Bang Goes the Neighbourhood (Open)

[Weldon Campbell]

Bang! There goes the neighbourhood [contd]

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from...ofthefire1.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=ranchesfarms&action=display&thread=2075&page=1

Weldon Campbell sat back in the wagon as it bounced along the road. His gaze swept the perimeter of his ranch as they passed the gate that signalled the ranch boundaries. As so often when he passed this Weldon thought of what had stood here before.

Instead of ‘Campbell’ the sign had read otherwise. He lifted a musing eyebrow as he considered the vast tracts of farmland he had acquired in his time coming to Del Fuego. Some of the homesteads and farms he had gotten his hands on he had of course turned over for a quick profit to the railroad companies or other ranchers. His tactics had all proven effective; sometimes they were subtle - calling in bank loans, secret sabotage, and organising cattle rustling; sometimes his tactics were less so, strong arming and intimidating the original owners had achieved his aim of chasing the owners off the land and purchasing them at knock down prices.

The names of various farms tumbled as an afterthought in his head - Greene, Hampshire, Arkken, Thomason, Daniels to name a few - but none caused him any grief or caused his conscience a cent’s trouble worth. No, Weldon Campbell saw things only in terms of how he could profit and expand his influence. Stepping on the backs of others, heck even tramping on the dead, was not something he was ashamed of.

The journey into town was not overly long. In an hour’s time he would be on the main street. Time to spare before the three thirty arrived. Weldon has supplies coming in on the train and so it was that a team of six hands came behind the coach wagon with a cart to load the supplies onto.

Hollander Burgess sat opposite Weldon, somehow squashing his long frame into the concord stagecoach. He gave Weldon a long look before sniffing, a sure sign that something displeased or was troubling him. Hollander’s eyes flicked back towards the ranch. “Do you think perhaps that was a little ... excessive sir? Beating him to a pulp, tying him to a cart to stake him out under the sun before blowing him up with a stick of dynamite he planned to steal.”

Weldon cocked his head sharply towards Hollander. “Do you think I care how he met his maker? The more excessive the better as far as I’m concerned. He stole from me. I had to send a message.”

Hollander smoothed out his long black trench coat seemingly oblivious to the threatening undertone in Weldon’s voice. “I am sure he got the message sir.”

“The message wasn’t fer him. It was to whoever he planned on selling the dynamite to.” Weldon chewed the inside of his cheek angrily as this unknown factor was the only matter that troubled him - the fact that someone had used Cal Banks to take what Weldon owned. “It was a message to them and to the men.”

“Ah, of course. You will be certain to have earned their respect now sir.” Hollander was sincere in his words as he genuinely such tactics was a means to instilling respect.

Weldon glowered but refrained from raising his anger. Despite his skill for brutality, Weldon more often that not chose to restrain unleashing his wrath. To bide his time and to plan just how he would exact his retribution or anger.

His next words were calm and low. “A man doesn’t need to be respected. He needs only to be feared.”

Hollander concurred silently to Weldon’s philosophy. It seemed as though Weldon was considering the point Hollander was trying to make about his methods. Weldon seemed to mull on matters for a moment and then added, “Perhaps you’re right ... it was a tad excessive ... to blow up a perfectly good cart.”

They passed the remainder of the journey mostly in silence. The coach swung in an almost soothing motion as it raced across the trail into town.

“Quit rubbing that damned knee, Hollander.”

“Sorry sir, just a touch of rheumatisms flaring up. Sorry to bother you.”

“Well it does.” His eyes cast on the trial that led towards the Harte ranch and Weldon scowled. That woman Harte had been a canny operator for sure and had made a success of the stead so that Weldon had not been able to put the squeeze on her in any financial terms. He wondered whether the new owner was as savvy an operator. Time would tell. But it was a situation he would be sure to keep an eye on.

Weldon’s eyebrows knitted as he considered the strange form of Hollander sitting in cramped fashion in the coach, futilely trying to smooth out his coat yet again. “If the knee’s bothering you, why don’t you visit the doc. Or I hear from Pinkerton that the peddler’s still in town. No doubt they’ve a miracle cure for it.”

Hollander dipped his head deferentially to Campbell who only looked out the window of the coach. “I’ll look into it sire. About the men ...”

Campbell returned his attention to his foreman. His eyes narrowed. “Yes. What about them?”

Hollander licked his lips before picking his words. “They wondered whether they’d have permission to stay in town for the night. Maybe not rush back to the ranch so soon after taking delivery of the goods.”

Weldon considered that the goods were legitimate so he wasn’t nervous to have them stored in town overnight but he didn’t like the notion of the men gathering in such a number in town and drinking. It usually led to trouble with others. This was something Hollander knew and usually he frowned about the wanton needs of the hands so it begged the question as to why Hollander was now asking the question.

“It might do them good to ... let off a little steam.” Hollander’s tone was cool but his voice implied that it would soother any qualms about what had happened back at the homestead.

Weldon grunted non-committally at that. As far as he was concerned, the men ought not to have any qualms. Those who were privy to his operations, like Cal had been, knew better than to cross him, never mind to steal from him, never mind to steal explosives from him! But he knew too that it would cost him nothing to permit their leave. It was after all, apparently, a free country. He shrugged as he looked out the window again. “No skin off my nose I suppose.” He added quietly, but the threat was nonetheless palpable, “Just be sure to warn them to keep their traps shut.”

“They know that sir.”

Campbell’s eyes glowered as he considered the fact that Cal Banks had not seemingly known better. “They had better.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out some coins. He tossed them across to Hollander.

