It was an unseasonably warm day in Dry Gulch, so hot that not even the flies could be bothered to move much. Despite the heat, the streets and shops were filled with people, mostly from out of town.
A quiet buzz filled the still air and there was a tension in the air and just the slightest hint of fear. The first ever Dry Gulch Legends of the West Showdown was scheduled to commence the very next day. Many of the strangers were gunslingers; some were lawmen, but most had a price on their heads somewhere.
Even now, the roads in and out of town were filled with travellers, some hoping to win in one of the many contests being offered, a few looking for the chance to collect a rich bounty and, fewer still, fools hoping to make a name for themselves in the big showdown.
Daniel “Skeeter” LeGrew was one of them. He'd headed West when his hometown had proved too boring for him. “Not enough action” he'd said, and off he'd been to find his fortune in the west. He was dressed much like the other gunfighters, carrying two smokewagons, hanging low on his hips.
Unlike most gunfighters, though, he wore his best suit under a green leather duster. He squinted, not from the sun, but because he couldn't see. He was a crack shot, but nearly blind as a bat. He moved quickly, always quickly, looking for a job as a piano player.
From the South, just before noon another man arrived in town. He wore a fine suit, probably made in New York City or maybe even from the Old World. He surveyed the town surreptitiously as he rode through, a look of disdain for this backwater town just slightly visible on his otherwise impassive face.
He rode to “Silver Saddle” and made arrangements for a room. As he looked across the crowded gaming tables, he breathed a slight sigh of relief. At least the locals had some decent games of chance. He reached into his pocket with one well-manicured hand and fiddled with his lucky deck - it was a nervous habit he'd worked hard to cultivate.
A third stranger arrived in town shortly after lunch. Unlike the other two, he headed straight for the local church. He paused outside the church to divest himself of weapons and to dust his fine, but trailworn clothing. He was a mexican, probably a wealthy one by the looks of his fine horse and equipment. He entered the church nervously, hoping for absolution.
His sins confessed, he headed to the local sheriff's office. After finding out the local weapons laws, asking about his chances of getting a job, and receiving some advice on a place to stay, he headed to “the Iron Skillet”.
Entering, he removed his hat and made his way to the counter, scarcely noticing the coffee slurping piano player who had arrived just ahead of him. He bowed low, making a formal greeting to the lady of the house, Emma May. Arrangements were made for a room, with the lady apologizing profusely for its condition.
He billeted his horse in the yard out back and couldn't help noticing the fence and trough were in need of repairs. Reaching into his pocket, he discovered he had only 4 bits, a far cry from the days when his father had owned his own hacienda. Still, he'd have to see what he could do - no gentleman would leave the lady's corral unfixed if its repair was in his power.
The piano player, finally noticing that the Iron Skillet didn't have a piano, resolved to try a few of the other establishments in town. He had no luck at Crabby Joe's although they did direct him to the Silver Saddle. Entering the crowded saloon, he accidentally bumped into a tinhorn from back East. He apologized and continued on his way, leaving a rather confused looking gambler in his wake.
The gambler decided not to press the issue and instead took his horse down to the livery, then decided to get a few cigars. Along the way, he bumped into a wealthy looking Mexican who seemed a bit confused.
“Need some directions? You look lost.” he said.
“Hola Senor, perhaps I am a little. I'm looking for lumber to fix a trough and a fence.”
“I'm sure they can help you in here,” said the gambler, opening the door wide for the Mexican.
The shopkeeper and the Mexican began talking and the old man, Mr. Pierce, was able to fill his order. Unfortunately, it appeared the Mexican hoped to trade on an honest face, something not many people traded on anymore. Luckily, the gambler didn't mind.
“Tell you what, Mister Pierce; just write me up for the lumber and a half dozen of those cigars,” he said.
“Thank you senor...” began the Mexican, obviously looking for a name.
“John. Just John” came the reply.
“I am Ramon Celestion Alvarez-Sandoval, and I will repay your kindness. If ever I may be of assistance to you...”
“No need for that, it's a good thing you're doin' helpin out the widow”
“It is no more than any gentleman would do. Where are you staying?”
“The Silver Saddle. Walk with me there.”
The heavily laden Mexican and the gambler were joined by the shop boy as they headed to their respective destinations. When he got back to the Iron Skillet, the Mexican set to work. The gambler, arriving at the Silver Saddle, got out some cash and also set to work.
The near-sighted and jittery piano player turned out to be a fair musician and soon replaced Sam, the piss-poor piano player. Folks liked his playing and, even better, he only drank coffee. The gambler was also settled in and, later that evening as he sat enjoying a fine meal with Emma May, the Mexican met with the sheriff and was made a deputy for the week.
All three were on hand when the rules for the quickdraw were announced, and it took the efforts of both the gambler and the Mexican to break up the fight when the piano player,rushing towards the outhouse, bumped into a large Indian.
Following services in the morning, the quickdraw contest began and Skeeter, the piano-player was in the first pairing. Getting some last minute advice from the gambler, he headed into the street and promptly won his contest. From his vantage point atop the general store, the Mexican spotted Winchester and one of his bodyguards whispering just before the shootout took place.
Someone is rustling dairy cows from outlying farms.
The town newspaper isn't too fond of the mayor or sheriff's office.
Most of the townsfolk are protective of Emma May.
Hu Shude has the sexual prowess of a dragon.
GM (to myopic character): You look down the street and can see Crabby Joe's.
Joe: No I can't.
Joe: Howdy, can I get some coffee? long pause Damn mirrors.
Dave: You look lost
Joe: Mexico's that away
Joe (to angry looking Indian): Ah'm sorry, I got bored listening to ya.
Dave: There's even a bible thumping contest.
Steve: I have thumped no bibles.
Dave: Great, now all folks have to do is yell “Praise the Lord” and listen for your amen.
Steve: Hey, I'm a Catholic, not a Baptist! If they yelled “O-17” I might have to yell Bingo.
Dave: (After noticing many MASH names): I'm just waiting for Klinger to show up
Joe: That's that damn Indian who won't leave me alone!