Slaughter Gulch
Your lip twitches in silent rage as you stare the terrified sheriff down.
"Say hello to Judge Colt and his Jury of six," you snarl, jamming the barrel of your pistol against his trachea. He gurgles helplessly just before you pull the trigger, silencing him for good. The sheriff's body slumps to the dirt at your feet.
A Mexican with a shaggy mane of hair shakes his head at you and slips by. The street, you notice, is deserted. Holstering your smoking revolver, you saunter into the saloon.
All eyes are on you as you enter. The barkeep reaches for a double-barreled shotgun. Seems he doesn't take kindly to having lawmen shot just outside his establishment.
"Say hello to Judge Colt and his Jury of six," you snarl, jamming the barrel of your pistol against his trachea. He gurgles helplessly just before you pull the trigger, silencing him for good. The sheriff's body slumps to the dirt at your feet.
A Mexican with a shaggy mane of hair shakes his head at you and slips by. The street, you notice, is deserted. Holstering your smoking revolver, you saunter into the saloon.
All eyes are on you as you enter. The barkeep reaches for a double-barreled shotgun. Seems he doesn't take kindly to having lawmen shot just outside his establishment.