• The wind whipped through the bar making the cracks in the windows whistle. The bar had many people in it,mostly men and a few women. They were spread out here and there across the saloon. The few women hovering around the more cleaner and powerful men. While the others,meaning the men, sat around at tables with cards, or drinks. Their guns lay nestled in there beds of leather holsters, the six chambers of the revolvers loaded ready to fire at any moment. The bar had a dusty old baby grand piano in the far left hand corner of the square building. No one was playing it of course it was mainly there for decoration. The bartender; the owner was cleaning and wiping away the dust that settled on his glasses over the hours, patiently waiting for his next customer to order his drink. The only noise you could hear were the murmurs around the bar and the occasional laugh from the men whose shoulders had women resting on them. The bar then suddenly went silent. The men all heard it. The women did not of course because the men were trained and honed to the sound of a gun firing.

    One of the women who was talking to a man who wore a red bandanna around his sleeve was slapped, because she kept talking when he held up his hand for her to stop. The mens eyes looked around at each other, questioning each other only with there eyes. There eyes all grew larger as another shot was fired, and another. This time from a different gun. The second gun fired three shots before the first gun fired its fourth. The shot was closer to the bar and then even the women now could hear it. The men in the bar were stirring unsettled. They all heard it then, scrambled footsteps headed for the swinging gates of the bar. They all saw it, a man who was damp with sweat around his arms and chest and brow tripped into the bar landing on his face, his terrified face mind you. His eyes wide and wild. looking for an escape. He stood up then but fell to the ground twisting his ankle in his leather boots. All this commission, all of this sound muted out the sound of this mans pursuer who was now standing at the bars gates. The men in the bar could not see his face but they could make out everything else. He was wearing a long black duster jacket. Torn up black jeans with patches sewn into them. His shirt was a dark grey , un-tucked and wrinkled. His boots were a black leather as well as his duster. The spurs on his boots were still spinning from his strides. His hat was a black leather that looked almost sun faded, and cracked slightly running through the old cow skin. He had a loose red scarf around his neck, that was torn and shredded at its edges.

    One of the more peculiar things about the man was he was wearing a new style tie, around his neck, it was red like the scarf and its noose was slightly loosened. He wore black finger less leather gloves, that were down to his holster which held two silver revolvers with black wooden handles. The other odd thing about the man was that at his side were two curved pieces of wood at his side, both had a section of the curved pieces had cloth wrapped around it, where his hands presumingly were to be placed. and at the end of this were round steel disks. This was the man that fired the first shot. He stepped forward, to the man who was on the ground staring at the black clad figure in the doorway stepping forward. The sweaty wild man on the floor was scuttling back to the bar and bartender who had set his rag and glass down and had his revolver in hand under the counter waiting. The black figure stood in front of the man on the ground then. The setting sun and purple sky were behind him giving him a glow of uncertainty. This was when the man on the ground drew a small 4 millimeter from his left boot and aimed it at the standing man before him. There was motion from the standing man.

    A sound of steel sliding and then connecting with steel again. The man on the floor screamed,"Why can't I fire! Why cant I shoot!" He looked up at the black clad figure. His answer came when the gentleman with the black hat and red tie, simply outstretched his hand and flicked the gun from the the sweating man. This caused an unbalance for the mans hand. The gun was the on thing that actually made it look like his hand was still attached to his body, when the gun fell to the ground, his hand fell with it. Blood pumped out of the man for arm from his severed wrist, screams filled the bar from the women and the man on the ground holding his wrist with his other hand. The bartender pulled out his gun and pointed it at the man in black, only to be met with a silver revolver and a dark black hole in front of him. The man finally uttered a few words," I just want his head. I suggest you put your gun down before you find your self missing not a hand but a skull." He then saw the bartender put down his gun very fast and then then Black figure put his gun away as well. Then he bent down and grabbed the handless man by the back of his shirt and dragged him out of the bar and then out onto the street. Setting him on his knees he said to the man,"I'll give you time to make mends with God." The man looked up and prayed. Looking at the sky he saw a black crow fly over head.

    The man in black moved his hands to the long stick. He them pulled the cloth part and with it came a curved thin blade, that shone red in the evening sky, which then he swung down and across with a swift motion. Through the praying mans neck. The mans arms dropped to his side and his head fell off his shoulders, rolling down his back to the dirt below. The black clad figure side stepped the head less torso that fell to the dirt as well. The man took of his scarf cleaned his blade and then slid it back into its sheath. Reaching down he grabbed the head. and wrapped it up in his scarf and walked back into the bar casually. He then sat down at the bar, dropping the head on the floor beside him, on its jaw and neck line so it didn't roll. The women fled the bar screaming at the top of there lungs. The bartender's face was red with fury, slamming his hands on his bar he looked at the Black figure. "Why the hell did you kill him for!"

    The black suited man took off his hat then reveling himself, he had silver hair of an old man but the face of a man in his late twenty's, he had scruff along his jaw line and under his nose from days with out shaving. He wore black framed square glasses that were tinted black as well. He took those off as well. He looked at the bartender, his eyes were violet-blue, the same as the setting suns painted sky. " Well first of all Sir, it is my job to kill him. Secondly, you would not have wanted him alive anyway." He spoke with a rumble in his voice, deep and strong.

    "Oh and why would I want that then eh?" the bartender spoke with an Irish accent, O'Smith was his name and so was his bar.

    The violet eyed man pulled out a small poster from his jacket and handed it to the bartender. "I've been tracking 'Barry Witherson' for over a month now. He is wanted by the state of Utah, for the chargers of 12 murders, 3 of them were small children and the other 9 were virgins he raped of there virginity and then slaughtered them after he was done with them. Do you want me to tell you what he did to the children? By the way I would like a glass of Rum. If you please?"

    The bartender looked at the paper, it was a wanted poster for the man who was beheaded, but the picture of the man was scary, evil looking unlike the man who was scrambling in fear just now. He grabbed the glass he was cleaning and set it down in front of the stranger, grabbing his bottle of Rum he poured it into the glass and then set the bottle back. "Whats your name stranger?"

    "It's Drake Draga`r" he said as he grabbed the glass and tipped it down into his throat and swallowed it.