Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd is a wanted man. He has rustled, killed, robbed, cheated, and swindled his way through half the towns of the American West. His fast hand and colder heart has assured him his liberty from the forces of the law to date. He is confident that this trend will continue largely in part to his incomparable reputation as a gunman. It is this legend that have brought the ladies of the night who reside above the bawdy confines of the Main Street Saloon to his side, or more so it is the gold coins tinkling in his pocket. His reputation alone isn't enough to diminishes the plain features that inhabit his face.

Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd takes pride in his bold name, but feels keenly about the failings of his breeding. These failings being of his heavy features that have lent themselves to be the sort that would inspire even the most Christian souls to declare it to be of the kicked by a mule variety of facial features. Despite the ugliness of the man he is well dressed. His profession has allowed him to avail himself to the finer pleasures in life. He frequently enjoys good food, quality clothing, and is never seen without his ivory handle Colt .45 pistols. Tonight is no exception and as he leans against the bar, drink in hand, he looks down at Ms. Jezzable and says, "Darling, I'm a man of few words. Name your price and let us conclude our transaction elsewhere."

Ms. Jezzable is a woman of great shrewdness. Living as a woman of ill repute in the American West has developed her survival skills. If those skills were a knife, it would be a knife with an edge so sharp that a scalp lifting Apache would be jealous at the keenness of her blade. She's heard a few rumors in her time, and she has heeded those rumors with great alacrity. Using that fine mind under those flowing black tresses that cascade down over her shoulders and onto her nearly bare bosoms she has already come to the educated conclusion that at the very minimum she will be beaten by Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd. No woman of ill repute can afford the loss of income from such scars, and she ejaculates with a large measure of forced laughter, in her honey filled voice, "Oh Cletus, I don't think I'm of the frame of mind to do business with you tonight. Maybe I can get one of the other girls to see to your needs?"

"Damn you woman, you are the one I've laid my eyes upon. You are the one I'll take a tumble with. Name your price," ejaculates a very angry Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd.

"No Cletus I wouldn't take a tumble with you if you were the last man in the state of New Mexico and I had to offer up pokes for half price to trail bums," retorts a very agitated Ms. Jezzable.

"You spurned me woman," roars Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd as he draws back his hand and slaps Ms. Jezzable firmly across the face!

It is only then that a stranger, a tall man, walks into the Saloon. Nobody takes much notice of him as they are all quietly watching Cletus express his customer dissatisfaction. Cletus knows the man, but hasn't yet seen him, as he is staring fiercely down at Ms. Jezzable. Had Cletus had the chance to cast his gaze upon the tall stranger's form he might have expressed himself to Ms. Jezzable in a gentler manner. The tall man is dressed in a pair of black pants, brown boots with spurs, white shirt, black vest, gold watch on a chain tucked away into a pocket of his vest, and a black jacket. Around the tall man's waist is a well polished and cared for pistol belt and .44 Colt Peacemaker. The tall man speaks his mind in a firm voice and says, "Cletus, you are going to have to come with me."

Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd feels a shiver run up his spine. He knows that voice and it buffets him to the very core of what is left of his eternally damned soul. Cletus slowly turns as he opens up his jacket. He looks at the tall man and says, "I killed you once and I'll kill you again."

"You got the drop on me Cletus when I was sitting in a two holer," says the tall man.

"You are fast, but I am faster," replies Cletus.

"Cletus, don't tell lies before you go to meet your maker. I'm sure he's already in possession of quite the list of your many transgressions," observes the tall man as his steely gaze drives its way through Cletus's fortitude like a cattle stamped through a brothel.

"What if I surrender," asks Cletus?

"You'll hang."

"Then we have to dance," remarks Cletus as his hands dive down towards the ivory grips of his pistols.

The crowd is stunned to silence twice in one night. Cletus is slammed up against the bar as a pair of heavy .44 bullets rip through his heart. The tall man holsters his pistol, walks across the room and places two silver coins on Cletus's eyes. Once finished he looks over at the very frightened Ms. Jezzable and says, "I believe this man will trouble you no more."

