Raggedy Emmet laid a hand on the stranger’s shoulder, ‘You look new around here, stranger,’ he said, ‘We allow visitors but they must sign the town registry.’ The stranger turned while Raggedy Emmet spoke this line that had been spoken countless times before. Raggedy noticed the good left eye move from the Sheriff badge attached to Raggedy’s breast to his own face. ‘Now I hate to pull you away from such a great gin-’ though it came out as gerate instead, ‘-but this is town protocol.’

‘Says who?’ the stranger said. Raggedy Emmet suddenly felt uneasy and not from the man’s tone. It was the dead eye. The right one was clouded and the skin surrounding his eye was scarred and lumpy. He had no eyelashes or an eyebrow on that side.

‘Me,’ Raggedy Emmet said, trying to keep authority in his voice. ‘I’m the Sheriff around here and we keep an eye on the comings and goings, helps avoid… fugitives hanging around our town.’

‘Is that so?’ the stranger said, not making a move off the stool.

‘Yup, now if ya don’t mind, you’ll have to come to the station so that we can git you signed in, and have you back here to your gin in no time.’ Raggedy Emmet was impatient now, all he wanted was to take this fugitive into custody and despite his efforts, he had a feeling the One-eyed Gunslinger was seeing through his ploy. Raggedy Emmet could feel sweat forming under the brow of his hat.

‘I’m not sure that’s going to be necessary, partner,’ he said.

Raggedy Emmet was shocked, the English accent acting to grate like a blunt knife on his nerves. ‘Look here, pardner,’ he spat the word like a snake spitting venom, ‘I know who you are, maggot, and I’m going to be the one who takes you down once and for all.’

A hush fell uncomfortably over the saloon. Now all eyes and ears were turned to the confrontation at the bar as everyone now knew that the infamous One-eyed Gravedigger was indeed within shooting range of them.

The One-eyed Gunslinger pushed himself from the stool, ‘You really think you could take me down, do you, Sheriff? I bet you couldn’t even shoot a can from twenty yards, eh, Sheriff.’

The goading had worked and Raggedy Emmet knew it, ‘I’m the best damn shot in this here state, and I could take you down no problem, Gravedigger,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘Sheriff, please,’ the barmaid pleaded, ‘the last shoot-off you had, I couldn’t get the blood out fo’ months.’

‘Don’t chu’ worry, Rosaline, maggot and I are taking this outside.’