Hollander sniffed. He did indeed disapprove of the men drinking and whoring and he knew full well where this money would be spent. He tried to keep the disapproval from his voice but in truth disdain and distaste were familiar to his face and words. “Very generous sir. Sniff. I’m sure they will be very grateful.”

“I imagine they’ll throw it at a whore and feel very grateful afterwards. But I doubt they’ll be thanking me in the moment.” Campbell groused not wanting to think about the carnal habits of his men. He added more quietly, revealing not his generosity but his true intent, “If they lie with a whore it means they won’t be talking their mouths off in a bar.”

Hollander nodded as it agreeing to great words of wisdom when he knew well his boss’ tactics. “Very true sir.”

Weldon turned the topic back to other pressing business of their trip into town. He gave a wry and sarcastic response, “No doubt my generosity to the men will impress any new hands you manage to hire.”

“I imagine so.”

“Just be sure to not hire any of McConnell’s fool gang. McConnell has his uses but he and his lot are too reckless to warrant.”

The coach canted to the left as it turned onto the main street of Del Fuego at last. They were early for the train but the men would go to the station and remain there until it arrived. Then only when they had loaded the wagon and secured it to the livery for the night would they then be permitted to go to the bar.

Hollander and Weldon’s coach stopped outside the Blackbird Saloon. Hollander would seek hands for the farm elsewhere while Weldon would treat himself to some fine liquor and a finer meal in the Blackbird.

He stepped down from the coach. Hollander closed the carriage door behind them and put his hat back upon his head. Behind Weldon's back he stretched his prodigious frame from the crinks of squashing himself into the coach. Weldon meantime fished some coins out from his pocket to give to the Parker the mute coach driver.

Without a farewell, Weldon left Hollander to attend to his business while Weldon himself entered the Blackbird Saloon hoping that the time of day and the sometimes more exclusive nature of Duke's premises would allow Weldon to be spared the presence of drunks or low-hands he had fired from his ranch in the past.

[Duke]

Late morning and the saloon had finally opened its doors. Duke made his way down the stairs causally looking at his pocket watch. Everything was neat and tidy, in its place. The dark mahogany bar spoke of wealth and manly pride; the chandeliers of elegance and refinery; the very air itself was tinted with the odor of expensive tobacco and quality whiskey.

Duke loved the dark burgundy and black wallpaper that he had brought in from New York when he bought the place. It had been a simple bar that catered to the local clientele. He had also purchased the adjacent buildings incorporating them into one big building with many parts.

Oak tables and chairs were in the next room set up for poker games and faro tables Upstairs past the rich carpeting was where his girls worked. Still another building that was part of the establishment was where patrons could watch dancers, jugglers and, something new called Vaudeville, which consisted of dancing acts and comedians. His favorite was when a Shakespearean actor came to town and gave a soliloquy. His favorite was the rousing speech given by Henry V known as the St. Crispin's Day Speech.

The brute known only as Magowan stood in a corner and watched as a large, well-dressed gentleman entered the premises. His beady eyes silently looking him over. The man's duds spoke big city and wealth but his eyes spoke treachery. The look so similar to his boss, Duke. But there was something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. All he could think was if Duke was the devil than this man was Satan himself.

"Mornin', sir," Abe Sanders greeted the man with an open, friendly smile.. Abe was an older man, middle aged and friendly, that Duke hired to work days when things were not so wild. Abe wore a white bib around his ample waist with guarders that held back the sleeves of his light blue and white striped shirt. He looked every bit the stereotypical bartender with his handlebar mustache and his salt and pepper hair parted in the middle. "What can I git cha?"

[Rio Daniels]

She was drunk.

Anyone who knew the little spitfire knew that she hated alcohol. And while she didn't make herself friendly to anyone in these parts, Lewt's men knew her. They knew her from the meeting that they had all had in the main street of Del Fuego. However, she had completely lost her mind. She was having feelings for a man and that was something that she had never allowed herself to do before. She had fallen for Lewton McConnel and she was terrified. Rio was not a woman that held affection for anyone. It was something completely foreign to her. She didn't have the time, the patience, the security to fall for a man. That was why she kept them far away from her at all times. But that snake. That rotten, dirty snake had slithered his way right into her heart and and now she couldn't get rid of him.

She wasn't angry though. When she actually sat down and thought about the situation with a sober mind, she wasn't mad. It was thrilling really if she analyzed the situation, but her photographic memory wanted nothing to do with that right now. All she wanted was to forget about what she was feeling for the leader of the gang. It wasn't something that she needed to add to her plate or her stress level. And in order to help her distract herself, she had made her way to the local saloon. She wasn't a very lady like young woman, so drinking at this time of day was not unheard of for her. Or, it was, since she didn't drink at all, but now she didn't rightly care. Because of her lack of experience in the drinking area, the twenty year old was what everyone considered a lightweight. But the bar tenders found her funny and believed if they fed her a bit more, one of them would get lucky.

Oh how wrong they were. The woman was drunk, not stupid. As the man leaned forward a little bit, she was suddenly turned off from the entire situation. Her stomach flipped in its uneasiness and she felt queasy and downright sick. She wanted Lewt. She knew that he'd be able to take care of her. As the bar tender studied her rather green looking face, he just chuckled. "Ya ain't laughing at me, lemme tell ya that." Her words were slurred and sloppy and she swayed as she got herself to her feet. Stumbling to the side, she crashed into a rather well to do looking man, but that really had no impact on her. It was his fault he was sitting there anyway. "Watch yerself, ya brute." She stated to Weldon Campbell, not recognizing him for who he was. She didn't care. Stumbling to the side now, she nearly heaved, feeling sick from the amount of alcohol that had settled heavily in her stomach. She needed to get out of here. She needed fresh air.

