'Those men rape cattle, Marshall! They rape em' with their phallices! That's why you're here!' he screamed, pushing his mouldy old form up against me as I tried to push back through the saloon doors.
'You maniac, I'm not putting my penis anywhere near a steer!' I shouted back, simply unwilling you understand.
'No you fool, you have to stop them! They have to be stopped!'

We were in the street now, locked in a kinda tussle. His eyes were wild like one of those movie film projectors I'd seen back in New York City. I wouldn't stay though, to do so would be madness, and this was not a situation that called for the intervention of a US Marshall.

Especially not I, US Marsh Si...

Fuck, he grabbed my gun the crazy old bastard.

'That's a federal offence, citizen!' I bellowed, trying to talk some sense into the smelly dickhead.
'Marshall, I am a God fearing man!'
'I don't care!'
'If you won't intervene in these here matters of urgency, then personally, I don't want to live anymore! D'ya hear me!? I'd rather be dead!' he cried, his eyes moist with emotion droplets.

You have two guns, man. Take the other one out and shoot that gun out of his hand. Would that work? No, of course not. He's holding the barrel of my six shooter to the underside of his jaw, if I tried to shoot it out of his hands, I'd almost certainly blow the old fuckwad away.

Quick draw that sonofabitch!

'Marshall, you dunno what it's like out here, with them... cattle fuckers up there on the hill... I'm beggin' ya to do us a solid here in Brownstool, Arizona. Population 41, and end their reign of terror...' he whimpered like a kid who'd just been told to stop fiddling with his wanger, and damned if I didn't feel something twig inside me.

Could I concievably blast that shooter out of his hand without hurting him? He struck me as a good man though, a man of faith. And hell, so was I. With the good Lord's guidance, surely no harm would come to anybody here. Maybe we'd even find a way to solve this towns little problem.
'DRAW!!!' I screamed, for really no apparent reason considering I would be the only one doing the shooting.

I whipped my pistol from it's holster and just as soon as it left the leather, I squeezed the trigger hard. Old man Limery buckled over. I'd gone done shot him in the gut. That was a good two feet away from my intended target, and in actual fact, my second six shooter remained in his hand.

'Bleerrrrrrgg....' he seemed to say, dropping softly to his knees, gun still primed to steal his life away from him in his hands.

OK, damage control time Marshall. Obviously it would be considered uncool to ride into Brownstool and start blasting the citizenry. That's a given. That's money in the bank. He did steal my weapon however, and that's a no-no. Was I justified in clipping his wings like that? I'd say no, especially considering shooting a man directly in the stomach could in no way be construed as wing clipping. That's an arm, or at the most a shoulder shot. Don't panic though. He's still holding that gun like he means to take his own life. Let's turn it all around now.

'Ma..Ma...' Limery whimpers, drooling like a damned blood hound in sniffing distance of a T-Bone.
'Hold still man, you ain't punching your last ticket yet' I reassure him, readying my pistol for rapid fire bullet delivery. 'Let me just get that weapon away from you'.

I let the first round off which misses completely and puts a small hole in a window to the rear of Mr. Limery. A small, bullet sized hole that is. I won't let that discourage me however, as the second round is already gone. And so is Limery's right ear. Damned if I'm gonna call that a failure, still two shots to go and a man's life at stake. The third round goes straight through the top of Limery's head and exits through his... Oh Christ.

Oh fuck, the game is a bogey. The game's a fuckin' no good bogey now.

'What in the name of name of Washington's fuckin' ghost are you doing, man!?' the voice startles me, causing me to turn on the spot. 'Reach for the skies you murderin' piece o' shit!'
'Excuse me?' I respond, unable to comprehend exactly what is going on at this moment. Might as well buy myself some time with an ''Excuse me''.

And then I notice it, the shotgun being held by the man confronting me. And it's pointed directly at my noggin. I instinctly drop my gun, and raise my hands to the skies.

