Entering town in a gallop.. It’s been a while for the lonely cowboy, not having entered any in a couple months. He wasn’t fond of towns preferring the quiet nights on the prairie eating meagre rations he stored in his saddle bag, just him and his horse maybe an odd traveler here and there. But here he is entering the town of Lincoln and as soon as he does many daughters, wives and children run inside, must’ve been a while since they’ve seen a stranger as every man in sight grip their boom sticks tight. Then the cowboy finally spots the town’s saloon, he strides up to it unmounts and tie’s his steed to the stand. Then he walks up the steps to the saloon doors with intimidating posture, the customers of the saloon turn ‘round looking him up and down before resuming their drinkin’ and talking. The cowboy detects a troublemaker at the bar complaining to a man who’s probably the saloon’s owner, he thinks about breaking the argument up maybe earn some easy coin.. But decides against it, he’s parched and just wants his whiskey. As he walks up to the counter eyeing up a young voluptuous broad at the short end of the bar, easier to intimidate and convince. As the young gall notices him and walks up, she asks him for his order. The cowboy responds with a gruff voice ‘’Whiskey, rye, prime stuff. None of that turpentine trash.’’ Then intimidated by his demeanor she grabs a fresh bottle of a whiskey called Coffin Nails out of the cabinet telling the cowboy that the owner didn’t get to it yet. After taking a quick swig, swishing it around in his mouth and swallowing fast, the taste of maple and a dash of pepper filled his mouth in an oily composition. Then after finishing his drink he asks her for some information about job offers around the area. She knows this isn’t about any carpentry work or trader’s intelligence instead this is more of the bounty hunting kind, she remarks that if the cowboy knows how to get rid of the ruffian at the other side of the bar then the drinks are on the house and she’ll make sure he gets all the intelligence he needs. With a heavy sigh the cowboy steps over to the troublemaker and grabs his shoulder with a firm grip, the ruffian let’s out a short moan and turns around right into the balled fist of the cowboy himself. The Saloon’s owner shows his teeth in a wide grin as the cowboy grabs the guy by the collar of his ruffled shirt and drags him out to the trough next to the horse stands. Short after he re-enters the run-down saloon, again walking straight to the bar where the broad and the owner greet him with a smile handing him the bottle of Coffin Nails along with a long list of jobs perfect for this lone ranger.
Author: Mark de Graaf