Train Station Bloodshed, Open

[Billy Thompson]

The gunshots rang out through town, if it wasn't one shoot out it was another. This time it was coming from the train station and it didn't involve a whole hell of a lot of people. One person it did involve however, was William Thompson, or Billy as some people in the town called him. He had made himself cozy within the town the last few months, never really riled up any trouble at all. His status as a Marshall was still in question too.

The gunshots went off as Billy shot one man out of the window inside the passenger car, then another and another. The last two filled the windows with bullets and everything went quiet for a few minutes. No doubt it would bring in people wandering what the hell was going on. One of the men entered into the car and another shot rang out. He went flying back as he hit the dirt and rolled over. Billy emerged and fired one last shot, killing the last man that had been shooting with him.

Standing among the dead bodies, Billy cocked back for one last shot in case he needed it before realizing it was all over. He took a deep sigh of relief as he looked at the carnage that had ensued minutes before.

"Aw Hell..."

Those were the words that came from his breath when he realized a train car had been shot up and bodied needed to be taken care of. If there was one thing he hated it was dealing with the dead bodies, especially these. They belonged to Deadshot, hired cronies Davis probably sent into town to look for someone before reporting back. Unfortunately for them, they ran into Thompson first and being a Federal Agent, he knew full well each one had a price on there head. Wanted criminals Deadshot himself probably would have killed once the job was done.

Standing amidst the carnage, Thompson knelt down to check through the pockets of one man when he realized he wasn't alone, the person appearing out of silence while Billy's eyes slowly went up to find....

TBC: Anyone

[Benjamin Dover]

...a tall fellow, blanketed in shadow by his block of the sun. There he stood, quiet, motionless...tired. And those old blues traveled the lines of carnage where fresh blood soaked the sand. All dead. But why not? Such was the law of the land under the Godless principles of humanity being humanity. Pastor Benjamin Dover stared for a long moment, though not in condemnation. No. He'd spotted it all from inside the station where he'd been waiting to help an elderly parishioner, soon arriving. The first shots rang out and there went the Pastor...straight for the sound while the others around him ducked and dove in immediate reaction. A mother had been standing on the deck with the babe, just outside. And it was to her he raced, shielding the two upon the ground with his body 'til all was soon silent. Rising, then, there came a certain tell of something faintly familiar...a dull throbbing ache. Damn it. The old Padre looked over to spot his shoulder, which had been clipped by an errant bullet. Not too bad, but the slow soak of crimson was enough to warrant some eventual needle-work. Gaze traveled back to the train and the gent knelt down and picking past the bodies. Yeah, he'd get to it...later. There were more important matters at the moment.

Ben picked his way over in a slow jaunt through the horrific scene, hand at the hit muscle...

And there he stood.

"Alright..." Came his gravely tone. "You made the mess...you can help me clean it up."

Down the old pastor stooped, beckoning back the light's invasion over that injured shoulder to play upon the evidence of his occupation, the white collar. Down he went to a knee, near the lone survivor of the gunfight, and up a smaller man was scooped into strong arms. Ben slung the limp thing over his good shoulder, grimace and grunts not withheld and then a nod was thrown to a stray cart, some twenty feet off.

"Over there. Stack 'em outta sight and I'll have 'em taken care of..."

[Billy Thompson]

Watching the pastor come off the station boardwalk to the carnage and stand over him, Billy didn't move a muscle, only glanced back down at the body he was knelt over. Checking through the pockets of the dead man who was actually not a pretty sight before the whole gunfight erupted. Thompson himself saw the men coming off the train and immediately recognized a few of them, wanted for robbery and or murder. Being a Marshall of sorts, William saw fit to stop them before they even set foot into the town; unfortunately, the men were more endowed to start a fight with bullets than turn and get back on the train.

William approached the men, told them to leave the made a point to pull his overcoat back slightly to reveal one of the guns on his hip. Needless to say it didn't work and look what happened. Usually men would turn away, less they wanted to end up with the risk of getting themselves killed. These men, well the nature they come from was the exact opposite, they didn't mind the risk of death.

"You been in town a few months Benjamin, outta know I start a fight I'll clean the mess...Half expected the Sheriff or even the deputy to come running, not you."

He smiled to himself and let out a huff of a chuckle just loud enough to be in Dover's ear. For a pastor the man did have some balls, balls to be stepping in harms way if a stray bullet went array. This time it just so came to happen and Benjamin was struck over the shoulder,. not bad, but enough to start bleeding.

William's eyes narrowed, when he spoke up his eyes were still on the dead body he was searching. The narrowing eyes seemed to spot something as his hand went up slowly and pulled the collar down on the dead mans shirt. He let out a sigh, one that told you he should have known he'd find what he saw. On the man's chest, a small bullseye branded to his peck, seared black, it looked fresh.

"These men work for the Davis gang, should have guessed..."

He pushed himself up and flung the blood off his hand that got on it from the bullet wound near the bullseye, ironic wasn't it...he was almost hit right in the branding? Anyone who had been in town the last few months knew about Deadshot Davis, or heard about the bloodshed he brought the last time he was in town. A lawless Bounty Hunter with a bounty on his own head of all things. Davis always rode with new men, most the time the ones he was with were one's he'd kill or turn in soon after.

