Laramie

I pulled out a fist full of credits and slapped them down on the bar. “One more,” I said.

The bartender glanced at the money and looked back at me, so I threw down a few credits more. He shrugged and tapped one more beer.

“Thanks, pardner,” I hoisted the drink towards him. Darn if being around here doesn’t put me in the mood to speak like a cowboy.

“That duel in the sun, do you know who the gunfighter was?” the bartender asked.

“Rio Bravo? No, Rio Lobo?” I answered. “No, I don’t”

“Diablo Lobo,” the bartender corrected. “He’s a shootist and he’s a part of the Jango James gang.”

“Yeah?” I said. “I shot his guns sky high. He ain’t coming back.”

“He will,” the bartender warned. “He’ll be back with some rough riders. Outlaws from past Red River, they’ll be gunnin’ for you now.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, I took another drink from my beer.

“We don’t like strangers in these parts,” came a voice from behind me. “Maybe you should just head west, out of town. If you're not out by high noon, I'm gonna get my posse and hang you high.”

I turned and saw Marshal Hawks grinning like a maverick colt.

“I’ll head out on the iron horse,” I answered nonchalantly. “Through the canyon passage, towards the big sky.”

“Hah ha ha, howya doin’, rawhide?” Hawks laughed while squinting through the crows’ feet around his eyes. “It's good to see you again.”

“Same to you, pardner,” I laughed. Yeah, sayin' pardner makes me a cowboy.

“Let’s talk in my office,” Hawks ushered me to the door.

In his office, I peered through the curtains to see the folk in the buildings across the street peering through their own curtains, then quickly shutting them.

“People sure are edgy around here,” I commented.

“That ain’t half of it,” Hawks replied. “It’s that gang runnin’ around, tearin’ things up. Nobody wants to make a fuss and you, sir, made a fuss.”

“Why don’t you deputize some people here and go after them?” I asked.

“Like I said, folk around here are too scared,” the old marshal shook his head. “Nobody’s gonna stick their neck out and I can’t do it alone, rawhide.”

“Well, you got me,” I assured him. “Where are they? You an I’ll go get ‘em.”

“They’re just outside of Briscoe County line,” Marshal Hawks answered. “But you don’t have to worry about that, they’ll be back and lookin’ for you.”

Almost on cue, there was a shout from the street.

“Hey Marshal!” came the voice. “Where’s the stranger? I gotta bone ta pick with ‘em!”

Hawks looked peered out the window. “It’s Lobo. Don’t go out there, Johnny. It’s a trap.”

“Well of course it is,” I answered. “I’m here though, and I’ve got to see this thing through.”

“Fine, if you wanna get yourself shot, greenhorn, I can’t stop ya,” he grumbled. “Be my guest.”

“I’m comin’ out, Lobo!” I called out.

I reached for the deadbolt, but the Marshal stopped me.

“Hold it,” he said. “I can’t let you go out there. At least not like that.”