Deadlands Reloaded: The Weird West

Prelude: A little trip to Boot Hill

The Posse meet and get a man up to Boot HIll to be buried.

The Posse:
Rus Brown (Mad Scientist)
Mister Catchry (Ex-Sheriff)
Max “Doc” Cunningham (Sawbones)
Samuel Mars (Gunslinger)

CALVARA, KS—It was mid-morning when the Eagle eyed ex-Sheriff noticed the boom town’s undertaker arguing with a carpetbagger out in front the funeral parlor. The two men seemed to be having a increasing heated discussion over payment or the lack of it. Oddly not one of the undertaker not being paid, quite the opposite, the undertaker was refusing payment handing the a gold eagle back to the norther only to have a few choice words and the coin given right back. From the Livery stable across Main street a crowd of cowboys were forming interesting in how this argument was going to play out.

It was from the livery that Samuel Mars walked over from to discover what the argument was about. It seems that the undertaker was refusing to put the man in the pine box in the back of the hearse in the graveyard. It seems that man was an Indian, a Sioux in fact. It wasn’t long before the carpetbagger’s friend urged him to give up this foolish argument so they could be one their way.

Now look here." said the carpetbagger “If any of the men up in boot hill have any objection to this Indian being buried with them, they long gave up their objections now.”

“To be sure the bone yard is full of thieves, cut throats, rapists, and murderers, but they ain’t the element that’s objectin’” replied the undertaker. “Seems there’s folk in this town don’t like the idea of a redskin being buried along with such illustrious and noble folk. And when they ain’t afraid usin’ lead to keep it that way, well sir, I become bigoted too.”

“You just need a driver to get that man up to boot hill. Hell, I drive the hearse up there.” spoke the olive skinned man with a face that looked like a train ran over it.

“I’ll ride shotgun to get this man to his internal rest.” spoke the handsome ex-sheriff as he wheeled his Winchester to his shoulder after checking the ammo. The gunslinger nodded and the other man climbed aboard the black wagon.

Two other men, one heavyset man in stained overalls with a pocked and boil cover homely face with thick spectacles strapped to his face armed with some strange pistol device, the other a appeared as small as a child yet he was in thirties. Each man stepped on the running boards on each side of the black lacquer hearse. The Wagon canted to the ground on the fat man’s side as he stepped up. With a quizzical look, Sam Mars eyed these other two. He thought to ask them to stay behind, but decided a couple of extra guns could be handy and the big one might draw a lot fire.

The hearse’s horse needed a little more effort to get moving but slowly began down Main Street Calvera many of the buffalo hunters, prospectors, and other cowboys followed behind to see how this trip to Boot Hill was going to play out. Some of them making bets on if they all would get that man up to the old bone yard. Sam pulled out cigarillo

The Posse hadn’t traveled no more than across the intersection of Main Street and Old Farm Road when they spotted a twitching of a curtain in a second story window above the stage coach office. It was the Doc that spotted the man with a double-barreled shotgun drawing a bead on the Posse.

It was the ex-Sheriff that drew and fired first at the gunman in the window but missed. The Gunman blasted back firing both barrels at Sam. The shot was close, too close shooting the cigarillo straight out of his mouth. It was the pint-sized sawbones that drew his weapon and shot the concealed gun dropping him in a single shot.

Things seemed in the clear and the alert former lawman watched for further dangers. The Rus Brown, the backwoods mad scientist thought one of the buffalo hunter might be readying his Sharp’s Big Fifty, but was quickly stopped by the ex-Sheriff. Only the creepy tree put the Posse on edge as four empty nooses swayed gently as if to beckon each of the men.

As the black wagon reached the top of the hill and neared the grave yard, the posse saw six men all armed waiting for them. Most looked like buffalo hunters and ghost rock prospectors. Sam stopped the horses as one of the men stepped forward.

“We ain’t goin’ ta allow ya to bury that redskin here. So why don’t ya boys just turn that fancy black wagon around and down the fifty Indian out on the plains so the buzzards can pick at ’em.” The dirty prospector who approach said.

“Say friend, you’re a man of business, yes. Why don’t we give you and your buddies here a little spendin’ coin for the saloon and brothel while we take of this.” The former sheriff said with a friendly smile. Unfortunately, these men were adamantly against the idea of Sioux being put to rest along with the their fellow scoundrels many killed for trespassing into their nation.

“I’ll say it one last time before ya regret it, boy. Head back down the hill or there’s gonna be trouble.” The prospector said with a toothless wicked grin as he looked back at his other men who laughed. The law dog took this chance to spring off the hearse and aimed his rifle straight at the prospector’s head.

“I’m done being nice here. You and these men step aside or I swear to God I’ll turn your head into a canoe!” the Winchester’s barrel mere feet from the prospector’s head. One of the other men yelled, “He’s bluffin’.” While the prospectors cried back, “He ain’t bluffin’” convinced the law dog mean to kill this man over a dead Indian.

“You skin that smoke wagon, and let’s see what happens.” shouted Samuel as quick as lightning he drew his single-action peace maker. The buffalo hunter reached for his hogleg as Sam Mars fanned down on the hammer of his pistol volcano which erupted his a shower of lead into the man killing him times before he hit the ground.

The law man yelled to other men to leave their weapons and high tail it out of Calvera if they wanted to keep their miserable lives. The remained bigots dropped their weapons got on their horses and fled with their tails between their legs. When the Posse got back to town one of the gamblers gave them each a gold eagle telling them he won great deal of money betting on them. At the saloon, the Posse found their money was not good and were never for want of a drink that night.

The ex-sheriff decided this would be the best time to ask around for any information about the gang that destroyed his town. He learned that men matching the description of who he was looking for had been through the area in the last couple of weeks and some one over heard they were on their way to Denver.

The ex-Sheriff learned that the Gunslinger was just drifting west, the Mad Scientist just wanted to test his inventions, and the saw bones just drifted trying to help the sick and injured. The each decided to stick together at least for a little while. . .



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