Stranger the Gun

The Stranger immediately didn't like the way that Billy One Eye looked at him with those eyes.

The Stranger didn't like to call the attention of anybody, but the fact that he didn't really say much didn't help. He couldn't really blame just that; he had a knack of going to troublesome places where he got into troublesome situations. This has been happening ever since he decided to go out on his quest. It was a sign telling him to go back home.

It has been two years of signs that it feels like he's more like a moth going to what he knows is a flame. More than a knack it was actually a habit.

It's okay, thought the Stranger, it helps keep me sharp.

Just remember, you can still die at any time, said a voice deeper within his mind.

Same for everyone else, he replies.

The Stranger was so used to getting out of sticky situations that he unconsciously sat as close as possible to windows. When someone says to "cover all the exits," they mean all the doors; no one really thinks of the windows at that time. And by "they" he means all the shitbag leaders of all the shittierbagged gangs he's had to deal with throughout the years.

Billy One Eyes was settling business somewhere else, probably bullying the Sheriff into leaving him and his gang alone for the night or nights they stayed here, while his goons went ahead and started the party up in the saloon. They probably came in and beat the shit out of any ass that didn't move out of the way immediately out of their tables. By the time the Stranger arrived, they had already taken the whole East side of the building, and it wasn't the most serene of places.

As the Stranger approached the building the gunshots of shotguns and pistols only got louder.

The Stranger got off his horse and started to tie it up to the post, and at that moment a prostitute flew out through a front window. "That'll teach you to say 'no, thank you' to me, bitch!" a voice called after her.

Fuckers are crazy, the Stranger thought, gotta be careful. He walked in through the entrance farthest away from the One Eye gang and avoided all eye contact with anybody, another survival instinct he had developed over the years. He just looked on straight to the table at the corner, right under a window and edging the bar. Cover and escape routes didn't really get any better than this; even if the bar was taken he had the window or if the window was blocked, for some reason, he had the hardwood counter for cover, which led straight to the exit he came in through.

Nobody, in any other state sat all the way in the back corner of any bar, at least not for the same reasons that the Stranger did. As soon as he set down on the corner One Eye shitbags instinctively looked over at him. Right on cue, thought the Stranger. After a minute or so of starting and murmuring, the gang looked away and settled back to whatever it was they were doing before.

All those eyes looking at him would've made him uneasy two years ago, when nobody had ever heard of a scarf-wearing cowboy so as to not see his face. The first time it happened it had been more north in Texas, where he used to live, when he initially set out on his quest. He had gone into a small bar and, as soon as he saw everybody turn towards his direction, he walked out at that same moment. Now, he would feel uneasy if nobody turned in his direction.

A young, blonde waitress approached him, "Can I get you anything?"

"A shot of tequila, please," The Stranger said in the lowest, deepest, and quietest voice he could as to disguise his young voice, but he always seemed to fail at it, like right now. He was looking around, avoiding to even glimpse at the waitress, but he could still feel her awkward stare. Not only would it be embarrassing if she asked him for his age, but also dangerous, with so many shitbags listening. They'd try to bully him, and he would have to kill them.