[Weldon Campbell]

Weldon entered the premises taking in the finer details of the establishment. In truth, despite his purchasing of land in and around the area of Del Fuego over the last some ten years it was only in recent times that Weldon Campbell had opted to settle down on some of that land and leave the big city behind. And, though he was loathe to admit it, Weldon had started to garner too much attention from the authorities in Boston and so now was forced to run his business interests from Del Fuego.

The locals knew of Campbell perhaps in some off-hand manner, knowing him to be a city businessman venturing into cattle ranching after years of land speculation in the area. To most he was but an ambitious successful business man but few knew his real dealings. Additionally, until now, Weldon had little recourse to visit town. He had men and staff to attend to him on the ranch and keep him in the style he was accustomed. He didn’t exactly attend Church in any way and the Mayor and bank manager of old whom he often visited in order to smooth the way for any business transactions were now long gone. When he sought creature comforts and socialisation Weldon would usually have returned to his home in the city. His changed circumstances and need to lie low for a time however meant that Weldon had been cooped up on the ranch for some months now.

He nodded approvingly at the fine setting of the building’s interior as he entered. The dark burgundy and black wallpaper, the intricate glass work that adorned the bar and private casino room doors and the rest of the fittings and furniture had a touch of class about them that would not have been remiss in a saloon to be found in New York or Boston. But more than the style of the place it was the sheer ambition of it that impressed Weldon. The owner had not settled for a petty little saloon which would still have turned a pretty profit all the same. The owner thought bigger than that, had grander schemes and ambitions about what he had wanted to create here, with private poker rooms, a casino, dance hall and stage shows, fine dining, private chambers and apparently he hired a better class of whores than any other place in town.

The owner of the establishment stood at the foot of the stairs purveying his empire, the man known as Duke. Wealthy, prosperous and a dog with a silky smooth tongue was Weldon’s assessment of the man. Weldon used his men to gather information about people and from what he had gleaned about Duke made Weldon recognise and understand that here was a man who was but a few among his equal. Oh Weldon had no proof of any dealings but he suspected strongly that Duke’s business dealings were not all legitimate. The fact that there was no hard proof to say so was all the more reason to give the man credit.

Near to where Duke stood was the hired muscle - Weldon recognised the man’s role easily. Once upon a time it was he who had served in such a capacity but Weldon’s ambition was greater than that - he would not serve at the hand of another man but forcefully forged his own path. Weldon looked the man over carefully, sizing the man he knew to be called Magowan up, it was the prize fighter in him that reacted by seeking the strengths and weaknesses of the brute. Dropping his gaze from the bruiser, Weldon took in the rest of the setting, staff and clientele. In doing so, Weldon proffered a casual indifference to the might of Magowan demonstrating to him that he saw no threat in the hired muscle. Weldon was not easily intimidated.

Weldon moved towards the bar where stood a well turned out bartender, with white bib apron and handlebar moustache and all. Weldon approached the bar for now ignoring the saloon owner. Part of Weldon’s business here today was to try to gauge Duke and the people who frequented the bar. He needed to know if Duke were a man Weldon could potentially do business with. More importantly he had to learn if Duke was Cal Banks’ contact. He didn’t imagine so; he imagined that Duke was a far smoother operator than the slapdash hokery of Cal’s attempt to steal several boxes of dynamite from his stores. But it would not serve to over or under estimate any potential business rival.

"Mornin', sir," the bartender greeted with a friendly smile yet a professional experienced hand who did not appear overly familiar. The middle aged man continued, "What can I git cha?"

Before Weldon had an opportunity to ask for anything a man - no a girl - stumbled into him. Before he had a chance to react in any form the girl snarled, "Watch yerself, ya brute." Before veering off, green around the gills.

Weldon was no gentleman - if he were in polite company and somewhere it mattered he might have attempted to apologise (even though it weren’t his fault) and offered to assist the woman. But as it was, she a rotten drunk, drinking in the middle of the day and he had no care to affect the appearance of a gentleman. But nor did he wish to demonstrate any rash display of anger. Weldon reserved his anger for those who warranted it though his pugilist past meant he once would have instinctively matched any aggression directed towards him. But Weldon had learned to control his anger, unleashing it at his own time. His inability to do so as a prize boxer had resulted in the death of two of his opponents in the ring.

So Weldon found himself bristling at the attitude of the girl and clenching his fist before smoothing his waistcoat and smiling a smile that never touched his eyes. He doffed his hat to her retreating form and declared sarcastically, “That’s quite alright ma’am.”

He did not know whether she even heard him in her intoxicated state. Then something seized Weldon’s heart as looked at the girl’s back. Something about the delicate dance of freckles across her face, the hair trailing behind her or tone of her skin triggered a memory but one that refused to reveal itself in any clarity.

Weldon narrowed his eyes, trying to hide how disconcerted he suddenly felt, as he scrutinised her trying to decipher just where he had seen her from before.

[anskee5]

Moving down the wooden walkway Doc stopped for a moment and coughed into a handkerchief. It took him several moments to catch his breath before he continued on, the color of his complexion pale. He enjoyed going into the Blackbird Saloon in the late morning, having a drink and flirting with the soiled doves.

