Contest Submissions "A Day in the Life"

[DeletedUser]

The poll is now open. Vote for your favorite stories. You can vote more than once but can only vote once for each story. The Poll will be closed on August 30th.

The winning story will be featured in The Broken Saddle.

 

[DeletedUser]

Why

Why?

The shot from the Precise Buntline ran straight and true. The world seemed to be running in slow motion as the bullet sped away from the pistol, the recoil sending reverberations up his arm. Faster and faster it ran through the trees, heading towards it's target. THUD. As nice as his buntline was, it just wasn't suited to hunting.


“Damn it.” Konyem Ilve sighed. And he inspected the bullet now embedded in the the tree trunk. That grizzly bear had outfoxed him yet again. And to think he thought today was his lucky day. He'd already taken down that buffalo on his own this morning, but it obviously wasn't to be with this particular bear. He'd have that bears head on his wall if it was the last thing he did, he vowed. However, that particular running battle would have to be saved for another day, for he could hear the warning from the nearby fort. It was under attack!


He rushed through the forest and into the clearing, where a flash of white caused him to halt in his tracks. He walked over to the bushes and reached in, careful of the thorns. He pulled out a very fancy looking bowler hat. He tried it on, and strangely he thought he felt a little more charismatic in this hat. With a smile, he stuffed the hat into his already very full and very heavy backpack and set off towards the fort.


Once he arrived, he quickly spoke to his commanders, who told him to man the towers. He grabbed his Harquebus and headed to the tower. He heard the attackers give the order and suddenly the battle was joined. It was ferocious at first. There must have been ninety men attacking the fort, and their tactic seemed to be to all attack the same point. Obviously they did not care about losing a few bodies as long as they reached their goal. He quickly gave the order for everyone to man the east wall, but surprisingly not everyone did. Some stayed in post, maybe rooted by fear. He didn't have time to dwell on that though as he fired down from the tower. Suddenly he fell backwards as a flash of pain shot up his arm. He'd been hit! He glanced at his arm and luckily it was only a flesh wound, the bullet grazing across his arm rather than through it. To his right, Private Hellstromm had not been so lucky. He lay with a large wound in his throat, blood spurting out with each heart beat as he fought desperately to prevent the flow. Konyem couldn't help Hellstromm though, he knew a dead man when he saw one.


As quickly as the battle started, it had ended. The attackers just did not have the numbers to make their tactic work. Konyem walked around the fort, ticking off people he knew. Elmyr, dead. Denisero, severely wounded but shouting about having another go. Gem, alive and well polishing the blood off her boots. Hellstromm he had watched fall, but there were others that had fallen too. Too many men had fallen, and for what? To protect this structure of wood and brick? And what was special about this fort? It had a barracks and a resource stock, and a headquarters for the commanders. Even the towers were rickety and didn't give any real advantage. Konyem sighed. So much blood shed for nothing.


Sometimes, Konyem felt like a character in a game - his life played out for the amusement of others.


He looked to the sky at his imagined tormentors. His voice no more than a whisper he let out a single word.


“Why?”

-Anonymous submission

 

[DeletedUser]

Demolition Man

Demolition Man:

I woke up from my bed in my Luxury Apartment. I rubbed my eyes as I got up. I went over to my dresser and grabbed my clothes for the day. I put on my brown leather vest first, and then put on my good pair of brown lace-up shoes. I tied a green shawl around my face and then put on my fancy felt hat. I grabbed my equipment that I would need for the day. I grabbed my throwing knives that Henry Walker had given to me and some TNT.

I walked past the innkeeper, but he didn't give me any trouble for rent or anything. After all, I was able to sleep free in my town of 0E0 Death Star. I walked outside and got on my white horse who I had named Billy Bob. I rode out of the town towards my job for the day. I was a demolition man, a man who transported ammunition. I was a dueler on the side, but it didn't pay as well these days.

The first thing I always see when I leave the town is a herd of buffalo. And of course, the Indians hunted these buffalo. I rode past. One day I thought of becoming a buffalo hunter, but I didn't have the skills to be able to yet. I rode on, past the corn field and past another part of our empire, 0E0 Coruscant. I rode down the river and finally, I was there.

I got to a group of wagons, who were carrying the deadly explosives. I tied Billy Bob to my wagon and got on. I held his knives just in case of attack. I rode down towards the fort, which needed this ammunition badly. I sighed and I rode on. Suddenly, while I was passing a canyon, Mexican's attacked. I started to throw my knives at them to ward them off. Suddenly, an explosion rang out.

I looked up to see what happened. I was lieing on the ground with explosive burns on my body. But I would live it seems, barely. I got up and looked at the Mexican bodies. They were killed in the explosion. I looked at one and grabbed his bandana. It was a nice Mexican bandana no doubt, and rare. I tried it on, and even in my state, it made me feel stronger. I put it into my backpack and then went back to the carravan. Only my wagon had been destroyed and luckily, Billy Bob wasn't dead either. I got onto my horse and we rode on.

Finally, after four hours, we had got it there safely. I kept the bandana, and I was rewarded with a few dollars and some TNT. I got back on Billy Bob and rode back to town. I was tired and hurt. Maybe tomorrow, or even eight hours later, I could get back to my job. Til then, I would take a nice cosy nap in my luxury apartment. I just hoped nothing happened while I was asleep.....

- Submitted by James the Hunter

 

[DeletedUser]

The train Job

I awoke. My heart was racing, my face drenched with sweat, and my body shaking relentlessly. I knew what I had to do today. It's the biggest job of my life, and its here, right now, for the taking. I got up and tried to regain my composure. After all, I'm supposed to be one of the best shots out there. Let’s hope that I can prove that today. "At least I'm not having to ambush a stagecoach" I say as I leave my bed in The Club.

I walked past the barkeeper, who nodded his head to me as he knew what I was setting out to do. The sheriff hadn't woken up yet, just like we had planned. I look toward the table with my two partners waiting, looking as anxious to do this as I was. We were past the point of no return, past any hope of giving up. We must rob the train.

It seemed like it was from a movie. The three men riding on their horses at blazing speeds, kicking up dust and plowing across the ground. They ride on, in their fancy coats and shawls to cover their faces. The trains there, right in their sights. One shouts “how do we stop it?" "Simple" I say with a grin...

We ride right next to the train. I shoot out ahead of the others, aiming to cut the train off. The engineer sees me and slows down to a dead stop. That’s when I draw my gun and fire right into the engineer’s chest. He falls and all is silent. The two men round into the cargo segment.

It was the clothing shipment today. I grab myself a new shawl, as I lost mine in the ride. My men grab some boots and a leather jacket. We just ride off, like nothing happened. Like I never actually shot anyone and my men never broke into the train.

And to think we will do this again in another two hours...

Submitted By Sauceysauce

 

[DeletedUser]

The daily toil of a worker in the west

The daily toils of a worker in The West.

It was a fine summer morning as George was roused by a chorus of early morning birds. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the first blush of sunrise, and the sun itself would not be seen cresting the mountains to the east for another hour or so, but he was not one to laze away in bed when there was work to be done. He rose from his bed, feeling a little stiff from his exertions the day before, and went out to the well, to fetch some water with which to perform his morning ablutions. He had drilled this well himself a month earlier, and it gave him some sense of pride and satisfaction every day when he performed this task, that the water always came, clean and pure.

After a quick wash he brushed his teeth and then shaved, using just the cold water and a little lather, before dressing in his usual working clothes. He decided to wear his new red shawl today as well, he had bought it yesterday on a whim, after it had arrived with the new goods for sale at the local general store. Looking down at his brown ragged boots he couldn't help a slight guilty feeling that the money would have been more wisely spent on some new footwear, but these shoes were well worn in and comfortable, while none of the new shoes stocked by the local tailor appealed to him.

Having lit a fire in the stove and fried up some bacon and eggs to have with the last of yesterday's bread, George sat down to breakfast with Nathan, the elderly farmer who had taken him in after the death of his parents. Daydreaming about living in a fine manor house like the one he had been helping build for the last few weeks, George didn't realise at first that Nathan was talking to him "....the corn won't harvest itself you know" Nathan finished.
Not this again, thought George, can't he see I've got more important things to do?
"Of course Nathan, I'll harvest the corn tomorrow, I'm busy today. You know how it is, no rest for the wicked"
"All right then, but mind you do." Nathan grumbled.
They finished the rest of the meal in an uncomfortable silence.

