Fools Gold

DeletedUser28032

Ok thought i would make something a little different, enjoy

1867, Santa Rosa, somewhere on the Mexican border
The rifle stock smashed into him again, his chest was now in agony, his eyes followed the rifle as it was brought up in order to smash into him once more “That’s enough…” the man with the rifle turned to look at his boss a little crestfallen but still backing away all the same.
“You will get me what I need or I’ll burn this miserable little hole to the ground, Am I clear?” Emanuel nodded to the Southerner in agreement to refuse would have resulted in further beating and he doubted he could take much more. “You have three days Emanuel, you hear me? Three days then I am coming for you” with that he strode out of building his men following him like trained dogs.
Rolling onto his side Emanuel spat out the blood and the tooth he’d lost, his wife rushing over with concern “Are you hurt bad? What are we going to do?”
“Stop you fussing woman I’ll be fine I’ve taken worse beatings than that” slipping her arms under his she helped him to his feet and led him to his chair.
“Did you send the telegram Rosa?” he asked I a low voice “Yes I took it this morning” “Good now hopefully someone will come to teach Mr. Brandt a lesson” Emanuel just hoped that they’d come quickly, else he feared that the village would be doomed.

You have received a telegram from Emanuel Perez; the village of Santa Rosa is in danger and requires skilled gunmen to aid in its defence.
However rumours of cursed Aztec gold, Apache war parties and renegade confederates surround the sleepy village, only the brave would dare set foot in such a dangerous place in search of riches, in search of Fools Gold.



Name: Dr. Richard “Doc” Sullivan
Age: 38
Occupation: Doctor
Home State: West Virginia
Equipment: Colt Dragoon Revolver, Smith Carbine, Doctors bag
Description: 5’11” with short dark brown hair, with a small trim moustache and wire frame glasses. Wears a Black frock coat and trousers, white shirt, grey waistcoat and a black Stetson hat
Bio: Dr. Richard Sullivan is quiet, patient man well known for his good bedside manner and friendly demeanour. However despite these preconceptions he proved to be a valued and extremely competent cavalryman, serving in the 3rd West Virginia volunteer cavalry regiment fighting for the Union until the end of the war.
Upon leaving the regiment in 1865 Dr. Sullivan or “Doc” as he’d come to be known was a changed man, bitter with his part in the war and the deaths he had caused in the name of “Liberty”. He now goes in search of a worthy cause in which to find redemption



Doc read through the telegram again, the train ride from West Virginia had been long and dull with multiple stops and changeovers but thankfully he was now approaching San Antonio where he hoped to buy a horse and ride the rest of the way there.
He’d never heard of Santa Rosa before and was intrigued to see what he would find once he arrived there though from what was written in the telegram he’d have his work cut out arriving before this Mr. Brandt did whoever he was although the name did seem strangely familiar to him…Perhaps he was thinking of an old patient.
“Would passengers to San Antonio please collect their belongings we’ll be arriving at the station shortly” the fat ticket inspector shouted down the length of the carriage thank god Doc quietly blasphemed he didn’t think he could take much more of the scenery, or the train. Collecting his bag, heavy with his medical supplies and his old carbine from the overhead rack Doc made his way to the end of the train to the adventure that awaited him there.
 

Westwoods

Name: Gabriël Ramirez
Age: 32
Occupation: Ranchero
Home State: New Mexico Territory
Equipment: Bowie knife, Le mat pistol, coach gun.
Description: 5'7'' with short black hair, stubble, scar on his left cheek. Wears brown duster coat, black pants, boots, grey shirt, dark brown hat.
Bio: Son of a Mexican father and an American mother. Lived on his family's ranch untill his 17th, travelled arround the West as a bounty hunter untill the war drifted him back home where he joined the New Mexican Volunteers for the Union. Defending New mexico against Indians and Texan Rangers. After the war ended he found his parents killed by a raiding gang. He took over the ranch to pay off debts.
His hard life has made him cold hearted and bad tempered.