He was meticulously dressed in a blue suit, a plumb colored vest with a red cravat and a diamond stick pin in the center, the haute couture of the day. He was considered a high roller, a man with extraordinarily good luck with poker. He had gotten so good, in fact, that he didn't have to cheat. The men that came into play were usually poor to midland players, although you did have the poor looser. One who consistently looses but blames everyone and everything for their own poor judgement.

Upon entering the business, of whom he shared 25% of the profits, he went directly to the bar and nodded Abe. He fame brought in many people who tried to beat him at the poker tables. Some did, but not before they lost copious amount of cash before doing so. Either way Doc was the winner.

"The usual, Doc?" he asked him already knowing the answer but still felt the need to ask in case the gambler changed his mind.

"Yes, thank you, Abe," came the polite answer. Doc never saw a reason to be rude, but he thought nothing of playing mind games with those who knew to be less courteous and intelligent than himself. Not that he purposefully sought out to humiliate those of less intelligence. On the contrary, he was a man who respected others no matter their intellectual or social standing. He just had no respect for those who were brutes and thought they could push others around just because they could, whether drunk or sober.

Seeing a new face at the bar he introduced himself. "How do?" he nodded to the man. He wore clothes that spoke of back east big city wealth. "The names John H. Holliday. Haven't seen you around? You just arrive in town?" he asked and was immediately overcome by a coughing fit. Turning away he covered his mouth with a handkerchief leaving the lightest tinge of pink in it. Wiping his mouth with the handkerchief he then replaced it in his pocket and turned back to the stranger.

[Shawn Flanagan]

It had been a month since Shawn came to the Blackbird Saloon. He walked in wearing his profession business clothes. All black and looking remarkably elegant except the black velvet eye patch that covered his left eye. He had a tall black hat on top of his head. Holding his oak walking stick with his left hand, Shawn was using the staff to help him to walk to the bar.

Shawn did not hear Rio. He would remember her by sound. Shawn did not know she was in the same room. If he had his eye sight. He would not notice her anyways because he never saw her. Just knew her by her sound and the way she talked.

The crowd was a blur in his right eye. Shawn knew in the majority Duke was in it. That was fine. Shawn wanted Duke to identify Shawn in his establishment. It was doing business with another business man. Shawn would not want to establish a business deal with Duke. Shawn does not like the feeling of Duke. Shawn wanted to show Duke he wanted to come to appreciate Duke's business even if he disliked it. In the future, Shawn might want Duke's business or Duke needs Shawn's business. Shawn was being a gentleman. He might have a deficiency for now. Shawn wanted to practice ethical business and be known for his considerable business technique.

“Good day to you, Shawn,” Abe said to Shawn. Abe could see that Shawn was blind by one eye. The undertaker did not look awful as what everyone claimed. The town claimed he was in dreadful shape. “What would you like?” Shawn ordered one of the best expensive wines that comes from California.

Shawn heard Doc Holiday introducing himself to a stranger. Holiday turned and was coughing in the direction of Shawn. The undertaker felt remorseful for Holiday. It was a long time since he saw Holiday.

“Still hanging with that consumption, John,” Shawn said to Holiday. “Go on introduce yourself to the stranger,” Shawn patted Holiday on the back.

(Ooc: I invested in a Grammar program. So please be patient with me)

[Weldon Campbell]

"How do?" Weldon turned from the feckless woman who disturbed his thoughts to face a cool customer meticulously dressed in a blue and plum, every inch an aficionado of fashion is seemed. Even without his next words, Campbell recognised the high-roller before him. "The names John H. Holliday.” Many of Campbell’s ranch hands had seen fit to lose their wages trying to win one over the famed ‘Doc’ Holliday. What they did with their money was their own fool business but Weldon was a man who determined the odds and not a man to gamble the odds.

Weldon’s eyes looked upon Holliday sceptically, wondering at the man’s fame and his skill at the cards; and even in the flash of the introduction Weldon wondered at what possible arrangement there might be between Holliday and Duke that permitted Holliday to keep winning against the house. A casino owner usually frowned on someone with such a long running roll. Weldon’s eyes narrowed fractionally as he weighed up the possibilities with his keen mind and he gauged just how much of a snake this Duke and indeed this Holliday character were. Yet Weldon actually appreciated the apparent mutual business arrangement the two men must have worked out.

“Haven't seen you around? You just arrive in town?" the man asked before being immediately overcome by a coughing fit. Weldon frowned, masking his distaste. His men and his sources of information had indicated aspects of Holliday’s health were troubling.

“No, actually.” Weldon reluctantly replied. He was use to keeping himself to himself when he stayed in Del Fuego, remaining on the ranch. He was in fact uncomfortable with chit chat and exchanging pleasantries. But circumstances had changed and so Weldon would have to change - to some small degree.

And then again, Weldon was always ready to be pleasant if it served his business and he imagined that a man like Holliday might prove useful in some future capacity. So Weldon stuck out his hand to shake it with the dapper Holliday. “Weldon Campbell. Owner of the Campbell ranch. I believe you’ve bested quite a number of my men over the weeks in games of cards. Your reputation precedes you.” Weldon offered a smile. In the back of his head he hoped it didn’t look as awkward as it felt.

“Normally my business keeps me on the ranch or in the city. But today I’ve cause to come into town. A dry whiskey, please barkeep, and whatever this gentleman is having.” Weldon’s eye passed over Holliday to the gaunt figure behind him at the bar dressed in black with a velvet patch over one eye. Weldon often ribbed Hollander for his wardrobe choices, remarking he looked too much like an undertaker. Here before him, Weldon saw whom he imagined to be the recent bone rattler in town.

