Slaughter Gulch
You snatch Hank's wrist and squeeze hard. Hank meets your eyes and you shake your head chidingly.
"Sumbitch," he snarls, swinging at you with his freehand. You take the blow to the cheek and roll with it. Slowly, oh so slowly, you turn to fix Hank with a level stare. Something in your narrowed eyes saps whatever courage the drunk may have had and he tries to yank his arm free.
It's too late for him. Catching the side of his face with your open hand, you thunk his head against the bar. Hank's body goes limp and you release his wrist, allowing him to slump to the floor.
The remaining three ranchers have their hands full with Dakota and they fail to notice their leader's predicament. One of them hefts a chair overhead and approaches Dakota from behind while the other two keep the Native's attention.
The barkeep, meanwhile, is having an absolute fit. "Where's that goddamn drunk of a sheriff when you need him!?"
"Sumbitch," he snarls, swinging at you with his freehand. You take the blow to the cheek and roll with it. Slowly, oh so slowly, you turn to fix Hank with a level stare. Something in your narrowed eyes saps whatever courage the drunk may have had and he tries to yank his arm free.
It's too late for him. Catching the side of his face with your open hand, you thunk his head against the bar. Hank's body goes limp and you release his wrist, allowing him to slump to the floor.
The remaining three ranchers have their hands full with Dakota and they fail to notice their leader's predicament. One of them hefts a chair overhead and approaches Dakota from behind while the other two keep the Native's attention.
The barkeep, meanwhile, is having an absolute fit. "Where's that goddamn drunk of a sheriff when you need him!?"