Gabriël poured himself another drink as he glanced at the telegram. He knew Santa Rosa from one of his travells years back. He had a girl there once. He smiled at the thought of those long nights he had spend in her arms.
Now it seemed that the sleepy town needed his help. He wondered why a little village like Santa Rosa had caught the attention of that Mr. Brandt...As far as Gabriël knew there was nothing of interest the last time he had been there.
Nevertheless he felt intrigued. He saddled his horse, made sure his ranch was being looked after by the ranchhand and took off wondering if Suzanna still lived in Santa Rosa. He'd probably made a stop at San Antonio, it was on his route anyway.
 

DeletedUser28032

Doc walked down San Antonio's main road in search of someone willing to sell him a horse, it would take the rest of the day to reach Santa Rosa and he'd hoped to arrive there long before nightfall.
The sound of a piano being played erupted from a nearby building, along with the laughing and shouting of the people inside. Checking his watch Doc decided that there was time for a drink or two before he had to carry on his journey to Mexico, besides that his feet were aching as was his shoulder from lugging the heavy bag around with him.
Entering the saloon Doc was met by the smell of strong tobbacco and even stronger liquor, the piano player started to hammer out another song as doc passed him on the way to the bar, a tall blonde dancing girl smiled at him no doubt in search of a free drink "Whiskey, make it the good stuff" the barman nodded before reaching beneath the counter for the bottle, it'd cost twice as much but it would be worth it, besides that he wouldn't lose his eyesight.
"Your in the wrong saloon Old man!" the voice exclaimed menacingly to his right, turning around slowly Doc studied the two men stood besided him, guns hanging from their belts "Care to tell me why?" one of the men was a giant, his hand resting on a colt navy his friend was short and scrawny his nose broken from too many fights "Because old man this saloon is for the sons of the south, not yankee boot licks like you" Doc casually down the whiskey with his left whilst his right searched for his own revolver, the door opened and closed as people left the room quickly, wanting to avoid the upcoming bloodshed
 

Westwoods

It was already hot under the New Mexico sun. Gabe whiped the sweat from his forehead. San Antonio wasn't that far anymore. He wanted to stop there for supplies.
You never knew what could cross your path.

San Antonio reminded him of one of the towns to the east. It felt more...'civilised'. Gambling den, cathouse, baths, a small movie theatre, saloons and merchants and the trainstation bringing people from the east ready to...tame the West. It was funny really to see city folk out here.

His mouth felt dry. He decided supplies could wait and hitched his horse in front of the saloon. Nearly getting overrun by people seemingly to flee for something or someone, Gabe looked inside. 2 men were trying to harras a man at the bar. He closed his eyes, sighed and entered the saloon. He made his way to the counter. "G'day y'all. Whiskey...double and don't gimme that cheap stuff ya skank." the barman nodded and with shaking hands he poured a glass, looking at the trio ready to draw guns. Gabe leaned at the counter, emptied his glass and raised his finger for one more while his eyes kept looking at the two men with there backs to him.

"You know..." He began as he drank from his filled glass. "I've seen many things coming from that train lately but I didn't realize they were planning to build a zoo here. If i'm not mistaken i'm looking at a big ape and a dessert rat..." He took another swig. The barman looked from Gabe to the 3 other men and back. Sweat pearls on his forehead. Gabe had laid his hand on his Le mat.
 

DeletedUser28032

"What did you call me?" the bigger man snarled grabbing the man by his coats lapels, Doc didn't know who this new ally was but he wasn't about to see the man get hurt on his behalf.
Pulling the colt from its holster Doc spun around quickly smashing the handle into the scrawny mans face whilst he was distracted, smashing his nose to pulp as he dropped to the floor with a cry of pain.
The bigger man to busy menacing the other man never saw the bottle of whiskey that smashed across his head, the barman winced, not so much at the violence taking place in his bar an everyday occurrence in his line of work but rather at the loss of an expensive bottle of whiskey. The big man still holding onto the mans coat slowly sank to his knee's before collapsing in a heap at the mans feet. The door behind them slammed loudly as the scrawny man fled the bar clutching his heavily bleeding face, they wouldn't be seeing him in a while he hoped.
Turning his attention to his new friend Doc held out his hand "I thank you stranger, The names Doc Sullivan, Now allow me to buy you a drink"
 