'You better answer the goddamned question now, boy, otherwise I will euphanize you directly!'
'I am US Marshall Simon Brewer... I was sent here by order of..'
'US Marshall!? Yeah I know why you were sent here, I'm the damned Sheriff of these here Brownstools!'
'Sheriff? Pleased to meet you' I say, stretching my arm out for that staple of the meet n' greet. A handshake.
'Keep your hands in the damned air, boy! What in the Sam Hill do you think you're doing out here!?' he demands, waving his boomstick right up in my grill.
'Well, I do believe I was sent for by your office, Sheriff' I reasoned. 'Sheriff Jacob Banks, yes?'
'That's me. When did you get here exactly?' he asked, his eyes like dark chocolate buttons under the prairie moon.
'Uh... about five minutes ago'.
'And on arrival, you took it upon yourself to pull old Limery here out into the middle of the street to be executed?' he asked, grit scrunching noisily between his gnashers.
'That's not entirely how things went down, Sheriff'
'Was Limery a wanted man!?'
'Not that I know of, no'.
'Then why's he dead, Marshall!?'
'We had something of a misunderstanding, back there in the Saloon'.
'A misunderstandin', y'say? And does the Federal Government of these here United States consider a ''misunderstanding'' a good enough reason to be shot down in the street like a dog!?' he bellows, sending grit particles careering for my fresh shaven face.
'I uh...'
'Come with me, Marshall, and you even so much as think about your gun, I will blow your face out the other side of your head, do you understand me?'
'Yes' I whimper, feeling more than a little like I might soil my briches.

Had to keep it together though, try and regain some authority around here.

The Sheriff lead me to the opposite side of the street where his office was. Funnily enough, there was a sign above the door that read 'Sheriff's Office'. It's probably exactly how you'd have imagined it to be. Cell there on the left as you walk through the door, desk on the right. Standard stuff. Standard.
'Get in there you piece of dog shit!' the Sheriff shouts, grabbing my arm and launching me into the open cell.

As I bounce rather comically off the bunk beds, I hear the cell door slam closed behind me. I attempt to compose myself, then turn to face the Sheriff and a man sitting at the desk who I assume to be his Deputy. The Sheriff still has his shotgun aimed at my head.

'Now you best get to tellin' me just what in the shit stained lunar surface happened here, Marshall!'

Shit stained lunar surface? What?

'I told you..'
'A misunderstanding?'
'Exactly, yeah'
'Marshall. I am a man of the law, so you best believe I respect the law. But you best also believe that I will paint the wall of that cell with your brain if you don't get to being a little more specific in your account of how Mr. Limery came to be a corpse tonight!'
'OK... OK. I'll tell you' I start, struggling to keep it all toge...
'You have T-Minus 2 seconds to start talking jack fuck!' the Sheriff's prompts me to start.
'Uh... it all started, um.. five minutes ago. I got here'
'In Brownstool?'
'Yes!' I respond, eager to keep on the Sheriff's good side.
'Continue!'
'I went to the Saloon to get an idea what kind of town this is'
'And maybe a light refreshment too?' the Sheriff's Deputy asks.
'Yes, I was admittedly thirsty'.
'That's excellent, the local economy has been floundering as of late. Warms my heart to hear of outsiders coming and enjoying local amenities. Shame you had to go and get thrown in jail though cause really.. that's a drain more than anything else'.
'Dylan... what has that got to the do with the murderin's of them there Limery's?' the Sheriff asks his Deputy, pointing his thumb at the still very much deceased Mr. Limery.
'Nah. Nuttin'. It's just, I'm also the book keeper over at city hall... and'
'And what Dylan? Tonight you are my Deputy. You keep your head on the business of law keeping. Understand?' the Sheriff asks, certainly displaying a damn sight more patience with his Deputy, than he has done with me since I... well, since I killed a guy in his town. 'Now, you best keep going Marshall, cause my finger here, has an awful itch'.
'So I was having my drink...'

The Deputy nods his head approvingly.

'...and Limery approached me and asked if I was... if I was..'
'If you was who, Marshall?' the Sheriff asks.
'The Marshall... uh, the Marshall that you sent for'.
'I sent for A Marshall, Marshall, I didn't send for YOU specifically!'
'Well you sent for one, and that one is me. And uh...'
'Limery' the Sheriff repeats.
'He told me about a local gang, or an outfit of some description, who were up there on White Rock... White...'
'White Rook Hill' the Sheriff said, seeming to calm his jets a little.
'Yeah, the very same'
'And what did he tell you about those men on White Rook Hill?' the Sheriff asks, lowering his weapon to his side.
'Well... it sounded a little preposterous, Sheriff'
'Have we forgotten about the itchiness of my finger?' he asks, wiggling his trigger finger, in a not at all threatening manner.
'He said they... had sex with animals.. uh.. cattle. Specifically'

The Sheriff nods softly, staring at me with a heated intensity.