[Rio Daniels]

As she was walking away, she caught the sarcastic undertone to the man's voice. Halting in her steps, she turned slowly, not noticing the disconcerting look in his eyes because of her intoxicated state. Furrowing her brow, she let her ice blue eyes study him intensely. Rio had this habit. She would stare. She would stare silently. It was a process for her memory which had served her well on many occasions. However it could be considered to some people, especially to a well to do business man like the one sitting in front of her. That just showed how much she cared about his opinions. Frowning now, her eyes narrowed as she studied him, crossing her arms over her chest. "I may be drunk sir, but it ain't a crime. I can still figure out when a man is bein' sarcastic."

Oh Rio. She caused trouble wherever she went and the bartenders were eying her warily. They knew of her temper, they knew how she could get. She was the one that had caused the all out brawl over at the Inn the other day and they weren't about to let that go unnoticed. They didn't want any brawls here and that was perfectly obvious. Rio wasn't about to punch the man in front of her though. She had a bit more class than that, sometimes. Taking a deep breath, she leaned up against the bar for the time being, her slim frame held up by the furniture. Her back was against it, her elbows perched on the counter to give her some added balance. She was drunker than a skunk, but there was nothing she could do about it now. The bartenders knew that if they kicked her out there would be a worse problem out in the streets so they hoped she would remain here to sober up. They did try to keep the young woman out of trouble but sometimes it was nearly impossible.

Rio had too wild of a spirit to be controlled, even by men that were bigger and burlier than her. She knew her limits, most of the time. Alcohol just wasn't included yet because she really had no drinking experience. She usually stayed away from the stuff, and she usually insulted those that drank it. She just had too much on her mind right now and those that consumed it seemed to be rather carefree. However, she found herself thinking non stop about the man who was causing her the troubles. Lewt. Why couldn't she get him off of her mind? This was supposed to be helpful. Sighing softly, she looked on as men kept appearing out of no where, noticing Shawn was one of them. He had graciously allowed her into his home and she had tried to be respectful. Again, she was just difficult to control.

Sighing, she was suddenly aware of a name being thrown around. Weldon Campbell. The Weldon Campbell. Her heart fell from her chest as she turned to look at the man in front of her. She couldn't help herself. The pain that blossomed in her chest at the very mention of that name was unbearable and she stumbled forward, closer to him, but not too close so that it was uncomfortable. "Did ya say ya were Weldon Campbell? Ya knew my father...Aaron Daniels. My name's Rio. I'm his daughter!" The thought that this was a man who could tell her about her father excited her and she wanted nothing more than to talk to him.

[anskee5]

“Weldon Campbell. Owner of the Campbell ranch.”

Under Doc's tailored jacket hidden just out of sight but within his reach Doc carried a Colt Lightning and a Colt Peacemaker. He considered himself a gentleman but other's opinions might be derived from their point of view. Some called him a stone cold killer, a whoremonger and an alcoholic. Still other said he was afraid of nothing on Earth and his commendable principal in his code of life and that was his sterling loyalty to friends.

"Nice to meet you, Campbell, " a hint of upper-class Virginian accent in the tone. He shook the man's hand, taking into consideration the fact that it was nearly as big as a ham as well as its enormous strength as though he tossed beef carcasses for a living. He would hate to be at the receiving end of one of the man's punches.

"I believe you’ve bested quite a number of my men over the weeks in games of cards. Your reputation precedes you."

"Is that so," he spoke as though he was being told the sky was blue. "They are more than welcome to come and try to win it back." The man's size and unspoken aggression did nothing to unnerve him. Most bullies came in large sizes and thought nothing of pushing others, especially smaller men, around to establish their dominance and furthering their reputation.

.“Normally my business keeps me on the ranch or in the city. But today I’ve cause to come into town. A dry whiskey, please barkeep, and whatever this gentleman is having.”

Abe did as the big man said. "Grateful, sir," Doc nodded to him when the bartender poured the drinks.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned up against the bar for the time being, her slim frame held up by the furniture. Her back was against it, her elbows perched on the counter to give her some added balance. She was drunker than a skunk, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

Doc had to keep from laughing out loud at the drunken young woman as she leaned against the bar between them but the male in him looked her over approving of what he saw and also leaned against the bar. She was so drunk it was comical.

"Did ya say ya were Weldon Campbell? Ya knew my father...Aaron Daniels. My name's Rio. I'm his daughter!"

"I do believe the lady is seeking you, Mr. Campbell," Doc spoke and backed away with a slight grin on his face not wanting to miss what was going to happen next.

[Shawn Flanagan]

The bartender placed Shawn's glass front of him. Placing his hand in his front pocket, he pulled out his wallet. He opened it, used his fingers to handle the money notes in his wallet. He learned to fold them, so he knew which was which. He pulled out the mark single dollar. Taking it out of the wallet, he placed it down for the bar keep. “Thank you,” he said. Folding his wallet, he tucked it in his front pocket.

Shawn turned his head toward where Campbell was standing. The man was a shadow blur. The tone of the voice of the new comer sounded like a man of power. So, Shawn had an vision of a man with influence of age. Broad shoulders, Shawn wasn't sure he was a momentous with muscles or obese. The shadow blur was not much a service.

Now, Shawn taken intent that Rio had some connection to Campbell. John next to him chuckled. The Virginia man was possible stripping her with his eyes. It did not matter to Shawn. He was engaged to Rosalyn. Rio had stayed for one night at his families' house.