lafittejean

Name: Colonel (C.S.A) Jean Lafitte
Age: 31
Occupation: Rogue Confederate Soldier
Home State: Louisiana
Equipment: Kerr's Revolver .44, Cavalry Sabre, 1861 Enfield Musketoon
Description: 5'7 and fairly thin. He has dark hair and a thick handlebar mustache. He wears his butternut uniform, that of the Confederate Army, when he goes into battle. Otherwise he wears his grey forage cap, a brown coat with a white undershirt, and brown pants.
Bio: Coming from the French quarter of New Orleans Jean tried his hands at many activities before the war came. He was raised to be high class and refined. As a result he often found hard work objectionable. Then the war came and he joined the cavalry where all "refined" gentlemen belonged. Fighting in a losing war he was nonetheless a leader and was eventually blessed with a high command, in 1864. He found himself leading a force that was constantly retreating despite its many victories. He was there at what became known as the war's last battle at Palmetto Ranch. When news of Lee's surrender reached them Jean gave his men the choice to go home or, as he decided, become rogues who would be the bane of the Northerners even if the war was over. Most of the men made the first choice and when all was done there were still twenty loyal men left for him. Over the next few years they had wreaked havoc wherever they found Northerners infecting proud southern land. By 1867 there were only nine men left under him when they attacked a stagecoach in New Mexico territory. Stopping the stage was easy and so was disposing of the guards. As they attempted to force the coach's door however, a man with guns blazing burst out. The fellow gunned down two of the boys with disturbing ease before Jean madly rode towards the man and fired the musketoon into him at point blank range sending pieces of him everywhere. As they sacked the coach Jean found a telegram describing Santa Rosa's problems. He had no real feelings for Mexicans. Then he saw Brandt's name. Corporal Brandt, a fellow who was a real firecracker had left for that region at the war's end. Jean himself had heard stories of the town itself. Aztec gold and reports of other rogue Confederates patrolling the area around it. Jean and the remaining six saddled up and rode for Santa Rosa.
 

DeletedUser26409

Name: Joe Cooper
Age: 28
Occupation: Gunslinger
Home State: Louisiana
Equipment: 2 Remington Model 1858 Revolvers, double-barrel shotgun, tomahawk
Description: 6' with a bit longer darkish brown hair, average build, green eyes, very tanned, wears a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, brown pants and a cotton shirt that once might have been white (sleeves rolled up, top three buttons opened), carries his revolvers low on the hips and an ammo belt for his shotgun on his left shoulder (goes down to his right hip)
Bio: He is the youngest son of a farmer. He left for The West at the age of twenty. He claims to have been a lawman (he is rumoured to have murdered three men and been a train robber). In the Civil War he volunteered in the "Tiger Rifles" company, 1st Special Battalion, Louisiana Infantry. The war, all the mayhem and the defeat of the South turned him into a bitter person. He became a hired gun.

Cooper was sitting in a saloon in San Antonio. Next to the counter. He was drinking whiskey. The bad stuff. His purse wasn't in too good a shape. He was thinking of a way to make some coin. He had heard from someone about a job in Santa Rosa. That wasn't too far away. He was about to get up and get going when some entertainment showed up and started shouting about good whiskey. People hastily started leaving. Cooper stayed. He turned around and leaned back. This was promising to be amusing. Then some Mexican turned up and also started shouting about good whiskey. "This is gettin' ever more interesting." Cooper thought.

When the short dissappointing brawl was over Cooper got up, grabbed his shotgun and approached the newcomers. He stopped at about ten feet from the newcomers and pointed his gun at them. "Now there's no need to brag 'bout havin' lots of money in here. What if I was a dangerous bandit?" Cooper said putting emphasis on the words I and dangerous. "How 'bout buyin' me on of them good whiskeys?" he continued, still pointing the shotgun at the pair.
 