Ms. Jezzable, once again in full control of her formidable wit, replies, "I do believe you speak the truth in this matter."

The tall man tips his hat to Ms. Jezzable as he helps her to her feet and without another word he walks away. She ponders a spell on chasing the tall man to learn his name, but decides against it in favor of relieving the now deceased Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd's pockets of his ill gotten gains.

to be continued...

Bitter, infuriated, angry?.. Maybe resentfuly, raging, or maddened? No..., No.., none of these words will ever do justice in describing the not-so legendary Jing Li. You see; this vicious young woman was forced into slavery at tender age of fifteen. She'd been forced to live locked away with other young girls inside a shed that baked in the hot desert sun, only to be released when her 'master' desired a once pure being to gratify himself with. She would again be be locked away, and left to wipe his reminents with the the filty dress she'd been wearing for months. She, and the other girls ate only what the dogs neglected, and drank from a bucket the left for the girls to divide amongst themselfs every morning.
Most of the time she waited in silence, For what? It wasn't clear. The other girls would come and go every so often. Upon their return, Jing asked them where they would go and what they did. None of them would ever answered. They'd just seem to cried themselves to sleep.

She chased the fear and curiosity of the outside world. She attempted to rid these thoughs by concentrating on the beams of light that burned through the cracks in the wall moving slowly, and steadily across the cold stone floor. She found tranquility in listing to the coyotes howl back and forth, saranating her to sleep most nights. But I reckon she was waiting for her father to fulfill his promise her as he was handing her to the man she is forced to call 'master'. Surely, she served her 'master' enough times to relinguish the debt my father owed this him. Her dad promised her he'd come and get her, and bring her home. But, after each visit her heart blackened to coal. Not only becuase of things she was forced to do but because of the broken promise made by the only person she'd ever love.

Then came the evening that will alleviate Ms. Li's from this particular situation....

The 'master' came in raging and screaming, as he tore open the entrance door. Startling the girls from their slumber the man grabbed the girl across from Jing's bedding space, by her hair, pulling her to her feet and slamming her against the wall.

You little slavic whore! He punched her across her left cheek as he held on to her by her hair. "You think you can can rip me off?!"
"Oh, no! Master please! I beg you!" she cried as she received a nother blow to her face, hearing her hair slightly rip in his furious grasp "I did not. Please."
"Then tell me what this is!" He said reaching into a sack that hung from his pistol belt.
She remained silent as he shoved his massive hands filled with six gold coins in her face. He then chucked the gold pieces at her head.
"Zoya!" Jing cried.
"STFU!" the man said as he pointed at Jing. "Do you want to be next chink?"

He quickly turned towards the blood and bruse ridden girl. "Oh, you're going to get it now!" throwing her down on the stone floor. "Oh yeah, you're going to earn those coins you tried to steal from me." He said as he started to unfasten his pistol belt, and sqeezing her throat with his free hand. Jing noticed, as he lifted his shirt that the 'master' failed to buckle what she will later find out to be a American .45 caliber, M1873 single action Pace Maker revolver. She will be especially impressed by the 4.75" barrel but at this moment, she didn't know a thing about guns, let alone how to shot one. She quickly grabbed the brown wooden handle unfasten out of the man's belt and pulled the gun from his holster,holding it only inches from the back of the man's head. Slowly he turns to face Jing as he released the girl. Smiling as he chuckled saying, "You wouldn't da..."

A blinding flash, and a loud blast ripped through ears of the girls as a massive splash of blood, brain and skull fragments covered the wall as the remains of the man's body cold on the floor. Frightend whimpering, and a distant echo from the gun blast can be heard tearing across the desert. But, as the ringing in Jing ears began to fade. She heard a welcoming steady squeeking from the rusty hindges that holds the shed's door as the wind blew it slightly back and forth in the cool desert night.

