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A dry, hot breeze sifted through Hazzard and stirred dust from the streets. The burning sun baked the small town and oppressed it with battering heat.

It wasn’t a good day to be wearing black. Brian pondered this as he trudged wearily through the town square. He had promised to run some errands for his cousins, and he was finally finished. All that was on his mind now was a cold beer and some air conditioning. But first, this black leather jacket had to go, before he melted into a puddle on the asphalt. He paused alongside of Diablo, wanting to shed the jacket before getting into the oven-roasted interior of the car.

Shrugging out of the jacket, Brian didn’t notice the rolled-up script falling free from the inner pocket. It hit the ground and the wind tossed it, opening the pages. Too late, Brian caught the sight of it lying in the street. He leapt for it, knowing that a loose script in town could cause untold chaos….

***** ***** ****

BUCKSHOT

( a western RR free-for-all )

A dry, hot breeze stirred the open cattleman’s coat, casting it back like a cape. Brian tugged down the low-brimmed rustler’s hat against the blowing dust, squinting his dark eyes against the glare of the sun.

Near his boots, a collection of papers crinkled and flapped in the hot wind. One quick stomp prevented the papers from escape. But it was not Brian’s boot that had landed upon the wayward script. Instead, it was the broad hoof of one large, black horse.

“Good boy, Damascus. Now gimmie that….†Brian stooped down to reach for the papers, but Damascus didn’t intend to share. The long, thick neck of the black horse craned down fast, the script now taken between the horse’s teeth. Damascus tossed his head up and began to chew, ears pricked forward in contentment.

“GAAAH! No, Damascus! You can’t eat that! Stoppit! C’mere!†Brian grabbed at Damascus’s reins, but he had the disadvantage of standing on the ground against a massive animal with a wicked sense of humor. Damascus turned his head and pivoted on his hind legs, pressing a muscular flank against Brian and ignoring him.

The script was gone before Brian could do anything about it. He stared at Percheron-Arabian in dismay. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!â€

Damascus cocked one ear back and gave a horse’s belch. The long head of the horse swung to bear on Brian, looking for dessert. *sugar?*

“No, you’re not getting a treat! Bad horse! Bad! Bad!†Brian’s tone caused Damascus to put both ears back. The black horse lowered his head a sulked a little, not understanding the big deal. Next time he’d let Brian eat a page, if it meant all that much to him.

“Argh….†Brian gave a short growl of frustration and tugged on Damascus’s reins, leading the horse on foot. There was a nearby water trough at the Boar’s Nest Saloon, and the horse needed to drink before the script gave him indigestion, or worse. “@#%&* horse….â€

At the trough, Damascus stuck his nose in and drank heavily. Brian looked around the rustic town and pondered the implications of what had just happened. There was no telling who would end up here, and what would follow. He would have to stay alert and be ready to meet anything that came, head-on.

After Damascus had drank his fill, Brian tethered the horse to a hitching post outside of the Boar’s Nest Saloon. Damascus pointed one rear foot and relaxed his stance, ready for a nap after his fiber-filled script snack. Brian sighed and dug a sugar cube out of an outer coat pocket, giving the horse a peace offering. This done, he marched up the steps to the Saloon, his spur-less boots making soft thuds against the wooden planking. He pushed the swinging doors open and stepped inside.

He found a place at the end of the bar. Standing with one boot braced on the bar rail, Brian leaned against the bar and waved down a drink. The cellar-cooled beer was refreshing on this hot day, and he sipped at it gratefully. He might as well enjoy himself. Still, he remained wary, and leaned his left side against the bar, keeping his right hand free. Beneath the long flap of the thin black coat he wore, he had the means to defend himself, and a lightning-fast draw behind it. He was no greenhorn to the frontier or it’s methods. If someone felt like trying their luck today, they’d find him well-prepared…..

( Cue anybody! )

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A tall, blond man got down from his buckskin horse. Alex Jackson stretched his long legs a moment before taking the tan Stetson from his head and wiping his forearm across his brow. The ride had been a long one and he sighed, his eyes slid closed as a sudden blast of hot wind blew his long blond hair back from his shoulders and cooled the thin layer of sweat that covered his face.

Topping his head with his hat once more, he gave the butter colored coat of his trusty horse, Showdown a pat. Tied to the saddle was everything he needed to survive, a bedroll, canteen and a pair of well-worn saddlebags nearly filled to busting. The blond man removed them and slung them over the shoulder of the tan frock coat he wore.