Westwoods

The 'big ape' turned to Gabe, grabbing the coat labels. "What did you call me?" Gabe only grinned and looked coldly back in the man's eyes.
What happened next only took about 3 seconds. The other man dropped to the floor in pain, nose definatily broken. The other still clutching Gabe's coat collapsed as he got the expensive whiskey bottle smashed on his head. Gabe only raised an eyebrow as he looked from the men on the floor to the stranger still holding the broken bottle.
"I thank you stranger, The names Doc Sullivan, Now allow me to buy you a drink"
Gabe shook the man's hand. "Don't mention it. Name's Gabriël Ramirez, girls and friends call me Gabe. Don't ever call me Rami." He leaned at the counter again. "Quick reflexes you have there Doc." From the corner of his eye he saw a man standing up from his seat and walking towards them. "Now there's no need to brag 'bout havin' lots of money in here. What if I was a dangerous bandit?" Gabe looked calmly into the barrel of the shotgun the stranger pointed at them, took a cigarillo from his chest pocket and lighted it.
"How 'bout buyin' me on of them good whiskeys?" The stranger added.
"I'm pretty sure Doc and I are more than perfectly fit to hold our own in gunfights or brawls amigo. If I'd thought you were dangerous you'd not be standing there wielding that shotgun. Now 'bout that whiskey..." He looked at the man on his feet. "...Doc spilled it." He grinned. "Let's hope it wasn't the last bottle." He said glancing at the barman who nodded and filled there glasses and a third one. Gabe was intrigued. He couldn't help but think they were here for the same reason.
 
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DeletedUser31931

Name: Ben Andrews
Age: 35
Occupation: Retired Mercenary
Home state: Texas
Equipment:Winchester Repeater, LeMat revolver, 5 packs of 20 throwing knives, Hunting/gutting knife and A Sawn-Off Shotgun
Description: 6 foot 2, tanned skin, gold/fair hair, Walks with a slight limp, cold blue eyes and a knife scar up his cheek
Bio: A retired Texan Mercenary, He fought for money or for friends or a just cause. If he heard of a man in trouble for the wrong reasons he helped. He despised bandits. After one showdown with an old friend of his gone rouge he acquired his knife scar. The limp came later in a Saloon duel two years later. He retired 1 year later after realising he couldn't carry on fighting with his limp forever. He bought a farm in south Texas near the border and lived there helping out the local town and going for drinks at the pub and fighting off the roaming bandits with his mates. 5 years on he hears about the plight of Santa Rosa and feels moved. A town like his own he leaves a close friend in charge of the farm and takes the first train with his trusted horse: Lightning, named so because of the white streak down his forehead.

As he sat on the train reading the newspaper he thought about life. He wondered about Santa Rosa and what it would be like. He wondered about this Mr. Brandt The first thing he would do was he would stop off at the trains bar. Then just as he got up he heard "Santa Antonio next stop!" He was there.

He made his way to the animals section collected lightning and looked for a bar/hotel to get a drink and some sleep. He heard the smash of glass from one building, A fight! Ben drew his LeMat revolver and dismounted Lightning. From the sounds of things the fight was over now. He put away his revolver and walked in. 3 men were standing around the bar chatting and one was knocked out on the floor. Ben walked up to the bar and all 3 men turned. "So then, What yall doing here and were ya headed?" he said and then ordered a drink as one of the turned to speak...
 
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DeletedUser28032

"This fella here decided he didn't like Yankee's... or Mexican's so I had to teach him some manners" he said nodding at the ape who lay snoring gently by Gabe's feet.
"Now I cannot speak for these gentlmen here but I am on my way to Santa Rosa, Seems they're having a spot of trouble" Doc watched the suprised faces of those gathered around him equally astonished himself "I take it that you gentlemen are familiar with Santa Rosa's plight then?" shrugging his shoulders Doc pulled some of money from out his pocket and layed on the table "I'll buy another round of drinks for these gentlemen, also that should cover the broken bottle" the barman took the money and proceeded to pour another round of drinks "Well gentlemen It appears we're going to be working together, for those of you who don't know me I am Doc Sullivan"
 

DeletedUser31931

Ben was surprised. He had heard of Doc Sullivan before through a couple of friends.
"Ahh" he said "You once treated a friend of mine I think. Anyway the names Ben Andrews. Ben to my friends." Ben took a whisky from the barman and drunk some. "So" he said "I hear your headed to Santa Rosa then. Pleasure to meet-cha. How you getting there? I didn't see many horses outside. You got one? Anyway if you don't I think I spotted one near the train station some saloon sells dead dueller's horses you could acquire one there I think. Is this place a hotel by any chance?" he asked.
 
