Buddy and Greg hid behind the long heavy curtains framing the picture window in the parlor. Most of the banditos took their pick of the prostitutes and went up the stair to their rooms, but 3 men and 2 prostitutes came into the parlor!!
As 2 of the men made moves on the ladies, and the third man sat on the comfortable chair next to the sofa, all near the window, Buddy and Greg made their moves too. Buddy jerked the heavy curtain down like a shroud over the lone loser in the chair, while he and Greg then leaped over the sofa and throttled the unsuspecting Romeos.
When the third man had clawed his way free from the curtain cover, he was quickly met with Buddy's fists of fury. The prostitutes just watched the display, almost bored, as though this sort of thing was routine...
"Take off your stockings!" Buddy demanded, then added. "If you please..." he dipped into the bandit's pockets and pulled out some cash bills, paying the ladies for their time and troubles. Buddy collected his guy's long coat, hat and bandanna, then Buddy and Greg bound and gagged the trio of troublemakers, using fishnet stockings from the prostitutes.
Buddy, Greg and the prostitutes quickly dragged the unconscious crew into the ice house in the hotel kitchen, and Buddy slipped into the bandit's coat and hat. He was sure he wouldn't fool anyone who really knew the man, but he was also hoping he wouldn't get that close to any of the rest of the blue bandanna Scorpion bandits...
Catori directed Chapa towards her village then sent her into a gallop.
Catori knew she was risking her life and that Buddy would be mad, but she needed to know if her tribe survived. It was a long ride and Catori had to make a few stops along the way ut they soon came up to the tribe. Tears stung Catori's face as she slid off of Chapa's back.
She walked up to what had been her family's tent. All that remained was ring. . .she immediately recognized it as her father's. Picking it up out of the ash, she examened the damage. It was perfect! Only a little scorched. Carefully Catori slid the ring on her finger. Nothing could be worse than what she was seeing.
Buddy told Greg to stay in the hotel and keep an eye on Catori's room, and try to find out any more details about what these bandits were up to.
"I'll be back in a few minutes.." Buddy promised. "There's just something I have to take care of, before... well, before anything else goes wrong..." he left Greg at the hotel, pulled the blue bandanna over his face, to conceal his identity, and ran out of the lobby...
Catori sighed. She could see the remains off the village. There were half burnt corpses everywhere. The white ones stood out against the black ashes. There were some burnt fabric of tents and clothes here and there. Catori walked over to A skeleton. It was a wolf's. She fell to her knees and began to cry.
In one day, Catori had lost everything she had known her whole life. She lost her mother, her father, her rothers, and Chayton. She lost her home. The only home she had ever known. She has even lost her father's people. . .her friends.
What was she going to do now? She had no home and no family. Most important, she had no where to live. Catori's thoughts found themselves focusing on Buddy. Maye he could help! He had been so kind. He loved her, and she loved him. Surely he would help.
Just then catori heard a voice. It snapped her from her thoughts. Miko? she wondered.
"Show yourself!" came the command again.
Catori ran in the direction of the voice. She skidded to a hault at the end of the camp. Her eyes widened. To her horror it wasn't Miko or Buddy. It was Jericho!
"Hmmmm... the Savage Renegade!" Jericho scowled and growled. "Where there's one, the rest won't be far behind..." he turned to the few men who remained with him after the cleansing of the Comanche village. "FAN OUT! SEARCH THE TENTS AGAIN! Bring me the head of Buddy Reno!!"
then he turned back to Catori, and rode up to her, towering over her on his huge horse. With a wide swipe of his arm, he connected with the back of Catori's head, the butt of his rifle thumping hard against her skull. She tried to dodge and duck, but in her feverish weakened state, she moved just too slow, and was clubbed into darkness...
As Greg approaches at the Sheriff's Office, he is shocked and stunned and surprised; shocked to see Sheriff Sanders lying dead on the floor, shot in the back, stunned that the holding cell has been busted open, and surprised to find a blue bandanna bandito still hovering over the dead law-man's body.
The bandit jerks the sheriff's silver star badge from the corpse's vest, and that's just about all the indecent injustice-- and all the time-- Greg needs to draw down and fire a shot into the backside of the crouching bandit.
BANG! BANG! -you shot me down...-
BANG! BANG! -I hit the ground-
Fortunately, there was really only ONE BANG! as Greg was being careful and quiet as possible given the situation...
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"Unfortunately, it WAS ME!!! who he had shot down, the low-down dirty snake varmint!!" Buddy growled, snarling at Old Greg, while the kids all squealed and giggled with glee over the exciting adventure story...
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"Buddy?" Greg gasped, realizing what he had done, too late to do anything about it...
"Son of a b!tch!" Buddy groaned, falling to his knees, then to his stomach, seething and sucking up the horrific pain in his haunches.
"You shot me... I can't believe you shot me in my a$$..."
😄 there it is folks, all coming around, now... 😱 🙄 😆
Matt DeClave rode into town, his loose leather trenchcoat resting across his horse. his brown hat was pulled forward shading his eyes from the blistering sun. Uncommonly for a lone traveller there was no holster on his hip, although a rifle hung from his saddle bag. He rode with an easy pose, letting himself flow with the movement of his horse.
Thinking back over the telegram he had recieved from Mr Cavendish, he remembered the instruction to make acquaintance with the sherrif, before embarking on his hunt. Although it wasn't obvious, Matt had three pistols with him. One was in a shoulder holster well concealed under his coat, which he could draw at least as fast as a hip holster. The second was in a specially designed compatment under his saddle, and was hardly ever used. his third and final pistol, a colt, was in his saddlebags along with his hipe holster and duelling belt.