Glancing around he took a hold of his horse's reins and secured him beside the water trough, allowing enough slack for the horse to drink at his leisure.

Alex ran his hand down Sky's black mane a moment before glancing at the saloon's sign across from where he stood.

"The Boars Nest--Let's see what we can find in this place Show."

Taking another look around Alex made his away across the road; no one seemed to pay much mind to his arrival but that could change at a moment's notice. A pair of weathered swinging doors greeted him and he pushed them open with enough force that they banged back against the door frame getting everyone's attention in the saloon. He felt the patrons gazes and steeled his expression as he reached down towards his side. One by one the stares dropped off and he went over to the bar setting his saddlebags down on top of it.

"Whiskey--" He said to the bartender before turning towards the end of the bar. He saw a man all dressed in black having a beer and reached down to move his coat away from his holster.

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Alex wasn't the only newcomer in Hazzard, although the other one wasn't nearly as threatening, but drawing just as many glances in the saloon, most of them male. With her back to the bar, Chance Walker hadn't noticed the two entrances, not that she would have reacted to either of them. She was too busy conning the poor gambler in front of her out of his money with a rather one-sided game of poker.

Dressed somewhere between fashionable and scandalous... with worn leather breeches that clung to her long legs and a matching leather vest thrown casually over a corset, and her long blonde hair falling free down her back behind the hat she wore, she was making distraction easy and the man didn't realize that he was being cheated, or didn't care, considering the company.

She cut the cards and smiled charmingly, let the fellow deal, not realizing she was using her carefully hidden intelligence to calculate the man's hand. (known today as card-counting ). Probably even more carefully hidden was the fact that separating some fool from his earnings wasn't the only reason she was in Hazzard.

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Invisible to all at the saloon, a black haired figure with a jet black Stetson tipped low over his eyes sat at a table in the darkest corner of the bar. A shot glass in hand and a bottle of clear as glass corn whiskey set on the heavily worn table in front him. The young Duke boy lounged lazily in the chair that he sat in, his mismatched eyes concealed under the low curved brim of his hat.

Chet Duke’s sky blue shirt appeared faded in color from under his chocolate colored duster, his matching chaps worn throughly from constant wear an abuse. A red bandanna tied neatly around his neck lay casually over the collar of his blue shirt and he sat rather motionless, knowing that new arrivals eyes hadn’t yet fallen on him. But he felt constantly watched by his older cousin Daisy Duke, a long time waiter there at the Boars Nest Saloon.

His own cousin was watching him nervously, she hadn’t seen him in town in many months, an his company was not appreciated. Especially on top of the two characters that had already stepped into the saloon, an fear was written in her eyes as she watched them warily.

Chet had also noticed the two new comers sitting at the bar, the one dressed in a Tan hat and the other dressed all too familiarly in mostly if not completely in black. He too felt a little uneasy, after all it wasn’t everyday that he returned to town and it wasn’t everyday that this assemble of people gather at the Saloon.

He moved slowly, not wanting to catch any attention with a quick move, his right hand went to the Colt .45 tied down in its holster concealed under his duster on his left hip, an then his left hand to his right hip loosening his guns in there resting place. An he settled more loosely into his chair checking his hat with one hand and pouring another shot of whiskey with his free hand, he felt more relaxed now. His ‘Red’ Thoroughbred horse stood out of sight in the shady alley next to the Saloon, dozing but prepared at a seconds notice to gallop away at break neck speed.

Despite feeling more relaxed he continued to watch his cousin and the two new comers out of the corner of his good eye, his blind eye offering him nothing but blank space.

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Enos stood beside the stagecoach. He was dressed in a brown suit with a brown boulder hat to match. His deputy badge shown in the light as he grasped the white-gloved hand that emerged from the stagecoach. A smile spread to his face as his eyes met the soft gray pupils of his twin sister Valerie. She wore a dark green riding dress with black lace up boots. Her hands had nice crisp white gloves on them and the sleeves of the dress extended down to her wrists. She smiled back at her twin from under an off green boulder. Tucked neatly in the brim of her hat was a long quail feather. It’s iridescent hue shown in the light along with her daggling green gemstone earrings. The dark brown hair of Miss Strate was tucked up into a bun. She appeared to be quite a social-light.

Enos smiled brightly at his well-dressed sibling, "Wow, ya sure do look pretty Val. Looks like your job with Wild Bill has really paid off."

Valerie grinned back as the driver unloaded her luggage and handed the bags to Enos, "Yeah… Annie, Frank and Cody are all going to England to visit the Queen and King."