Fully sated from his hearty breakfast, George walked to the general store to start work for the day. He had nearly finished building this store, and it was always nice to see more of it come to use, like yesterday when the shawls had first appeared in the new bay windows at the front. Everything in town had been carefully constructed by him, except for the mortuary and the church, the only two buildings left intact when he had found this ghost town and decided to breathe new life into it.

After two hours spent working on the store, George decided to go to a nearby ranch house and aid in the construction there. The pay wasn't great, but he had picked up a lot of tips and tricks of the building trade from working alongside the local rancher, and he didn't think he'd be half the builder he was if not for the guidance he'd received there. Unfortunately one of the guard dogs didn't recognise him, and he got a bite, but he wasn't one to make a fuss.

Four hours of work on the ranch on top of his already busy morning left George feeling extremely hungry. He decided to stop in at the saloon for lunch rather than cook for himself. As usual sheriff John Fitzburn is there, and already into his second bottle of whiskey despite the early hour. His requests for help from George, with everything from building fences and windmills, right up to riding in a coach with a convicted criminal and breaking in a horse, are all met with stern refusal. George certainly doesn't feel he owes the sheriff any favours, not when John had been busy drinking in the saloon every time George was attacked and robbed.

Having banked the wages from his mornings work at the ranch, and enjoyed a wholesome lunch in less than ideal company, George heads back out to work again. In a nearby plain some lucky sod has struck oil, and he is paying handsomely for workers to drill for it and install pumps. This is how George has financed the building of his town, and while he hates the tough and dirty work, the pay is enough to convince him to come here for four hours every second day.

Exhausted and filthy from his labors in the oil fields, George stumbles back into town. He is too tired to even bother going to the saloon for a drink, even though the beautiful and talented Maya is dancing tonight. Instead he goes straight home, quickly scrubs off the worst of the days grime, and collapses into bed, ready to start it all again tomorrow.

-GH

 

[DeletedUser]

The low level trader


​

I groaned in discomfort as my eyes opened after an 8 hour sleep in my town’s hotel’s most luxurious apartment. I wondered why it made no difference if I slept with my clothes and shoes on with my razor blade still in my hand. I could never understand how I could still always hold on to my pitchfork when both my hands were occupied with weapons for different purposes.
I walked to the window, and the sight of rivers on both sides of my town filled me with energy. That is what my town was – Double Rivers. I’ve heard my townsfolk say many a times, “this is world 8 chap!”, but I never gave any heed. I couldn’t digest the feeling that there were other similar worlds where people were doing the same things and where you were like in one of the 9 planets of the universe and the other aliens from the other planets were no different from you. I never understood this world. How by merely changing clothes you could become a different man and do things you couldn’t do earlier. How clothes could make you stronger or faster or sharper.

I got out of my room and down the stairs thinking what I’d do today. I didn’t take a shower or even brushed my teeth; no one ever seemed to do that. I was a new guy, a low-leveler. I did not have a fixed monotonous schedule like most others. I did something different everyday and I was most happy about it. That’s the way I was. I was an adventurer, a pure trader, and the adventurous quests were what kept me moving. I wasn’t the violent types, the one’s that start their days shooting at some poor worker building his town and end their days all wounded up resting only to fill their health bar up so that they do it again. Sure I could beat some of those quest NPCs in duels, but then again, who couldn’t! I didn’t like a workers life either. Building things wasn’t my cup of tea. But I excelled at what I did best. I was a trader, and I was the best around my level. A smile came on my face when I thought how the others would react when they saw a level 21 guy mining silver with them when it took them a lot of struggle to reach those required skills.
The smile vanished when the receptionist gave me a look of despise. It was as if he couldn’t stand seeing me around, I being one of the lowest level players in my town, enjoying the fruits of the hard work of my seniors, not being able to contribute as much as they could. But I said to myself, “one day I’ll reach that level, and that day, I will see you smile at me you possessed no-gooder.”

Sometimes, I hated my life. The fact that I couldn’t even hunt turkeys to complete a level 5 quest or how I had to depend upon my clothes to allow me to do most jobs that others could do by mere skill would make me pity myself. The fact that I couldn’t steal a union flag despite guarding the fort for hours everyday would make me look down at myself. But the words of an experienced trader echoed my ears, “Have patience dear! When you reach up to a few levels, you’ll be envied by the people you now envy”. And the thought of all the money I could make would cheer me up. The carving out claims and gemstone minings where I beat my acquaintances would fill me with confidence.

At the end of the day, I rode my donkey back home wearing the green Indian necklace on top of my farmer’s set making me look stupid, but at least saving me a few minutes. I prayed at the town church, deposited my hard-earned money partly into the town treasury and partly into my personal bank account so that some dueler from the nearby towns couldn’t steal them. I put down my backpack that was heavy with all the items I had been storing for the fort and for the quests and went to sleep again, still wearing those clothes, with the sight of the two rivers in my mind, hoping to have a better day tomorrow.

 

[DeletedUser16270]

The Last Duel

The Last Duel

The Constitution finished his drink and slammed the glass down on the table to signal another. Horris the aging barkeep looked up from wiping the clean glasses. He slowly shook his head and whipping the white towel over his shoulder reached towered the bottle that was already half empty. I’ll give it to him he thought. After all it’s the last he’ll have to drink until the promise land. He ambled over and sat the bottle down trying hard not to see the blood that was pooling in the mans right Calvary boot. Or the dark spot over his upper left chest. “How many duels you fight today? Or yesterday? Come now commander, everyone has to know their limits.”

The Constitution smiled up at the generally good natured man. “Quite right my good man.” His voice was even and slow but he did not slur his words. “After this I shall return to my apartments and sleep for a while.”

Horris patted the shoulder that didn’t have a bullet in it, “Good lad, you won’t regret it. Besides you have a town full of warriors, let them do some huh?” Horris turned and walked back to the bar. Before he made it around the bend were the clean glasses are stored he froze. Outside another duel was being called for.

“Constitution! Come out here and face me like a man!” Consti as his friends have been known to call him stiffened at the sound of the new comer’s voice. The man needed no introduction for the whole town of Diablo Ridge new him well. “You don’t have to go out there boy.” Horris said sadly. “Someone else will take him.” Consti gave no response. Instead he poured one final drink and threw it back. Then after giving himself a few steadying moments he pushed himself from up from his chair using his one good arm against the table. He reached for his 1853 44. Army colt revolver that he had lain on the table an hour ago and sheaths it on his right hip.

“You’ll die man!” Horris said half crossing the room. The Constitution lifted his Calvary commanders’ hat off the back of the chair and settled it into place on his head. “Don’t clean my table off yet Horris, I may order something to eat when I get back.”
Outside the sun was still hot broken only by a light breeze that came in through the south-western rout that allowed travelers into and out of Diablo Ridge. One of world 9’s most action packed towns. There were crowds of people everywhere. FFAF who had just finished transporting some ammo stood next to Utah Blange outside of the Tailors. Ravioli was just walking out of the gunsmith and he came to stand next to the pair. “Unbelievable, the man himself comes to face him.”

“Aye, he sends his carles to weaken him then comes himself to finish him off.” Said Maddog who had come up to stand next to his friends.
“Hold the dinner bell partners.” Utah said before sitting some tobacco from his mouth. “The generals coming out.” They all looked and sure enough Gen. Zack was walking out into the street. The sun glinted off his silver star that hung from his neck. His spurs made noise when he walked. A hush fell over the crowed for they all knew the outcome. Even the challenger began to sweat. At full health Gen. Zack was nearly unbeatable. He smiled as he took position opposite his opponent. “Let’s duel friend.”

“My fight aint with you!” Shouted the uncultured, yellow tooth man.

“Indeed.” The Constitution said walking up from behind. Gen. Zack turned to see his friend limping up to stand next to him. None of the intense pain that he should be in showed on his sun-beaten face.

“Gods teeth man! You don’t have but nine health left if that.” But Zack could see there was no point in arguing. “Hurry up then.” he said gruffly. “And don’t die, you still owe my three dollars and fifty cents.” He grinned and walked off the street to join his friend from out of town, Aranger the trapper who could mine silver like no one else. The Constitution moved into position and stared at his dueling opponent. The man in his renewed confidence smiled back at him. “It ends today you dog!” Consti only nodded. His hand hovered over the butt of his revolver and he could feel the blood dripping from his fingers.

