DeadWood

Don walked out into the dusty hot desert, taking a long drag on his cigar. His last one. He would have to go and get more of his favorites. Backwoods Cigars. He let it hang out of his mouth, looking across to the Calaboose, he let out a hard sigh. He was thinking about his parents. father and mother died when he was young, he lived on a cattle farm a little bit away from Armadillo, the town he lived by, and his family would sell them to make ends meet. His parents were Cattle Grangers, but after Mrs. and Mr. Johnson died, a lot of the cattle went up the spout. They died dreadfully quick without food or water. Don always beat the devil around the stump, but there was one particular time when he didn’t. Burying his family. He made his own bone orchard.

But that was 12 years ago. The past is the past, you move on. He flicked his cigar-butt on to the sanded road, and began to walk over to the Hoosegow, opening his holster, he was heeled. He opened the door, he had some unfinished business. Sweat rolled down his face, it was as hot as a whorehouse on nickel night, kicking the wooden jail door open and removed both Smith & Wesson .44 Triple Locks from their holsters and pointed at the jail-keeper.

“I'm here for your prisoner in there.” he bobbed his head toward the dirty middle aged man in the cell. “I'm sorry, but you can’t just take him, he is...” Don pulled down both hammers. “I'm not gonna say this again, IM HERE FOR YOURE PRISONER!” He began to shout at the Jail-Keeper. The prisoner chimed in. “Are those revolvers a bluff, or do you mean it for real play?” “Hobble your lip, Jack!” The jail-keeper yelled back, then looking up both of the barrels; he grabbed the key and held it out to Don. “Here, take 'em, been quite a bother to me." Don glanced at him, and then took the key. Pushes his revolvers against the jail-keepers head, and pulls the trigger.

Blood splashes against the wall, a faint scream is heard from outside. Jack moved his eyes from the corpse to the gunslinger that was now unlocking the cell door. "Well then, guess you WERNT bluffing" Don reached in and grabbed the Jacks shirt collar, dragging him outside. "WHAT..ugh..THE HELL BOY!?!" Jack yelled before being thrown to the floor. Don points his guns at Jacks forehead, pulling back the hammers.

A Marshal and his posse ran towards them, stopping not more than five feet away. Don put the heel of one boot onto Jacks stomach. “don’t you fuckin’ move.” Points the barrels of the guns toward the posse. “Sir, do you know who I am?” The Marshal asked. Don coughed, “By the look of your badge, I’m guessing you’re not a Shady Lady.” “Hardy har har. I need you to drop your guns, boy. You really don’t want a fight here, or now.” Don looks at the Marshal, then to Jack, then at the ground in front of them. He puts the hammers back up, tossing them into the sand.

“You got a name, outlaw?” The Marshal asked as he went to grab the revolvers, “My name don’t mean shit, and also..." He pushed his hands behind his worn, dark brown, oil skin duster and pulled out his Browning Auto 5. “…you forgot one.” A loud boom is heard as the Marshal’s head explodes, an21d he falls. Members of the posse gasp and one even puked. Don reloaded and pointed at the posse, pulling the trigger again. Two of the six membered posse fall into the dusty sand. The rest run back the way they came.

Don puts his shotgun around his back, bending down, and picking back up his revolvers. “Don’t ever fuckin touch my guns again.” He spits onto the Marshal’s lifeless body, laying in his own pool of blood, soaking into the sand. Don re-aimed the guns at Jack. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" Don laughs a dark and cold laugh.

"Really? You don't remember? You killed my mother and father, Mary Ann and Jesse Johnson." Jack looked up into Don’s eyes, squinting. “Look boy, I’m sorry, but I can't erase what I have done, and neither can you." “I know I can’t, but I can erase you. Welcome to Deadwood.” Don pulls the trigger.