"Oh, so ya have some free time then I suppose." Enos replied now carrying a bunch of luggage.

"Yeah, I do. So I'd thought I'd stop for a visit." She smiled then ungloved one of her hands and stuck a finger into the lacey collar of her high neckline, "Actually, do think you can let the driver watch the luggage for a bit. I would like to go get a drink at the Nest and say 'Howdy' to Miss Daisy. It's so hot and I need to cool off. I about died in that stuffy stagecoach from the train."

Enos nodded and pulled some money out of his pocket. He handed the driver one of his last two crinkled dollars with the driver. The stagecoach driver wrinkled his nose and gave Enos a look. Enos looked sheepishly at the man and gave him the second dollar. The stagecoach operator then nodded and stood with the baggage.

Val had glanced back at the scene and sighed, "I see Boss hasn't given you much of a pay increase."

Enos still looked sheepish only to his sister, "Um… well money's been kind of tight and all Val…"

Valerie rolled her eyes as her pocket book hung off of her arm, "Oh Enos, don't bother to explain. Money's been tight in this county since Boss Hogg took the seat. Come on. I'll buy."

Enos shrugged and followed his sister to the Saloon. He then stepped in front of her and held the door open for her. She walked inside and he followed.

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Meanwhile, in the saloon, Brian was keeping his eyes open. He noted the entrance of the blonde drifter, who underneath the layer of trail dust, appeared to be well-armed and ready to prove it. The drifter's body language was clear enough.

Brian observed the tall drifter for a silent moment, recognizing the veiled threat in the man's posture. Maybe it was just for defense....or maybe this man had a purpose in Hazzard that could conflict with his own. The difference could mean an exchange of lead, and Brian was in no hurry to trade it.

His dark-eyed gaze panned over to the local hardcase who sat in a corner. The man in the black hat offered nothing friendly in expression. Brian gave a flat stare in response. Like rattlesnakes who were occupying the same rock in the sunlight, there was a grudging tolerance between them. At least for now.

The arrival of the pair of dandys caused Brian to turn his gaze. The man and woman had an unmistakable resemblance. They also looked like honest folk, and therefore appeared somewhat out of place in the current company. Brian tipped his hat towards the refined-looking lady, giving her a pleasant smile. To her companion, he gave a small nod. No threat seemed likely from this quarter.

The sound of a woman's bright laughter made Brian look to a poker table. A brazenly-dressed woman appeared to be reeling in some winnings. It looked like the queen of diamonds was holding a pair, and she was about to put down a jack. Recognizing a professional cardsharp when he saw one, Brian made a mental note to keep his wallet shut.

The barmaid returned, distracting Brian from his people-watching. He pretended to seriously debate whether or not he wanted another beer, all to give himself more time to ogle the barmaid. She caught on to this and spun away in a huff.

Chuckling to himself, Brian returned his attention to the remainder of his beer. He remained alert, expecting that trouble would probably start eventually. It was just a question of with who, and when...

(cue anybody!)

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There stares met, that of the black clad Coltrane an that of the young black haired Duke boy. Chet’s eyes returned the silent warning, like that of a pit bull prepared to snap and bit at any moment. But he sat there motionless for a few more moments then sat up from his slouching poise in the wooden chair and raised to his feet. His height amounting to well over 6 feet, his build rough and lanky.

He walked over to the bar, his own legs bowed by the many years of ridding, the many years of busting bronc. It all showed in his steps, his round toed boots making a dull thud on the floor with his every step, barely herd over the sounds of peoples voices and ruckus. Chet sat down on an empty bar stool, his duster concealing his pair of guns, but showing the raw hide straps tied snug around his thighs. The chaps draped around his legs as casually as he settled himself on the stool, now sitting among the familiar black clad figure and the tan hatted, tough looking stranger.

(Sorry ain’t much, cue any an all)

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Alex tipped his head back, downing his shot in one gulp. He sat his glass back down and turned, seeing the kid that had been on the far side of the room now suddenly in between himself and the dark haired man.

Things suddenly seemed a bit too crowded for his liking and he picked up his saddlebags and moved to the table closest to the end of the bar.

He slung his bags over the back of the chair and approached the man in black, adjusting his coat to once more conceal his holster. Alex now stood beside him, hands kept in plain sight so there would be no misunderstandings for this proximity.

"I've been watching you. You seem to know your way around this town."

He started, hoping the reply he wanted didn't come with a bullet.