The Constitution as he always did when he dueled fell into a state of nothingness. A place where he sees all but looks at nothing. Any movement, any reaction was his to command. Then he saw it, the twitch of a finger, a tightening of the lips. Consti drew his sidearm a fraction of a second before the other warrior. All pain and weakness forgotten it was time only for reaction born of experience gained from over six hundred duels. The man he faced was known well for his aim and fair dodge and The Constitution noticed also that the man appearance had improved a great deal. It did him no good as he spun around and fell to the dirt. Consti once again sheath his smoking gun and turned to walk back to the saloon. The chicken and roasted potatoes sounded good he thought.

 

[DeletedUser618]

The Song of Onyx

Onyx awoke irritable. It was not that her bed was not comfortable. No, she had the finest bed. She had earned it by having built the hotel. And the Town Hall. And the Shops. And the Bank. She was always offered the best, and she took it too. But still she was unsettled. Her mood did not go unnoticed. Sheriff Fitzburn avoided her gaze and Henry Walker only mumbled good morning as he served her breakfast. Only Maya dared to join her this morning. With barely a word said between them, they ate a hearty meal. Onyx had a full day of hard labor ahead of her. As she rose to leave, Maya simply said, “You don’t sing anymore”. Onyx scowled and stomped out.

What was there to sing about?

While the air was still cool and the sun just coming up, she picked agaves. Pay was good, demand steady and the tequila was a delicious bonus to share with friends. This winter I will need to build an ice house, she thought. Onyx imagined all sorts of tequila/fruit concoctions. Yup, she could get the young’uns to pick berries for her. The mesas in the distance glowed with the morning sun. How exquisite, and grand they appeared.

Why don’t I sing anymore?

Back to town to work on the railroad station. J. J. Hill had promised that the Great Northern Railway would be routed through the town, if only the town would build a station. So a site was designated, cleared and Onyx toiled hour after hour, day after day building a magnificent station. It was more station than the town needed, but would serve them well for many years. But there was no tracks for the railroad, not even at the next town over. Well, they can call the station, Onyx’s Folly, she laughed.

Where did my song go?

Onyx walked to the saloon for a quick lunch. Business was slow as only Waupee was sitting at his usual table. Onyx wanted to talk to him. FIRE! The bell in the Town Hall was ringing. She joined all the able-bodied townspeople running to the fire. A line of citizens formed from the closest well to the burning cabins. Bucket after bucket was handed off from one to another down the line to the fire. The children ran the empty buckets back to the well. A few brave souls used axes and shovels to keep the fire from spreading any further. Hours later, two cabins lay smoldering, the smell of damp, charred wood wafting up to the sky. Others will begin the salvage and clean-up as Onyx had more pressing demands. Moving out to her next job, she stepped on a wet, trod-upon red flannel shirt. Months ago she would have been singing her good mood to the world, happy with saving so many homes.

When did my song fade away?

The army had come to the area and established a fort. Pay was non-existent, work was demanding and then they expected townspeople to help defend it I’m a builder, not a gun fighter. Onyx chuckled as she thought about trying to shoot someone attacking the fort. Maybe she should buy herself a shot gun, Don’t need good aim with a scattergun. What am I doing here, she thought, there are better jobs. She sure did not need the construction experience.

Is this what took my song?

Onyx let her mustang, Sally, head back to town at her own pace. Sally knew the way and Onyx was not going to do another thing until she knew what happened to her song. She had found her song on her trek west with just a pair of ragged boots and gray rags. As she walked and worked her way west her song had grown with her. It kept her company in the dark with just the dying embers of a campfire to ward off the chill. It was there as she learned to build fences and buildings, herd and brand cattle, pick crops, and hunt. She lost her song with the easy life and comfort of this town. She now knew what to do.

After tending to her horse, she sold her things that she didn’t need anymore. The chaff from her life. Then dinner in the Saloon, chatting with her friends. As she was leaving Waupee touched her arm and said, “It’s about time”, then turned away. Upstairs in her room she wrote out the note that she would post in the bulletin board the next morning. Laying her head on her pillow, closing her eyes, a familiar tune played softly in her head. As familiar as a lullaby, it rocked Onyx into a deep sleep.

 

[DeletedUser]

Just Dessert
I slept outside again last night. Ther is something about sleeping under the open sky that says....well, it basically says that I didn't want to spend money on staying in the janitors closet again. Oh sure, I had the money, but I had other plans for it. So, after stretching out the kinks in my limbs I headed over to the post office to check my mail. Not entirely certain what I am reading seeing as how I cannot read so good. Practice makes perfect. Luckily, or unluckily, not sure which, the letters I had were from others who perhaps don't read so good either.

Some dog of a man from my town attacked a worker from the next clan over. Great, I tell myself, I now have a target on my back. Sure enough the duelers started coming. At first they do not seem to notice me. It seems like they are trying to kill off my towns duelers first to better their odds of a victory. I try and warn everyone, but once again, the literacy rate is entirely too low to be an effective warning.

I figure what the heck, I tried, might as well try and get some work in. So I set off down the road on my trusted donkey, slow but sure, out towards the fences that need mending. I am hoping to gain a hammer for my hard work but it is not looking like today is the day. An hour into it and I get attacked by some vermin that is out to avenge his family member. I don’t ever even carry a weapon, just a screwdriver that I use to pry open the outhouse door when needed. Luckily I am pretty strong and the rascal does not hurt me much. However, more men attack me within the next ten minutes.

It is at this point that I wish my donkey could run a little faster. I am no longer certain I can make it back to town in time to hide. Damn donkey! I promise him an extra carrot if he can just go a little faster. I barely make it to town and hide under Mayas bed. She is used to me hiding out. She knows I am an honest working man and a pacifist by nature. I love that gal, but so does every other horndog in the county.

I end up falling asleep after patching up my minor scrapes and scratches, only to wake up to the sounds of Maya returning home after her show is over. She is with the Sheriff, everyone knows that he has a thing for her and she lets him believe that he is the only man. Good thing he is always drunk because I didn’t have to wait long before I hear his drunken snores drift into the room.

I catch Mayas attention by tickling her ankle with a feather from her boa. She is startled at first but for some reason knew I would be there. She gets all the information faster than any telegraph line. Heck, the big joke is that there are two forms of communication, telegraph and tell it to Maya. So we step out to her balcony and she gives me a great big kiss. I look her in the eye and tell her how serious the situation is, she just looks back with her pouty, candied lips and stunning emerald eyes and laughs a dainty little laugh. She tells me she has nothing to fear, she is too well liked in the county, and every county around, for anyone to try anything heinous with her. I have to admit that she is right. Besides, she carries a nice little derringer in some place that I am afraid to ask. Just about any man who has ever seen it does not live long enough to tell the tale, and any man who has lived to see it knows that the situation could change in a heartbeat if he opens his mouth to tell anyone about it. What a gal!

I tell her I sent out to get the Diablo boys back in town to help protect the regular townsfolk, again it is late information for her. She tells me that the boys have already ridden out and more were on the way from the next town over. I start feeling a lot better about things. I give her one last kiss before heading out and smack her on the fanny. She giggles and bats her eyelashes and tells me that she and I are to have dinner the next night and that she has a special homemade dessert for me. I know she doesn’t cook at all so I have a pretty good idea it is going to be my favorite kind of dessert.

So I head off through town with a skip in my step feeling energized and happy. I stop by the post office and the reports are starting to come in, it is a bloodbath the next town over. Our boys really put a hurtin’ on the next town. Everyone of their duelers is either laid out or otherwise put out of commission so I figure I can get back and do some more work. I won a contract to drill for oil a few months back so I decide to go there to get some good money. After all, I am gonna need to buy Maya something nice and I have also been thinking about trading in my donkey. All in all, an exciting day.