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lafittejean

It was a long ride, made longer by the fact that after hearing about some marauding federal cavalrymen on the path to Santa Rosa the decision was made to go into San Antonio and take the train from there. As the six rode into town it seemed quite quiet. They were just about ready to get a room for the night when they saw one of the saloons clear out. Then after that there was the sounds of glass breaking and then nothing. Jean decided he might be up for some blue belly hunting tonight. He told the rest of the men to get a room and that he would find them sooner or later. They left and Jean stepped into the saloon.

The doors swung open and Jean looked around. There was a small group of people talking. There were a couple of men laided out on the floor. Hmm... Not much going on. Jean went forward and sat near the group of men and ordered up a bourbon. He casually loosened his coat so that part of his butternut uniform and gold braid showed. Then he turned to the men. "Pardon me sirs, is one of you perhaps a bluebelly of one kind or another?"
 

DeletedUser28032

"you know the wars been over for two years?" Doc replied rather tiredly to the new arrival, he was armed and was clearly looking for trouble but then again so was the growing group of men in the saloon.
The door slammed open violently "Thats him, the Yankee in the glasses and his damn Mexican!" the Rat as Gabe had affectionatley dubbed him shouted from the saloons entrance, his face was covered in dried blood and his eyes were filled with bitter hatred. Behind him stood around half a dozen men carrying a motley collection of revolvers and shotguns.
The barman upon seeing the approaching posse finished pouring the drink then fled to the backroom without waiting for payment, he knew this was going to get ugly and wanted no part of it.
"looks like we've got ourselves a showdown...Well Go for your guns you lilly livered coward" The Rat aimed his Le mat and fired, the shot going well wide of its mark, then all hell broke loose.
 

DeletedUser31931

As Gabe opened fire Ben threw up a table and pulled out his sawed-off shotgun. He looked over and saw man on the floor already. He fired off two bullets one hitting a man for him to slump dead to the ground. 'The rat' was no where to be seen. The barman meanwhile had taken cover behind the bar. And just then two bullets crashed into the table and he dropped behind it. Pulling out his LeMat as he went. He crawled to the end of the table and poked his head and his gun out and shot one more man. When suddenly the others at the bar opened up with a shot.
 

DeletedUser26409

"The name's Cooper." Joe said when the others were doing introductions and then quietly sat down and listened to them talking. Apparently they were also headed to Santa Rosa.

When he heard the door opening and saw the angry-looking bloody guy shouting: "That's him, the Yankee in the glasses and his damn Mexican!" Joe grabbed his shotgun. There would be blood. The barman escaped. "Looks like we've got ourselves a showdown... Well go for your guns you lilly livered coward!" As the bloody guy took the shot at Doc and missed Cooper emptied both barrels of his shotgun simultaneously into the chest of one of the companions of angry-looking bloody guy. The guy made a weird noise, coughed up some blood and died. Cooper immediately jumped for cover and grabbed his revolvers. He then quickly stood up and quickly emptied them into anything that moved. He may or may not have hit something. Some moaning could most certainly be heard. He then ducked again and started reloading.
 

DeletedUser31931

Just as Cooper loosed off his shot. Ben grabbed his Winchester which had been on the floor stood up and shot the second last and last man. There was blood all over the floor. Ben looked down disgusted. He walked up to the bar some of the guys where still around. Ben did a headcount to see if anyone was missing. He checked and he didn't think so. "Would someone go and please tell the barmen" he said " That I think this shoot out is over now."
Just as he finished speaking a Mexican man and two women walked in. One saw the bodies and shouted something in Spanish. A women pulled out a revolver and shot Ben in the leg. He screamed in pain. He limped as fast as he could to the nearby upturned table and shouted "Doc! Can I have some help..." and then he blacked out to the noise of gunshots.
 

