Saloon all start to file outside, including the darkly dressed and mysterious man, and Irvin motions that they follow. As the Saloon empties out onto the street Irvin talks again.
'Well of course he and the Snake Oil Salesmen will be together, but you'll be surprised who else joined them.' Irvin states rhetorically, pausing before revealing the answer as, ''Handsome' Rufus!'
Wilson was surprised, it was no secret that Rufus had an intense history with the Snake Oil Salesman for the former accusing the latter's 'Maids' of infecting the town with pink eye. They had dueled three times in a short space of time last year with Rufus coming out on top, the idea he would ever help a man many considered his nemesis proved to Wilson that his bounty was going to be the catalyst for many a betrayal.
As they headed outside Wesley kept a close eye on the darkly dressed man. He had only ever introduced himself by the name Mr Croup, but the way he said it you were clear that was not his real name. He was a fairly solitary man, most regularly seen at the Snake Oil Salesman's stall, and despite having been living in Last Out for a substantial amount of time he had achieved little other than confusing the townsfolk.
There were many rumors about who he really was, some said he was a bandit from further south hiding after assassinating a number of Sheriff's, other claimed he was an agent of the English over here plotting their revenge for the War of Independence and many others were convinced he was part of the government looking to stretch their oppressive rule over Last Out.
All Wilson knew for sure was that in recent weeks 'Mr Croup' had been spending more and more time with The Preacher and The Doctor as well as the Snake Oil Salesman. The fact Wilson now had a substantial bounty on his head may well be a coincidence, but it also seemed like the kind of opportunity those four would grasp with both hands. He was under no illusion that if the four of them were to seize anything it would be Mr. Croup who pulled the strings. Individually they were nothing too special, but under his guidance Wilson imagined they could become a dangerous unit.
'Oh and I almost forgot, that Drifter that passes by every now and then, thinks he's a pirate, Claud Henderson.' Irvin says interrupting Wilson's train of thought.
Wilson had always liked Henderson, incredibly skilled with a gun for a man who likes to sing about rum and gold at the drop of a hat. It also didn't surprise him that a man who believed in mermaids would team up with the Snake Oil Salesman.
When they exit the Saloon and see what has forced the crowd onto the street Wilson audibly scoffs as he rolls his eyes.
In the middle of Main Street the Snake oil Salesman had set up his stall and it advertised 'Nu and Impruved Tonycs!' And in front of it stood Emil Ballard, the merchant of lies as Wilson liked to call him. The crowd fell silent as he begins his sales pitch.
'Ladies and Gentlemen, gather round and witness the miraculous healing power of 'Ballard's Elixir of Life! No matter your ailment, whether it physical or emotional, 'Ballard's Elixir of Life' can cure all! Your very own Doctor, Noah Pittman will vouch for it's potency!' Emil has the crowd in the palm of his hand and they turn towards the sawbones and he smiles and nods.
'Do you wake up and feel like an ageing, out of touch, and boring gunslinger? If your names not Wilson Mayer 'Ballard's Elixir of Life' can help. And to demonstrate I introduce to you lil' Timmy.' Emil motions into the crowd and a young child is wheeled in on a wheelbarrow.
'Lil' Timmy hasn't been able to walk ever since a horse kicked him in the skull when it thought Wilson Mayer was going to try and mount it. For the past three years his poor mother has had to wheel him around in this barrow...now watch, as he drinks of the Elixir!' Ballard opens a red bottle and carefully pours some into the boys mouth. After a few seconds the boys eyes widen and he leaps from the wheelbarrows and proceeds to cartwheel and somersault down Main Street much to the thrill of the crowd.
'This is your chance! Abandon the apothecaries, ignore accepted science, turn to the alchemy of your forefather, skills that only Emil Ballard has kept alive! The price is $4 a bottle, but can you really put a price on a miracle!' As he finishes his pitch the crowd start to move in, brandishing their money at him and buying up all his stock.
Wilson despaired internally, it was the same thing every month or so. Emil would roll into town with his goods and wow everyone with promises of long life or increased strength or coyote repellent, and then after the spectacular nature of his sales pitch wore off the town slowly came to realize he'd fooled them once again. Each time he promised a spectacular breakthrough many people believed that he had succeeded this time, only for his products to drastically miss expectations over the proceeding weeks.
Wilson had to admit on some levels it was genius, Emil pretty much only worked one day a month and he continued to earn enough money to live comfortably, where as suckers like Mayer had to wake up at the crack of dawn each and every day to make an honest wage. But that was the difference between the two men, honesty. Ballard had previously shaved his beard, cut his hair and changed his name in an attempt to distance himself from the coyote repellent tragedy, and many people accepted it. Wilson did not, Wilson knew it proved that Ballard was nothing but a conman who somehow got by with the a different variation of the same act every month.
Wilson didn't believe a word that came out of the Snake Oil Salesman's mouth, if he ran in one direction screaming 'Fire!' Mayer would run in the opposite to be safe. He suspected that Ballard's constant jokes at Mayer's expense were actually a sign that the conman actually respected and admired the 'ageing gunslinger' and these verbal assaults were just a cover for that. Emil probably wished he could be more like him, and though he would protest this, Wilson had a feeling if the Snake Oil Salesman was ever to find himself a bride he'd probably name his firstborn son Wilson Mayer Ballard.
He observes that the crowd around the stall has begun to thin out, but not everyone was returning tot heir homes, and those that did were peaking out of their windows. Wilson gut sank as he looked around, and he turns to Irvin.
'Thanks for all your help.' He says as he looks his friend directly in the eyes. The Railway Baron nods.
Wilson scanned Main Street once more and time slowed to a halt, the faces that remained were those that he had been speaking of, their must be over 20 people loitering in the dirt, and then he sees Emil Ballard step out from behind his stall with a shotgun. Everyone in the street draws their pistol and point them at one another but the majority of the barrels are aimed at Wilson and Emil who have instinctively stood back to back.
He hadn't had time to really digest his predicament, but he observed and assessed the complex standoff and tried to consider every possibility. He knew the strengths and weaknesses of all the individuals around him, if he went down today at least the fact it took so many would secure his legend, but this was not how he wanted it to end. As the tension in the standoff increased Wilson become quietly confident he could survive this if he was careful because he had every angle covered,.
Except one.
He hears the hammer cock, the chamber fill and then feels the cold steel of his friend Irvin Whitley's gun on the back of his neck.
And that's when Wilson Mayer remembered that in Last Out, Nevada, you can't rely on a soul but yourself.