Luck would have it, or not so lucky for the tall man, Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd had friends. These friends did not take kindly to the news that a tall man dressed mostly in black had cut down Cletus like a rabid dog. Words were spoken, shots of whiskey drained, more words were spoken, a plate or two of beans were eaten, and finally the three friends of the deceased Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd concluded their deliberations. After the strenuous evening of deliberating the three men collectively arrived at the mutually satisfying conclusion of killing the tall man. With their blood up, pistols loaded, and senses adequately sallied forth to inflict their own brand of frontier justice upon this tall man.

The tall man, who is across town and busy eating a steak, has absolutely no idea that three men have wandered out in search of him. Later, after the doctor removed the last slug from his injured side, he will be heard saying, "They ruined a perfectly good steak. Damn no good scoundrels!" Meanwhile, as the three men search for him, he is contentedly chewing on a steak in the rear of one of the more upscale taverns in this small dusty corner of New Mexico.

The 'Tavern' as it is named has a full bar, card tables, room for let upstairs, women for let upstairs, and a small bathhouse outback. The tall man sits at his table with his Colt Peacemaker resting near him. Most people don't cultivate the habit of eating with their weapons resting on the table next to them, but the tall man is a cautious man and he has just finished cleaning the pistol. His eyes wander the sparse crowd that seems to grow even sparser. The tall man, who admits later that he wasn't paying to much attention, misses the whispers and pointed fingers of the other patrons who know that Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd's three very angry friends are looking to kill him.

The three friends make their way into the 'Tavern' and are nearly trampled by the stampede of humanity who flee at their approach. They collect their numbed wits and make their way to the rear of the 'Tavern' after spotting the tall man. One of the friends, a short ugly specimen, says, "You killed Cletus."

The tall man looks up and replies, "Yes I did," and goes back to eating his steak.

"You look at me when I talk to you boy," snarls the short ugly friend of Cletus.

The tall man reaches over, picks up his pistol, and shoots the short ugly man in the middle of his chest. This of course starts off a hail of pistol shots, tables being kicked over, blood being spilled, and even a few of the working girls upstairs scared out of their collective wits. As the tall man already has his pistol in had he has a considerable advantage over the two surviving friends of Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd. However, the numbing effect of the whiskey makes it a bit harder to outright kill the pair.

Both of Cletus J. Beauchamps the 3rd's two surviving friends manage to unlimber their own pistols and open fire. One shot grazes the tall man's upper arm and another buries itself into the meaty part of the tall man's side. Neither of the two surviving friends manage to do more than that as they are meticulously targeted and dropped to their knees by the deadly accurate shooting of the tall man. One of the surviving friends drops over onto his chest and dies, but the other manages to asks, "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"Sam," replies the tall man as he feeds a single fresh round into his pistol, snaps the cylinder shut, and pumps a slug between the eyes of the last surviving friend of Cletus J. Beachamp's the 3rd.

You can't just assume that one bad time in Jing's life is the sole reason why this young lady is so angry. I mean, being held in captivity as a personal sex slave for a low-down dirty brothel master is one thing, but being a dish slave for a tavern owner is another.
After blowing her master's brains all over a wall, the girls needed to leave the brothal. Those who thought their famlies still loved them and wanted them back, left. The sensible others, needed to find a place to make ends meet. So, they stumbled upon a rather pretentious taven in town and asked the owner if he was lookin for help. Turns out, he was. Jing was pretty enough, in that exoctic kinda way, to make out decent upstairs. Other option was since she was asian, the owner figured she'd best work in the kitchen. I reckon, Jing figured she'd want to put that type of servicing industry behind her, and opted to work for a fat, dirty ol' mexican tavern owner named Juan Rodriguez.

"Hey Chica, Hurry the f$ck uuup! We ain't got no plates. You gotta hurry up!"
That would be Juan. Yellin at his help again. He usually ain't that bad of a guy. But today, it steak night, and this place waz busier than most. He let the stress of handling two extra customers get to him.

