The saloon doors rattle behind Colter as he walks into the dimly lit room, the floorboards creaking beneath his shinin boots. His suit jacket is crisp at the edges, his shirt and trousers pressed to an edge, his waistcoat carrying a new pocketwatch. His twin Schofields are newly nickeled and twinkle in the lamplight as he struts into the room.
‘Lookin for a feller by the name of Ernl,’ he says to the barkeep.
The large man behind the bar, white shirt greyed with grease stains, snickers. ‘You sure you're after a feller?’
Colter frowns. ‘Supposed to be my new partner.’
The barkeep raises a doubtful eyebrow and points out a person at the other end of the bar. Colter ain’t sure if its a man or woman. Skinny, tall, and bald. A long black, tattered duster lies folded on the stool next to them. The person’s sleeves are rolled up and expose arms covered in dozens of dark, vicious tattoos. They wear a pair of small, round sunglasses. What’s left of their shirt is faded and dirty. Their trousers are scuffed almost as bad as their boots. Their skin is pale and their scalp is darkened by the stubble of shaved hair. They could be anywhere between thirty and fifty. On their hip they wear an old, but well kept, Colt Single-Action Army.
‘Ernl?’ Colter approaches.
The person looks at Colter from over their sunglasses. Takes a moment to register the well-dressed, eager young man before them.
The person sighs and finishes their drink, then picks up the folded duster, and starts across the room to the door.
Colter extends his hands in confusion. ‘Where you goin?’
The person, who Colter can only assume is Ernl, turns back at the saloon doors, ‘You want to get started or not?’
‘Now?’ says Colter. ‘You ain’t even said hello.’
‘Hello,’ says Ernl. ‘Now if it pleases your lordship…’ They indicate to the doors.
‘Just politeness,’ mutters Colter, following along.
‘Huh,’ muses Ernl. ‘You gonna ask the daemon for a “hello” an all?’
Paddy Dobson
18th December 2021