James felt the lack of sleep hit him like a brick when he finally crashed for the night, and in the morning, he was like a new man. He had the barber clean him up before sitting down at the bar, drinking a late morning cup of coffee in the hope it would give him energy for the day. James isolated himself at the end of the bar as he drank and read the paper he bought, his focus lost in its pages. "What are those journalists writing up now?" a voice broke Wilkins' attention from his paper, looking up to the bartender. James chuckled before answering, "Something along the line of fantasy." James tapped the page he was reading before continuing, "It says, 'The government is working to weed out the parasitic outlaws, leaving America to flourish in peace and develop.' Sounds like a dream to me." "I'd agree with you, but places like Saint Denis say otherwise. The West is fading." "I suppose you have a point," admitted James, interrupted by the laughter of two prostitutes and their victims, before taking another sip of coffee. "Well, I better get going. Thanks for the coffee," James said as he set his empty cup down, before heading towards the door. James figured he'd check the sheriff's office, and see if any new posters were up. A bump from a stranger entering the saloon caused him to snap out of thought, the gruff man apologizing, "'scuse me, partner." "Sorry. Should watch where I'm going," Wilkins replied back, before finally making it outside. "Good morning, Wilkins. I thought I saw you come into town." James looked over to see the sheriff leaning on the wall outside the saloon, an unkept beard growing on his face compared to the last time James saw him. "Morning, Sheriff Malloy. It's been a while." "It has," Malloy responded, "I thank you again for your help back then. Montez's boys would have chewed this place apart if your group of gunslingers wasn't here." "Think nothing of it," James said trying to stay modest, "but while we're talking, do you have any new bounty posters today?" "I'm not sure," Malloy seemed to ponder as he and James began walking through the rain, "We can certainly check." As soon as they made it to his office, Malloy checked the drawers of his desk, while Wilkins checked the board. "I see you got some here," Wilkins pointed to a few posters on the board, "got any leads on them?" "None of them solid yet, and neither Mr. Allbright nor Ms. Swan have been spotted recently. But I keep some other posters in here." Finally, Malloy pulled out a poster, unfolding it before saying, "Ah, here's a piece of work." James took the bounty, examining the picture of a man in a straw hat and full beard, "What did this 'Martin Fletcher' do exactly to earn a $100 price tag?" "What he hasn't done would be easier to answer," Malloy remarked, "though you're only paid for catching this scum, not to judge his crimes." "I just like to know whether the bounty is equal to the crime," Wilkins explained as he put the poster away in his satchel, "but I'll bring him in for you." "That's all I ask," Malloy muttered before calling out to the leaving bounty hunter, "good luck to you."
As James exited the sheriff's office, a crash of shattering glass caught his attention as he saw someone thrown through the saloon window. This town and its brawls, James thought as he rushed over to join the growing crowd and watch as the man's attacker strode out of the saloon. The second was a giant of a man, who stood at least a head taller than the first, who was now standing back up and covered in mud. "Come on, pretty boy," the giant man teased, changing his stance as he put up his fist. "Pretty boy?" the smaller one ranted, which Wilkins realized it was the man he bumped into earlier, "You're kidding me? Pretty boy?" The crowd, including James, watched in silence as this giant of a man teased and laughed at his small attacker's feeble attacks, before punching blow after blow. Some others seemed to be shouting encouragement for a 'Tommy', while James noticed the two men at the end of the bar earlier also shouting. "You ok there, Arthur?" one of them shouted, an African American with long dark brown hair. "Yeah," the smaller one called 'Arthur' yelled, "I got this son of a bitch." Wilkins watched as Tommy pinned Arthur to the ground and tried smothering him in the mud, his thoughts wondered if he should intervene. Surely a beer or rude comment isn't worth their lives. Besides, that Tommy is twice that man's size. But before James could formulate even an idea of breaking up the fight, Arthur had kicked the behemoth and he now proceeded to beat Tommy, while a man began shouting, "Hey, come on. Stop that." A man, looking of the farming type, worked his way through the crowd to the fight, pleading, "Stop! Stop! Please! Please, I beg you. Stop." James watched as Arthur held a punch from landing, still clutching onto the limp Tommy as he glared at this man who continued, "Come, sir. You won the fight already, surely that's enough?" A silence that lasts eternal seconds fell until the man called Arthur dropped Tommy's unconscious on the ground, as he growled, "What business is it of yours?" "No business. No business, sir. But, please... I beg you," the man plead, to which Arthur pushed through the crowd, leaving everyone to disperse while James walked up to the stranger now struggling to lift Tommy up. "Let me help you, sir," James offered, proceeding to support Tommy under the other arm. "Thank you, kind sir. You're much different than that other man." "So, what happened," James managed to ask as he and the stranger practically dragged Tommy over to the doctor's office. "Fighting over a girl or something?" "Not sure," he answered as they got to the door, "but Tommy here would have been pounded into a pulp if I hadn't stepped in. Thank you again, sir." James let Tommy get carried in by the stranger alone, making sure he got inside ok before heading back to the saloon.
"Some show, huh, boy," James commented as he soothed Grady down, before feeding him his breakfast of oatcakes. "We'll get going soon, just rest a few-" A splashing of water caught James' attention, looking up to see the other fighter washing the mud off his face at a rain barrel. James felt his curiosity win against his reasoning and decided to walk up to him. James leaned up on the side of the building, and waited till the fighter noticed him before saying, "You're one hell of a fighter." The man looked up, his brown beard now clean of the mud, his blue eyes giving Wilkins an eerie chill down his spine as he stared. "So I've been told," the man remarked, before putting a black hat on his head and walking off. James proceeded to follow him, "So, what did he do?" "He attacked a friend of mine." "And that made you want to kill the fella?" The man sighed as he got to his horse, a tennessee walker, turning to James, "Look, mister. I don't mean to be rude, but I got places to be." "Yeah, sorry," James apologized. "My ma always said I was too nosy sometimes." "Don't worry," he replied as he hopped on his horse, "I'll hold no grudge towards you." "Thanks. So long, then, sir," James called out as the man rode off, leaving James to ponder something. I feel like I know that man. Where have I seen him before? Shrugging it off, James went back and mounted up, before trotting off and beginning his search for Mr. Fletcher.
YOU ARE READING
The Untamed, Unnatural Wild West
Historia CortaA gunman tends to spend time alone, and also to rely only on themselves. But James finds an unusual ally, and a unnatural one at that. (This is a non-canon story featured in Rockstar's world of RDR2, though some characters are mine.)