 

[DeletedUser]

Tomorrow will be better

“So you mean to tell me the fort was lost!?” In one deft motion, the full jug of water was sent careening into the adjacent wall, spilling the contents everywhere. The reverberations of the sudden act left the messenger speechless. To the messenger, the dark, tiny room appeared to be diminishing even further in size, caving in, attempting to swallow him. The messenger watched as Markus flicked a small portion of ash off of the butt of his slowly burning cigar and ran his hands through his thin hair, laced with strands of gray. You could tell the job was getting to him. His eyes looked a thousand miles away and his demeanor no longer suggested the once cocky and arrogant man that had steadily risen to power within the Silversnake Empire.

“Just another failure” Markus said after taking a drag off the cigar. He stared off into the distance out the filthy window next to his small desk. The messenger quickly left the room almost as fast as he had come, thoroughly glad to have escaped from Silversnake’s ruthless president. The door slammed shut and Markus was left alone to finish his cigar, while he plotted the empires next move.

…A worker by class, Markus had always been accustomed to having his hands dirty. He had built his own town from the ground up, board by board and nail by nail. From the moment that he completed that first town, he had dreamed of being a part of something greater than himself and ultimately to be remembered for his immense leadership qualities. He had briefly heard of a newly emerging empire, Silversnake by name, that was quickly growing in power. This set of towns had many of the finest duelers, unable to be beat. Their workers were the best in the land and various men and women in that set of towns were legendary at certain skills. Markus had to be a part of this set of towns. But he did not only want to be a part of it- he wanted to lead Silversnake to greatness!

The somber toll of the bells was heard the world round. The great Silverado Kid proved the speculation of townsfolk the world over correct when he was reported dead. The dreary rain whipped into the eyes of Markus as he shielded himself from the torrential downpour by utilizing his large black coat. He trudged through the mud towards the town church. Though had never been into town, his malicious reputation preceded him and his gaze was met by fear from those he encountered in the street on his way to pay his last respects to the fallen leader. Markus opened the thick wooden doors of the church and was greeted by the stares of the packed congregation-he was late. The wind picked up just enough to expose the precise revolver tucked into his waistband, along with the rounds he carried with him at all times.

…After finishing the cigar, Markus walked outside into the dreary day. Wind swept across the ground of the mostly deserted, once proud town. The death of Silverado had been met with widespread panic and remorse. The enemies of Silversnake had quickly moved in to take advantage of the lack of leadership before another man could be appointed. War with the surrounding towns had taken a toll on the individuals who tried to withstand their ruthless, coordinated attacks. Many of the best that Silversnake had to offer had migrated to safer towns or been taken by force to live in empires far away. Unlike in times past, Markus had not been given his spot as president through democratic vote. He had forced himself into the position as he thought he was the best man for the job. Little did he know how difficult his position as leader was going to be.

Markus spurred his quarter horse into action, quickly riding across the barren land. He hoped to salvage this miserable day through doing a job that some may say was questionable, yet to him had become standard. He worked alone, always had, that was just his personality. As he urged his horse to move faster, the ears of the proud stallion quickly pricked up. Instinctively, Markus pulled back on the reigns and brought his horse to a trot. He listened intently for some time until the distinctive sound of hooves reached his keen ears. Immediately, Markus spurred his horse into full gallop, racing along the barren tundra at a remarkable speed. The stagecoach was not far ahead and if he was lucky, he could catch the drivers unaware. He raced over hills and valleys, with each step bringing him closer to where he knew he would be able to intercept the doomed stagecoach.

The oblivious drivers sat talking to each other, eating what was left of their turkey they had caught that morning, when suddenly a white stallion and crazed rider flew over the hill above them. Instantly two loud reports filled the air and both of the drivers slumped over in their seats. Markus deftly jumped from his horse to the stagecoach and pulled on the reigns until the horses stopped. He looked inside of horse drawn carriage, eager to see what spoils awaited his victorious effort. To his dismay, he found the inside empty, void of any precious items or even any parcels of mail.

The curled lip and sour visage that Markus displayed clearly showed his dismay over his inability to be rewarded for his efforts.

“Perhaps tomorrow will be better” Markus declared as he rode into the sunset, leaving the carriage to rot for all he cared.

-A day in the life of Markusmaximus

 

[DeletedUser]

Times are Changing

From the beginning of world 9 several towns that went up mid map formed an empire known as the SilverSnake Federation. They had showed promise, numbers and most of all companionship.

Then one day, the proud citizens of what use to be SilverSnake Canyon had been discussing the making of a new town. While they sat in the office, Sera Silverado Kid and BigNate Discussed there options on who would stay and who would go. BigNate told Sera that he would go into the south to get away from all the wars while they built there second town. after packing up the stage coach bignate and the building team all climbed on and headed into the sunset.

Rolling across the rugged plains of the west the builders spot an abandoned church. As the horses and stage coach came to a stop, Nate and the crew of 5 builders jump and drawl there weapons as the walk slowly up to the church. As Nate and his crew of builders secure the church, they walk in and have a seat in one of the pews. As the Father comes from the back and sits next to the rugged builders looking for a place to found a new home. As the Father tells them of this place that use to be Nate and his crew decided this is where they would build the Redlight District.

After Nate and his builders worked for 8 hours to get this town off the ground they walk over to the saloon for a drink. As the night drawls to an end, the group of workers stand up, tip the barkeep and walk out the saloon doors. as we set up camp outside the Pony Express building, Nate sits up all night waiting to hear back from Silverado Kid.

As each day passed, we didnt hear not a word from her. No telegram, no messenger, nothing. Then after three weeks time My crew and the town members of SilverSnake Canyon felt as if there Federation leader has deserted them. As the building crew discussed while working on the town, we felt it was time to back out of the Federation and go our separate ways.

As the town Grew and new members joined our peaceful town, Nate ran into a rugged fella named Victor Kruger. Nate invited him to our town one night talking of forts in the saloon over a few beers. As the night drew to a close Nate and Vic rode out to a location on the map that resembled some type of shelter.

When they arrived they came across the large fort. Nate got to work immediately as Victor watched his back. When the founding process came to an end, Vic and Nate were exhausted from the trip there, so they sat up camp inside the large fort walls.

The two fellas rode back into town and spread the word of the large fort. The builders loaded the stagecoach and prepped everything for there travels across the land, and Vic and Nate talked of last nights events and future events over a drink at the hotel.

After weeks of planning, recruiting, training and verbal alliances made with friends and old enemies we have became a Force to be reckoned with. The time was 2359 server time, RedLight District and friends took there places outside the walls of Fort Silversnake. The shots rang over the country side and before everyone knew it started it ended. The battle was not the winning of a war to bring down the Federation.

The times of the SSF are changing. We will not stop til the Federation is dead and gone for the desertion and the betrayal of Silverado Kid who couldnt handle the Duties of what she created.

Remember SSF , THE TIMES ARE CHANGING.

 

[DeletedUser]

The Days of Glory

The Days of Glory
By: David Schofield

Once, a few years, there was a great man. His name, David Schofield. He lived, breathed, and disapeared, a Soldier of great honor. When he had just journeyed west from Ohio, he knew he had to learn the ropes of living life in the west. He traveled for days, eventually comming across a small town named Loveshack. He soon came to know why it was called that, the beautiful scene surrounding it. A beautiful desert to the west, a Lake right next to the town, Rivers to the Northeast, and the Mountains to the North and the South. He couldn't have been more in love with the town, but of course a Lovely town has a great leader as well. A man who's age and wisdom surpassed many of the negiboring citizens, This man, was named Agelage. He was a simple Cowboy, he worked hard to earn a living, and a trusty fellow named Zelder was always ready to protect the town. David started working out near the desert picking sugarcane, he knew it sold for a good sum of cash and the town had plenty of goods to buy. He worked hard and got a good flow of money and finally bought a good dueling outfit. Then, Raiders came and attacked the town. Agelage was injured in the faceoff as Zelder was unable to help out at the time. Then David knew that he would have to fight as a soldier for the town...

I, am David.

It was a dark April evening, The wind blew as I stepped out of my cabin. I looked around with my gold plated Shotgun on my side, my Black Bow around my neck. I was wearing my favourite Fancy Leather hat, and I chose to wear my Fancy Waist Coat that day as well.
"Looks like a storms brewing" I said to myself as I stepped into the wind.