Blindly feeling for the glass of wine, Shawn found it without spilling it. He took it and sipped it. It tasted better when he had could see. Being a mortician, Shawn learned to be quiet and listen. That's what he was doing. He leaned on his staff. There was no way he was going to put it down, fear someone would take it from him. He took a small sip of his wine. The female was chatting to Campbell. So, he was going to wait and discover what happens next.

(nice posts guys)

[Duke]

"Sir," Abe Sanders called Duke over. "Thet lady thar," he pointed towards Rio. "The one that can barely stand. She's pesterin' the customers. I tried to make her go home but, shoot, she won't listen ta nobody. Now she's so drunk she can barely see and win thet fancy dressed man came in and then Doc over thar she gone an started pesterin'' them, too."

Duke saw Rio leaning against the bar in-between Doc and the big customer and he recognized her as one of the women that had been hanging around Lewt McConnell. He had had favorable dealings with Lewt in the past and didn't want to do anything that would make him mad, but neither did he want one of his trollops coming into his place and causing problems.

Magowan watched the three of them closely. He might not have a weapon on him but that didn't make him less dangerous. The big man was the one he had eyed just a bit ago sizing him up. The only word that came to his mind was dangerous, like a slow moving flood that had a strong under current to it . Looks easy to cross but once you get into it you'll be deceived how powerful it is and get pulled down to the depths with the only way out was dying.

"Want me to throw her out, Boss?" Magowan asked him, his voice deep and resonate, like one would suppose a serial killer would sound.

Watching for a moment he leaned against the other end of the bar and told Abe to pour him a glass of his private whiskey.

"Let's watch for a bit, see how this plays out," he told his bodyguard.. "Besides, Doc's there. If there's any gun play he'll stop it. Doc might not be fast but he's accurate and that makes him better than fast. That makes him deadly."

[Weldon Campbell]

Weldon’s attention was turned from the undertaker by the slurred defiance of the drunken lady. "Did ya say ya were Weldon Campbell?” Immediately, Campbell imagined that the woman was about to list a complaint about one of his men, claiming him to be the father of some unborn bastard or that their advances had been too rough and forward. If so, Weldon’s sympathy would be little extended. But then her slurred words ran on and Weldon’s blood ran cold. “Ya knew my father...Aaron Daniels. My name's Rio. I'm his daughter!"

"I do believe the lady is seeking you, Mr. Campbell," Holliday was saying but it was some far off voice that Weldon did not register. Her words had become the sole focus of his world. Aaron Daniels ... I'm his daughter!

He turned to face a ghost of his past only this woman was no ghost, though she was supposed to be!

Weldon could almost stagger from the shock he had gotten. In his years as a prize boxer or as a piece of hired muscle, never had Weldon received such a blow. He’d delivered many a punch that left a man stupefied but never had he been on the receiving end of such. Until this moment of seeing the dead alive!

Her piercing blue eyes were startling and more so for Weldon as his memory flashed to the Daniels’ ranch and sitting on the porch with Aaron Daniels. The eyes were unmistakeable. The familiarity from before, clearly the recognition of the childhood girl, now grown into a fiery young woman.

Those same blue eyes had stared at him defiantly after a little girl had come bounding up to her father, her hair seemingly as wild and untamed as she was as she screamed and hollered about not being permitted to ride the horses. She’d interrupted the two men with abandon complaining vocally about the unfairness of the whole situation and not understanding why being a girl made any difference.

Weldon recalled her father explaining afterwards about the girl’s wilful nature and sheer love of horses and general tom boy tendencies and chuckled as he imagined just what become of her. And Weldon Campbell two weeks later knew exactly the fate that would befall her when he set in train a chain of events that see a horde of Indians attack and ravage the Daniels farm. There were to be no survivors!

He himself had scoured the embers of the barn, the scorched wrecked buildings, and picked over the lands of the ranch for survivors along with other townsfolk and neighbours when the alarm of the Indian attack had been raised. The others hoping for survivors and Campbell expecting there to be none.

And now ... years later was Daniels’ daughter - alive! Somehow!

“But ... but ...” Weldon registered that he clearly had to appear shocked to those onlooking, a fact he became very consciously aware of. A man like Doc Holliday played cards by reading players and a man such as Duke was always sniffing for a weakness. The undertaker ... he was an unknown entity and at present wasn’t truly registering on Weldon’s concerns. He had to turn his abject shock at seeing the girl alive into something that would not arouse suspicions and yet he could not hide his faltering words and the gut punch he felt. He felt as though plans were unravelling around him. First Boston and now in the backwater of Del Fuego - it simply couldn’t be.

He gripped the girl tightly by the arm. “But ... you were killed! All killed. The whole family, everyone on the ranch!” Inside his head he demanded, ‘I planned it to be so! How can she be alive!’ He continued in the same breathless vein. “The Indians! How? How can this be possible? My Gods.” He breathed heavily as he was wont to do through his nose. “Alive! Gods!”

Weldon’s words were all truthful but he hoped that they bespoke the concern and shock of a man witnessing a living miracle and not his possible calamity and damnation. Surely the girl couldn’t know that it was he who put the rogue Indians up to the attack in order to secure her father’s lands.