"Shut up, Juan, if you ain't gonna hire no more help back here. Youz gotta gimmie a minute." Jing replied with her soft her southwestern draw.

"Shut up, and move!" Juan yelled as he pushed Jing aside with his massive belly. "I just need one." He stuck his fat, hairy fingers into the sink, pulls a dish out of the greasy, filty water.

"You might wanna dry that Sh$t water off." Jing said using her know-it all tone of voice to further get under the skin of her boss.

He places the dish under his arm and begins to dries it in his soiled, once white but now yellow stained shirt as he winks and smiles at Jing, places a freashly cook piece of cattle on it, and then dashes out to serves the next customer.

Jing rolled her eyes as she shrugged, pulled out a wedgy, and then went back to work.

Moments later, as Juan and Jing were finishing up the dishes, a sound of gunfire rang out from the taven. "Here we go again." said Jing. Juan responded by crying out in spanish from sheer panic. Now, I'm sure you've heard of countless gun fights in taverns many times before. Chances are, you can bet, you'll hear more again. But have you ever thought about when a gunman misses and hits the wall, where dothe bullets end up. Well, in this particular gunfight, a stray bullet ended up find Juans second chin.

There sure was a mess of blood and loud screaming, as the bullets ripped the tavern apart. Jing applied alot of presure on Juan's throat which is probably doing more harm than good cuz the bullet because nothing vital was hit, but sure made a mess of things to say the least.

Finally, the shower of bullets stopped and Jing couldn't help but chuckle at the present state Juan found himself in.

Sam walks over to the bar and helps himself to a clean towel. It isn't really that clean of a towel, but it will do for plugging a seeping gunshot wound. He tucks the towel under his shirt and holds it over the open bullet hole in his side. He curses a bit, but not so much that it would lead a person to think that profanity passes his lips on a regular basis. He doesn't want to be known as a man of low morals, a drunkard, or a man who frequently curses out of courtesy to women, children, and old people.

Sam is known, to a very select few, as a man who cares only for a few things. His reputation and morals are paramount. The majority of his decisions reflect his drive to hold himself with a respectable level of dignity and proper Christian virtue. Though at times he does tend to have a bit of trouble abiding by the whole shall not kill part of the bible. His only real friend, a fat Mexican cook named Juan, often makes a point to tell him, "Sam you just have to learn to savor life. Here, eat this steak, you are looking pale and thin." Sam grimaces and wonders where Juan is when he needs him for more than just shoveling food down his throat.

Looking over at his recently occupied table he nearly curses again. Laying askew, on the floor, is his half eaten steak. He has a thought very unbecoming of a proper Christian as he takes a moment to savor the delicious notion of scalping the three gunslingers out of revenge for ruining his steak. A few moments later though he changes his mind as scalping isn't encouraged in his sort of work. To take the hair of a suspect isn't something that a Texas Ranger is encouraged to do, even if the no good varmints ruined a perfectly good steak. Though technically speaking he isn't officially acting in the role of a Ranger, and hadn't been in nearly a year. He pushes the thoughts of scalping out of his mind as he makes his way back to the kitchen.

He pushes open the door, and says, "Juan, they ruined my steak. Do you have any bear grease for plugging bullet holes?"