I made my way to the Town Hall, I had to do my job and write letters to invite worthy individuals to the town, the job as Town Councilman didn't pay, but atleast it gave me a good rank to tell others what needs to be done, and that was win, win and win. I had managed to make the town focus on defence after the Raider attack. The Tailors store and the Guns, weapons and more outfitters were doing good, and Agelage felt much better with everyone carrying their fair share on their backs. Eventually we got a few more citizens to join, Winder Green and some other fellas. They helped get the town treasury stocked up and they defended the town while I was away, and when I was away I was just picking away at people who were supposedly better duelers than me. Sometimes the occasional fella lived up to his name and I had to pay for medical fees and such at their town, but of course there were the Bankees, people who carried all of their money with them and didn't trust the banks for Jack Squat. I hit them hard and stole every last hard earned dollar and spent it at their own town, it was just the right thing to do. Sometimes someone would come after me trying to proove themselves, many failed, untill I met the girl of my dreams. She was a simple Mercenary, had the same gear as I did, same experience with dueling, but She always would win and storm off before I could get a chance to... congradulate... her.

One day I finally beat her, so after I put my money in the bank, I managed to catch up with her...

She and I talked for a while, and she wanted to come to my town. She told me I had earned it, so, she left her town, came to mine, and we went out destroying lives together. We would duel towns where the wealthy bathed, and eventually we became so passionate with one another that we had to get married. We went to the Chruch and as soon as we were happily married, we went on a honeymoon by attacking the wealthiest town of Level-40's ever, sadly, we failed at raiding them, miserably... But did we care? Nope. We were as happy as we could be, then, she disapeared. I searched everywhere, Traveled to foriegn places which were basically whole other worlds, but she had vanished! I soon gave up and just sat in my cabin for most of the day. One day, I went hunting, and that day, horror occured... It was a dark day, I was next to the river. I was searching for my next target next to the river when a great grizzly ambushed me from behind, knocking me off my feet and throwing my Shotgun into the bushes. It tore at my shirt, and I had at that point realized I had left my hat on the Town Hall desk, I was out of luck. As the Grizzly twirrled me around like a ragdoll, I saw a way to escape. I ripped off my shoe and smashed it across the Bears head, it got angry but it gave me enough time to jump into the river below... As I floated downstream, I realized I was severly wounded. As I floated downstream, I passed out... I realised my life was pretty much over, so I accepted it.

Months later I awoke, I had nothing, but I had been taken in by an Indian tribe. They basically had to try and teach me to walk again. I learned their language and I found out that I had almost drowned, but they had saved me. I was given a second chance at life, so I decided to start over. Things in the west had Changed alot, the Markets were full of new guns I didn't recognize, and I had no money to spend. I had to start over... I guess it's really true, God giveth and God taketh away... But you can always earn it back, in due time...

 

[DeletedUser16008]

A Mercenary's life

[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]"We need your particular qualities as Mercenary and your men. We will, of course, pay well for them." Pilarmo, overdressed, intense and scrawny, was main spokesman for the four."And how shall you pay, gentlemen?" inquired Victor politely, still smiling. Pilarmo's colleagues raised their eyebrows and even their spokesman was slightly taken aback. He waved his hand through the smoky air of the saloon which was occupied only by the six men. "In land—in cash ?" answered Pilarmo. "In chains," snorted Victor . "We free travellers need no chains of that sort." DL bent forward out of the shadows where he sat, his expression showing that he strongly disapproved of Vic's statement. Pilarmo and the other merchants were plainly astonished, too. "Then how shall we pay you?"[/FONT]​

[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]"I will decide that later," Vic smiled. "But why talk of such things until the time—what you wish us to do we will do, but remember, you deal with the devil, you'd better take care to pay his bill”.[/FONT]​

​

“[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]DL, deal with these idiots will you ? I'm going for a walk” Pilarmo coughed and exchanged nervous glances with his peers. They nodded. Pilarmo dropped his tone and began talking to DL. It was always like this these days, so called men always coming around begging for help.[/FONT]​

[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]Outside the rain was pouring down as usual and the muddy street looked the same as all the rest. Only the two bodies, one staked out in the mud the other crawling and mewling like a baby gave it any character at all. Vic strolled to the stairs and sat quietly cleaning the last of the dried blood from his Machete reflecting on the past three months. [/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]Many enemies he'd known during his time in this land, all brothers in the killing fields and streets of death. For some he had respect some not, still others had become comrades and Bloodbrothers. He thought back on those Brothers now passed beyond. Cody,Slick, Bignate, Athan, Pat his own son, so many others….. so many. Had it all been worth it he thought ?[/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]He smiled to himself. Yea, he was well satisfied what he with DL had achieved . The only regret was leaving his men, although he knew they were more than capable of continuing the fight whether he was there or not. Besides, the revolution would continue and grow, that was now assured. A storm was coming and it would eventually turn the west into what it used to be, a land of freedom and opportunity only fit for those strong enough to survive. The way it should be. Not ruled by spineless children, fresh from school and eager to please but devoid of guts and reason.[/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]After 50 duels in the last 5 days in this current land,he was glad of the rest and the money he'd made. It was time to move on again he reflected, challenge only lasts so long as there was a worthy enemy and here there was none. There was other worlds and places where others would be waiting he and DL both knew that.[/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]Another town another world, Vic smiled that evil grin so many had seen in many far off lands. A warrior to the core he had no mercy in him nor cared for who he slew, Comrades were comrades the rest did not matter any more than the current torrent of rain bothers the buffalo. It occurred to him there were many things he still did not understand about this so called land of opportunity. “Still, maybe the next one has no rot in it” he muttered quietly to himself.[/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]Like a plague it had spread from one land to the other until all had been reduced to servitude, law and nothing but sheep playing out the the roles allotted to them. Corporations in a place they had no business. Sniveling children making laws and crying about justice. “ Ha “! Justice that was a good one. “All slaves and they don't even know it” he laughed to himself. [/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]He stood up and casually strolled over to the mewling young builder still coughing and attempting to keep his guts in some kind of order whilst his entrails continued to trail out behind him, like some silver glistening blood covered snake... [/FONT] Vic grabbed the other by the hair and cruelly twisted the head until he held it eye to to eye.
“[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]What's your name son ?” he asked …..” Glenn, you monster, what are you doing ? We have laws in these parts ….can't you read ?” [/FONT] “[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]Yea I can read son” Vic sneered. “I just follow my own one that's all” . “Yea ? And what's that ” Glenn replied a fresh glob of blood spilling down his shirt”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]Freedom son, Freedom.” He pulled curiously at some of the entrails hanging down making the boy gasp and commence moaning once more. It always fascinated him how the human body managed to endure so much torment when treated right. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]Well we ran you out of the last two lands you scum and we'll continue to hunt you down” the boy gasped as his eyes began to glaze over....[/FONT]“[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]Well son, Mercenaries never die didn't you know that ? they just go to hell and regroup. I'll be seeing you again in the afterlife, shame you'll never make the grade” [/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, sans-serif]As Vic strolled away humming a tune it occurred to him this place was probably damned anyway but heck there was still those trapped in misery and boredom. For those worthy the fight would go on....... [/FONT]

 

[DeletedUser]

Author's Note: This story contains several adult themes, and it has been retooled several times to fit in with forums rules. In no way does this story glorify alcohol or prostitution, if anything it should discourage any reader from giving in to such vices.

But enjoy



Alariens: A Simple Man

The cigars don't even do anything anymore. These days I need a lip full of chew and a fat stogie to even feel a buzz. Even then, I'm lucky to feel the slightest twinge. Still, it's better than the hell that is sobriety. I'm starting to get the shakes, so I slip some whiskey into my coffee under the table. Too long without booze and I start getting weak and tired. I need to be alert, and now is no time for withdrawal.

I don't even know what town I'm in this time. It's the same story as always; get a description, ride off on my mustang Padre to whatever town Byron Longreach has a problem with, murder my target, and get back in time to see Sally Dawkins do her fan dance. Ol' Sally helps keep me going, but any other prostitute will do in a pinch. Not that I'll complain, Longreach gives me room and board, and usually pays me enough to keep me drunk and satisfied for a little while. It's a decent gig.

This time Byron wants a negro dead. I don't care, black people bleed the same blood as whites and injins. It doesn't matter what this poor son of a ***** has done, but I'm low on whiskey and money, and he's my ticket to the bottom of a bottle and a classy woman. The girls in this town are a little pricey, and Longreach is a few hours away. If I can get some cash from some odd work, maybe some trading or hunting, I can buy enough booze to make it back to home. I guess Longreach is my home. It doesn't matter. I think I saw my man.