'And then you pulled him out there, and murderised him?' the Sheriff asks, pointing out into the night. 'What are you, boy, some kind of cow fucker sympathiser!?' he asks, that fire rising within him again.
'What!? No! I'd never... I have no interest in the sexing of cows... or any animals other than human women! I...'
'Are you saying that humans are animals!?' the Sheriff bellows, pointing his gun once again at my face. 'You best shut your pie chute before I explode your head like a god damned cantaloupe!! I will not stand here and have some jumped up city boy come into MY town, and spit on the Holy Bible with his blasphemy!! Not in MY town!!'
'What! No! I'm not saying that.. I... I didn't mean it like..' I stammer, having a tough time organising my thoughts.
It's that shotgun. Say something.

'Sheriff!' I kinda shout. Kinda. 'I'm already locked in a cage here, is it really necessary to continue pointing your weapon at me?'

He stares at me with those hard, uncompromising eyes of his. Deep, soul staring eyes. Intense like chilli's. The flavour I mean. He comes to his senses a little, and lowers his weapon once again.

'OK, here's how I see things' he says, scratching his grizzled jaw. 'You've rode down here to help us, and admittedly, and I think you'll agree; murderin' old Limery wasn't a good start'.
'I do agree, Sheriff' I said, actually feeling he'd made a good point.
'But you rode down here nonetheless. And God knows, we're needin' help down here'.
'I believe that, Sheriff' I smile.
'So, perhaps if you're willin' to help me. And by me, I mean us; then we can come to some kind of agreement, and just forget all this nastiness with the murderising ever even took place'.

What a relief. Finally some sense being spoken around here.

'Of course, Sheriff. That is why I'm here after all' I laugh, allowing myself to relax a little. 'So where is he holed up?'
'Who' the Sheriff asks flatly.
'The outlaw Chance Baker'.
'How would I know where he is?' the Sheriff responds bluntly.
'Uh... your office sent a telegram saying Chance Baker had been spotted in this area on a number of ocassions, and considering he is a Wanted man with a sizeable bounty on his head; a Marshall should be dispatched to the area to retrieve him. Your office did send that telegram, didn't they Sheriff?'.
'No'.
'What no?'
'This office sent no such telegram. At least I didn't. What about you Dylan?'

The Deputy shakes his head to signify not sending the telegram. Then why the hell am I here?

'Then why the hell am I here?'
'You're here to help us stop those cattle rapists, Marshall' the Sheriff says, scratching the bridge of his nose.
'What!?' I ask. 'I'm not here to... we recieved a telegram saying Chance Baker was holed up in an old salt mine here!'
'Who? I don't even know who that is!' the Sheriff shouts.
'He's an outlaw! A dangerous outlaw! You sent us a...'
'Marshall, are you callin' me a liar!?'
'Who sent that telegram?'
'I sent a telegram asking for assistance against the cattle rapin' threat down here'.
'There's no way! No way! A US Marshall would not be dispatched because of.. of, men touching animals. Is that even illegal cause I'm not sure it is!'
'How could that not be illegal!? We're talkin' defenceless steer here! And not just the adult ones neither. And even if it's not illegal, it's definitely wrong in the eyes of our Lord n' saviour!
'I don't dispute that, Sheriff. I don't dispute that'.
'Well there ya go then'.
'But I uphold the laws of the Federal Government... not the laws of.. uh.. God. I can't...'
'You're walking a damned fine line here, Marshall, a damned fine line! You've already shot a man down in cold blood, so in my eyes, that'd be reason enough to string you up in the mornin'. And now you're standin' there tellin' me you would choose to defy God too? I think we've heard enough Deputy'
'Wait, no' I plead, searching for reason to keep myself out of the hangman's noose. 'OK. OK. These cattle'.
'Yes?' the Sheriff responds.
'Were they rustled?'
'What?'
'Did the cattle rapers rustle the cattle that they raped? Or currently rape'
'No, Marshall, I do believe they own them cattle' the Deputy pipes up, blowing away my chance at legally getting myself out of the cell.

Fuck it. I've already murdered somebody, I might as well just go with it and maybe I can slip away at some point when nobody is looking.

'Excellent. Then that settles it! I'll stay and help bring justice to these... cattle rapists...' I declare.
'On the basis that they own the cattle that they abuse?' the Sheriff asks.
'Yes' I respond.