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It seems now matter how good you are at cards, even if the cards are being stacked in your favor, very once in a while, you just pulled a deuce when you wanted an ace. Chance realized that had happened that suddenly the man whose wallet she was cleaning slammed a hand down over the money lying in the center of the table, so hard that dollar bills flew into the air, and he stood. Chance froze, getting a sinking feeling she had played one too many good hands and now the reason for her lucky streak was clear. To be caught cheating in cards often called for a deadly punishment, something Chance had always able to avoid. She hoped that record would continue past today.

"Nobody's THAT lucky in poker, not even Lady Luck herself."

She gave a one-sided grin, not giving any indication while the man was standing over her, scowling that he had hooked her feet around the table's legs. "I ain't Lady Luck, but damned close...."

Suddenly she kicked out, overturning the table, which sent cards, money and their drinks flying, and also knocking her accuser backwards off his feet. The minute he hit the floor, Chance bolted like a mustang mare. She was a decent gunslinger and a fighter… but she relied on her intelligence, and here in a crowded saloon, where one misfire bullet could become a deadly gunfight, discretion was definitely the better part of valor here. However, when she glanced back to grin at her victim, she collided with a blackclad male chest, the force knocking the wind out of her.

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Val smiled politely to the black clad figure who gave her a nod. Enos just nodded back and helped Val to her seat. Val and Enos had sat down at the bar. They both ordered drinks from Daisy and engaged in small talk with the bar maid. Val realized that the Boar's Nest Saloon was full of shady company tonight. She whispered to her brother, "Boy, I haven't seen this rough a crowd in a long time."

He mumbled back to her, "Yer right Val, I ain't either, and I was here just yesterday."

Suddenly the pair of twins heard a loud crash. Both Strates turned to see what the clatter was about when they seen a woman laughing at a man and an over turned card table. She was about to make her exit when a dark figure stopped her.

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Brian had ten seconds to react to it all. He had no more than given an acknowledging nod to the blonde drifter, when the poker table had went over with a crash, and the cardsharp queen appeared to be in big trouble. At the same time, the lady dandy at the bar seemed ready to flee the scene, but Brian knew her movement could be misunderstood and attract a bullet. He lept out from the bar, putting out a hand to the refined lady, murmuring two fast words. "Stay put!"

He then rushed forward towards the ruins of the poker table at the exact moment the lady gambler decided to make a run for it. They collided, bodily...which would have been very pleasant under other circumstances. But for now, Brian's only thought was to protect innocent and not-so-innocent folk from getting hurt. "Git back!" He yelled to the gaming queen, pulling her behind him, protecting her with his own body.

His right hand moved in a blur and a spinning gun was suddenly in Brian's right hand. It was leveled at the sore loser in an instant. The black-clad arm was steady, the bead drawn on the victim certain. Looking every bit the dire outlaw of legend, Brian stared coldly at the intented victim and offered him a single opportunity to evade lead.

"Out," Brian ordered. "Now."

( Cue anybody! Does this sore loser leave? Does he pull something sneaky? Does all hell break loose?)

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  • 4 weeks later...

"You heard him..."

Alex approached the scene cautiously with slow purposeful steps, the side of his coat drawn away from his holster revealing his side arm. He now stood beside the man in black and the lady gambler, his stance suggesting he was ready for anything that may come.

His dark eyes stared into the unlucky card player's, his gaze cold and intent transfixed on the losing man's face. Alex watched the man's hand move closer to his gun, fingers flexing and he raised his chin.

"You sure you want to play it like this?"

His right arm hung at his side, Alex's hand hovering close to the handle of his pistol.

"You better consider your predicament really carefully before you go jumping into something you might not live through."

The card player's gaze shifted from right to left, staring down the two men.

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The man glanced from one gunslinger to the other. He may had been stupid enough to be fleeced by Chance's charm, but drew the line at trying to take down two dangerous men at once, esp with a gun barrel pointed directly between his eyes. So he muttered something ripely obscene, and jammed he hat back down on his head and stalked out of the saloon.

Chacne, meanwhile, exhaled the breath she had been holding. Once she realized she was safe again, she found herself bristling at the fact that these two men took it upon themselves to protect her. She could have held her own..probably. She hoped anyway. Placing her hands on her hands, she frowned at the man dressed in black.

"Who asked you to interfere? I had everything under control." There was alot of bravado behind those words, but Chance wasn't about to play the rescued maiden. In fact, her darkeyed rescurer looked as far from a white knight as possible. She crossed her arms in front of her. "But I'll suppose you'll want a reward for saving my hide. Well forget it, I can take care of myself." As if to prove this point, Chance reached for her own belt, but instead of bringing out the usual pistol, or even a rifle, she uncoiled a long leather whip. When she returned her gaze to Brian, there was a hint of a challedge in those blue eyes, as if daring him to prove her wrong.

