Dust blew gently through the door as a sole man took a few steps into the saloon and let his eyes adjust to the dim glow of the place.
It was, to be expected, not exactly pristine, but it didn’t matter. In a few shots of whiskey or maybe even moonshine, it certainly wouldn’t.
“You know exactly what I want” he stated as he sat at the bar, in an almost sarcastic but toying manner, and without much effort, a tumbler of Ranger Creek Whisky was poured in front of him and the bartender, a pal of his, started asking questions.
“So… Mcree, You’ve been gone a long spell, been out on the road again for work, huh?” “Mhmm” he’d simply reply whilst nursing his whiskey, but continued once ready. “Fella named… hell it’s not even a name, it’s a moniker. “Big Iron”.
“You mean THE Big Iron?” the barman replied, astonished.
“The one and only. Took a spell to get to where he was hiding, but we finally met out on the town road, around the usual time.”
There was an awkward, but noticeable pause in the conversation.
“…And you shot him dead, right?”
“Exactly. Got to take a look at his gun afterwards, had 20 notches on its grip. I’m surprised I wasn’t 21st, but just goes to show I’m a better shot.”
“Now though, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go see if I can make this bounty bigger with some cards, and some drinks too, if you don’t mind bringin’ over new ones occasionally”
The bartender nodded in agreement, but gave him a look.
“And don’t worry, I’ll pay off the tab this time.”
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