milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There is a clearing some distance away from the bar which gets set up occasionally as a shooting range. A short time before sunset, a cowboy walks out with a rifle slung over one shoulder and a bag over the other. He paces off a certain number of yards, from the 'line'. Thankfully there is a good sized stump at roughly the distance he wants to shoot.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out several empty soda cans he collected off tables in the Bar earlier, and lines them up in a row, and drops the bag with the spares at the base of the stump before he walks back to the line.

Doc makes sure to check all around the 'range', and jabs a stick with an orange flag in it a few yards in the direction of the bar, to help get people's attention. He'd rather not shoot anything other than the cans.

Soon enough, he's standing tall, sighting the rifle, and pulling the trigger.

The lever-action rifle is loud when it fires, so anyone nearby would have plenty of warning by the sound alone. Every six rounds, he takes a break to reload.

ooc: He is botherable but obviously, get his attention first before you stroll on up.

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The gun itself is impressive, from the glance he catches as it comes out of the holster, it's clean, but in this man's hands --

ping-click-ping-click-ping-click
ping-click-ping-click-ping-click

-- it's downright awe inspiring.

Doc watches with calm eyes and a hint of an awed smile. "Where'd you learn to shoot that fast, sir?"

Or how, but that's impossible to explain, in his eyes.

Gun's got a curse on it.

Lightly, "All over."

Ben reloads, his eyes never leaving Doc's, then holsters the pistol.

"Ben Wade, 1865."

His eyes snap from the pistol to the man's face.

They're sellin' those dime novels on the streets of New York City, but Doc doesn't need to buy them, or take them away from his boys when they try and sneak them into the classroom and huddle around at the break. He already knows the stories. And the characters.

"...responsible for over a million in losses to the Southern railroad...escaped Yuma prison...hell I can't remember how many times...fastest gun...the famous Ben Wade, 1865...holy-fuckin-shit."

Doc blinks.

Billy ain't gonna believe this.

Ben grins.

"A million, you say?"

A beat.

"Huh."

A slight head-tilt.

"Year you from, son?"

"1881."

Doc swallows a bit and nods his head, as he steps forward to offer Ben a hand.

"Josiah Gordon Scurlock," he says. "1881. New Mexico Territory."

He takes the hand and gives it a firm shake.

"Just outta Arizona, myself."

As he takes his hand back, he nods, almost to himself.

"A million. Just broke four hundred thousand, right now."

A beat as his grin widens.

"Got somethin' to look forward to, at least."

Doc grins.

"Couple more trains too, if I ain't mistaken."

Ben should know that kind of grin, the feel of that rough hand he's shaking. You only get those callouses from one sort of work -- leather and iron.

Doc takes a step back and then nods at the gun in the holster. "She's a nice piece," he adds, before he returns to the stump and sets up another six cans.

But he doesn't grab the rifle when he's back at the line, instead he draws the six from his hip in a smooth motion and fires. Six shots, six cans, though it's not as fast as Wade by a mile.

He accepts the compliment with a slight nod, and studies Doc more closely as Doc steps back to shoot.

"Right smart shootin'."

He eyes Doc's pistol.

"Right smart gun, too."

A beat.

"Could work on your speed if you juggle. Ever tried it?"

It's a 1865 Colt Single Action Army. Fourty-five caliber. For Ben's time, it's the hot new piece. For Doc's, it might be a little outdated, but he's had it since he was ridin' with the Dirty Underwear Gang out of Liberty and well, it's his gun and a man's gun is like his lady. You just don't wanna give her up.

Doc raises an eyebrow at the comment, as he reloads.

"Can't say I have."

"Started jugglin' apples as a kid."

A one-shouldered shrug.

"Sounds kinda silly, maybe -- "

Ben lifts his pistol clear of his holster, spins it in his hand.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The blur of iron stops abruptly as he slides it back in place.

" -- but it ain't. Keeps your hands quick."

"...huh."

Doc's impressed.

"Sounds like somethin' that might help, when you get t'thinkin'," he admits. "And t'be honest, I could use t'have faster hands. Ain't quite as quick as Billy is on the draw."

And with what's outside that door...

A short nod.

Offhandedly, "Get yourself some apples from Miss Bar sometime. Can show you how to do it, if you want."

A beat.

"Got a gun-slingin' friend, then?"

"Got a whole gang of 'em," Doc quips. "Course, Henry ain't very fast and Chavez would rather use knives, and Tommy's just a..."

Doc catches the slip a half second too late and something's behind his eyes that wasn't there before.

A heartbeat, maybe two.

"And Dave, well. He's just too damn cocky for his own ruttin' good."

Doc idly draws the pistol from the holster at his hip and spins it on one finger, watching the iron flash (it's dull, the metal worn from use) in the low light.

"But Billy...now Billy's just got style. Hate to admit it, cause he's fuckin' crazy," he adds. "But he's quick."

A look up at Ben.

"And I'd appreciate that -- thank you, sir."

"A gang?"

A wry smile.

"Right gang can raise a whole mess'a trouble. The fun kind."

Mostly.

He catches the flash in Doc's eyes, but doesn't comment.

"Ain't a worry. Don't go givin' out my secret, though."

Smirk.

"Billy, he famous or infamous?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir." Doc says seriously, before he thinks on Billy.

"Well," and still spinning that gun in his hand, slowly. "He's got more legends 'round him than some of the damn Indians I know and people like him. So I guess you could say a bit of both, if you figure in what the bounty on us is hoverin' 'bout right now."

He doesn't feel bad admitting that to Ben, he's not sure why, but Wade isn't likely the type to go tell. Plus, Milliways, you can't hold grudges and no outside business.

"They write 'bout him in those damn ten-cent books," he offers.

"Christ, son, people like me and I'm rotten as hell," Ben chortles. "Got them dime novels to back it up, too."

A small shake of his head.

"Never do get their goddamn facts straight."

He quirks an eyebrow at Doc at the mention of bounty.

"Kinda price you got on your head?"

"Papers can't keep anythin' straight either."

Giving Billy credit for the men Doc killed, for starters. That makes him annoyed and he's not sure why. Maybe if he's going to get roped into being a dangerous outlaw he'd like the actual credit where due. Who knows.

The gun goes back in the holster.

"Well it was five-hundred."

A beat.

"...'fore we got the Cavalry Regiment brought down from Fort Sumner, last year."

"Whole regiment?"

That's approval in Ben's voice.

And eyes.

"Yessir."

Doc might be smiling, just a bit, as he looks out at the horizon. "Course it didn't end well, but we got ourselves back together and we're tryin' to get rid of the last of 'em, now that we've got a new gang."

Nevermind Tommy's dead.

Nevermind Doc's next.

"We're gonna show those bastards -- Sheriff Garrett, he used to be one of our boys and then he took the money to start up a posse -- they ain't gonna take us down and we ain't gonna stop raisin' hell 'till we set things right."

A new gang.

Something Ben's got to look into when he gets back to Arizona.

His expression darkens at Doc's next words, and shakes his head.

"Turned on you and got a posse together?"

Ben hates posses.

Just like Charlie.

His voice is hard, harder than he intends, when he looks straight at Doc.

"You give 'em hell and then some."

Took himself that money and gathered up them shooters and snipers and that damn newspaper man to spin the story in his favor.

Shot Tommy.

He was just a fuckin' kid.

Doc nods and keeps his eyes on Wade's. He doesn't flinch. Most men probably would.

"Yes, sir."

After Ben returns to the bar, Doc spends the last hour of twilight putting bullets into tin soda cans, and later, he'll ask bar for a few apples before he heads up to his room.

You give 'em hell and then some.

Yes, sir.

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