(Cue Brian! :wink: )

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"Well, now." Brian spun the gun in his hand once, then returned it to the holster beneath his coat. He bristled at the unappreciative tone in the woman's words, and his eyes glanced down to the whip. "Ma'am, ah'm questionin' which has the worst sting. Yer sharp tongue, or that piece o' rawhide in your hands." Pausing, and holding up a hand to stop the natural retort to that, Brian added, "And ah don't intend to find out."

He gave an angry sigh and stepped back. "In fact, yer lucky you don't find the tables turned on you in more ways than one. Cheatin' at cards is just a hair below horse thievin' in these parts. You'd best move on before your marked deck gets cut for the last time."

After punctuating the words with a hard, dark-eyed stare, Brian turned to the blonde drifter who had stood by him during the confrontation. He gave him a nod of thanks, then gestured towards the bar. The back up the drifter had given was worth a drink, and Brian was going to buy him one.

And so the black-clad outlaw turned his back on the lady gambler, figuring she would gather the remains of her dignity and leave....

(cue anybody!)

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A smooth refined female voice replied from behind the dark stranger and the golden haired drifter, "Well, gents... I would like to thank you both for saving my own life as well as my dear brother's."

The lady 'dandy' came up and hooked her arms gently around each man's elbows and smiled, "Care for a quick drink boys? On me of course..."

The refined woman smoothed her hands down their elbows and released her hook on them. She then went back to her seat at the bar to pick up her purse. Then she realized something, her sliver and jade earings she was wearing were gone. Someone stole them in all the commotion. Right off of her own ears! A mortified look glazed over her face and her sibiling knew something was a miss.

"Val what's wrong, sugar?" Enos asked his sister.

"My jade earings are gone. Wild Bill gave'em to me hisself!" She hissed slightly. She didn't mean to but the thought of someone taking them right from her ears without her knowing caused her to feel violated and embarrassed.

(cue anyone)

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...Brian figured wrong. Cause if the caviler attitude agitated Chance, the condescending one down right enraged her. The bartender had just set the whiskey glass on the counter when suddenly there was a crack of leather and the glass seemed to explode where it sat. And then the only movement was the whip settling back down by Chance's feet. To Brian, she only raised an eyebrow as she recoiled it then turned on her booted heel and stormed out of the saloon.

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"GAH!" Brian flinched as the shotglass was splintered by the cracking whip. A small splash of whiskey fell back down to the bar.

Stunned, he watched the lady gambler coil her whip and stalk out of the saloon. Recoving his wit at that moment, he yelled after her. "HEY! Go git a job as a mule skinner!"

Grumbling, Brian turned back to the bar, feeling annoyed and humiliated. "Tart," he muttered, and it was not a pastry order. He glanced to the blonde drifter who'd sat and watched the whole thing. "I'm tellin' ya, man. There's all kindsa women in this world. You got this fine lady over heah -" He nodded towards the kind lady who'd brought the drinks - "And then ya got hellacious she-devils like that gamblin' woman. Wouldn't surprise me if she was the one who made off with those missin' earrings. "

Brian paused as a barmaid came up and wiped down the bar, and poured him a fresh shot of whiskey. He spoke again to the drifter. "I ain't sure we seen the last o' that whip-wench either. Somethin' tells me she'll be hangin' around like a lonely cat, yowlin' at the door...."

(cue anybody! )

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Alex nodded in agreement as he took the shot glass and downed the amber liquid in one gulp.

“I wouldn’t be surprised either if we saw Lady Gambler again, considering how friendly she was towards us.†He glanced at the bar maid and nodded, silently requesting another drink. Standing up a moment he touched his coat pocket and plunked down some coins on the bar.

“Here, you bought the first drink, the rest are on me.â€

All the commotion in the bar attracted yet another person to the already crowded room. Located in the back of the bar, a single door stood at the top of a set of wooden steps. The door opened with a creak and a pair of black lady's lace up shoes began to descend the steps. Everyone turned at the steady thumps and smiles broke out on the faces of the men present, while looks of disapproval shown on the women's faces.

The woman now sauntering across the bar had dark hair; all shiny and glossy, the brown, slightly curly locks cascaded down her chest and she brushed them over her shoulder. She approached the bar; the woman dressed from head to foot in deep red.