Jing begins chuckle at the male voice as she applies more presure on Juan's wound. "I'd suppose he'd ask you the same thing if his throat wasn't shot out." Jing pauses for a moment and looks up towards the direction of the voice, "Bear grease?". Jing's widen's her eyes as she sees the man clentching his bloody wound.
The man was some what 'cute' in a rugged, no bathing kinda way. I guess she'd think different if she was a little bit older. I mean, the dark hair was a plus, and even though the five day beard growth was a bit cliche 'round these parts, it looked decent enough on him. What sold it for her were his green eyes, so figured she may as well attempt to make her self presentable. She stood up, pulled her filthy long black hair behind her shoulders and thought she'd offer a cleaner towel for the green eyed man who is obviously in distress.
"let me help ya out there Stranger." Jing said smiling as Juan's blood dripped off her cheek.
"Ggaaacckkk", Juan gurgled and began to tremble as his throat suddenly errupted in blood do to the sudden loss of presure.
"Oh, sh$t. That's right, Juan." Jing chuckled as she sqatted back down to reapply presure to his superficial wound. "Oh relax there Pedro. You're going to be fine. I reckon it's a superficial wound. Otherwise, you could bet you'd be dead right now." Jing looks over at the stranger, nods torwards him, as she grins. "Since Pedro here seems to be worse off than you. Mind given us hand over here, Stranger?"

Being shot has the tendency to affect everyone differently. Jing, the young Asian girl who is helping Juan, is talking clearly enough for most to understand what she is saying. Maybe it is the hole in Sam's side, perhaps it could be loss of blood, or maybe even it is some sort of mental shock that Sam is struggling with. For whatever reason, Jing is speaking as plain as day and Sam isn't comprehending a thing she is saying. Her call for help is deciphered by Sam's temporarily addled wits as, "Two horse meet on a bridge and the one horse.." The rest of Sam's train of thought sort of dwindles away as scratches his head and looks around.

He finally gets around to looking down at Juan. Sam says, "I think that old rattlesnake has finally bought the farm," as he moves over to help by offering Jing a clove of garlic and an onion that he picks up off a nearby table. His time in the army during the war between the states had given him a little on the job medical training. One tends to learn quickly when ducking Union rifled musket balls and cavalry charges and he notices that Jing is offering him a fresh towel.

He takes the towel from Jing and presses it over the one already sopping up his blood. He says to her, "Much obliged Ma'am," and then he looks down at Juan and says, "Juan you are bleeding all over your good shirt." He adjusts his own rough and ready bandage to contain the rapid flow of blood. He wonders quickly if maybe this Jing lady can cook as well as Juan as he will need someone to cook steaks for him if Juan ends up planted six feet under.

Sam isn't what you call an overly sentimental type. He likes Juan, he likes the man's cooking, and he even enjoys the one sided conversations they've had. Juan is one of those sorts that can talk enough for two people. This tends to suit Sam just fine as he isn't much of a talker. Being nearly shot to death while sitting on a two holer had taken most of the energy out of him for holding a civilized conversation anyway. He watches Juan bleed all over himself and he says to him, "I'll see to it that you get a decent burial my friend. I'll make sure your wife and baby boy are taken care of as well," and with that said Sam decides to spend some time contemplating the mighty large burning pain in his side.

This sort of pain tends to make a man reflective. The time he got shot off his horse fighting in Tennessee at the Battle of Franklin was right painful. But for some reason this pain is far more intense than getting shot off his horse. This is a hard one for Sam to sort out in his head as he is observant enough of the human condition to know that the wound in his side isn't all that bad. Yet for some reason it is blazing and throbbing away like the devil himself is crawling around inside of his guts. He looks up at Jing and says, "Hello Ma'am, I'm thankful for the towel, I really am. But I'm going to have to take my leave as I need a bath, shave, and a doctor to pull a slug out of my hide, but don't you fret any. I'm sure that blood on your dress will come right out," as he turns around, walks out the door of the kitchen, and promptly passes out from the loss of blood.

Jing watches the man fall over as she cloggs Juan's wound with a dirty towel. "Juan, you big baby, stop whinning. It's not very attractive."

Jing is not a stupid girl. Some even called her smart. Jing's all sorts of things, I suppose you can say. But one thing she's not is a doctor.

"Oh, no, Juan." Juan continued to gurgle. "Hold on tight to the... stop fighting and hold the stupid towel! Jeeze, you're actin' like you've just been sho.. Oh. Sorry."