I'm looking for a black man who dresses a little more sophisticated than most and has a five o'clock shadow. That description matches a couple of people here; I can't be sure it's the right guy. Even if it isn't, how will Byron know? I do the job, he pays me; if he wanted it done better, he would pay me more. I still have a little whiskey left, so I can wait for the next sophisticated black man to pass.

I've surely killed the wrong people before. And I surely don't care. Murder is a job. Sometimes it gets sloppy, sometime it's professional. I like it when it's sloppy, there's always a rush when I'm being shot at.

There used to be passion to this job. I finish off my stiff coffee and think of my first couple of kills. I planned all the details. If it was a ride-by, I'd have an escape route and even would go so far as to change clothes and get a new horse before coming back for Padre. This one time I camped in a guy's bunk for two days, waiting for him to come back. I hid in his wardrobe and got drunker and drunker. Sometime over the second night I passed out and woke up to find the target standing over me confused and worried, thinking I was dead. Byron and I had a good laugh about that when he paid me the bounty. Now I don't even tell Byron how I kill my targets.

I was a different man then. The only things he and I have in common are our love of the drink, the prostitute, and the kill. Used to be I did them because I liked them, now I do them just to feel anything at all. It's the only time I feel alive.

It's strange, I'm not even excited about the upcoming kill. It's just something I want to get over with so I can go get my rocks off. I might have missed my target, but as I mentioned, there are several men who meet his description. Any of them will do. I swallow the last of my whiskey and head outside the saloon. Padre has been feeding and resting this whole time, and he looks ready for the job.

A well-to-do black man walks out of the saloon after me and unhitches his horse. I pop another stogie in my mouth and ask him for a light. He smiles as he puts a lit match under my cigar. I hate it when people smile. It sets off my angry twitch. I thank the man and let him go back to getting his horse ready.

I always keep my muzzle-loader loaded for just this occassion. I put the barrel to the back of his head and pull the trigger. I was hoping for the red mist you sometimes get, but instead he just drops. I don't know why sometimes you get the red mist and sometimes you don't, I'm no scientist.

No time to ponder, I need to do my business before others come running. He's got a nice pocket watch, which I snag, but no money. I raise my cleaver to take his left hand, but the fat bartender bursts through the saloon door with a double-barrelled shotgun. He has me dead to rights.

But his shot only grazes my shoulder. He SHOULDN'T have missed, but he did. Padre knows the drill well; we've done it so many times. Gunshots start, Padre starts running. I grab the reins and ride on Padre's side so I'm covered. Thank god I do, because Padre doesn't make it fifty yards before the bartender's second shot hits his flank and he goes down. He did his job, I've got some distance from the crazed bartender. Later I would learn that the man I killed in cold blood was the bartender's brother-in-law.

I duck behind a building and reload my muzzle-loader. No doubt the bartender saw me take cover. He's blind with rage and probably drunk, and he rounds my corner without even checking first. I shoot his kneecap clear off and he goes down like a sack of bricks. I really need a new gun, I hate reloading after every shot.

The bartender pleads for his life. He offers me all the whiskey and women I want in exchange for mercy. I know better. You don't shoot a man's knee off and expect him to not want revenge. Whiskey does sound good, though. The adrenaline from the kill and short chase is wearing off and I'm starting to feel the birdshot in my shoulder. Good thing I got a mickey from the general store earlier; I pop the cork out and take a swig.

I point the gun at the bartender's face, and he asks for one last drag of whiskey. I say no and pull the trigger.

The man might be portly, but he's black, and his hand looks the same as any other black man's. I would go back for the well-dressed man, but by now a crowd has surrounded him. It takes me a few chops with the cleaver because of my numb shoulder, but the bartender's hand comes off. Byron won't know the difference.

The bartender has some change which I take. I also grab his shotgun. It's too rusty for my liking, but maybe I can trade it and the muzzle-loader in for something better.

And it's then that I feel an unfamiliar sensation. I look over at Padre gasping for air and whinnying softly, and feel a twinge of sadness. Padre has helped me kill at least twenty men, and here he is dying because I didn't plan my murder through. I was reckless and drunk, and now Padre pays the price. There's nothing I can do, but for some reason I still feel upset.

So I do the only thing I could do, I raise the bartender's shotgun to Padre's head and put him to sleep.

Somewhere in this town there will be a doctor who will work without asking questions. Then I'll go back to Longreach, get paid, and drink until I need to work again. Maybe if I'm lucky I can make it before the brothel closes.



By Thomas Stuart

 

[DeletedUser]

No Rest for the Weary

No Rest for the Weary

“Hey Henry, give me a whiskey.” I sat down and whacked my hat on the side of the bar. Blasted thing used to look good, all fancy and shiny when I bought it. But that was a lot of hot lead, sharp knives, and miles of dusty road ago. Henry gave me my whiskey and went back to washing his glass. Good trick he had. Made you think he kept a clean saloon, but the only glass he ever washed was his own.

“I can fix that for you Sugar...” Maya sidled up and poked at a hole in my waistcoat. Maya is a pretty girl with a good mind for business. But don't let that dame fool you. Last time I was here she conned me out of a ham that was worth its weight in gold. Girl to girl, you'd think she'd give me a break... Not a chance!

“And just how do you aim to do that?” I asked as I threw back my drink.

“Easy. I'm really good at that sort of thing. Just bring me some cloth and a couple hundred dollars to seal the deal. I'll get it fixed.”

“Hahahaha! Not today Maya.”

Maya pouted and turned away, a rustle of perfume and petticoats. Come on. We all know there's nothing but blue cloth anywhere around for miles. My waistcoat is tan. With all the bullet holes I've got she'd make me look like some stupid polka dot confection. No thanks!

There was a noise behind me. I whirled around to face the doors pulling my precise Derringer out as I turned and dodged, all in one smooth motion. Yes. I'm that good.

It was a couple of builders and adventurers. They came in talking. The doors swung back and forth behind them when they entered, allowing a brief peek-a-boo view of the hot dusty town. It was late afternoon, but the builders were still out in force, on ladders and perched in window sills, measuring, leveling, and banging nails. The sound of sawing wood and the fresh smell of sawdust wafted in on a hot dusty breeze. I don't know how they work like that in this heat.

“Nervous?”

I turned back to look at Henry and put my Derringer away. I shrugged. “Heard there were some bandits around. Pays to be careful.”

Henry raised an eyebrow, “What's that?”

I followed his glance. He was looking at my left hand, and the paper that was tightly clenched in my fist. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it. I brought the paper up slowly to the counter and laid it out, using both hands to smooth out the wrinkles. I'd done an odd job to pay for my keep along the road. They wanted me to hang up some Wanted Posters. We've got some bad folks out here in the West, people who'd slit your throat for a nickel. Should I admit I'm not much better? Sure, but not everyone rated this kind of treatment. Looking up at me from that Wanted poster was my face... I was wanted in 6 counties for armed robbery, drunkenness and generally disturbing the peace. Hey, that's what happens when you pick agaves long enough. Stuff goes to your head... You have a tendency to wake up in odd places, with strange bedfellows, a bad headache... and yes, sometimes a legacy of misconduct that you can't explain. And you don't get a chance to explain anything here in the West. No one wants to hear it. They'll shoot you, or carve you up like a turkey first, and ask questions later... That's right. You got the idea.

I crumpled the Wanted Poster back up and threw it on the floor. Then I banged out of the saloon leaving the doors swinging wildly behind me. I slapped my hat back on my head. The saloon had been hot, but outside the air was stifling.

It had been a long hard day, and I needed some rest. I mounted my horse, a crazy mustang with a kicking sense of humor named Mercy, (as in has none) and headed down Main street. When I got to the hotel I hauled my heavy backpack up the stairs and crashed onto the bed. I was exhausted. I wrapped my money in a bit of blue cloth and tossed it out the window, and across the street to the roof of the bank. I never could be bothered to open an account. The roof works just fine, and it's great. The higher the roof, the more money I can hide up there without anyone knowing about it.