The satin dress wrapped around her accentuated her curves; the bodice tight enough to show off her shapely hips and slim waist; the top of it low cut enough to accentuate her ample charms, and the sleeveless style gave a full view of her bare shoulders and slender neck.

Spotting the blond man and the man in black, a smile came to her face as she went over to them.

"What's going on down here? You boys behaving yourselves?"

Min's hand came to rest gently on the dark man's arm, her fingers lightly stroking over the sleeve of his black cattlemen's coat. Her dark eyes looked directly into his face; they held a twinkle in them that spoke of more than professional interest.

"You look mighty thirsty Stranger...is there anything I can get you?" Her grin seemed to widen as her gaze traveled up and down the tall handsome man in black. She leaned closer to him, standing close enough for them to breathe in one another’s air.

"Anything at all?"

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Brian smiled wolfishly at the painted lady and gave a grin to the drifter. "As ah was sayin'," he chuckled, "....there's all kinds of women in this world. This heah, happens to be one of the kind I enjoy."

Brian put an arm around the flirting female. "Just tell me if ah can afford you, honey, 'cause you look like yer worth a lot of gold."

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"In that case, darlin'....money ain't no object," Brian answered with a wink. While the woman's arm was around his neck, he reached down and put two strong arms around her waist, hoisting over his shoulder.

He moved away from the bar, carrying the giggling saloon girl over his shoulder. He spun his body around so that he was walking backwards for a step, in order to mutter a confidential advisory to the blonde drifter.

"If she charges by the hour, ah'll be back down in about 10 minutes."

Grinning, Brian turned and marched towards the staircase with his prize. He had forgotten all else with the pleasant distraction....and therefore, had no idea of the impending events that would hit the saloon next...

(cue anybody!)

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The dark haired duke dressed in the rich chocolate colored chaps an the pair of tied down .45's drifted back to the round table towards the back of the room as the commotion had gone on. An now Chet Duke sat with a fresh glass of beer in front of him, his mismatched eyes fell over the room in a cold hard gaze over everyone.

He watched the black clad figure, herd his words faintly among so many other voice in the room, an he saw him carry the painted women away. Chet had drawn his gun when the sharp mouthed gambling women had fallen under attack, he would have soon shot the accusing man from the gambling table if it hadn’t been for the black clad figure and his blond side kick. But Chet rested the .45 back into its leather sheath an slouched back in the chair, comfortably on full alert, his guns loose in there holsters.

Chet rolled his eyes as the darkly dressed gun slinger carried the women away, it was one thing to enjoy a women’s company but another to let it interfere with business. Rule number one, don’t ever mix women an business together in one deal, big mistake. But it was the sure witted attitude of the black clad figure, an the edgy sway of the blond dude that had begun to curl Chet’s patience.

He had spent the last 6 months of his life roaming over the empty lands of GA avoiding this place an his family hopping that they would forget who he was and what he had done. All he needed on top of the problems was a couple of new gun slingers to set more of a load on the town. With new tough faces in town, people would be up to there necks in worry, especially with a couple of faces such as these.

A wave of jealousy washed over the young Duke, these new slingers might just push his name down to the bottom of the list and they would be titled as the better of the worst. Chet shook his head, it was too early to begin thinking about anything like that, his concentration returned to the people in the room around him, an his eyes landed on the blond haired figure. For now he would just watch and wait silently, if anything went down he would find out.

As long as him an his horses stayed hidden to all, everything would be alright, but what if.....what if these two other slingers discovered his stash of stolen racin’ horses from Atlanta...what then. Worst yet, three of the 9 stolen horses stood tied next to his own mount in the dark alley beside the Nest, if someone where to take a closer gander at them they might.....no....he pushed the thought out of his head and stared hard at the blond haired stranger.

He made a silent promise to himself, if something went down in the Nest when the black clad figure returned he would slip away, get his supplies and string of stolen hoss’s and begone before anyone could get whiff of his sent. He took a deep draw from his beer an slouched in his chair an began to count his patience while he waited for the black clad figure.

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Alex shook his head, laughing at the comment made by the man in black as he carried the beautiful woman away. He doubted very much the stranger would return in ten minutes, not the way he and the red dressed woman were looking at each other. Watching the black clad man disappear, Alex then cast a glance over his shoulder seeing that he had an admirer of his own. The kid from across the room watched him and he raised an eyebrow at the sudden interest.

"Something on your mind Kid?" He asked as he shifted in the stool towards him.

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