Bad Moon over California

[Bobitron]

Dakota spurs his pony off after the rapidly disappearing cattle in an attempt to stop the stampede. The ride to catch the herd is a fast one; Lightning has a inborn ability to find his way through tough terrain unlike that of any horse he has worked with. Most cowboys tend to view horses as tools, but the effort Dakota has put into training Lightning really shows through in an instance like this.

Moving quickly up through the herd in a jostling, dusty moment, Dakota reaches the head steer, a large, scarred bull with wide horns. With slight pressure on his left side, he starts to guide the herd toward the river. With no place to run except back into the cold waters of the Clementine, the steer circles the herd around in an ever tightening circle until half of the herd is barely moving. Dakota’s lasso flashes out at the bull and lands firmly around the thick horns. Pulling hard on the reins, Turnbow practically sits Lightning onto the ground, leaning hard back into his saddle to shift his weight down to the ground. The bull twists and falls to the ground in a heap. The remainder of the herd begins to mill about, breathing hard and steaming into the cooling night air.

Riley and Jeb continue their sharp-eyed watch over the area around the corral, carefully aiming at each of the rustlers in turn as Buckley and Michael move among them, disarming the criminals and using short lengths of rope to bind their hands. Once they are bound and kneeling in near the wagon, Riley moves down to guard the prisoners, joining the others in the light of the lanterns.

The Marshal moves carefully around the north of the corral, squinting to see through the dust raised by the herd. His rifle leveled to the west, he makes his way along the river, carefully glancing back and forth as he scans for Callahan. Moving to the brush (square C5), he spots the trampled body of a man, his ribcage poking through his shirt in a few spots and his face bloodied beyond recognition. Letting out a low whistle, the Marshal hears a metallic click and spins about to see what must be Callahan lying about 5 paces away.

Callahan is a ruddy-faced Irishman wearing a gentleman’s outfit, bleeding from a bullet wound in his chest. He fumbles as he tries to draw a small nickel-plated pistol from his belt, dropping it nearby on the ground. Both of his legs are shattered and bent at an angle that the good Lord never intended.

“Damn you to Hell, lawman.” He spits out a bloody tooth in the Marshal’s direction.

 

[Max]

Riley McClean

Although he is casually leaning up against a wagon, Riley keeps a sharp watch on the prisoners, making sure they aren't up to any funny business. He makes a point of keeping a wagon between himself and any possible shots the rustlers who ran away might try.

"Jeb or Michael, you wanna keep watch to the east and make sure them rustlers that ran away don't come back and surprise us like we done to them? I got these boys covered" he says confidently.

 

[Committed Hero]

Michael smiles and looks for a good vantage point.

 

[знаток]

“Damn you to Hell, lawman.” He spits out a bloody tooth in the Marshal’s direction.

Colburn lets a fleeting and subtle grin pass his lips as he recognizes the struggling Irishman. He glances around to see that the others have the situation under control.

"You know, my troubled friend," he says as he turns his attention back to Callahan, "I have to confess to tellin' you a bit of a white lie earlier." The Marshal lowers his rifle and walks toward the man. Looming over him, he continues slowly and deliberately, "The inaccuracy in my late dialogue was that the law - as you may have noticed - ain't necessarily bigger than I. And I have to tell ya, the feeling I'm gettin' from you is that you ain't too interested in reconcilin' with either one."

Colburn sighs as he draws his Colt, the contoured grip still cool from the night air. "Personally, I'm glad you stuck around." He plants a boot almost gently on Callahan's right hand. "I'll tell you what...you can tell me where these head were goin' and die easy, or you can carry on as you were and please the boys with a truly entertaining rope show."

 

[Bobitron]

Callahan's eyes widen as Dusty's boot brushes his bloody hand. He looks furtively at a copse of trees just south of the river, then snaps his gaze back up to meet the Marshal's.

"There's no one involved but us. We're due ta sell the beef to an auction house, but they don't know where they are coming from. Dooley sent us, but I know that half-wit Buckley probably already told you that."

He wipes his face with a filthy sleeve, smearing a line of blood across his sideburned cheek.

"These men are just hired guns." Callahan's eyes suddenly light up as he looks downriver. "And it looks like they are on the way back! This way, boys! $100 to whoever kills this bastard lawman!"

As you look back over your shoulder, seeing nothing, Callahan quickly rolls to his left, revealing a stick of dynamite. He reaches out with his left hand to light it, holding an engraved silver lighter.

OOC: Make an initiative roll, знаток. Calahan will light the dynamite on 17. I took the liberty of rolling to avoid Callahan's bluff, which you failed miserably.

 

[знаток]

Callahan quickly rolls to his left, revealing a stick of dynamite. He reaches out with his left hand to light it, holding an engraved silver lighter.

The Marshal catches the movement and the glint of the moon reflecting off the lighter out the corner of his eye. The squeeze of the hair trigger is so subtle, it'd be hard to tell if it wasn't his adrenaline alone that fired the pistol, but the bullet flies as swiftly without regard. "You decided your fate long ago, Irishman."

Initiative: 27
Attack: 17

 

[Bobitron]

The heavy bullet slams into the Irishman's chest. He drops the dynamite and lighter with a gurgle that brings blood flowing onto his chin and drops back, moving no more.

OOC: I took the liberty of rolling your damage, but include it next time, even if you aren't sure you hit. Nice initiative roll!

 

[Max]

Riley McClean

Riley looks up quickly at the shot, trying to see where it came from. "You ok, Marshall?" he calls out. Keeping the prisoners in view, he quickly shifts positions after calling out .... just in case.

edit for spelling

 

[знаток]

Colburn returns the pistol to its holster and slowly looks around. "All's dandy, Mr. McLean. Fantastic work everybody! Now let's take care of these vermin and get some shuteye! No need to drag it out. I don't feel like spendin' my night lookin' for enough sturdy branches for all of 'em." He yells for Buckley. "Get on back and bring whatever men ain't occupied to take care of these cattle. Our work here is done."

 

[The Shaman]

Dakota Turnbow

The stampeding cattle stopped, Dakota gathers in his lasso and strokes Lightning’s neck. “That’s the way, fella,” he says with feeling.

Satisfied the herd won’t bolt again, Dakota and Lightning lope through the darkness back to the wagon and the corral. By the time he returns the rustlers have been disarmed. He rides up to the marshal, tipping his hat, and says, “Good work, Marshal.” He nods in the direction of the rustlers. “Do we look for a tree now, or do we wait until morning?”