Part time tales

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A man rides into town, returning from his morning hunt to the town he is sworn to protect; he rides atop his horse, its caramel brown main bouncing as it trots along the dirt leaving heavy imprints in the soil as its newly cleaned shoes kick up dust.

"Nice to see you back sheriff", a scraggly young man calls from behind a small poorly constructed fence.

"Whatever you say, aint gonna change my mind Derek, your brother and your cousins will see the inside of those cells until the judge decides otherwise", he says, his hand resting on his left side where his holster hangs attached to his belt.

"of course, sheriff, wouldn't have it any other way", he says in a condescending tone, that the sheriff ignores, shaking the rains in his hand and keeping his eyes on the young soon to be outlaw as his loyal friend tugs him through the town.

As he passes through his hand twitches on his revolver, and his eyes dance over every dangerous individual, he had only been sheriff for a year, but in that time every resident had taken the time to learn his name or learnt it from his as they'd been tossed into the drunk tank or hogtied in the stables.

 he has brought an inch of law to this place, but still he will never let his guard down, because the moment he does he knows they will take more than an inch.

He stopes as he approaches the saloon, and hitches his horse, giving the prostitutes enough time to escape out the back having learned what to do when the sheriff arrives, as he had learned that the only way to survive is to do what's necessary, and in this case, what was necessary was to wait as they scurred away with their uplifted breasts and painted faces.

Pushing his way in he looks back to barney the stallion one last time, and the rifle slung in the saddle before entering, "sheriff" the bartender and owner calls out theatrically, "could I interest you in a drink, on the house of course", he announces, his words catching on the grey hair that covers his lip.

"Now Vincent you know I can't drink on duty", the sheriff utters, reaching for his hat with his right hand as his left hides behind his duster holding his gun.

"Then why might you be here", the man replies, the many patrons keeping their eyes locked on the sheriff as he takes a step forward, his hat held to his chest, and his spurs clinking as he moves.

"I have a feelin you know exactly why I'm here Vincent", he says squinting his eyes at the man's sly hands beneath the bar.

"I don't likely know what you could be referring to sheriff", he says, as the men playing card in the right hand of the saloon spin on their stools to face the sheriff, he hears the distinct pop of a button, gripping his hold on his revolver and taking a step to the side, getting closer to a support beam.

"this mornin I got word from a constable out of Hillstone, repotin of a bank job, said their robber came this way, and then the thought occurred to me, where in all of Sweet ridge would a bank robber go to lie low, and I almost came up blank... until I sore one of those keys missin", he says pointing over the moustached mans shoulder to a number of keys on a rack, one of which is missing.

"that's one of my girls sheriff, took Larry from the mines up to her room", he lies, and with that he points his hand at the men at the table, gripping his hat tighter in his grip, as his left hand wipes the duster away aiming his gun at Vincent at the bar.

His eyes are focused on the men at the poker table, "you don't want to do this boy, sit back down", he demands, the man taking his hand away from his waist and sitting back in his chair.

"There is no need to cause trouble here now sheriff", Vincent mumbles.

"There won't be so long as you show me your hands", he says, his clean shining revolver aimed directly at the mans pudgy face, slowly but surely, he raises his hands, "I heard all your girls leave Vincent, so tell me, is it our robber I'm gonna find up there", he asks, lowering his hat hand while tensing the muscles around his wrist.