DeletedUser28032

As Ben fired his shotgun the men scattered taking cover where ever they could find it, bullets cracked and whined through the air.
Vaulting over the counter Doc took cover, a bottle of gin exploded above his head showering him in glass and liquor.
Leaning over the counter Doc quickly snapped off two shots before being forced to duck down again, he could hear the cries of the wounded and dead coming from behind him which meant that at least some of the bullets were finding their marks.
Jumping back up Doc quickly emptied his revolver of ammunition, feathering the hammer rapidly with his left hand, out of the four bullets only one found its mark hitting a man in the shoulder, he collapsed with a cry of pain. In Doc's professional opinion the man would live but he'd think twice in future about doing something like this again.
The fight lasted mere minutes and despite all the ammunition expended it appeared only three of the men were dead, the others lay moaning on the saloons floor.
"Would someone go and please tell the barmen, That I think this shoot out is over now." Ben called his guns smoking in his hands.
There was scream, Doc looked up in time to see a Mexican woman open fire hitting Ben in the leg before fleeing the bar in panic "Doc! Can I have some help..." Ben called out in a pained voice before blacking out on the floor, Retreiving his bag from the floor Doc set about dressing the leg. The bullet had passed clean through he'd limp for a few days but other wise Doc guessed he'd be alright
 

DeletedUser31931

After Doc had passed his verdict, when Ben woke up, Ben stood up. He took a bandage out and wrapped it round the wound to help stop bleeding. Then he picked up his shotgun and said "Well that's the last of them around here." Just as the barman walked in. "Do you know who they were?" asked Ben
"Mercenaries, I guess. But the way they reacted. If the guys on the floor." The barman pointed to the unconscious ape-like figure on the ground "then they wouldn't have hung around. My guess is that he was the under person to someone else and they didn't want to displease the someone else. I'm afraid I have no idea who he may be. Is there someone after all of you?" the barman asked.
"Well we're all headed to Santa Rosa I think, A couple of guys nodded in agreement. Maybe he was working for the bandit that was terrorising them. I'll see if the telegram has a name." Ben said as he pulled out a tattered piece of paper. "Let's see. " he muttered " Hmm Yes. Mr Brandt. Know of him?"
"Yes" the barmen replied. "His mercenaries come here sometimes. He might have heard that you are coming and sent men to stop/delay you. Either that or you met by coincidence."
"I know which one I'd rather. I'll search his body to see if he has anything on him." Ben turned through his pockets and found a revolver and some ammo which he pocketed, he also found a couple of strike anywhere matches. Ben put them into his hand-made Wilderness kit, Something he made of the farm for when he was out tending the cows for three/four days. It had most of the stuff you needed. "Any luck?" asked the barman
"No" Ben replied "But someone else in the bar might know something." he said and turned to the bar "Your attention please gentlemen, does anyone know if this man" he said point to the man on the ground "had anything to do with a Mr. Brandt please?"
 
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Westwoods

Gabe looked amused at the people coming in. It looked like they had formed a little gang all going for the same goal. At least that's what he thought.
He blew smoke to the ceiling and looked dirty at the southerner. "You got something to say about the blues?" Before the southerner could answer the saloon was filled with armed men led by The Rat.
"That's him, the Yankee in the glasses and his damn Mexican!"
Firing his Lemat he dove for cover behind the counter. "Damn you !"
Bullets, glass and shouts flew from everywhere. Gabe emptied his pistol took the coach gun from his back and shot over he counter at the posse.
"¡Maldígale híbrido! usted mató a mi marido!" A mexican woman that had walked in took a shot and fled. It hit ben who limped at a nearby upturned table. Quickly Doc dressed the leg. It seemed Ben would be alright.
 
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lafittejean

Jean was preparing to respond to the two Yankees when suddenly a big man with smashed nose rushed into the room along with some other men yelling about a Mexican and a Yankee. Jean recognized the face of Davis Lee, a man who had traveled the same way as Brandt when the unit had broken up. The Davis pulled a gun and all hell broke loose. Jean not wanting to shoot a man who had been one of his own even if he hadn't recognized him dove for cover. The lead flew thick and finally stopped after a few minutes. When Jean cautiously peeked out he heard someone inquiring about Davis's connection to Brandt. Davis was dead, but why in the world did they want Brandt? Jean stepped forward.

"I might know something, why do you folks have business with Mr. Brandt?"
 
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