I'd hardly had a chance to rest my head, when the sounds of gunshots filled the air. I looked out the window. A gang of fighters had come to town. There was chaos everywhere. People ran and screamed. Bullets flew, and the smoke from the guns added to the heat and the haze before it disappeared into the lengthening shadows that were pushing this day to an end. Dang, I was tired. Didn't anyone have any respect?

Pillage and plunder. A builder hung precariously from a ladder. Blood dripped from his shoulder, and his money fell out of his pockets. The bandit who'd shot him gathered up the cash, stopping only to swat him from time to time to make sure he'd gotten every last cent. An adventurous young girl ran down the street with a gang of knife wielding masked desperadoes behind her. She carried a sack, which they sliced at savagely till it split open. As she ran bars of silver slid out and fell to the ground behind her. Did I have enough energy for this? Barely.

All around me in the hotel I could hear the sounds of the other fighters from my town getting up. I slapped my hat back on, grabbed my pack and headed for the stairs. A posse was forming outside in front of the hotel. The bandits had just left, heading west, riding hard. I jumped on Mercy and joined the others, turning toward the dusky purple hills, the retreating backs of the outlaws who'd just sacked my town, and the setting sun. I dug my spurs in, hoping we'd make it to their town before they'd gone to sleep. The air was choked with dust, and the ground shook with the thunder of hooves. This game was still on.

 

[DeletedUser3717]

Another day at the market..

Jordon awoke to the sound of a rooster, Ruffling his blonde hair he looked out the window towards his village.

"Market day" Jordon said as he walked downstairs to be greeted by an angry mother.

"You just woke up!? You lazy sod go to the market and get me some eggs and milk" Jordons mother yelled at Jordon as he sat down to eat his breakfast. Jordon only girnned as annoying his mother was a weird hobby of his.

"Yes mum" Jordon muttered as he finished drinking his glass of orange juice, he went upstairs to get change and put on his long dark brown over coat, His boots, His jeans and his hat. Jordon looked outside the window once more and saw 3 dark figures on horses riding towards the marketstalls with their guns unhostlered.

"Be right back Mum" Jordon yelled as he went out the front door jumping on his horse and riding as fast as he could towards the market.

"Forgot to take the money!" Jordons mother yelled in the background as jordon rode off leaving a cloudy dust trail behind him. Jordon stopped infront of the 3 figures and noticed one of them had a scar over his left eye.

"Not today Billy" Jordon said as he looked at the infamous bandit, Jordon spat on the floor infront of Billy and gave him a dirty look.

"Get out of here!" Jordon yelled as ran towards one of the other two figures and punch him with all his strength in his wind pipe, Jordon felt it crush beneath his knuckles, The bandit fell to the ground, Jordon took his gun and pointed it at Billy, The other bandit rode off in fear as he saw Jordon.

"You think your tough Jordon? huh!?" Billy smeered at Jordon and pulled out his gun.

Jordon and Billy stood 10 paces away from each other.

"Perfect for a duel" Jordon thought and smirked, Jordon pulled out his gun and mange to land 3 shoots on Billy before he went down.

Jordon went home to get the money from his mother.

"YOU IDIOT! JORDON GO TO YOUR ROOM" His mother yelled as she hit him with the broom.

Just another day at the market...

 

[DeletedUser]

Wandering World 8, the life of a trapper

“Ahhhhh” I said yawning waking up in the soft bed at the luxury apartment. I was still in my work clothes, a grey slouch hat along with a black bow tie, black cotton jacket and black work shoes. I hopped of the soft bed and tucked my muzzle-loader in my belt and strapped my rusty rifle on my back. I then grabbed my backpack and checked what was inside, a tooth bracelet and 2 beaver skins. Slowly I stepped outside and felt the cool breeze against my face. I walked drowsily over to the general store where I sold my items. I got $18 each for the beaver skins and $22 for the tooth bracelet. I passed the bank on the way out of town and deposited the money into my bank account. I was saving up for a new weapon, a harquebus. It cost $1070 and I only had $457 at the moment. It would be much better than my old rusty rifle.
I headed south to do my favorite job, hunting grizzlies. I hopped onto my mustang named “Spee Dee” and we rode for about 12 minutes until I got to a forest. In there I would hunt grizzly bears, a job which I had only recently been allowed to do.[FONT=宋体]Ｉ[/FONT]took my rifle off and started into the woods where I met my partner the Indian Tokotutawatha. The deal with us was that I would go hunting for the bears, and he would pay me for how long I hunted, but he would keep the bear meat for his tribe, but I would be able to keep the head to sell as a trophy. I snuck through the woods until I saw a grizzly getting closer. I got ready. I set a trap in the grizzlies’ path since I was horrible at shooting, but I pulled out my rifle just in case. I dashed behind a tree and stood there silently sweat glistening against my face. Suddenly I heard a howl that echoed across the forest. I looked back, the grizzly was in the trap but he wasn’t finished. His leg was snared but he advanced on me howling and throwing his weight around. I pulled out my rifle and then BAM! BAM! BAM! I shot at the grizzly. All three shots connected. The grizzly roared, took one more step and then fell, it was dead. [FONT=#FFF5BE bold]I groaned, this was my least favorite part. I pulled out my rusty Bowie knife and started cutting. After 20 minutes I had the head off and had it nailed to a nice piece of wood. I smiled; this would fetch $75 at the general store. I called Tokotutawatha that I was finished and he took what was left of the bear away.[FONT=#FFF5BE bold] [/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT=#FFF5BE bold] I headed back to town to sell my prize but guess what. Somebody was waiting for me. I pulled out my muzzle loader, I knew who it was. It was the dueler Jay King. I looked at him and led him to the middle of town between the mortician and Bank. The sun was up in the sky behind my back. Then we looked directly into each others eyes and then we both grabbed our guns at blinding speed. He shot first but missed as the bullet grazed my left shoulder . On my knee with my left hand on the ground I raised my muzzle loader and fired. POW! The bullet smashed into his left shoulder. He roared with pain as I dodged his next shot while reloading my muzzle loader. Curse that thing, if I had one of those $3000 army revolvers this duel would be over. I raised my muzzle loader. And Whoosh! The bullet sailed way over Tom[/FONT][FONT=宋体]’[/FONT][FONT=#FFF5BE bold]s head. He returned fire with a shot to my right shoulder but I ducked down. I then aimed at his left arm and fired. But he dodged to the right. He then fired as I was reloading and a sharp searing pain went through my shoulder. I raised my gun even with the shoulder and shot to his left arm. A hit! He fired and then AHHH! Another sharp pain went through my right shoulder. I fired and hit his right arm. He was losing now. He tried to aim but because of his wounded arm the shot went way over my head. I knew this was it now. I raised my muzzle loader and fired. The bullet soared through the air and connected. As soon as the bullet hit him he crumpled and hit the ground. I walked over and looked at him. He looked not too bad, he’[FONT=#FFF5BE bold]d live. He[/FONT][/FONT][FONT=宋体]’[/FONT][FONT=#FFF5BE bold]d just passed out. I found $7 in his breast pocket and $12 in his pant pocket. I would have looked a bit more but he was all bloody and I wasn’t ready to get sick. [/FONT]
[FONT=#FFF5BE bold] I sold my trophy at the general store and deposited my money into the bank. I checked the time. Five o’[FONT=#FFF5BE bold]clock. Time for one more shift of work before the battle began. I went east this time to do a new j[/FONT]o[FONT=#FFF5BE bold]b. This job was hunting coyotes. Some coyotes were attacking a farmer named Tom Black[/FONT]’[FONT=#FFF5BE bold]s livestock and he[/FONT]’[FONT=#FFF5BE bold]d hired me to help him kill them. He[/FONT]’[FONT=#FFF5BE bold]d pay me based on how long I hunted with him, but if we got a coyote he got to keep it. We headed off into the forest next to his cabin and started hunting. I pulled out my rusty rifle. However I wasn[/FONT]’[FONT=#FFF5BE bold]t planning on using it too much. As I was planning on doing my specialty, setting traps. For the next hour and a half I dug holes which I covered with twigs and leaves. Set snares and beaver traps with juicy T-Bone steaks in them. Just as I was setting a t-bone steak in a beaver trap I heard a howl. I knew what had happened. I[/FONT]’[FONT=#FFF5BE bold]d caught a coyote. I rushed to the spot jumping over traps as I went until I reach the beast in a beaver trap. I raised my muzzle loader from my belt and put the poor beast out of its misery. Suddenly I heard a voice yelling[/FONT][/FONT][FONT=宋体]“[/FONT][FONT=#FFF5BE bold]What have you got there?[/FONT][FONT=宋体]”[/FONT]and knew Tom was coming. I looked at the coyote and saw its shiny teeth. These would fetch a good price at the general store. I knew I had to hurry. I pulled out my bowie knife and started to hack at the coyote’s mouth trying to get a tooth out. I finally got a tooth out of the coyotes jaw and ripped it out and stuffed it in my pocket. Suddenly I heard a loud yell and the breaking of sticks and rustling of leaves. I knew what had happened; Tom had fallen into a trap. Idiot. Anyway this was my chance, I hacked off 2 more coyote teeth before tom got out. I stuffed them in my pocket and hopped onto Spee Dee after getting paid by Tom.
I headed south to Fort Newstyx which I knew was the fort we had planned to attack at dawn. As soon as I saw fort in the clearing a rode Spee Dee into the forest where I met my other town members waiting to attack the fort. I quickly changed to my battle clothing, a gray felt hat, red bow, gray clothing, and brown cotton shoes. I parked Spee Dee on a nearby tree and hopped off. I loaded my rifle and waited. Then as soon as it was dark we heard the trumpet we attacked. All 32 of us charged to the fort from all sides. I ran from my hiding place and climbed up to the adventurer’s tower. I looked around and suddenly saw an arrow whizzing past my head. I spun around and saw a prospector standing on the resource stock shooting at me with a bow. As he notched his arrow I pulled out my musket and fired back at him. The bullet hit him on the shoulder as staggered backwards. I then saw another arrow whizz over my head and he reached for his quiver. I pointed my gun at him and fired at him but he dodged and a hole appeared in the resource stock roof. As I reloaded I suddenly felt a sharp sickening pain in my shoulder and saw an arrow sticking on it. I roared in pain and shot a bulled straight at him. The bullet hit him square in the chest and he was blasted off the roof and fell to the ground unconscious. I ripped the arrow out of my shoulder and turned around to see what was going on. I immediately saw an enemy cavalryman outside the fort blasting one of our mercenaries with a shot gun. I aimed my rifle and fired. The bullet hit the back of the cavalryman’s thigh and he winced in pain but pumped his shot gun and blasted the mercenary back into a tree who fell unconscious. We whirled around to me as I was reloading I raised my rifle and fired. I knew I normally wouldn’t be able to take him down but with the mercenaries efforts he was weakened. I fired at him at he fell to the ground on his back. Just before he hit the ground he raised his shot gun and fired it was a wild shot but one of the bullets hit my forearm by sheer luck. I winced. I heard loud gunshots behind me so I whirled around. Behind me was an enemy Indian on the wall who’d just finished off one of our gunslingers with a precise crossbow I fired at him and missed as the bullet sailed over his shoulder. He turned to me and hit my shoulder. I aimed and fired at him. As I lowered my rifle to reload I saw and arrow right in front of my chest. Then BAM! I fell backwards as my vision began to gent fuzzy. I dropped my rifle and everything went black.
“Ahhhhh” I said yawning waking up in the soft bed at the luxury apartment. I was still wearing my work clothes, a gray felt hat, brown cotton shoes, gre- HUH? These weren’t my work clothes; they were my fort battle clothes so- OH YEAH! I sprinted to the post and check my telegrams. There was one. I ripped it open and read it. There were 2 words. We Won. I smiled and headed south to do my favorite job, hunting grizzlies, I hopped onto my mustang named “Spee Dee” and we rode...

