The man who conducted the stage coach was dressed in black right down to his cloak. You might not have caught this if it wasn't for the bandages that completely obscured his face and neck. He tugged at the horse leashes and yelled for them to stop when they came to a narrow alleyway right past the Geordie's General store. He now bellowed at the beasts by name and the whole mass of wood, iron, flesh and bone groaned to the left and disappeared down the alley.
A store owner with a thick mustache stood outside a slim opening on the side of the building. The conductor of the coach slapped the reins. Horse grunts and wheels stopping. Dust. The bandaged man stepped down. He walked over to the back of the buggy with keys in hand and unlocked a small door. He took out a trunk the size of a whiskey barrel and set it in front of the store owner. Mr. Mustache opened the case and examined the bottles. He nodded and gave the bandaged man a thick envelope. Bills were counted twice. All there. See you in six weeks.
The store owner slammed the metal door shut behind him. The faceless conductor walked around the coach but before he could step up to his seat he saw a grim figure in his way. A grim figure with a shiny gun pointed right at him. The conductor heard some steps behind him. Two more trigger happy men.
What you want? The gunmen didn't answer. They sure did smile though. Their boots gave them away as gold digger. Well, ex-gold diggers. Losers. Couldn't cut the sifting life so they went straight for the snatch and grab.
The one with the polished gun spoke. What we want, you got. What you got, you need. A man don't need nothin if he wearin nothin but holes.
Idiots. Put those shooters away. You can have whatever you want.
Hmmm. Don't reckon you gonna walk out of this one.
The inference was made. Three shots were fired. Smoke crept up out of the conductors cloak. He was standing, the others were not. He put his guns back in their holsters. There was still something wrong. These sorry excuses for shit weren't too bright. How did they know about what he was carrying?
The conductor was of a keen intellect. His shooting skills, however, won out in the speed category. Had it been reversed he would've been long gone, or at least not in the spot of the anvil that brought death from above.
The brute on the roof ran down stairs and out to the alley way. A gorilla of a man he was. And faster than whore out for wallet. He jumped over the two gold diggers. He reached down and pulled off the conductor's boots and pants. There it was. One of his legs had been cut off at the knee. The rest of it was wood and leather straps. The gorilla brute sliced off the straps and removed the wooden appendage. A strange bounty to be sure but that's what he had been paid to acquire.
He had also been asked to keep things quiet and clean. That hadn't worked out that well, but there was always a way to polish things just so. He put the anvil and the four bodies in the coach. After riding a fair bit into the desert under night's cover he let one horse go free and held on to the other for himself. A bit of kerosene, a match and kicking the rock out from under the wheel made for a roaring fireball that crept down the hilly road like a train car that had just come outta hell.
