Bobitron
Explorer
Combat Round #1
McClean fires off two more slugs in rapid succession, working the lever of his rifle in a smooth, practiced motion. His first shot slams into the rustler’s leg, which causes him to stumble. The second round flies harmlessly over the man’s shoulder, sending up a spray of dirt where it hits the ground.
You see the marshal move quickly to the edge of the wagon, peering around the corner at the rustlers in the lantern’s light. Taking aim, Dusty fires a round into the man closest to the corral, hitting him square in the chest. The man drops to his knees, covering his wound with both hands.
The injured man that Riley fired on shouts out in pain, a strong Irish lilt evident in his voice. “We’re bein’ ambushed, lads! They must be on the hill!” He draws a large pistol from his belt, firing off a round blindly towards the men atop the rise. It flies over the group’s heads without striking a target.
Bear Trap finishes loading Ellie and brings it back on target. By the time the rifle is aimed, he sees his target rapidly loading his own Sharps. The blast send a lick of flame along the path of the bullet, which hits the ground at the rustler’s feet, causing him to leap to the ground, dropping his rifle. He scrambles to pick it up, but ends up on his back behind the brush, still working on preparing his Big .50 for a shot.
Dakota firmly grasps his Winchester, and aims at one of the closer cowboys on horseback. The rifle cracks, hitting the man dead center in the chest. He falls from the saddle, his horse rearing and making haste towards the east.
Michael rushes up to the wagon with the Colburn, but stops to peer into the wagon. Seeing nothing of importance, he moves to the southern corner of the wagon, raising his pistol at the nearby rustlers, who turn in shock to find someone behind them.
The three rustlers opposite the corral (#’s 1, 2, and 3) each look about anxiously as the cattle start to stamp about in a display of nerves. They each start riding back and forth in front of the beef in an attempt to keep them from moving to the west, calling out in calming voices. None of them draw weapons.
Michael’s sudden appearance from behind the wagon, coupled with the moans coming from the wounded rustler clutching his gut nearby, proves too much for the men near the wagon (#’s 5, 6, and 7). Looking at each other, they seem to reach a silent agreement and each man raises his hands high into the air.
The other men, mounted and just outside the embrace of the lantern, each draw pistols, but do not fire. They look about in a confused fashion. One of them calls out towards the river. “Callahan! Johnson! What the hell is goin’ on here?!?” A response is not heard.
The cattle, terrified from the gunfire, begin moving as a herd to the east. The quick thinking rustler nearest the corral (#3) moves to shut the gate, trapping the cattle already corralled. Building up speed as they run, they follow the riverbank upstream, back towards the bridge. You hear panicked yelling coming from the remaining men to the west, but the rumble of the herd is enough to drown out the details. The men who were trying to control the herd opposite the corral give up and begin to run towards the east.
Buckley walks up behind Michael, brandishing his pistol in a manner that makes the brave suspicious as to whether he had ever used one before. Aiming it at the surrendering rustlers, he shouts out, “Git down on the ground, you bastards! Drop them belts!” Each of the men drops to the ground, unfastening gunbelts and letting them fall as they comply.
McClean fires off two more slugs in rapid succession, working the lever of his rifle in a smooth, practiced motion. His first shot slams into the rustler’s leg, which causes him to stumble. The second round flies harmlessly over the man’s shoulder, sending up a spray of dirt where it hits the ground.
You see the marshal move quickly to the edge of the wagon, peering around the corner at the rustlers in the lantern’s light. Taking aim, Dusty fires a round into the man closest to the corral, hitting him square in the chest. The man drops to his knees, covering his wound with both hands.
The injured man that Riley fired on shouts out in pain, a strong Irish lilt evident in his voice. “We’re bein’ ambushed, lads! They must be on the hill!” He draws a large pistol from his belt, firing off a round blindly towards the men atop the rise. It flies over the group’s heads without striking a target.
Bear Trap finishes loading Ellie and brings it back on target. By the time the rifle is aimed, he sees his target rapidly loading his own Sharps. The blast send a lick of flame along the path of the bullet, which hits the ground at the rustler’s feet, causing him to leap to the ground, dropping his rifle. He scrambles to pick it up, but ends up on his back behind the brush, still working on preparing his Big .50 for a shot.
Dakota firmly grasps his Winchester, and aims at one of the closer cowboys on horseback. The rifle cracks, hitting the man dead center in the chest. He falls from the saddle, his horse rearing and making haste towards the east.
Michael rushes up to the wagon with the Colburn, but stops to peer into the wagon. Seeing nothing of importance, he moves to the southern corner of the wagon, raising his pistol at the nearby rustlers, who turn in shock to find someone behind them.
The three rustlers opposite the corral (#’s 1, 2, and 3) each look about anxiously as the cattle start to stamp about in a display of nerves. They each start riding back and forth in front of the beef in an attempt to keep them from moving to the west, calling out in calming voices. None of them draw weapons.
Michael’s sudden appearance from behind the wagon, coupled with the moans coming from the wounded rustler clutching his gut nearby, proves too much for the men near the wagon (#’s 5, 6, and 7). Looking at each other, they seem to reach a silent agreement and each man raises his hands high into the air.
The other men, mounted and just outside the embrace of the lantern, each draw pistols, but do not fire. They look about in a confused fashion. One of them calls out towards the river. “Callahan! Johnson! What the hell is goin’ on here?!?” A response is not heard.
The cattle, terrified from the gunfire, begin moving as a herd to the east. The quick thinking rustler nearest the corral (#3) moves to shut the gate, trapping the cattle already corralled. Building up speed as they run, they follow the riverbank upstream, back towards the bridge. You hear panicked yelling coming from the remaining men to the west, but the rumble of the herd is enough to drown out the details. The men who were trying to control the herd opposite the corral give up and begin to run towards the east.
Buckley walks up behind Michael, brandishing his pistol in a manner that makes the brave suspicious as to whether he had ever used one before. Aiming it at the surrendering rustlers, he shouts out, “Git down on the ground, you bastards! Drop them belts!” Each of the men drops to the ground, unfastening gunbelts and letting them fall as they comply.
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