[Benjamin Dover]

"Davis..." The muttered name came quiet and reflective to the old pastor's lips. 'Deadshot,' from his reckoning. Yeah. Old Ben knew and had known something of the war Deadshot Davis brought with him: greed and too much of it. There'd no doubt be more souless bodies laid out upon the ground before that man's day came. So it was, the padre answered with a lone, simple nod. Life was life. Death was death. And to a realist like Benjamin Dover, there was nothing more to it than acceptance and the prayer that whatever incidents might come, the innocent might be spared. His eyes traveled back a moment to where the mother with her child stood, now safe inside the station.

"He," speaking of Deadshot, "got something against you?"

It wasn't often the pastor's will nor want to pry into matters, unlike most of his profession, but something in the reality of the situation beckoned a need to know. Call it a shepherd's instincts. If there was a wolf out there on the outskirts, it was Ben's duty to keep eyes sharp and alert and to know the hunters around town.

[Billy Thompson]

Against him, no. Billy knew the man it was true and they had somewhat of a history but it was only by association. Nop, whatever Davis wanted here in town had nothing to do with William, William just happened to still be in Buffalo Creek Bay and wearing a Federal Badge. Consider it his duty to make sure Dan didn't cause anymore bloodshed to innocent people here in town. Thankfully the only bloodshed that came was that of Deadshot's own hired guns. Kneeling back down he flung the dead body over his shoulder, carrying it over where Benjamin had dropped his, three more to go. He sighed, leaning on the small wagon they were being put on as he stared at them both.

"Not me, no...But then that leaves the question why he sent his goons into town."

There was a short pause before Billy turned and headed for another, kneeling back down as he removed his hat, ran a hand through his hair and placed it back on his head. Up the body went back over his shoulder and down it came with the other two when he made it back over to Benjamin.

"Aussie Auggie...Only man I ever seen ride with Davis more than once."

Auggie of course was from Australia, a dangerous blonde haired man with a few wrinkles on his face. Probably near fifty or sixty but a psycho path nonetheless. He was known for carrying a large hunting knife, he preferred launching it through the air as opposed to guns for some reason.

[Benjamin Dover]

Down went another fella onto the stack and once Billy had returned with his newest lifeless charge, the old pastor's gaze settled the long moment there upon the sightless wide stare of the named man. Aussie Auggie. Fingertips raised to touch thereupon the raised lips and bring them home to their perpetual close. True enough, these men were obviously out for a fight. True, they were probably the sort better off out of the world and away from the innocents, like that ma'am and babe. But something in age had tempered old Ben's afore-ease in the lack of care for anyone who looked like they might be better off with a bullet to the brain. Conviction of the Spirit? Perhaps. But also the conviction of reality in that each of these men had their own story...had their circumstances and reasons for how they'd come to be what they were. And though nothing could excuse an evil soul, the fact remained these were unique and individual stories, all come to their end. Ben's eyes shut. Head bowed a moment. He lifted a prayer for the family of Aussie Auggie, whomever they may be...a father and mother? Maybe a wife? Kids?...whomever it was, if any, received a quiet old padre's quiet prayer.

And then those sharp blues opened and traveled to regard the lone man still standing with a certain perceptive edge...understanding. These men were dead by choice of their own. Billy did what needed to be done.

"Come along," A nod was given across the way towards the back of the Saloon. There were others already out and about helping to clean things up. And one in particular who motioned he'd be handling the cart. "Let me buy you a drink and you can tell me what you know of this man who's inviting trouble like this into town." And his hard gaze fell back to the stacked bodies.

As for the wound at his shoulder?

Ben glanced at it and the hand that hadn't left the bleeding.

"Besides...Doc's out on a call, today. And I know a gal there who's a wiz with the needle."

[Billy Thompson]

A drink, or two, or three...that sounded good right about now, Benjamin wanted to know more about Davis then he'd get an earful. It was a few years ago he and some others were at odds with the man because of there unlawfulness. Unaware that a few years down the line, Davis would be breathing down there necks left and right. A drink...William grabbed his jacket from the ground, patted the dust out of it before flinging it over his shoulders and arms through the sleeves. He flipped the collar up to adjust it then his hat once more for a moment.

"A drink, I could use one of those right about now."

He tweaked his shoulder for a moment then look to his hand, how did he miss it, skin had been taken off the side of it, probably from a bullet he had caught as well. No worries, he'd had worse wounds before and would probably end up with another worse than this sometime down the line. He tore some cloth off a dead body and wrapped his hand up, biting it to help his other hand tie a knot in the cloth. He moved his fingers a bit, just to make sure it wasn't too tight and cutting off his circulation.

"Could have been worse."

Much worse, with all the bullets that had been flying William could have just as easily ended up on of these bodies had he been standing anywhere else. Fortunatly, his cover and his shot were better than these unlucky bastards and he was gonna walk away and have himself a few drinks, and let Dover hear a few stories.