Across the endless void of deep space, a cluster of blue stars roamed the black vastness, like a herd of cattle across the cosmos.
The stars continued to sail through space until the speck of a planet appeared in the distance, appearing to be in the pathway of the racing comets.
The planet, Earth, 1886…
±
“YEEEE-HAWWWW!”
The peace and tranquillity of Virgil City, Arizona, was suddenly broken by the hooping, hollering, and gunfire coming from the town saloon.
Folks who were going about their business gathered to see what all the commotion was about, but not too close as to catch a stray bullet not meant for them. Inside, a jolly ragtime piano tune could be heard but was, unfortunately, being drowned out by the ruckus being caused by the three rough-looking men who had taken over the local watering hole.
They sat around a table in the centre, laughing and howling as they knocked back bottles of booze while taking potshots at what remained on the display case behind the counter like it was their private shooting gallery. With each shot, another bottle shattered and spilt to the floor below.
Rick Topper, the distressed bartender, was curled up behind the bar, keeping his head down from any stray shots coming his way. He had a head of curly ginger hair with a matching moustache and spectacles, wearing a white button shirt with a red bowtie around his collar. He also had on a pair of sleeve bands on his forearms, and a white apron over his black waistcoat. He dared to poke his head up from his hiding place praying he didn’t catch a bullet not meant for him…
Which is what nearly happened, when he ducked just in time for a fired hunk of lead to sail over his head, barely grazing his hair, and shattering a lone bottle of whiskey behind him. The outlaws continued to howl with laughter, causing Topper’s fear to boil into rage.
Standing up from his hiding spot, the bartender stared down the outlaws wrecking his establishment something fierce. “Will you clodhoppers quit shooting my stock?! You’re gonna run me out of business if’n you keep this up!”
“Hey! We’re jus’ tryin’ to liven’ things up round here!” The first outlaw argued back, a gap-toothed smile on his filthy, smug face.
“Yeah! T’ain’t our fault this town’s dull as dirt!” The second one spat, his left eye glaring at the bartender, while his right lazed off towards the floorboards.
The last outlaw, being the biggest out of the bunch, had on a brown gushat, with a thick grey beard covering the lower half of his fat face. A large pot-belly poked out between his shirt and pants. He also noticed that the music being played over at the other side of the saloon had stopped.
“Who said you could stop playin’?!” The large outlaw grabbed an empty bottle from the table and chucked it across the hall. “Git to it!”
The piano player ducked in time for the bottle to go flying over his head and shatter against his instrument of trade. At the sight of the pot-bellied outlaw holding another bottle by its neck, ready to toss, he reluctantly went back to playing.
“You sidewinders won’t be so cocksure of yourselves when the sheriff shows up!” Topper threatened.
Pot-Belly let out a loud, belly-shaking laugh. “‘Sheriff’? What ‘sheriff’? I don’ see no law round here!”
“An’ I don’ see you, or anyone else tryin’ to stop us!” Lazy-Eye pointed out, causing Topper to scowl.
“The way I see it, this town’s rip for the pickin’!” Gap-tooth declared, earning yells of approval from his other two pals.
The swinging doors of the saloon’s entrance creaked open.
The three outlaws turned to see who it was that just walked in, spotting a dark figure standing before them.
He wore black duster coat and vest, along with matching coloured slacks and leather boots, with a red silk tie around the neck of his white button shirt. He kept his head lowered, the rim of his black cattleman hat concealing his face as he walked in, the jingle of his silver spurs following each step he took on the hard wooden floorboards.
“Then you fellas picked the wrong town…” His voice came out low and deep, like the rumbling of thunder from an oncoming storm. “‘Cause the law’s right here.”
“Sheriff Brand!” Topper cried in elation.
“Sheriff…?” Gap-Tooth questioned, spotting the gold star pinned to the dark stranger’s chest, with the title ‘SHERIFF’ engraved on it.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Rufus Brand then lifted his head, revealing his face for the outlaws to see. His skin was wrinkled and leathery from living many years under the sun. The thick grey moustache covering the lower half of his face was turned downward with his permanent scowl, as he stared down the three with a pair of cold blue eyes.
The three outlaws blinked…and then burst into loud, riotous laughter.
“That’s your sheriff?!” Lazy-Eyes cackled. “He’s an old coot!”
“I bet he’d twist his hip if’n he went for his gun right about now!” Pot-Belly’s cracked before howling some more, his namesake shaking heartily.
Gap-Tooth decided to get up from his seat and swagger over to the lawman. “Why don’chu go on home before you break something, old-timer?”
The cocky outlaw went to place his hand on the old man’s shoulder…only for the sheriff to grab him by the wrist and grip tight, making Gap-Tooth cry out in pain.
“Like you?” The lawman questioned, staring Gap-Tooth in the eye before throwing him aside, the outlaw tumbling to the floor.
The two still sitting dropped their jaws, surprised to see their pal get handled so easily by the old sheriff.
Coming out of his shock first, Lazy-Eye shot up from his chair and rushed for the old man, pulling his fist back ready to throw a punch. Brand saw him coming and, with more spryness than most men his age, caught the outlaw’s blow and kneed him in the stomach.
