West

Written by Griffin Simpson for Advanced Camp 2010.
==Teaser==
In the expanse of Nevada, a town seemingly sprung up from the desert and shrub played home to three travelers. They were well enough dressed the lot of them, the one especially. He wore a crisp white suit with a snug bowler with a red band around it to match and in one hand he he held a white wooden box by a polished handle. The smaller of the three men was struggling to balance a large tripod mounted camera, his job made all the more difficult by the two bags slung over his shoulders, his balance swaying under their weight. The third man only had a leather bag laying at his feet, his arms crossed his chest and his back against a railing. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
They were on a small wooden platform, a train platform, on account of they were waiting for the next train. The platform was railed in on two sides, the unrailed sides being the side that faced the tracks, and the side that faced the town. On that side of the platform was the town. Not much of one really. A few people were moving about in the afternoon sun in town, such as a Sheriff's deputy. About a minute ago he had walked to about a dozen feet away from the platform. He stood there looking at the three men, chewing tobacco at half the normal speed as he did.
"Afternoon Deputy." Now this was Mr. Bleak who spoke up. He was the man with the nice white clothes and the nice white bowler with the red band around it.
"Afternoon."
Nobody spoke for about a minute.
"Something I can help you with deputy?"
"It's sheriff, and I reckon there might be."
"Sheriff is it? Well now I was under the impression that this town already had a sheriff."
Little black drops of tobacco and spit fell to the Nevada ground every time the Sheriff spoke in his slow and deliberate habit.
"Did."
"Did?"
"Did. Did till I reckon you shot him."
"Is that so?"
"Yep. That's about what I've gathered.""
"Now why would I go and do a thing like that?"
"Ain't quite puzzled that out yet. Reckon it might have to do with that Wilson girl disappearing. Or that box you got there."
"Well Sheriff, that's only our camera equipment. They're quite cumbersome you know."
"Yep. I'd wager they are. Looks like your boy there's got most of it though."
"Most."
"Whats he ain't got?"
"Lenses."
"Lenses? You mean to tell me you've got that big old box there filled up with lenses."
"That's exactly what I mean to tell you."
"If you were sellin' that story Mr. I wouldn't be buying it."
"Well good thing I'm not selling it."
"Yep."
"Anyone ever accuse you of having a limited vocabulary sheriff?"
"Nope."
The Sheriff ran his tongue against the back of his teeth, black juice oozing out from the spaces between the bone and occasional silver. Little rivulets of saliva and tobacco ran down through the cracks in his lips before taking their plunge to the thirsty Nevada soil below. The only time he took his eyes off of the three travelers was to blink. It took a whole second.
"Well then Sheriff, can I ask you when you think I killed your predecessor? I seem to recall taking advantage of your town's hospitality ever since I last talked with the sheriff." Mr. Bleak slowly removed his white bowler with his free hand and held it against his chest. Mr. Bleak found it conveyed honesty to hold one's hat in such a manner. More tobacco dribbled from the Sheriff's lips.
"Ain't you who did it per say."
"Per say sheriff?" A tease of what you could call a polite smile danced across his lips.
"I reckon it was you man there."
While the Sheriff never moved his eyes of Bleak, the stranger could assume which of his two traveling companions was being refereed to.
"Well now Sheriff, Mr. Monroe may look a little rough around the edges, but I'd give you my word he's an honest man."
"I wouldn't take it." The sheriff bothered to muster up the energy to actually spit some of his tobacco juice out. He spit in the direction of Mr. Bleak.
Mr. Monroe uncrossed his arms and casually enough he moved his left hand to the railing he leaned against. His right hand moved much more deliberately down his body before it to came to a rest. A rest atop the pearl handle of his revolver.
With a smack of his lips the Sheriff opened his mouth ever so slightly, a long and low whistle escaping along with the tobacco.
Mr. Monroe's fingers deliberately drummed on his pistol. His unlit cigarette rolled in the corner of his mouth.
Everyone excepted the Sheriff and Mr.Monroe jumped at the sound of the train's whistle.
"Now sheriff" Bleak's voice was a little unsteady from the shock of the sound, but as he placed his hat back on his head that satin calm returned to his voice. "We just want to go right ahead and leave your town. Don't want no trouble."
The train whistle sounded again. If the Sheriff was going to stop them, it would have to be before that train reached the station.
"Where you headed?"
"Bloomsprings."
"Didn't know any trains went to Bloomsprings."
"Don't yet. Taking a coach the rest of the way."
"Supposed to be plenty nice."
"That's about what talk we hear of it."
"You bringing that box to Bloomsprings?"
"Imagine so."
"Yep. Imagine you would."
Another whistle. As its echo died away the sound of rusty hinges could be heard. Nearby the door to the saloon was open. Three dark figures made their way across the wooden planking that skirted the building and down the steps. They walked like they had all the time in the world, and each seemed to have as much energy as the Sheriff. Underneath two long overcoats were the metal stars of a lawman. The other man had a similar talisman, except with the word Marshall engraved upon it. Their coats were pulled back behind their holstered weapons. No one said a word, and the sheriff only so much as spat in acknowledgment as they filled up next to him, a line drawn against the three travelers.
"Well, I'm afraid I can't let you boys get on that train."
"Well I'm sorry to hear that Sheriff."
"Y'all want to come over to the jail a bit yonder?"
"No, I reckon we've got a train to catch, don't we boys?"
"Well, you see, now I'm sorry to hear that."
"Ain't it funny how that works Sheriff."
"Yep."
Further conversation was cut off by the whistle of the train. It was in plain sight now. The wood of the cars, the steel of the engine, even the name on the side of the train was coming into view. It would pull into station in less than a minute now.
"So. We going to have to shoot you boys to keep you off that train?"
Mr. Bleak adjusted the brow of his hat just so and swept back his white coat. He kept his hand hovering near his gun.
"Yep"
----
"I don't understand why we even stop at that played out old town. We don't hardly ever even have any mail for 'em, much less any passengers for em. Tell me, when was the last time we picked anyone up there? Four months ago?" The engineer of the O'Hanlon asked on a train moving ever closer to Bloomsprings.
"It's queer you should mention that" answered the Conductor "because we just picked up three folks there. Funny, huh?"
----
WEST
A game of cold truths and hot lead in the Untamed west.
==What Really Happened==
==Cast==
Category:Games