[Rio Daniels]

She couldn't believe that this was the man that her father had spoken so highly of. It was like she was meeting her father's hero and it was something that sobered her fuzzy mind faster than any gun fight might. Rio was a fighter and she had always been a fighter, but her drunk state was something that she had never experienced before. She didn't know how to get herself out of it, but remembering the past so blatantly seemed to be doing the trick. As she leaned against the bar now, she felt the eyes of almost every patron here raking over her form, but she ignored him. As far as she was concerned, she could shoot them if they posed to be troublesome to her in a way that she deemed inappropriate. She wasn't a normal, regular lady. The pair of guns holstered at her hips weren't just for looks. She was fast, and she was accurate. Her skills had been proven in gun fights before, but not in Del Fuego. She didn't care what the men thought of her now. She'd rather take them by surprise when the timing was right.

And anyway, they weren't at the center of her attention. Weldon Campbell was. Her father had said so many good things about this man that he couldn't possibly be bad. She respected him instantly because her father had respected him. She didn't know that this was the man responsible for killing and murdering her mother and her father for the want of the ranch. She wasn't aware that this was the man that had taken everything from her except her father's prized stallion and her own spirit. She had no idea that Weldon Campbell was the greedy murderer that took everything that he wanted without a care in the world as to who he affected. He had made her into the outlaw that she was now. In all honesty, it was Weldon's doing. Her fiery nature had only intensified when she had to make it on her own. Her spirit had become one made of steel, unbreakable at best, and it was all his fault. But of course, she didn't know that.

Her eyes cleared now as she stared into the face of the gentleman before her, all thoughts of everyone else clearing from her mind. He had known her father. He could tell her things about him that might make her pain easier to bear. And he had known her mother. Any little story, any little fact about them both had to ease her heartbreak. She had been suffering with the memories of her family being murdered in cold blood since she had witnessed the horrible outcome. She had watched from the hilltop as her father's throat had been slit. She had watched as her mother was taken hostage, probably to entertain the Native American men. It was something that haunted her to this very day, and it was the reason why she kept herself alone when she slept. She didn't need any man or anyone for that matter knowing that she suffered from night terrors. Sighing now, she felt Weldon's hand tighten around her arm as the shock registered upon his face.

She should have known. She was supposed to be dead. She wasn't supposed to be standing in front of him. It was sheer luck that her father had gotten her on the back of West, the fastest stallion on the ranch. He had told her to run, and it was also luck that she had actually listened. She had noted the obvious fear in his face and she had taken it as his dying wish. She regretted it to this day, but there was nothing that could be done. She wouldn't have been able to defend herself or her family. There had been too many on the attack. It was overwhelming. The Native Americans had noticed the girl on the ridge on the horse, but she had taken off at such a high speed that not even their hardy horses could keep up, or catch up. She was safe because of the sacrifice that her father had made but she wished that there was something that she could have done. Anything. Trying not to think about that now, her rapidly sobering mind looked to Weldon's hand on her arm, then to his face as he began to stutter.

"Ah, I'm sorry. A bit of a shock...yeah..I'm alive." She responded to his very first attempt at making a sentence, then let her blue eyes wander around the room. She didn't really feel comfortable that all of these men would now know that she was supposed to be dead. Or, supposed to be was the wrong term in her opinion. She was rumored dead because there had been no survivors. And the young girl was intelligent enough not to return because she knew they would be on the lookout for her. She was smart, they had to give her that. She was also resourceful to have made it this long without dying. Shaking those thoughts away, she tried weaseling her arm out of Weldon's tight grip. She figured he didn't realize the strength that he was applying to her arm because of his state of shock, but it was actually starting to hurt her, and she wasn't one to complain normally. This was going to leave a mark and she didn't feel like explaining that to anyone.

She stopped struggling for the time being, knowing that it was only going to make things worse. He wasn't doing it on purpose, for she could read the surprise and uneasiness on his features. Wait a minute...why was he uneasy? Maybe it was the idea that he was basically seeing a ghost. She supposed that could have something to do with it. "Listen, Mr. Campbell, I'm sorry ya have to see me again like this..but I gotta ask ya some questions, please." She requested of him, just wanting to know more about her father. But he was stuck on the fact that she was still alive. Furrowing her brow, she glanced around them uneasily, obviously not alright with strangers knowing her past. It wasn't something she displayed openly. "I thought I was gonna die, but my father...y'see. He put me up on our fastest horse and told me to git. I did what he said, for once. Listen...my father had nothin' but respect for ya, sir. I'm sorry for bein' so rude moments ago, my apologies. But, can ya tell me anythin' about my father?" She questioned him sincerely, watching him carefully.

It would probably be best for them to talk more in private, but the excitement over talking to someone who her father so revered was something that she could not get over at the moment.

[Weldon Campbell]

Weldon snapped to. He had to be smarter than this. All eyes in the bar, even the bad eye of the undertaker, were on them. Garnering the curious attention of others was not something Weldon Campbell ever courted. He was not some figure of gossip for the saloon hounds, card sharks, undertakers, barkeeps, hired muscles and casino owners. He was a man use to being feared and respected and the centre of other people’s curiosities.

Regaining sense he let go off her arm, stepping back and almost wavering as he let her go. His grip on her was as much an attempt to get a grip on reality - to perceive that she was not some ethereal spectre here to haunt him. But she was flesh and bone. She should have been scalped and burned flesh and buried bones but something had gone awry. His footing was unsure now as he churned through the possibilities of her reappearance in town.

He’d heard no rumours of her presence in town and even though his own visitations into Del Fuego were few over the years, he kept a pulse of the place and track of notable people who came to stay. People like Doc Holliday whom his men reported back on after their sojourns into town. Such people Weldon used contacts in the city to beaver out information about lest it be something he could use to his advantage or in the case of Duke someone who could potentially be a business rival.