Lazy-Eye keeled over before Brand grabbed him by his coat and flung him aside next, letting him fall on top of Gap-Tooth who was just getting back up.
Pot-Belly snarled before he too stood from his seat. He stomped over to the lawman, who merely glared right back at him as he approached. Even with the oversized outlaw’s shadow cast over him, Brand continued to meet his gaze. The sheriff then threw a punch into Pot-Belly’s gut, hoping to knock the wind out of him…only for his fist to bounce back harmlessly.
Pot-Belly grinned down at the old lawman, before raising his right hand and clenching his fist.
All Brand could do at that moment was say the one thing that perfectly described his sorry situation.
“…Dang.”
±
Brand came bursting out of the swinging saloon doors. He tumbled down the stairs and rolled out onto the dirt road of Virgil City.
The old lawman struggled to pick himself up and dust himself off, when Pot-Belly, along with Lazy-Eye and Gap-Tooth, pushed their way out of the saloon and made their way out onto the town’s main street. They spread themselves apart, before levelling their hands towards the guns strapped to their hips.
“Better hope you can draw as good as you fight, old-timer!” Pot-Belly bellowed, the other two chuckling eagerly to shoot the lawman down.
Brand remained as steadfast as ever, as he brushed the tail end of his coat aside, revealing the holstered piece he had on. The old sheriff narrowed his eyes as he stared the three outlaws down, shuffling his feet apart and lowering his hand close to his iron, ready to draw.
“Go ahead… show me what you’re made of.”
The smiles on the outlaws’ faces slowly started to fade from hearing the old sheriff’s challenging words.
The townsfolk cleared the street, running for cover while also wanting to see the outcome of the shoot-out.
A gentle breeze blew between the four gunmen…
Gap-Tooth bit his lip nervously…
The swinging doors of the saloon gently knocked against one another…
Lazy-Eye’s good eye darted between his pals and the lawman…
Horses left tethered in the street whinnied innocently…
Pot-Belly felt a bead of sweat run down his brow, but blamed it on the sun shining overhead, not his rattled nerves…
A rocking chair groaned back and forth on a sidewalk porch…
Brand remained still as steel, his eyes burning into the oversized outlaw…
The door of the town general store slowly creaked open, alerting the occupancy inside…
Before they could try and stop it, the door struck the bell hanging overhead, ringing it.
That caused the outlaws to panic and draw first.
Brand went for his gun next, but was too late to aim.
The three outlaws drew their sights on the old lawman, ready to fire.
Brand shut his eyes, bracing himself for the feeling of hot lead to pierce him.
BANG, BANG, BANG
The gunshots rang out across the whole town.
The horses wailed at the sudden blasts.
Brand flinched at the deafening echo…but soon realised he was still on his feet.
The sheriff dared to crack an eye open, only to see Pot-Belly and his pals now nursing their now aching hands, their guns lying on the ground at their feet.
The old lawman blinked in bewilderment at the three outlaws in agony. Wondering who it was that opened fire before they did.
“Little slow on the draw there, eh, Brand?”
Brand turned around to see who was calling out to him. A young man with a curled black moustache under his nose, along with a smug smile across his face approached the old lawman. He was dressed head-to-toe in black, from his cutter hat, vest and bolo tie, to his slack, belt and leather boots. He also held a smoking rifle over his shoulder, no doubt the same one he used to disarm the three outlaws.
“Bilk!” Brand announced joyfully, glad to see his young deputy approaching him. The silver star the young ward wore glimmered in the sunlight, the title of ‘DEPUTY’ written across its front.
“Thought you had ‘em there for a second, sheriff.” Bilk rested the rifle over his shoulder as he smirked. “Guess it’s a good thing I showed up when I did.”
“I’m just glad you showed up at all!” Brand retorted sorely. “Where were you?”
“On the other side of town!” Bilk shrugged. “I didn’t know a bunch of lowlives were gonna start shootin’ up Topper’s! You know how quiet this town is!”
While Brand and Bilk argued among themselves, Pot-Belly rubbed his still-sore hand before eyeing his gun at his feet. He slowly leaned down towards it, reaching out for his iron, until a shot fired where his fingers would have been. He snatched his hand away from his piece, looking back to see Bilk aiming his rifle towards him.
“Now, now, fellas!” The deputy reloaded his weapon, flicking the lever and pumping a fresh round into the chamber. “I think there’s been enough of that for one day, don’cha think?”
Pot-Belly held his aching hand as he stood, grimacing at his lost chance at payback.
“I’ll get these fellas locked up. Think you could get their guns?” Bilk requested while aiming.
“Reckon I can do that,” Brand replied, making his way over to the outlaw’s abandoned irons.
As Brand went to pick up the outlaw’s guns off the ground, his eyes followed back to Bilk, watching him herd the three towards the sheriff's office on the other side of town.
“All right, you three! Let’s go! Got a cozy lil’ jail cell, waitin’ for ya!” Bilk kept his sights trained on the three outlaws, making sure they didn’t try anything funny along the way.
Brand felt a proud smile tug at his lips, only for it to fall away as he cast his eyes down. His mind filled with thoughts that he would rather not have, about subjects he’d been putting off for quite some time.
After picking up the last of the outlaw’s guns, he slowly made his way back to the office, following behind Bilk in his footsteps in the dust…