 

[DeletedUser]

A Frenchman Visits The West

So this place, is the legendary American west? Yes Sir it is. Well thankyou sir, here is your money. (he hands the stagecoach man his tip) Oh, sir what might your name be? I am Jean Jaques Colair the Fifth. Hmm, what a funny French name, well I'll be off then. (The stagecoach leaves) Funny French name, Americans so uncultured and distasteful. Well now for my story for the paper, hmmm... I arrived in Denver today with one of those ucultured distasteful American Stagecoachmen, the ride was horribly bumpy and. No, no, no! Howdy mister, thee ain't nothing wrong with you is there? Jean turns to see a fat jovial bearded man. What did you say? I sayd did ya have a problem. Ughh, what is that smell? That would be me. Well, I am fine sir just fine! Well now, that's an awfully purdy dress you got on thar, you wouldn't happen to be one of those fancy saloon owners would you? Not in the least my good man! I reject your awful low quality American saloons which are breeding places for scum and are complete cesspools, I prefer Cafes and Restaurants where class exists. What are you blatherin about? Good day! Jean walks down the street which is unpaved and dry. Americans! They do not even put cobblestones or wood in their streets! They are even worst than the British! Ahhh, here looks like a place to stay. Jean enters a three story building which looks fairly nice with the name Mcdougal Inn. Hello, is there anyone about here? Jean turns to see a door behind which a lot of bumping is going on. Once again is anyone here! Yes! Called a voice from behind the door. The door opens and before it closes Jean notices a very disheveled looking woman lieing on the storage room floor. He turns to the clerk an Irishman with red hair a red beard and looking quite disheveled too. Yes, would you like a room here and by the way I go by the name Mcdougal? Uhhh, yes Mr. Mcdougal I believe so. Well we're almost full but I have one room left, come with me. Jean and Mcdougal go up the stairs and go down a hall. These doors are awfully close together sir. Yes I built this place myself with the idea I could fit a lot of people, most of the rooms aren't that big and also don't run into the walls too many time, you might go through. He stops at a door which he opens. Are there no locks here! No! If you want privacy just bar the door with a chair. What! Here is your room. Jean looks in and sees a small room about eight by six with a small bed, a chair, and a little table. This is it. This, this closet! Why yes sir, however these are the best rooms in town, see we even have clean sheets. I... I... This is... Wonderful! Yes I know, have a good day sir! Good Day! McDougal slams the door and it's not long before the banging is heard going on down stairs. Well, I suppose I should start putting down my experience on paper. Already it's getting dark. Hmm... I know, Today I arrived in the American City of Denver after an awful uncomfortable stagecoach ride through ridiculously awful terrain that took the good part of eight days. When I arrived in Denver I greeted by a dirty looking drunk who asked if I owned a saloon which I said no. I then proceeded into town and found rooms in a place called Mcdougal Inn. The owner Mcdougal seems too occupied with a woman downstairs to provide good service though and in America according to them good service is when they clean the sheets. It is clear that this place does not offer food, and none of this building is quite appealing as I'm writing in an excuse for a room that is more like a poorly made closet. Well, that is a start, I suppose I will go around town now. Jean leaves the Inn and walks down the streets of Denver observing the place, when he stops by an alley well, at least the sky and scenery in America are... Don't move mister, not unless you want to be found in a manure pile! Now where's your money? Uhh, sir couldn't we. Where's the money? Here. Where? In my front pocket here. Why thank OHH! Jean gives the hold up man a hard kick that lands firmly in his privvys. Now see here, Jean pulls out a little Derringer from his pocket, I should shoot out your brains now, however I will let the law take care of this. Guards! Guards! Err, guards, why are you calling guards you idiot? The man's fingers are getting closer to his pocket. What is it you call the law in America then. I call it, Gauugh! Jean plants a bullet firmly into the man's skull, the man's hand goes limp and as it makes a final movement it pulls out a little derringer and lifelessly drops to the ground. Sacreu Bleu what have I done! Surely, why no one hears me! They ignore it in fact, well I can at least drag him off the street... A little while later Jean sits in his hotel room. I went for a walk today and I saw many ungodly things today in the street. I saw drunks going about, women offering their, services freely, and people getting bat up for no obvious reason, not to mention a complete lack of law and order. I also was held up by a man today but he was a fool and was easily knocked out by me, I then tied him up in an alley for it seems the law here is quite poor. This is an account of my first day in Denver, United States of America, I must say that I was not impressed. All Americans I have met so far are uneducated, uncultured, uncouth, and sinly rabble, Sincerely Jean Jaques Colair a Frenchman Visiting The West for The Papers of Glorious France.

 

[DeletedUser]

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[DeletedUser618]

I have so enjoyed reading all the entries. They are all wonderful.