But of course, his focus had always been elsewhere, his business empire in Boston much more important (until as of late) than his trifling land dealings and ranch accumulations in Del Fuego. Del Fuego had been his retirement plan, he had recognised the potential almost two decades back when he began his profiteering on railway land properties and saw the means to greater riches by acquiring lands in other people’s hands by means less than savoury.

And the acquisition of the Daniels’ ranch had been the most exploitive and unsavoury of such dealings. He had tried befriending Aaron Daniels, offering advice, pretended to shore up the man and offered a means of escape from indenture at attempts of the bank to foreclose on the ranch by buying the property. But Daniels had been steadfast and certain in the viability of the ranch and in his wish to pass on his ranch, his legacy to his family. And so it was he had resorted to killing them - killing them all. Or so he had thought.

“Sorry ...” he groped for a word or a manner in which to address her, “lass. The shock - the joy - heavens you’re alive. Somehow you must have survived.”

Questions! She had questions? Weldon had questions! Questions that demanded answers but none that would satisfy him at any rate. His mind raced. The girl ... the young woman ... her presence here in Del Fuego, the fact that others had not talked about the survivor from the past - it meant something. He worked his mind thinking it all over as he took in her account of her escape. He nodded pretending to be concerned and grieved for her experiences the whole while trying to plan his next move.

damn! It was so like Aaron Daniels to throw his daughter up onto a horse and bid her to escape. Weldon easily imagined the honourable and brave man (traits that Weldon knew the man to possess but in truth had no regard for them for how did such traits permit such a man to survive in the world) sacrificing himself for his daughter. Daniels no doubt threw himself at any pursuers who tried to chase after Rio. Weldon could imagine it easily of Daniels. The damn fool should just have sold his farm to Weldon.

Weldon reached for his drink and took a swift gulp. It wasn’t so much to fortify his nerves as a delaying tactic to consider his next move. He motioned to the barkeep called Abe to pour him another. He covered the action in case it appeared to be nerves or guilt and of course, Weldon did not want to appear to be a man easily disconcerted to those he was stood before. Proprietors likes Duke would only see it as a weakness to somehow exploit in the future. Weldon’s true reputation was not known in Del Fuego and that was something he sought to protect for the time being. But he would also not permit for him to be thought soft.

He waved away her concerns about being rude hoping he was in fact masking his own reactions. “To the joy of your ... discovery ... your survival, miss.” Weldon raised the newly poured glass. He again noted uneasily the looks they were attracting from the assembled patrons and staff. The girl had questions and it seemed her desire to ask them battled against a desire to seek a more private conversation. Weldon knew he would sooner they could talk somewhere else not so public. He did not want people connecting dots to this woman and his past actions, however unlikely that ever would be. But still, her survival could cast certain things in doubt and so he had to tread carefully here.

The best course of action would be steering her into a private booth, away from prying eyes and ears. “Why don’t we take a seat over in the corner? Barkeep, some coffee for us both.” Again, Weldon’s civilities were but a stalling tactic. He motioned to the far corner of the bar, furthest away from any of the others.

[Shawn Flanagan]

The mention of the Indians, Shawn swig down his wine. It was the Indian woman who blinded him. It ail him that he existed in this condition of being blind. The Indian woman shot down the Captain of the Military too. She demonstrated no mercy to the Captain. She allowed Shawn to live but blinded him for life. Even so, he had his family and his business. Not all was lost. He had his faith. Shawn's heart was on the cross of Jesus. That's his prize possession in life. Nobody can rob him from his faith.

Campbell had stuttered. The man's stutter reminded Shawn when his son was lying. The stranger stuttered when he heard who Rio was. The undertaker was unable to observe Campbell's mannerism, but he turned his ear more at Campbell. But Shawn had gained a sixth sense of feeling something was not right. That's what he felt. There was no way he could put a finger on it. There was something wrong. There was nothing he could do about it. The one thing Shawn had to do was brush it under the rug. Hide it. Let God handle it. Would that the proper thing to ignore it? Would there be more to this new visitor that nobody knew? No. Shawn had no business to be involved. It was wrong to judge too.

Turning around facing the bar, Shawn got the bar keep attention by waving his right hand. The barkeep came over and asked what Shawn wanted. “Another wine,” the Undertaker requested. “I run a tab,” Shawn told the barkeep.

Getting his drink, Shawn took another swig. Blast. It was delicious. He turned to face to look at Doc Holiday. “Is she pretty?” He asked, leaning on against the bar. His staff was in the other hand. “She can't be more beautiful than my Rosalyn?”

The truth was. Rosalyn was the most precious woman in the world. Shawn was in love. God must be over flowing Shawn's goblet with blessings. It was like being heaven when he was in the arms of Rosalyn. How Rosalyn brought much joy to his son. That was the love blow. The way the two where made for each other. Shawn would try to woo her and marry her even if he did not love her. He would marry her just for his son. James was the prize of Shawn's heart. He would do anything to make James happy. It was not just James now. He had Rosalyn to make happy. Shawn was blessed indeed. He was grateful for what he's got.

Shawn did not mention that Rio had stayed at his house. Rio had not mentioned either. Shawn was not sure she paid any attention to him. He reckoned she recognized him. He honored her choice not to say anything. The best practice was honor what she wanted. He stayed quiet.

Tag: Everyone except: Campbell and RIo