Curtis Harrison, coughing the first of the morning's dust out of his lungs, rolled out and up out of the small squat of a mattress he'd taken to in the room above the saloon bar. A finger of bourbon trickled out of the glass he'd just knocked over, which proceeded to roll out into the hallway. The growl over the floorboards was stopped by the tapping of a shoe, and Curtis looked up.
There was Molly. She looked pleased with herself, but that was natural for a dame who tormented his every waking hour, not least of all for ignoring his advances.
"You look like you enjoyed yerself a whole hog last night."
"Can't say I 'member a thing," Curtis remarked, slumping back down on to the bed again, "Wait... what day is it?"
"The day after yest'rday," Molly smirked, turning to head back down to the bar, "Either way, you have a bit of explaining to do downstairs, so I wouldn't wait up."
"Ain't it...?" But she'd already rattled down the staircase. There was an arrangement, wasn't there? The open door wasn't giving him any answers, so he grabbed his hat and half-walked half-stumbled after her.
Curtis wasn't what you'd call the lucky type, but he'd survived his recurring bad decisions on wagers, women and whiskey so far. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, it looked like one of his ill-informed choices had come to fruition again. Molly had moved over to a pile of splintered wood that once could've been bar furniture, and was picking out planks that might be given a second service in life. Walter McKinney stood in front of the bar trying to uncover all of the floor within the mess.
"Ahh. The rooster's up." The barman looked up from his sweeping brush and lent it against the bar to survey his bedraggled lodger. Curtis was still attempting to take in the incomplete scene, previously finished business now being tidied into separate piles of glass and timber. Walter folded his arms and took on a schoolmasters gaze. "Yer sure got yerself into a heap of trouble this time."
"Aww, don't look so blue at me, Walter. It ain't me been raising Cain down here." Curtis half-shrugged and leant to support himself on the bannister, one of the few saloon features still intact.
"This here I ain't too fussed over, I seen it before." The stern look on Walter's face didn't change, making Curtis a little uneasy with his initial cocksure stance. "But damned I'll be if you ain't ridin' the rails before sundown."
"Hey, I'm all abroad here. Unless yer just bein' an old croaker yer gonna have to fill me in." This seemed to tip Walter over whatever restraint he'd been trying to keep, turning his stare into a scowl.
"If you ain't twigged it by now, just pack your plunder and skedaddle, 'cause I ain't housin' yer slazy hide no more."
"Hey!" Molly cut in, giving Walter a matching glare, "He may get soaked but he ain't no criminal."
"It's alright Molly. I'm still stumped but yous no need to cover my back, I was thinkin' o' leavin' this day anyways." The yell of activity suddenly came with it a level of sobriety, and Curtis started off towards the doors, and pushed through the daylight, leaving Molly sighing at the swinging doors and Walter with a parting comment.
"I tell you Molly, he's just trouble, and this time he's as good as gone."
The day was settled in, and Curtis began to remember his deed of the evening. An old acquaintance had shored up in town to get him to pony up some old settlement. It had started pleasant, but before long he'd shot his mouth off and made some folks uncomfortable. He'd sure been fobbed off, alright. And now he knew he had to leave town. Curtis untied his long-suffering companion from the saloon front and climbed up to prepare his exit. Looking down to the south, he could see another rider, blurred out in the glare of the sun. It had to be him.
"You goin' somewhere?" came the gruffled shout from the figure just as Curtis turned the horse to the northern side of town. He kept his eyes low and shuffled his steed into a canter. He could get away with this, right? It had worked before. Just settle up in another town to keep the head low for a little while, let the wind blow whatever misdeeds he'd been unlucky enough to stumble in to and find someone to ride the river with from another saloon.
Curtis was approaching the town limits at a fair speed just as a shot rang out from behind. Curtis grimaced and waited for the stab of pain, the stain of blood. But he wasn't hit! He was going to get away with it!
The last thing Curtis saw that day was the sight of the town sign, proudly displaying 'Welcome to Leadville! : Population 65', swinging down towards his face.
There was Molly. She looked pleased with herself, but that was natural for a dame who tormented his every waking hour, not least of all for ignoring his advances.
"You look like you enjoyed yerself a whole hog last night."
"Can't say I 'member a thing," Curtis remarked, slumping back down on to the bed again, "Wait... what day is it?"
"The day after yest'rday," Molly smirked, turning to head back down to the bar, "Either way, you have a bit of explaining to do downstairs, so I wouldn't wait up."
"Ain't it...?" But she'd already rattled down the staircase. There was an arrangement, wasn't there? The open door wasn't giving him any answers, so he grabbed his hat and half-walked half-stumbled after her.
Curtis wasn't what you'd call the lucky type, but he'd survived his recurring bad decisions on wagers, women and whiskey so far. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, it looked like one of his ill-informed choices had come to fruition again. Molly had moved over to a pile of splintered wood that once could've been bar furniture, and was picking out planks that might be given a second service in life. Walter McKinney stood in front of the bar trying to uncover all of the floor within the mess.
"Ahh. The rooster's up." The barman looked up from his sweeping brush and lent it against the bar to survey his bedraggled lodger. Curtis was still attempting to take in the incomplete scene, previously finished business now being tidied into separate piles of glass and timber. Walter folded his arms and took on a schoolmasters gaze. "Yer sure got yerself into a heap of trouble this time."
"Aww, don't look so blue at me, Walter. It ain't me been raising Cain down here." Curtis half-shrugged and leant to support himself on the bannister, one of the few saloon features still intact.
"This here I ain't too fussed over, I seen it before." The stern look on Walter's face didn't change, making Curtis a little uneasy with his initial cocksure stance. "But damned I'll be if you ain't ridin' the rails before sundown."
"Hey, I'm all abroad here. Unless yer just bein' an old croaker yer gonna have to fill me in." This seemed to tip Walter over whatever restraint he'd been trying to keep, turning his stare into a scowl.
"If you ain't twigged it by now, just pack your plunder and skedaddle, 'cause I ain't housin' yer slazy hide no more."
"Hey!" Molly cut in, giving Walter a matching glare, "He may get soaked but he ain't no criminal."
"It's alright Molly. I'm still stumped but yous no need to cover my back, I was thinkin' o' leavin' this day anyways." The yell of activity suddenly came with it a level of sobriety, and Curtis started off towards the doors, and pushed through the daylight, leaving Molly sighing at the swinging doors and Walter with a parting comment.
"I tell you Molly, he's just trouble, and this time he's as good as gone."
The day was settled in, and Curtis began to remember his deed of the evening. An old acquaintance had shored up in town to get him to pony up some old settlement. It had started pleasant, but before long he'd shot his mouth off and made some folks uncomfortable. He'd sure been fobbed off, alright. And now he knew he had to leave town. Curtis untied his long-suffering companion from the saloon front and climbed up to prepare his exit. Looking down to the south, he could see another rider, blurred out in the glare of the sun. It had to be him.
"You goin' somewhere?" came the gruffled shout from the figure just as Curtis turned the horse to the northern side of town. He kept his eyes low and shuffled his steed into a canter. He could get away with this, right? It had worked before. Just settle up in another town to keep the head low for a little while, let the wind blow whatever misdeeds he'd been unlucky enough to stumble in to and find someone to ride the river with from another saloon.
Curtis was approaching the town limits at a fair speed just as a shot rang out from behind. Curtis grimaced and waited for the stab of pain, the stain of blood. But he wasn't hit! He was going to get away with it!
The last thing Curtis saw that day was the sight of the town sign, proudly displaying 'Welcome to Leadville! : Population 65', swinging down towards his face.