Jing started to laugh as she jumped over Juan's body and dashed over to the stranger. She turned the man's body over so that he's laying on his back to sneak a peek at his wound. "Mm. tastey." Jing said to herself as she rips open the front of his shirt, then presses the blood soaked towel against his wound. She giggles as she admits to herself that it really wasn't necessary to rip open his shirt.

"Hey, Jiin." Said Bridgette, an upstairs hussy, as she came into the kitchen. "There's like three dead guys out there, don't you think that's bad for business leavin' them out there?" She said absent mindedly with her soft alabama accent as she held on the top of her dress keeping her enormous breasts from falling out.

"I know that Bridget. There's going to be two more dead guys if you don't run over to Dr. Mchannon's offic and get him over here. It's 'round noon time so hopefully he ain't drunk yet. Jing said applying pressure to the strangers wound.

"Oh my." Bridget looks down at the unconscious man Jing was tending. "Did you see if they got any cash on 'em?"

"Go!!"

Bridget sighs as he rolls her eyes, "Fine, but I get his gold christian cross thang when he's dead."

OOC: lol.. hahah... I'll post something tomorrow saying Sam wakes up in a few days etc. You can pick where he gets to come to his senses. Also the town has a Marshall. I propose for old times sake we name him Marshall Dillon.

Dr. Mchannon was drunk. He'd been drinkin' since he got to his office 'round nine or so and havn't let up since. He's been busy enough today, seeing a few patients about the typical stuff like infections from surgeries he performed recently. Now, Dr. Mchannon wasn't the best surgeon in the world. You'd probably wouldn't even consider him a good surgeon. Aw, hell, Dr. Mchannon was the worse got damn doctor the army has ever produced. That didn't trouble him none, he reckoned if his patients wouldn't be coming back if he done did surgery.

Now that it's half past noon and he has seen all the patients he felt like seeing, it was time to break out the good stuff. Dr. Mchannon stumbled to his office, fell in his chair, poured him a glass of 1857 Cherokee Fire Water, the stuff he gave soldiers before he cut off their limbs during the war. Anyway, he stood up, walk over to his real human skeleton he managed to steal from his human anatomy professor in medical school, raised his glass, Here's to the good times, 'ol friend." Dr. Mchannon slammed the bitter whiskey back, then through his glass at the dangling skeleton yelling, "You're no friend of mine you f$cking back stabber!" Dr. Mchannon sways back and forth as he takes a deep breath, trying to collect himself. "Oh I'm sorry Pal, it isn't you." He said while he wrapped his arms around the skeleton, and then started to kiss and lick its gitty, yellow teeth.

"Dr. Mchannon?" Said a soft southern voice from outside his office. "Dr. Mchannon?!!" Bridgete yelps, catching Dr. Mchannon having an intimate moment his skeleton. He quickly turns around, as he drops his bottle of 1857 Cherokee Fire Water. "Uh.. I could come back later..." Bridget says ackwardly, trying her best embarrash the red-headed doctor.

"It's not what y.." The doctor attepts to steady himself by leaning on his desk. "Bridget, I to-" *burps* "I told you I don't know where those infectons came from. Just take the m-medicine I got you."

"It ain't that, sir. There's been a fight at Juan's, he and some other man been shot real bad."

"And what do you want me to do ab- about it?" The doctor snapped, still trying to steady himself.

"I dunno, sumtin. You're a doctor, you figure it out."

THe doctor took a moment to process what this blonde haired, blue eyed, big breasted hooker was telling him. 'Two men have been shot and need immediate medical attention... What's in it for me?' He thought about the surgery he probably would have to perform on Juan's fat $@! and this other guy. 'Hell, gunshot wounds are nasty. Even after I dig the bullets out, they will be coming back for months seeking treatment for nasty infections. I could make a fortune from these sorry saps'

"Alright Bridget." He proceeded to walk out of the building, using the walls for balance. "Let's go get 'em!"