He rode over to the sheriffs and tethered his horse, dismounting slowly while looking around when he heard a shot from inside, just stopping himself from pulling his gun. Quickly and quietly he walked inside, his boots treading lightly on the boardwalk. He pulled a knife fom his boot, concealing it in his hand as he walked inside.
Old Greg smiled at Buddy. "Yeah, well, it didn't help that you looked like one of the bandits. If i had shot you in the head I would have been in the right. You should tell me when you're gonna wonder around in the enemies bandana."
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Greg almost wanted to laugh, but kept it in, and smiled. "Oh my God! Buddy, I swear I thought you were one of them."
"That's understandable, given the situation, pardner." Buddy moaned, rolling onto his side, with his sore cheek off the ground. "I was just thinking... before I was shot, that is... how unjust and unfair it was for the sheriff to go out like that, shot in the back, never knowing it was coming, never seeing the face of his assassin...
I know it's not exactly legal and right and official, but, until this killer or killers is brought to justice, I'm taking on the role of sheriff here in New Hope!
But, since I just been shot in the most awkward and uncomfortable place imaginable, I'm going to need some deputies to do the leg-work on this, until I can get back on my feet. And, since I'm law-dog now, and since YOU are the one who shot me, I'll be more than fair and give you the choice: be my deputy, round up this killer, or rot in jail until I can hang ya!"
Buddy managed a half-cocked smile as he leaned up on his elbow and stared up at Greg, awaiting a response. "If you don't want the job, I could always ask the Vaquero... if I ever see him again... where is Luis any way? out back doing strange sexual things with his horse again?"
Elsewhere...
In some small, run-down hole-in-the-wall saloon, inhabited by several greasy nasty drunken Mexicans, a finely-dressed proper-looking man strolls in, but all eyes dart immediately to his beautiful Mexican companion, her brown skin glowing from the heat of the day, her big brown eyes sparkling, with a hint of sadness, as the man leads her along to the corner table, orders a shot of whiskey for himself and a glass of water for the lady, then excuses himself to go to the bar.
Minutes later, a man approaches the bar from the shadows, and nods to the well-to-do man.
"What did you find out?" the wealthy man asked, sliding an envelope across the bar toward the man.
"He's still in Texas.." the greasy-Mexican informant muttered, making a move for the envelope. The rich man swatted the Mexican's hand hard, holding fast to the envelope on the bar.
"Where?!" he demanded. "I am paying you too much for so little! All I ask is details!"
"New Hope, mostly.." the Mexican whimpered. "Near Abilene... and... and... he's made some friends... a black man, a savage girl, and even a few gringos!"
"Hmmm..." the wealthy white man took a moment to consider, releasing his hold on the Mexican and the envelope, and glancing away from the bar at his beautiful senorita across the way. "Luis Pasilla, passing himself off as anything but disreputable... making friends, and making a stake for himself, is he? all the more for me to TAKE FROM HIM, I think..."
he left the greaser at the bar and strolled confidently back to his lady love at the table.
"We're going on a trip, dear..." he announced. "Across the border, to Texas.. time to show you the white man's frontier, before it's gone away..." he lied, so well
"... to New Hope!" he toasted, tossing back the shot of whiskey he had ordered, thinking to himself, 'and to the end of Luis Pasillas!'
Buddy gasped, and tried to look butch and macho while also trying to keep his wounded haunches off the rough hard floor, while waving off the incoming stranger.
"Hold it, hold it... settle down, Stranger..." Buddy soothed in a calm steady tone. "The man you are about to kill was about to be my deputy, though I'm not exactly the sheriff of this fine town...
Sheriff Sanders is the dead man on the floor here, next to me-- whoa! whoa!" Buddy saw the man tense up at the mention of the murder of the real sheriff. "Now, don't get the wrong impression here! WE didn't do any of this killin'...
In fact, we're just about to make a pact to start hunting those who killed the good sheriff! Men about town, all sporting the likes of these!"
he held up the Scorpion-stained blue bandanna and continued to keep his arms as upraised and away from his guns as he could, while sprawled on the floor.
"Name's Buddy... Buddy Reno... and that there young man with his neck on the line is Greg Dobson, in case he don't get a chance to speak his piece before you finish him and make a move on me..."
it was still a tense moment while Buddy and Greg waited and hoped the dark mysterious stranger hadn't come from anywhere near Abilene, nor heard of the price on the heads of all Reno's Renegades... it could go either way at this point, and Buddy wasn't exactly impressed with his chances...
Buddy nodded slowly once or twice, but then replied. "Well, he's still warm, but not for long, with all the blood that's trickling out of him..." he looked at poor dead Sheriff Sanders and frowned.
"So, technically, there's your sheriff, if you've come looking for him...
If you've come to talk to him or deal or play cards with the man who keeps the peace around here, well, then, starting as of now, that man would be me, I reckon...
You got the drop, sure, Stranger, and you might take ol' Greg with ya, but I guaran-dam-tee my Mexican friend Luis will gut ya or my African pal Nat will blast ya with his shotgun before you move 2 steps toward me..." Buddy glanced past the Stranger in the entry and out beyond the doorway, with a simple nod. "Easy now fellas... it don't have to get any more bloody than it already is..."
"It's your call, Stranger..." he looked back from where 'Luis' and 'Nat' might stand in the door, locking eyes (or at least thereabouts where eyes would be behind the shadowy brim of his hat) with the knife-wielding maniac Stranger.
"I didn't hear no footsteps." Matt suddenly pushed Grag forward, pulling his gun in a fluid motion. "Don't follow me." He walked out, moving his horse quickly, and taking off his hat and coat, making himself unrecognisable. As he walked into the hotel he booked himself a room before heading to the saloon.
(Coming, Buddy?)